She turned the car off, hopped out, ran back up the hill and looked in the icebox. There were sandwiches that looked old and stale and bags of chips lying on the table. She guessed those were the guards’ food. She left that stuff but took three large bottles of water and a backpack that had a few basic tools in it. You never know what you’ll need. She tossed everything plus the rifle and her shoes in the back seat and turned the Toyota around and drove away, hoping she wouldn’t run into one of the bad guys coming up.
The rough road had only recently been dozed out of the jungle. The SUV brushed branches on either side as she bounced down the hill. After what must have been two or three miles she came to an intersection with a two-lane asphalt road. She looked at the moon; morning was only a few hours away so it had to be in the west. She turned left on the road going what she figured was east. In a few miles she saw a sign that indicated Tikal was one direction, Melchor de Mencos the other. She now knew she was in Guatemala. She also knew how to head back toward Belize; Sam had said that Melchor was the first Guatemalan town just beyond Belize’s western border, and San Ignacio was only a few miles from it. All that was great except that Nicole was on the wrong side of the border. She turned east on the road and headed for the little town of Melchor de Mencos, the town on the Guatemala side of the western border station into Belize.
She had no passport, no money except for what she had taken from the guard and no entry documents for Guatemala. There was no way they would let her cross into Belize without papers so she needed help. She had no idea where Brian, Sam and Alfredo were. She would have called the San Ignacio Inn to talk to Odette but she didn’t know the number. Escape was her primary goal – she couldn’t help the others unless she got away from her kidnappers and back to Belize. She decided to call her office.
Worried that someone might recognize the old Toyota she had appropriated, she parked it in an alley off the main street in Melchor, noted its tag number and locked it up. The sun was rising; nearby she heard roosters crowing as she walked a block to the main road. She went from shop to shop until she found what she needed – an Internet café. The sign said the shop opened at 7 am. She had an hour to kill.
She needed coffee but had no idea what the bills she’d taken would buy. Her craving for caffeine finally overcame her concern. A teenage girl had just unlocked the front door. She spoke to Nicole in Spanish.
Nicole replied, “Do you have coffee?”
The girl looked at her blankly for a moment, not understanding a word she said, but finally it clicked.
“Un café?” she said, smiling.
Nicole nodded and watched the girl take boiling water off a stove, use an old one-cup coffee press and brew her drink. It smelled wonderful and she held out a bill.
“No es suficiente,” the girl said.
Nicole shook her head, not following the Spanish, and the girl said in broken English, “One more, senorita. Por favor.”
“Oh, OK,” Nicole smiled weakly and pulled another bill out. The girl took the money and handed her change.
She took her coffee and sat down on a curb half a block from the alley where the SUV was parked. Now that she knew two of the brown bills were about enough for a cup of coffee she could determine the value of the other bills she had. She had plenty of money for an hour on a computer and a recharge for her iPhone.
She watched as a couple of people walked past the alley, looked down and gave the Toyota a stare. One even walked up to it and glanced inside. She was glad she had left the rifle covered with a tattered blanket – she figured the man was casing the vehicle to see if he could steal something. She couldn’t afford to stop him and make a scene but when she stood up he saw her, turned and walked away down the quiet street.
At seven Nicole walked to the Internet café, entered and said, “Do you speak English?”
“Yes, a little,” a kid behind the counter replied.
“I need to charge my phone.” She held it up and pointed to the place where the charger plugged in. “And I want an hour on the computer. How much?”
He replied in Spanish – she didn’t understand so she handed him the largest bill she had. It was enough – he made change, pulled a phone charger from under the counter and handed it to her. He took her to a computer and pointed to the power strip behind the monitor and at the phone. She nodded, sat down and plugged it in. Nothing happened for a moment but then the phone began charging.
Nicole opened her mail account on the computer and used Skype to call Ryan Coleman, her assistant at Carter and Wells. It was a little early for him but she hoped he was there. She left a voicemail saying she’d call back every fifteen minutes until she reached him.
Finally Ryan answered. “Good morning, Miss Farber. I think I just missed your last call so I waited by the phone for this one. What’s up?”
“Ryan, what day is it?”
He laughed. “I beg your pardon? Have you had too many margaritas?”
“Dammit, this is no joke, Ryan. What day is it?”
He got serious quickly. “Uh, it’s Wednesday.”
She had been kidnapped on Sunday. Three days ago.
She briefly said what had happened. She said she was in Melchor de Mencos on the eastern border of Guatemala and needed to get back into Belize fast despite having no passport, no exit papers showing she had ever left and almost no money.
He was astonished. “Are you OK?”
“I’m good but have to go. Talk to Mr. Carter as soon as you can. He’ll think of something. And try Brian’s cell phone. If you can’t reach him call Bijan in New York as soon it opens. Ask Collette if she’s heard anything from him.”
Randall Carter was the founder and name partner of the law firm where she worked. He was also one of the most politically well-connected people in Dallas. He had forsaken the family oil business for a law degree. Thanks to generations of family connections the firm he started had prospered from its first day. The Carter name was everywhere in Dallas, the latest being the city’s new symphony hall and a wing in the Science and Nature Museum, just two in a long line of places bearing witness to millions of dollars the family spent on charitable causes in the Metroplex every year.
“I rode up the elevator with Mr. Carter when I came in this morning. I’ll go see him right now. What else should I do? Should I ask him to try to find out who captured you and where you were being held?”
“First get me out of here. I’ll give you as much as I can about where I’ve been.” She told him as much as she could remember about the camp where she’d been held captive. She didn’t mention the dead guard.
“Brian, you have to hurry. I need to get away before they find me. Just concentrate on getting me out of Guatemala. Call my phone in exactly one hour. If for any reason I don’t answer, presume something’s gone wrong.”
She told him she was at an Internet cafe, gave him the location and tag number of the Toyota SUV she’d stolen and said she would be laying low in town until his call.
She leaned back in the chair. Three days. She’d been in the jungle for three days. Again she wondered where Brian could be. The last thing she knew was that he was waiting for rescue at the bottom of a cave. What if her kidnapper had killed all of them? Since he was stranded deep in the cavern, what if Brian died of starvation? She began to feel a rise of panic and forced herself to calm down.
Nicole. Get a grip. You can’t help Brian unless you think clearly and you get yourself out of this jam. So keep your head on straight.
She looked at her phone – it was charging fast. She called Brian’s phone but again got nothing – it went straight to voicemail. She left a message telling him she was all right and asking him to call her. She ended by saying, “I love you. Don’t leave me, baby.”
She checked mail – maybe Brian had emailed her somehow. If he were alive and had been rescued, then he also had no idea where she was.
There was no mail. She sent one to him explaining what had happened and where she was. Sh
e said she hoped to be back in Belize shortly.
Nicole prayed she would see him soon. She couldn’t consider any alternative. She wouldn’t let herself think he might be gone forever.
She accessed the website of Sam’s hotel and got Odette’s email address. She sent Odette a copy of the mail she’d sent Brian, so she’d know where Nicole was.
Once her phone was fully charged and her our on the computer was up she logged out, dropped the phone charger off at the desk and left.
It was hot in this dusty border town. Now that it was mid-morning there was activity everywhere. People walked down the dirt streets leading donkeys and carts loaded with straw, fruits and vegetables. She looked in both directions, keeping her eyes peeled for anyone who might appear interested in her. She didn’t see a man with a pencil mustache standing inside a store across the street watching her intently through a store window.
Nicole strolled nonchalantly down the opposite sidewalk toward the alley where the Toyota was parked. She glanced at it and saw everything looked just as it had when she left it. Then she turned right at the next corner, aimlessly killing time until Ryan’s call.
Chapter Seven
Ryan Coleman was a highly intelligent paralegal with a master’s degree from SMU. He knew how dangerous Nicole’s situation was and he rushed to Randall Carter’s office three floors up. He told Carter’s assistant there was an emergency involving Nicole Farber and he must speak with him immediately.
The assistant sent a message, stood and ushered Ryan through massive double doors into her boss’s office. Ryan was surprised at its opulence. The office was easily fifteen hundred square feet and wrapped around two sides of the building, its floor to ceiling windows giving incredible views of downtown Dallas.
Carter was on the phone. His assistant motioned for Ryan to sit.
“Governor, I’m sorry to interrupt but it seems we have some sort of crisis here. May I call you back shortly?”
He turned to Ryan. “What’s going on with Nicole? Isn’t she on vacation in Belize?”
Ryan told him everything he knew. Carter was concerned.
“This is serious news and I’m afraid we don’t have much time. I’m worried about the men who are after her. Stay outside in the waiting area while I make a couple of calls. If I haven’t gotten back to you by the time you’re supposed to call Nicole, come back in here and we’ll get her on the line.”
Once Ryan stepped out, Randall Carter hit a speed dial number on his phone and spoke to a United States Senator on his private office line. He made it brief – he needed help getting one of his partners rescued from an emergency situation at the Guatemala border with Belize. He told the Senator she had escaped from a kidnapper and her papers and passport were stolen. She needed safe passage back into Belize. He emphasized that time was critical and his partner believed herself to be in grave danger.
Less than ten minutes later Carter’s assistant forwarded a call from the United States Ambassador in Belmopan, the capital of Belize. The Ambassador advised that he would contact his counterpart in Guatemala City and that he would send his first deputy to Melchor de Mencos to personally escort Ms. Farber back into Belize under diplomatic immunity. Once back, he would arrange a new passport for her within 24 hours. His deputy would leave now and he would likely be in Melchor on the Guatemala side in less than an hour, barring traffic problems on the Western Highway, the only road leading from the capital to the border forty-five miles away.
Randall Carter brought Ryan back into his office. He tasked the assistant with gathering things the Ambassador needed – Nicole’s passport number, her flight information for her trip to Belize and where she was staying in San Ignacio.
“How much time until we call Nicole back?” Carter said.
“About ten minutes, sir.”
“Stay here so we can make the call on time. Then get the information I need for the Ambassador and email it to me immediately. I’ll call him back and he can advise his deputy who’s going to find Nicole.”
Randall Carter dialed Nicole’s phone exactly when she had instructed. It rang six times and went to voicemail. He tried again, then a third time. Nicole didn’t answer.
Chapter Eight
Five minutes before Ryan was supposed to call, Nicole again walked to the alley where the SUV was parked. As she peeked into the alleyway she saw an obese policeman in a dirty uniform, shirttail hanging out over his belt. He stood on the driver’s side of the Toyota and peered inside. Nicole stopped but not before he noticed her.
“Senorita,” he called, motioning to her to come to the car. “Senorita, necesito hablar con usted.” I need to speak with you.
Summoning almost all the Spanish she knew she replied, “No hablo espanol.”
“No hay problema.” She approached and in heavily accented English he said, “This is your car, yes?”
“Uh, yes. It’s actually a friend’s car. I borrowed it.”
“Your passport, please.”
“I…uh, actually I left my passport in the hotel,” Nicole stammered. “Everything is bueno. No problema.”
She managed a feeble smile as her phone began to ring. Turning away from the man she said, “I need to take this.”
Before she could answer he grabbed her wrist and said, “No es bueno, senorita. It is not good for you. You will come with me.”
Running was smarter than being detained, she quickly decided. She turned and ran directly into a man standing behind her whom she hadn’t realized was there. She was startled to see the man who had originally kidnapped her, dressed in a linen suit and wearing the same straw hat.
“Muchas gracias, Senor,” the man with the mustache said to the slovenly officer. He smiled as he gave the policeman a wad of bills. “Muchas gracias.”
“Help! Help! I’m an American! Help me!” Terrified, Nicole yelled as loudly as she could. People walking in the street turned and looked her way but with the policeman standing right there no one chose to become involved.
The man in the suit gripped Nicole’s upper arm tightly. As he pulled her toward the Toyota she heard a loud voice say in Spanish and English, “La policia Federal! Federal Police! Release that woman!”
Three men ran down the narrow alleyway. Two of them were dressed in crisp brown uniforms and had rifles slung over their backs. The third, the one who had yelled, wore a coat and tie and had a badge on a lanyard around his neck. They ran to Nicole.
“Stop those people!” she shouted as her kidnapper and the policeman disappeared around a corner a half block away. But the three men ran to her.
Displaying an identification card, the man wearing the suit said, “Ms. Farber, I’m Ronald Singleton, Deputy Ambassador for Foreign Affairs at the US Embassy in Belize. You have some very important friends in the States who are interested in only one thing – your safety. We’re in a strange situation here. I have authority only inside Belize – I have no jurisdiction to order these Guatemalan Federales to do anything so let’s just get you out of here and back to San Ignacio. We’ll let the local officers here in Melchor worry about finding your abductors.”
She relaxed once she was safely inside the embassy’s black Nissan sedan. She asked if the deputy could get her back without a passport.
“Absolutely. Fortunately there’s no need for documents when you’re in the hands of the American government. We’re traveling under diplomatic immunity. May I ask you about the others? Once you were reported missing…”
“I was reported missing? When?”
“Two days ago, by Odette Adams, the owner of the San Ignacio Inn. She named four missing persons – two Belizean nationals, one of whom is her husband Sam, and two Americans – you and a man named Brian Sadler.”
Nicole figured the other Belizean national would be the guide.
“Have they found the others?” she asked hopefully.
“I don’t know. Missing Americans aren’t in my direct area of responsibility, so I wouldn’t have heard. Surprisingly, p
eople disappear more often than you’d think, and it usually involves getting lost in the jungle or staying out overnight at some local person’s house after getting drunk in a bar. Violent crime in Belize is extremely rare and usually drug related. I wouldn’t worry too much. Your friends may be back at the hotel when you get there. We should arrive in less than a half hour. There’ll be some paperwork to deal with but we can save that for later. I’ll leave you to unwind and get back with you in a day or so.”
Nicole thanked him then picked up her phone. First she called the Dallas number that she had missed several times earlier. It was Randall Carter’s private line and he picked it up on the first ring.
“My God, Nicole. Are you all right?” he said loudly.
“I’m OK, I’m OK, Mr. Carter. I’m safely in the hands of the American Embassy. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your facilitating my rescue.” Nicole explained to him what had happened, and said she didn’t know where Brian was.
The deputy motioned to her as they approached the border. “You’ll need to hang up for a moment,” he whispered.
She told Randall Carter she’d keep in touch and disconnected as their car stopped at the Guatemalan border station. The driver lowered his window and presented diplomatic papers to a guard with a semi-automatic rifle slung on his back. A few words were exchanged and without a single glance into the back seat where Nicole and the Deputy Ambassador sat, the car was waved through. Three minutes later a similar scenario played out on the Belize side and the car sped down the Western Highway in Belize heading toward San Ignacio.
While they were clearing the border Nicole asked the Deputy Ambassador if he had the phone number for the San Ignacio Inn. He gave it to her.
The desk clerk answered and immediately transferred the call to Odette. Nicole could hear the fear in her anxious voice.
“I’m so glad to hear from you! I’ve been worried sick. I got your email. Can I talk to Sam?”
“He’s not with me, Odette. I’m back in Belize on the way to the hotel. You’re saying Brian and Sam are still missing?”
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 37
