Jorge reappeared at the overhang. It was a miracle he had allowed them to rest. After Elena had stumbled and fallen at least half a dozen times, Miguel had pleaded with him to stop. With Jorge’s reluctant consent, Miguel had led them to the overhang, one of his hiding places.
“Get up,” Jorge said. “You’ve had time enough to rest.” He pointed the gun at her. “Tell me where this place is.”
“I said I’d show you. It’s difficult to explain.”
She rose unsteadily, knowing that for her impertinence, for her unwillingness to tell him she risked another blow. She steeled herself for that possibility. But it didn’t come.
He stared at her over the gun and smirked. “All right. Have it your way. But later, I will have my way with you.” He winked at her, a hateful wink that Elena wanted to smack right off his face.
His insinuation made her angrier, and her resolve to overcome the abominable man strengthened. She took Miguel’s hand and started toward Smoke Shell’s stela. She was sure her calculations of the trajectory were accurate, but she wanted to visually inspect it. She had been working puzzles a long time, but she wanted to make sure. A lot was riding on this.
The sky was starting to lighten, and, as they slogged along through wet grass and vines, Elena wondered what time it was. It had to be near dawn. She thought back on the first part of the night she’d spent with Dominic and Miguel at the clinic. It was a dream now. This was the nightmare. Would that she’d wake up in her nice cozy bed at doña Carolita’s, and this horror would be gone, just a nightmare, nothing more. She thought of Dominic and wondered if he was okay. She knew he’d never be able to figure out where they were, what had happened to them. It all occurred so fast. Their plight was hopeless.
She shook her head. Elena Palomares was not going to give way to despair. She forced her brain to think of some way out, some way to overpower Jorge, get the gun from him. She looked down at Miguel who hurried along beside her. If they could only talk, between them they might figure some way to escape.
The storm seemed to be waning, growing weaker. Gusts of wind sometimes threatened to push them over, but mostly there was rain, never ending rain. She had never been so wet or so miserable. Think, she had to think of something, but her brain wouldn’t cooperate. She had difficulty thinking at all.
They arrived at the clearing west of the Ball Court, and still Elena hadn’t come up with a brilliant way to escape. Leaves, branches and odd pieces of tin lay scattered across the court that used to be beautifully manicured. In front of her climbed the Hieroglyphic Staircase, the protective tarp blown off and heaved to the side as if someone had wanted to get a better view of the steps. The fifty-second step would be near the top.
“Stop,” said Jorge. “Why have we come here?”
“We’re close now to the hiding place. I can show you.”
He looked at her, as if trying to judge her mettle. How much further could he push her until she’d break? She never would she vowed to herself.
“Give me the kid,” Jorge said. “If you try to pull anything stupid, the kid is dead.” He reached for Miguel while keeping the gun trained on Elena.
Miguel stepped back and clutched her hand harder.
“The child stays with me,” she said. A deadly calm took anchor inside her. “If you shoot me now, you won’t know where the hiding place is. We’ve come all this distance, and you won’t know.”
Her mouth tried to smile but was only halfway successful. She knew she had him. If he hit her again, it really wouldn’t matter. She didn’t care what happened to her. It was Miguel she wanted to protect. Jorge knew he was pushing too far and too hard. She could see it in his ugly face.
She turned without waiting for him to speak and walked on to Smoke Shell’s stela, holding tight to Miguel’s hand. She focused on the head and eyes of the stone face. She kept checking the angle where the eyes were gazing. They looked toward the upper steps of the Staircase.
She smiled to herself. She didn’t need to know the exact step. The Mayan magic number was fifty-two. It was the holy number in their cycle of worlds. Jorge and his ilk would not understand the significance. Only someone who had studied Mayan history would. The director had figured it out, and she liked to think he had left the clue for her. Maybe he had concealed something there.
A fuzzy plan formed in her mind. If she could get Jorge to follow them up to the top of the stairs, she might be able to push him backward somehow. The stairs were extremely narrow, and he had on boots. She had on water logged sandals. Footing normally was precarious. In this wet, windy environment it could be deadly. She was accustomed to the stairs and knew how to walk. He might not. There might be a chance to push him down the stairs. A drop from that height would be enough to knock him out. Even better, it might kill him. That gave her a perverse sense of satisfaction that didn’t bother her conscience in the slightest.
She lingered before the stela and gazed into Smoke Shell’s carved stone eyes, worn by time and weather. She wanted to kiss him for giving up his secret to her.
“Stop stalling,” said Jorge. He came close and pushed the muzzle of the gun into the side of her breast. “This is not time for sightseeing. Where is the hiding place? If you are trying to trick me, you will be very, very sorry.” He placed the gun next to her temple. “Click, click, click. That’s all it takes. But first I will let you experience the very slow death of the kid.” Jorge laughed, not a sane, friendly laugh, but a maniacal cackle.
Elena swallowed hard and willed the picture from her mind. “Take the gun away, or I won’t show you.”
An inch at a time Jorge brought the gun down.
She turned toward the stairs, trying hard not to let him see how much she was shaking. “Up there behind the stairs is the place.”
Jorge followed her gaze. At first, he didn’t seem to understand. “Up where?”
Elena indicated with a nod of her head. “We have to go up the stairs. It’s up there.”
Jorge started laughing again, that maniacal cackle. “You mean, all the time, I’ve been stealing stones from that stupid staircase, and the hiding place has been right here?”
She nodded, hoping and praying she was right. Jorge seemed to believe her.
“Okay, bitch. There’s a lot of steps and a lot of stones, which step is it?”
“I’ll show you. We’ll go up the steps together.”
“No, you tell me which step and which hieroglyphs.”
“Let the boy go.”
“No deal. Get moving. We all go.”
Elena wished she could signal Miguel to run if he got the chance. If she got caught in a struggle with Jorge, she was afraid Miguel would try to defend her. She wanted him to run for help, as fast as his little legs would carry him, like he did on the day of the murder. But Jorge was right on top of her, pushing her with the gun, and Miguel wouldn’t let go of her hand.
A brilliant idea occurred to her.
“Look,” she said, “all three of us can’t go up there side by side. Let me go first and lead the way. Let Miguel stay down here.”
“You think I’m a fool?” said Jorge. “Let the kid down here and then he runs away? No way. He’s my insurance. He goes first, you second, I’m last. And no funny business. Or you are both dead.”
Elena leaned over and said to Miguel. “All right, Miguel, you first. Go the whole way to the top.” And under her breath she quickly said, “Run for help the first chance you get.”
Jorge didn’t appear to hear the last comment because he shoved her to move. Miguel looked at her from the corner of his eye and gave her a little half-smile. He had understood. He started up the steps and stayed one or two steps in front.
Another round of rain pelted them and even Elena had trouble finding safe footing. The steps were slippery from the rain and soft moss that grew on the stones.
She looked back. They had gotten higher up than Jorge in no time. Between trying to see through the rain and get his big, boot laden feet on the ste
ps he had fallen behind.
“Stop.” He waved the gun at them. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
They stopped.
“Wait up for me.”
Elena calculated the distance Jorge would tumble if she pushed him now, but decided he hadn’t advanced far enough to do permanent damage. Just a little further, Jorge, she said in her mind. Just a little further.
His progress was at a snail’s pace because his booted feet would not fit the steps even when he tried to walk sideways, crab fashion. Elena was glad he was having so much trouble. She sneaked a glance at Miguel when Jorge had his head down. He had a little smile. Elena motioned with her hand for him to go up a few more steps, and he moved two more before Jorge raised his head.
“Don’t try anything.” Jorge screamed the words, his face contorted into a nasty grimace. “I should kill both of you now.”
Elena sat down on a step. “Then you won’t know where the hiding place is. What’s hidden that is so important you’d kill for it?”
Jorge stopped, trying to catch his breath. “Millions of dollars. Millions. I’ll be set for life. I’ll be rolling in money.”
Elena doubted that millions of dollars would be in a hiding place here, but there might be something worth millions of dollars. She wondered what it was and where it had come from. One thing she hadn’t figured out yet was where the exact hiding place was in the row of glyphs on the fifty-second step. Jorge might throw every glyph down the side of the pyramid looking for it.
When Jorge caught up, she turned and started up the steps again. The rain had let up. Soft gusts of wind caught her from time to time. Water made tiny puddles in the uneven surface of the steps. Elena was tired beyond caring, motivated only by the hope that Miguel could get away when she pushed Jorge. He’d have to stay up with her to do that, and they still weren’t high enough.
C’mon, Jorge, move those big clumsy feet up the steps.
“Don’t go so fast,” Jorge called. “Slow down, you stupid bitch.”
If he called her stupid bitch one more time ….
Now Miguel was at least ten steps higher. Jorge didn’t seem to notice. Elena waved Miguel higher. If he could get high enough to get out of range, he could run for it. The back side of the pyramid was rubble, sloping to a grassy area. If Miguel could make it up over the top and be gone, Jorge wouldn’t be able to shoot him.
C’mon Jorge, just a little higher. Elena waited while he took step after laborious step.
“Why don’t you take off those boots?” she called to him.
“Why don’t you shut up, bitch?”
She was going to slam him so hard when he got a little higher, he would regret the day his mother gave him birth.
The sky lightened steadily, as the dark storm clouds tired of their fury and moved off to the northwest. Gray clouds scudded across the sky and gave up more rain, but gentler now. The storm picked up speed, tiring of Copan Ruinas and its inhabitants, eager to terrorize another community.
Elena turned and inched up another few steps. Her muscles ached, especially the leg he had kicked, and she couldn’t see out of the injured eye. But those pains seemed minor to their fate if they could not get away from Jorge.
“Wait,” called Jorge. “How much further?” He sat on the step where he was and twisted around to keep them in sight. “Tell the kid to wait up.”
Elena called to Miguel, and he stopped and sat down.
Jorge’s as tired as I am, thought Elena with warped glee. None of them had had any sleep or anything to drink or eat, except rain as they could catch it. She was beyond pain and exhaustion. She was high on adrenalin.
“I’m going ahead of you,” Jorge said, as he rose to continue on.
Damnation, thought Elena, we aren’t high enough. I’ll have to chance it. It was the perfect opportunity to trip him up as he went by her.
He heard her thoughts.
“Move over.” He barked the command. “Don’t try anything funny when I pass. You know what will happen.”
Elena smiled a sweet, lopsided smile as half her face was puffy. “I promise I won’t try anything but remember you still don’t know which step.”
He stopped before her and pointed the gun at her head. “There aren’t that many left. I could just tear out the whole top of the pyramid.”
“That would take a long time.” She maintained her false smile. “It’s a little further up. Why don’t you go on? When you get to the step I’ll tell you.”
Jorge studied her, trying to guess what her game was.
She waited, not sure what he would do.
Without comment, he turned and went around her, giving her wide berth. The steps were more fragile and uneven toward the center of the stairs, and large gaps existed between some glyphs. She prayed he’d lose his footing.
He didn’t. And he was far enough away she couldn’t reach him. Elena calculated how long she could delay in telling him where the correct step was.
Miguel watched from his perch on a step higher up. Jorge was now midway between the two of them. He had miscalculated. It would be impossible for him to keep the gun trained on both of them at the same time. That thought must have occurred to him in the same instant because he stopped climbing and looked down at her.
Miguel saw his opportunity and bolted. Running up the rest of the stairs like a nimble mountain goat, he disappeared over the top of the pyramid.
When Jorge jerked around to see what Miguel was up to, Elena flew into action, lunging up the stairs, grabbing the man’s left ankle, and yanking with all her might. His fast swivel to see Miguel had changed his center of balance. His weight was on the right leg, and when Elena yanked his left, his footing faltered. In one instant he was on one leg in a poor imitation of a ballet pirouette. In the next instant he was airborne, flapping his arms in a wild try to right his balance, to keep from keeling over backward.
The surprise on his face changed to anger when he realized what was happening. He pointed the gun in Elena’s direction and fired.
In the same instant Elena plastered herself against the steps. She could hear the whistle of the bullet, as it zinged past her ear. Then she scrambled, not waiting for the next shot, catching an image of Jorge twisting and crashing backwards down the steps. She reached the top steps of the pyramid, jumped over the rubble, and looked back to see what had happened to Jorge.
He had landed in a sprawl at the bottom, arms askew. She couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. She hoped that Miguel was on his way back to town for help because she was giving out fast.
* * * * *
Dominic and Paco had almost reached the end of the trail to the ruins when Miguel came barreling from the direction of the Archaeological Park.
“Miguel,” cried Dominic, when he realized what was flying at them. “Wait up. It’s me, Dominic.”
The child stopped before him, panting hard, looking like a pack of jaguars was chasing him.
“Help, please help,” Miguel said between breaths. “Elena is at the Staircase with that man, and he has a gun. I heard a shot. He is going to kill her. I ran for help.” He pulled Dominic’s hand in the direction from which he had come.
Dominic broke into a run to keep up with Miguel, throwing all his effort into running as fast as he could. He could hear Paco’s footsteps pounding behind him.
They reached the clearing, and Miguel stopped.
“They aren’t there,” he said and pointed in the direction of the top of the Staircase. “Look. Someone is at the bottom. It looks like that man.”
Paco and Dominic exchanged glances.
Paco pulled out his gun. “Wait here,” he said. “Let me go first.” He held the gun up in the air and advanced cautiously toward the prone body.
“Elena is gone,” Miguel said in a small voice.
Dominic dropped to a crouch in front of Miguel and clasped his arms. “Where was she the last time you saw her?”
Miguel pointed to the top of the pyramid. “On the stairs. She sai
d she knew the hiding place and was taking the man to it.”
“Hiding place?” Dominic said. “What hiding place?”
Miguel shrugged his shoulders covered by a soggy T-shirt. “I don’t know. She said somewhere on the Staircase. That man thinks there’s a hiding place. He made us come here in the storm to find it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dominic caught movement of a figure on the trail behind them. He turned, hoping it was Elena. But it was José. Strangely enough, he was pointing a gun at them.
José said, “Now you are going to tell me where the hiding place is.”
“What are you doing?” Dominic stood up, holding fast to Miguel’s hand.
“Don’t come any closer,” said José.
“What do you mean? I thought you were a policeman,” said Dominic. A new surge of adrenalin fired through his veins.
“I am. Just not an honest one.” He gestured to Miguel. “We’re going to that hiding place.”
“I don’t know where it is,” said Miguel. “Elena wouldn’t tell the man where it was. She said she had to show him.”
“Then we’d better find Elena,” said José. He stepped to one side, peering through the trees. “Where is Paco?”
“He went to the Staircase,” Dominic said. “There’s someone lying at the bottom.”
“It’s that stupid Jorge,” said José. “He bungles every job. I don’t know how he ended up in this operation. I hope he’s dead. That will put an end to his bungling.”
“Is Paco in this with you?” asked Dominic.
José shook his head. “No, Paco is an honest man. I hope nothing bad happens to him. So keep that in mind. All I want to know is where the hiding place is.”
“Is that what this has been about? A hiding place?” asked Dominic.
José nodded his close shaved head. “Yes. The hiding place. The guy that got killed knew where it was, but Jorge killed him before he showed anybody. Dumb bastard’s always going off like that.”
Exotic #02 - The Hieroglyphic Staircase Page 19
