by Alehandro
The gates were opened for him and he entered the prison courtyard. He stood there for a moment, surveying the scene from behind his dark aviator-style sunglasses. He was amazed at the degree of damage. Fires were burning; smoke was thick in the air. Shattered glass, rock, stucco and other debris filled the courtyard. As he walked around the perimeter he looked into a hallway past a twisted iron gate. Water from broken pipes ran everywhere and would flood the lower levels before long, if they weren’t flooded already. Cries and moans could be heard from the injured.
He glanced back over his shoulder. The crowd of civilians had probably been standing there since the word had spread that the shooting had stopped. The director of the prison, Martin Verdugo, came out to speak to Captain De Leon. The captain gestured, summoning the director to him so that they would be out of earshot of others.
His face grim, Captain De Leon asked, “How many are dead, Mr. Verdugo?”
“Fortunately we have no dead,” the director answered, wringing his hands nervously. “However, there are at least eighteen wounded, two seriously, sir.”
De Leon stared at the director for a moment. The man was in his mid-sixties, short and heavy. He was obviously nearing retirement, and just as obviously knew he was in the international spotlight because the whole affair had taken place on his watch.
“Are the prisoners under lock and key?” De Leon asked brusquely as he a made hand gesture.
“Yes, Captain, all is secure for now.”
“Was there any structural damage?”
The director paused to swallow. “Currently there are still some fires out of control, sir. Two iron gates destroyed; we’re standing by one of them. The other is deeper inside the prison near the holding cells. In addition, some of the plumbing and electrical has been destroyed or damaged. The lookout turrets were shredded and suffered extreme damage. Water damage, smoke damage to furniture, windows destroyed - oh, and there is much bullet damage to the walls, sir.”
“Could you or anyone else identify the men in the helicopter?” De Leon asked as he looked around.
“No sir. Not only did it happen so quickly, but all of the men wore black gas masks and hoods.”
The captain nodded slowly and thought for a minute. “The guards, Mr. Verdugo,” he said at last. “I desire to interview them as soon as possible, especially those that were not injured. Do you understand?”
“Yes Captain, I will arrange that.”
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Verdugo. Do you mind if I look around myself?”
“Oh no, no, go right ahead! I’ll be in my office.” At once Mr. Verdugo scuttled off toward his office, relieved to be out from under the gaze of The Incorruptible.
Captain De Leon strolled slowly around the hallways and courtyard, surveying and scrutinizing every detail. Debris crunched under his highly polished black boots as he walked. Men ran to and fro around him, every one of them preoccupied with the business at hand. The smoke from the grenades and the fires lingered in the building, giving everything a gloomy, depressing atmosphere.
As he walked around the courtyard again, a glint on the ground caught his eye. Approaching it, he knelt to get a closer look. He picked up the piece of metal and turned it around in his hands, gazing intently at it, his forehead creasing in concentration. Picking up a few more pieces like the first, he shifted his weight on his knee, unclipped his radio from his belt and called his assistant.
“Arturo? Arturo, can you hear me?”
The radio sputtered and the voice of a young man came through. “Yes, Captain, this is Arturo.”
“Come into the main courtyard and bring me a couple of plastic bags will you?”
“On my way, Captain,” Arturo responded.
In a few moments he was at De Leon”s side holding out the plastic bags. An academy graduate in his early twenties, Arturo was quickly learning this business of crime fighting in the metropolis of Guadalajara. Captain De Leon was comfortable around Arturo. He felt the young man was a promising candidate to move up the ranks of law enforcement. The captain knew that Arturo had not yet been reached by the greed to which so many of De Leon’s peers had succumbed. Perhaps Arturo would eventually also gain the reputation as The Incorruptible.
He looked up at Arturo. “I have some interesting samples I want to analyze at the lab. Here, help me put them in the bags.”
Arturo knelt and helped the captain put the fragments in the bags. “What have you surmised so far, Captain?”
De Leon glanced around, then spoke softly so as not to be overheard. “It seems it was an inside job, Arturo. Some of the guards must have known the helicopter was coming. They put up very little resistance! Also, can you imagine the amount of shooting that occurred in here? Those military Mini-guns are capable of shooting four thousand rounds per minute, and yet not one guard died. Not that I would have wished it, of course, but it does seem a bit odd, don’t you think? There was a lot of property damage, though, as if to dramatize the event, yet so few injuries. Something doesn’t look right.”
“Sounds plausible,” Arturo responded. “And these fragments, what do you make of them?”
“They look…strange. That’s all I’ll say for now until a hunch of mine is confirmed. Here, take these bags to the laboratory.”
They stood. De Leon zipped the bags closed and handed them to Arturo.
“I also want you to find out how many military helicopters were in the air in the last two days, whether in Jalisco or any surrounding states. Bring me the report tomorrow and put it on my desk. Now remember: not a word to anyone about what you just heard from me, understand?”
“Of course, Captain,” Arturo said before briskly walking away.
Mr. Verdugo came scurrying out of his office again with the same worried expression on his face. “Captain, the media are outside the prison and they want to interview us!”
Captain De Leon groaned. The one thing he detested most was the media. He hated the distortions and half-truths that they spun to the public; hated them with a passion. He knew he would be in the center of their maelstrom of blame, especially since his department seemed to be involved.
The media can never get anything right, he thought in disgust. How can they relay to an ignorant public in just a few seconds things that take months to investigate and explain? All they are interested in is sensationalism and excitement. It’s all about selling and commercials.
De Leon shook his head in disappointment as he looked at Mr. Verdugo.
“This isn’t going to be easy, director. Let me handle the interview first. Let’s go outside.”
As the two men exited, a swarm of cameras and reporters mobbed them. “Do you know why your military men kidnapped Jose Madrid?” “What do you make of this?” “How many men died in the prison?” “Where do you think Mr. Madrid is now?”
Captain De Leon stifled a curse and quieted the questions with a gesture. In as few words as possible he explained the situation as he knew it, and assured the press that he would do everything in his power to get to the bottom of the incident. Referring the reporters to Mr. Verdugo for further questions, he made a hasty retreat to his truck.
Chapter Two
“Ahhh, Cancun.” Anita Rollock’s long blonde hair fluttered in the soft breeze as she sipped her drink. “Sandy beaches…margaritas…mariachis…mmmm….”
Anita and her husband, Chauncy, were taking a break from the hectic schedule that had nearly turned Chauncy into a nervous wreck. Sitting in a large ranch house in Wyoming while snow piled up outside had made it easy to choose Cancun as their vacation destination, at least for Anita. Where else would they go except where the sun shone all day?
Reclining in the beach chair next to her, Chauncy smiled and then sipped his margarita. He had been in the international limelight back when he had been working with Dr. Sova. But when the famous linguist had disappeared, Chauncy had become little more than a footnote in the entire Mayan episode, and he had returned to his normal archaeologic
al expeditions.
He was pleased that Anita had also suggested bringing Marlo Gund and his wife Gloria. Chauncy admitted that the destination had been his wife’s idea, but he later confided to Marlo that he missed the Mayan episodes. It had been a while since he had heard from the doctor, during which time he had never once ventured back to the spot where their adventures had begun.
“It was truly amazing, Marlo, to hear from Dr. Sova himself the explanation of the Mayan hieroglyphs, and to see his magnificent brain at work. Well, I’d like to go back to those pyramids and see what has become of them.”
Now the five of them, including the Rollock’s son Troy were relaxing on the famous beaches of Cancun, the bright tropical sun doing its best to brown their complexions.
“You should have thought of this idea two years ago.” Marlo’s smiling face hadn’t changed much in the three years since Chauncy had seen him. He was not as thin, and his goatee had been reduced to a mustache.
“Yeah, well, what can I say? It was my wife’s idea; blame her for being late about it.”
Marlo grinned again, knowing he didn’t dare blame Anita for anything. Regardless of whether it was two days, two weeks, or two years too late, it still felt good to be relaxing on the beach, chatting and reminiscing with Chauncy.
After a couple of hours, they packed up and headed back to their hotel. Being eight, Troy wanted to stay at the beach the entire day, but his parents persuaded him otherwise. It had only been a few hours since they had arrived, and they had two weeks to enjoy the beach and everything else that Cancun had to offer.
They were nearing the hotel when they caught sight of the military personnel stationed at the doors. Chauncy privately wondered if there had been a breakin.
The guards ushered them in without a word. Their questions were answered as they made their way through the lobby. A large group of hotel guests sat in front of the large television screen, watching the news in English on CNN:
“We’re reporting live from downtown Guadalajara,” the reporter’s voice crackled, “where the infamous cartel crime lord Jose Padilla Madrid escaped earlier today. Details are still sketchy, but we do know that casualties were at a minimum despite the massive damage done to La Penitenciaria.”
The screen shifted to a bird’s-eye view of a large castle-like structure, black smoke curling toward the sky. “We’ll have more information as it becomes available,” the reporter concluded.
The scene of the burning prison immediately cut away to a CNN reporter interviewing the American Embassy representative, George Hawkins.
“Mr. Hawkins, what do you make of the recent prison escape?”
Mr. Hawkins leaned toward the camera. “This is sheer incompetence as far as I am concerned. I will be meeting with the Mexican representatives to express the concerns of the President of the United States.”
“What a joke - as if he could do anything stop this from occurring again,” Chauncy muttered.
Gloria whistled, running a hand through her short brown hair. “That must have been quite the doing; they would have had good protection around an inmate like that!”
Marlo nodded. “Let’s hope Jose Madrid won’t be checking into our hotel anytime soon,” he said.
They spoke to the clerk at the desk. “There will be many military roadblocks,” she informed them in precise English. “I recommend that you stay here in the beach area.”
The four adults agreed to meet in the lobby after changing their clothes. Once in their room, Chauncy walked over to the window and opened the curtains, looking out across the turquoise water. “Well,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “That incident will put a kink in some of my plans.”
“In what way?” Anita asked.
Chauncy took a deep breath, gazing off at the horizon. “I was hoping to take us on a tour to the Mayan pyramids.”
“We may still be able to, Chauncy. If we travel on a tour bus we shouldn’t have any problem with the roadblocks.”
“Yeah, I thought of that,” Chauncy muttered as he pulled clean clothes from his suitcase. “Except that I wanted to rent a Hummer and just take our group, you know? To keep away from all the gringo tourists. Besides, I wanted to show you some ruins off the beaten path, where I was with Dr. Sova.”
Whatever Anita might have said was interrupted when Troy grabbed the remote control, flopped down on the bed, and turned on the television.
Anita turned quickly to him. “Hey, turn off that TV! We didn’t travel a thousand miles just to watch that stupid thing.”
“Ah Mom, I just wanted to see some cartoons.”
Before Troy was able to shut off the television Chauncy and Anita noticed the network was still running the report on the escape from Guadalajara, and all three of them stopped to stare at the footage. The screen then shifted to an interview with the representative of the American Embassy again.
Chauncy shook his head. “They keep running the same scene over and over.”
“Wow, look at all that smoke!” Troy exclaimed. “Dad, it must have been bad!”
Chauncy nodded. “Yeah, it must have. I wonder where the drug lord is now. You know, he could be anywhere in Mexico, or maybe even outside of it already.”
Anita grabbed the remote from Troy and turned off the TV. “Come on, you guys, we didn’t come here to listen to bad news. Let’s have some fun, okay?”
Chauncy sighed again. “I guess you’re right. Hey, I’m in the mood for some good Mexican food. Do you think this town has any?”
The sun had set but the air was still hot and humid. As it wafted through the open windows of the restaurant, flying insects of all sorts gathering around the white lights, writhing and moving as if they were dancing to the mariachi band that played loudly in the background. The low hum of traffic mixed with the boisterous voices of the cantina. The tension from the news was starting to fade as the group enjoyed the festive music and their drinks.
“Hey Chauncy,” Marlo said suddenly. “This tequila is so different from the stuff we buy at home.”
“Yes, I agree with you.” Chauncy downed the last swallow of his drink. “I believe they add cane sugar to the exported bottles. What a difference the domestic tequila is though. Amazing, isn’t it? It’s only here in Mexico where the maguey or Agave Tequiliana grows.”
Marlo nodded. “It has to do with the soil. The soils in the state of Jalisco are permeable loams, rich in elements derived from basalt, all because of the volcanic activity that occurred in the area thousands of years ago.”
Gloria giggled. “Listen to him. That’s the geologist talking.”
Chauncy stared into his shot glass. “Actually, the word ‘tequila’ is of Nahautl origin, the mother tongue of the indigenous people. They believed that the Maguey plant, or also known as Agave, was a divine creation, a representation of the female goddess, Mayaheul. Now the male god counterpart, Petacatl, was married to Mayaheul and represented various plants. He was believed to assist in the fermentation of pulque, the unrefined liquid of the Maguey from which tequila is derived.”
Anita ribbed Gloria. “That’s the wannabe anthropologist talking.”
Marlo’s brow furrowed. “Hey! Stop mocking us, ladies. I’ll have you know I did intensive studies of tequila when I was in college.”
“I’ll bet you did,” Anita said, laughing. “With all those frat parties you had.”
While Marlo attempted to come up with a retort to Anita’s comment, the mariachi band approached the table.
“Musica Senores?”
Marlo glanced at the bandleader. “Got any Van Halen or Metallica tunes?”
The musician gave him a perplexed stare. “Que?”
Chauncy laughed, then spoke to the bandleader. “Musica romantica, por favor.”
He smiled. “Oh, si, si muy bien.”
The band struck up a melodious song, the Spanish words sung over the soft sounds of a violin.
Marlo took a long last sip from his shot glass and turned to Gloria with
lusty eyes. “Kiss me baby,” he murmured.
Anita smirked at Gloria. “And that’s the tequila talking.”
Gloria adopted a mock-serious expression and shook her head. “While they drink we better talk about our itinerary.”
“Yes,” Anita laughed as she lifted her own drink. “These guys are in no position to make those important decisions.”
Gloria took a travel guide out of her bag. “Let’s see, there’s hang gliding, scuba diving, swimming, boat tours, deep sea fishing, oh yeah Jet skiing and - “
Troy interrupted them, a broad smile brightening his face. “Yeah, Jet skiing! That sounds awesome! Hey, Dad, let’s go!”
Chauncy turned to look at his son. “Why not, sounds like fun. What do you say, Marlo?”
“That sounds good to me.”
Anita smiled at them. “Well you guys can go ahead; I’ll just stay on the beach and work on my tan.”
“I’m with you Anita,” Gloria chimed in. “Tomorrow’s our first full day here, so let the guys do what they want first while we relax.”
The following morning after breakfast, the five left the hotel and headed for the beach. From behind his dark glasses Chauncy watched the clear waters of Cancun shimmer and sparkle in the bright sunshine, making him very glad he had remembered to bring his sunglasses along. Puffy white clouds dotted the horizon; a warm breeze blew in from the ocean.
At the marina Chauncy checked out keys for three Jet Skis and walked over to Marlo and Troy. After showing Troy how to operate the watercraft, the three of them ventured out onto the water.
Gloria and Anita lay back on their beach towels, enjoying the warm tropical sun and talking occasionally. Eventually Anita dozed off on the white sand.
Marlo and Troy zigzagged on their skis, causing waves and splashing each other. Chauncy followed more slowly and admired the scenery. He didn’t quite feel like racing; he had come here to get away from his hectic life. He just sat there, motor idling, bobbing up and down over the gentle waves. As boats full of tourists zipped past him, he gazed in at the shoreline and the greenery of the jungle. For a long time he let his mind wander back to his adventures with Dr. Sova in the Mexican jungles.
