Treasure of the Mayan King (2012)

by Alehandro

  The man did not raise his head as he spoke. “Captain…when I saw the helicopter flying above our prison I immediately rang the alarm.”

  “So? Why didn’t you shoot at the helicopter?”

  “I - I panicked, Captain, but I did shoot a few rounds at the helicopter.”

  “Panicked?” De Leon barked. “It’s your job to defend the prison. We don’t pay you to panic.”

  The guard sat silently, staring at the floor.

  “And what about you?” De Leon said as he turned his attention to the second guard.

  “I ran, sir. I also panicked, but I did fire at the aircraft too.”

  “You did?” De Leon asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You missed by two kilometers. Aren’t you a trained sharpshooter?”

  Without waiting for an answer, De Leon turned to look at the other two, his eyes fiery. “Is that the same story for the rest of you men? You panicked, you ran?”

  They nodded, none looking at the Captain.

  “That’s your story?” De Leon asked, waiting in vain for a spoken answer.

  De Leon shook his head, his disgust completely evident on his face. “Allow me to tell you what really happened. The truth is that you are all cowards, yes, but you are also liars! You should have defended the prison with your lives. The least, the very least you should have done is put up a good fight and fire at the helicopter. But your rifles were inspected, and not a single bullet had been fired from them! You want to know why? Because you sold yourselves out to Jose Madrid, that’s why. His men paid you off to let the helicopter in! What did this betrayal gain you? I’ll tell you. You will spend the rest of your days on the other side of the prison walls. I hope you all rot in there.”

  De Leon took a breath and turned toward the guard that had brought them into the room. “Get this scum out of my sight.”

  When the men had been hauled away, the guard returned, a perplexed look on his face. “How did you know they were bribed?” he asked.

  “My assistant, here, Arturo, made some background checks on these men. About two months ago those four guards suddenly started to live ‘the good life.’ They bought fancy cars and trucks, parading them around their neighborhoods. Three of them moved into nicer homes. Now, you and I both know quite well that there is no way those guards could afford that, not on the wages they are paid here. With that knowledge it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

  De Leon and Arturo left the prison and headed back downtown through even heavier traffic. The trip to the laboratory was made in silence; De Leon was deep in thought and Arturo was disinclined to interrupt.

  Once inside the modern glass and steel skyscraper, the two men took a secured elevator down to the basement. When the doors opened they proceeded briskly to their destination: a sprawling forensics and ballistics lab.

  A man with thick glasses spotted them as they entered. “Ah, Captain De Leon, it is good to see you back.”

  “Doctor Ernesto Rubio,” De Leon acknowledged, shaking the other’s hand vigorously. “This is my assistant Arturo Benavidez.”

  The tall, thin doctor peered through his glasses at Arturo. “Ah, so this is the one I have heard good reports about - a pleasure to meet you, young man.”

  De Leon quickly got to the business at hand. “I’m aware that you are a busy man so I will make this brief. What do you have for me? Any results yet?”

  “Yes, yes of course. Follow me.”

  The three men walked through a maze of humming, clicking equipment. Along the walls dozens of men examined vials of chemicals. Everywhere, information flickered from computer screens or spewed from printers.

  Dr. Rubio tore the printout from one. “Here are the results of the metallurgical tests, Captain.”

  As De Leon read the report, a smile came to his face, the trademark smile that meant one of his hunches had been confirmed. Folding the report up carefully, he placed it inside his coat pocket and turned back to Rubio. “The ballistics reports, Doctor? Do you have those?”

  The doctor nodded and motioned them to follow as he moved to another room. Once there, he opened a folder and handed a report to De Leon. The captain searched the list until he found what he was looking for, and his telltale grin grew even larger.

  “Ernesto, my compadre, you have done a wonderful job, as always. You have copies?”

  “They are in a secure location, as per your instructions.”

  “Excellent, excellent, again, you have done a most glorious job, doctor!”

  Ernesto bowed from the waist. “I am always at your service, my captain.”

  As they left the building, Arturo could tell that De Leon was in excellent spirits. It wasn’t long before the captain spoke.

  “Arturo, I’m buying lunch today. I have much to tell you!”

  In the heart of downtown Guadalajara, the two men sat in a remote corner of a posh restaurant. De Leon waited until after the server had brought their food before speaking.

  “This is what we know so far: According to the flight reports, there were no helicopters scheduled to fly in the state of Jalisco. There were, however, a couple north of us in Sinaloa transporting a platoon of soldiers who were burning marijuana fields. Also, south of here in Chiapas three helicopters were scouting the mountains for rebels, but again, there were none here in Guadalajara. So the question is: where did the helicopter that rescued Madrid come from?”

  Arturo took a sip of his cola before venturing an answer. “Perhaps the report was incorrect, or had been modified.”

  De Leon nodded. “So you’re saying that someone inside our military modified the reports?”

  “Yes, that has to be it!” Arturo said, looking pleased.

  “That’s a possibility, but remember that some of the material is dated and your request included data several days prior to the incident.”

  “True, true - but let’s say that someone changed the report once I went snooping around.”

  De Leon grinned widely with satisfaction. “Recall, though, that I have the results from the lab concerning the metallurgical tests.”

  “Oh yeah, what were the results?”

  “Well, permit me to refresh your memory. When we first entered the prison, I saw some debris that caught my attention. The guards who had not been paid off had indeed fired at the helicopter, and pieces of its hull shrapnel were littered about the courtyard. When I picked up this shrapnel, however, I immediately realized that it was lighter than usual. I’ve been to several helicopter crash sites and have examined similar material, but this felt quite out of the ordinary. However, I needed the expert opinion of a metallurgist to confirm my hunch.”

  Arturo raised his eyebrow in an expression De Leon knew well. After taking a drink De Leon continued. “Enter Ernesto Rubio, the metallurgist. He is an expert at studying the internal structure of metal and alloys; we do not have too many of those types of scientists in Mexico. There are only two laboratories with the equipment needed, one being in Mexico City and the other, thankfully for us the one here in Guadalajara. Dr. Rubio extended his studies and became a forensic ballistics expert. Now allow me to demonstrate the results of his analyses.”

  De Leon held up a small and twisted piece of metal that had been in his jacket pocket.

  “You’ll recognize this as one of the samples I directed you to send to the lab. It turns out that my hunch was correct! According to Dr. Rubio’s report, the metal debris that fell from the helicopter that rescued Madrid is not the same type of metal that our national helicopters are made of.”

  Arturo’s eyes widened slightly. “What? How can that be? Hundreds of eyewitnesses claimed that it was most definitely our national aircraft that hovered above the prison!”

  “I know, but the helicopters currently in use by the Mexican military are older models, and many of them can barely fly. Of course, there are exceptions to this rule, but it is only officials in the higher ranks, such as myself, that use newer helicopters. But all of them are accounted for. The helic
opter in question, the one that invaded the prison, was supposedly an older model. It was, in fact, a very late model aircraft.”

  Arturo rubbed his chin. “So you’re saying that the rescue helicopter was disguised as one of ours. Correct?”

  De Leon nodded. “Indeed! The helicopter that came to the prison was manufactured in another country, but which one I am not sure. Somebody purchased it via the black market, smuggled it in somehow, and disguised it to look like one of ours. Clever, don’t you think? A concerted effort was put forth to make it look like our military was responsible for the rescue mission.”

  De Leon leaned back, a look of satisfaction on his face.

  “But are you absolutely certain of this? What about the ballistics reports?” Arturo asked.

  “A qualified yes for the first question, as for the second question, the shells that were fired from the rescue copter’s Mini-gun were also among the samples studied by Dr. Rubio. He confirmed that they are not the type of bullet we use in the Mexican military, being of a larger caliber.”

  “Amazing!” Arturo responded, trying to absorb it all.

  De Leon leaned forward and stared intensely at Arturo as he continued. “So, there are a lot of things we know, but we cannot afford to get overconfident, as there are many things we do not know. We know that four guards were bribed not to interfere with the rescue. We also know that Madrid had foreign help to make the operation successful. What we don’t know, however, is what country the helicopter came from. It could have been Colombia, as they are heavily involved in the drug trade, or Honduras, which would be more likely to have a modern helicopter. But it could just as easily been the USA or even someplace in Europe. We also don’t know where Madrid is now. But, my friend, I have a feeling that we will know soon.”

  De Leon picked up his fork and started to eat.

  Arturo smiled. “I admire your abilities, Captain. Have you ever thought about becoming a private detective?”

  De Leon paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. A mischievous smile crossed his face, but he continued eating without further comment.

  Chapter Four

  “The Mayan Code?” Chauncy tried his best to feign ignorance. “What’re you talking about? Surely you must have the wrong man, Mr. Domingo. I’m a paleontologist; I study fossils and such.”

  The smile left Santo Domingo”s face. He turned the wooden chair to face Chauncy and sat down. After a moment, he spoke, his voice deadly serious.

  “Let’s not play games, Mr. Rollock. I do not have time to waste; in fact, time is of the essence. We are very much aware of who you are and what you know. So you can stop playing dumb, it doesn’t suit you. We were planning to entice you to come down here from the States but when we found out that you were coming for a vacation…well, you cannot imagine how pleased we were.

  “We know that approximately five years ago you were down here in Yucatan, working with Doctor Sova in Palenque making plans to exhume a Mayan king. We also know that you two invented a personal code based on the Mayan hieroglyphs, which you refer to as the Mayan Code. So please, do not insult us by lying.”

  Chauncy sat back against the wall very slowly. Suddenly it seemed the throbbing in his head was from his thoughts instead of the tranquilizer dart. They know. They know all about Dr. Sova and me.

  Chauncy realized his face had given him away. There was no point in trying to bluff. “All right, who are you people? Why didn’t you just hire me to translate the Mayan Code, instead of abducting me? Better yet, why didn’t you just get Dr. Sova to translate it for you?”

  Santo smiled; his logic was getting results. He crossed his arms and spoke. “Well, let’s start from the beginning, shall we? You would not have come voluntarily if you had known who we are, and you are not the type to take on a job when you don’t know full details of who you’re working for. So we had to use, shall we say, a little persuasion.”

  “I’ve already surmised that you are criminals,” Chauncy said.

  Santo’s smile widened, causing his eyes to become mere slits in his face, and then he went somber again. “Dr. Sova was a good friend of yours, so you probably know all about his gambling habit. Let me inform you of more recent events. After you left Mexico, he completely lost control. His debts mounted until he was desperate.

  “He met some members of our organization who saw his value. He had a good head for finances despite his gambling problem. My employer offered him an opportunity to work off his debts. For quite a while things went well. But it was only a matter of time before his habit came back to haunt him. After he used up his own money, he began using my employer’s: first hundreds, then thousands.

  “Of course we could never tolerate that. But somehow Dr. Sova found out about our plans to deal with him. He disappeared with one million.”

  “A million!” Chauncy said, completely amazed. “Pesos or dollars?”

  “Dollars, Mr. Rollock, one million American greenbacks! He took the money and hid it somewhere in the jungle. We caught up with him as he was trying to leave the country, apparently planning to return when he thought it was safe. Those who tortured him were unskilled. He died without revealing the location of the money and they threw him into a cenote with a boulder tied to his neck.”

  Chauncy closed his eyes in grief. The Mayans had used those large, circular, limestone sinkholes called cenotes as a repository for human sacrifices. The mental visuals of seeing Dr. Sova unceremoniously tossed into a watery grave pained him. Doctor Sova wasn’t perfect, but he had been a friend and mentor to Chauncy. Perhaps he should have made a greater effort to talk to Dr. Sova about his habit, or tried harder to reach him during the five years since they had been together.

  But now it was too late.

  Santo continued. “What a symbolic way to die, at least if you are an archaeologist. Anyway, all we found was this.”

  He pulled a scroll-like paper from his briefcase and unrolled it. On it were a series of Mayan glyphs.

  “As you can see, the good doctor wrote in his Mayan Code. In better times, Dr. Sova had mentioned that only two people on earth knew how to decipher the code. The first, of course, was him, and the second was you. All we are asking is that you decipher it. Once we find the money he took from us, we let you go. It’s that simple.”

  Anger washed over Chauncy. “You killed Doctor Sova? How dare you!”

  Santo stood up and the two bodyguards stepped forward, muscles tensed for action.

  “He got what he deserved,” Santo abruptly replied. “We want to know where the money is hidden! You will start on this project now. As you can see, we’ve done our best to accommodate you, and you have all the materials you will need. Food will be delivered twice a day, and we will be checking on your progress. I do hope the love you have for your family will motivate you to hurry.” He turned on his heel and his bodyguards followed him out.

  The reference to his family cut like a knife. I hope to God that they never find out there is another person who knows the Mayan Code, he thought.

  There was a loud knock on Anita’s hotel door. “Who is it?” she asked, her voice quailed.

  “It’s us, Marlo and Gloria.”

  She quickly opened the door. They could tell she had been crying and gave her a hug after she let them in.

  “I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I have been so worried about poor Chauncy. I hope he’s okay,” she said in a shaky voice.

  Marlo tried to sound calm. “Well, the note mentioned that as long as we do not contact the authorities, he’ll be fine. Kidnappings and abductions are becoming common down here. Let’s just sit tight and see what they want. Most likely a large sum of money will soon be requested of us.”

  “If it’s money, they should have contacted us by now,” Gloria said.

  Anita walked toward the window, wiping away a tear. “Well, Chauncy always taught me to remain calm during difficult situations, to try and think things out and not act out of sheer emotion. ‘Emotions and panic can kill you�
�� he always says. I won’t panic. I won’t let my nerves get the best of me.”

  “Yeah,” Marlo agreed. “He taught me the same thing when we were down in Chile. I nearly learned it the hard way. Take a deep breath and try to relax.”

  A knock at the door startled them. Marlo jumped up. Walking toward the door, fists clenched, he said, “Who is it?”

  “Front desk sir, I have a message for the occupant of this room,” a woman’s voice answered.

  Marlo glanced through the peephole at the uniformed clerk. Opening the door, he quickly took the envelope, thanked her brusquely and shut the door.

  He handed the envelope to Anita, who sat down and nervously opened it.

  “What does it say, Mom?” Troy asked.

  She unfolded the letter inside and read it aloud:

  “Mr. Rollock is in good health. When he is finished with his assignment, he will be released. If you want to see him alive again, do not contact the authorities.”

  Anita stared vacantly as she thought out loud. “They don’t want any money? But then what could they want?”

  Marlo scratched his head, his brow furrowed. “Well, there goes my abduction theory. Assignment? This is bizarre!”

  Gloria sat down on the couch next to Anita. “I guess we’ll just have to sit tight until things work out.”

  Troy sat down on the floor and crossed his arms. “I wish I could go rescue Dad.”

  Chauncy stared blankly at the scroll lying on the desk in front of him. After five years his memory of the code was rusty. He knew the translated code could be would be gibberish to anyone but the author. Death threats didn’t make it easier.

  So many things could go wrong. Suppose the translation was correct, but the money wasn’t where the scroll said it would be? What if the writing was misleading? Would his captors accuse him of lying or deliberately stalling? Would he then be tortured and murdered just like Dr. Sova? Would they then turn on his wife and child?