by PJ Skinner
‘Yes, he seems to be struggling to cope with success. I’m afraid he might become a liability on this trip, if he can’t stay sober. I’m hoping that between you and Wilson, you can keep him on the straight and narrow until you get to site.’
‘I know what you mean. I’ve really taken to Alfredo. He makes Gloria very happy and he’s such a charming man. It’s impossible to resist him, despite the drinking. I can’t say that I’m convinced Wilson is the picture of sobriety himself. I hope I can keep them both on the straight and narrow.’
‘Sam, I know you don’t like Wilson but it’s for the best, I think. I wish I was coming but I can’t risk it. Doctor’s orders. If it wasn’t for that, nothing could keep me away. In fact it would be the adventure of my life. I can’t wait to hear all about it.’
‘I know.’
Sam wanted Mike to feel relaxed about the trip, so she pretended that she understood why a potential rapist was coming with them into the jungle. Mike, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned by that. She could tell that he had rationalised it to himself because he needed them both on the trip. She had fought Wilson off the last time, had she not? Who could know what sort of teasing went on?
Mike was sure that no one jumped a woman without any provocation. The treasure came first as far as he was concerned. Sam would have to get a grip.
XII
The next few days were manic. To make matters worse, Tati announced that she was going away for the holiday week to attend to some family business.
‘But Tati, we need you here. Can’t you go another time?’ asked Mike through Marta.
‘I have to go now, my aunt is very ill,’ she said in Spanish.
Marta questioned her and shook her head at Mike.
Since she never took any time off and seemed desperate to go, Mike decided that they would have to cope without her. Gloria sent her children to stay with their grandmother and got her own maid to come to Avenida Miranda and cook a constant supply of food for the ‘troops’ in the office over the weekend. Mike had planned to take the team to San Martin on the evening of the national holiday, so that they could take the train to the jungle the next morning.
They bought the usual boxes to take with them of bottled water, tuna, rice, cooking chocolate (which survived in the heat better), Ritz crackers, raisins and peanuts for snacks. Sam packed tea bags and powdered milk for herself, as the locals drank only coffee. She double-wrapped her clothes in plastic bags so they would not get wet in the canoe. She packed a dozen rolls of film for her camera and some mints for the train journey. She also included a woollen hat to wear at night to prevent hair loss from the rats, and a big bottle of insect repellent.
She could hardly contain her mounting excitement about the trip. What if they actually found the treasure? Would she be famous? Maybe even a bit rich? It had dawned on her that this was no ordinary search and that they could solve one of the biggest mysteries of Inca history. No wonder Mike was so disappointed that he could not go. She could not help wishing for a positive outcome, even though the cynic in her could not quite believe that the treasure had not been found and divided up years before.
Then it hit her. If they found the treasure, whose would it be? Presumably Mike would take the lion’s share for Edward Beckett, who had financed the trips. Mike would doubtless take a large share for himself too. Would the team who found the treasure benefit as well? Alfredo would surely expect something for his discovery. How would it be divided? And what about the State? Surely there were laws about historical treasure? And if she was thinking about this, maybe the others were, too. Funny that no one had mentioned it. She shrugged and made herself push those worries away. If they found anything, they would have to deal with it later.
To Sam’s surprise, Alfredo appeared to be less enthusiastic about the trip than she had expected. He was distant and seemed preoccupied and distracted. He was unwilling or unable to accept that his search could be at an end, checking and rechecking his documents and staring obsessively at Sam’s photo of the frog cypher. She wondered if the shock of discovering that for years he had been searching in the wrong place had been a bit much for her alcoholic friend. Alfredo had a fragile grip on reality at the best of times. He preferred to talk about literature rather than current affairs and was happiest with a glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other. As the time came to set out from Calderon, he seemed to doubt his own reasoning.
‘But what if it’s not there, Sam? I can’t be sure, you know. If only I had more time.’
‘Alfredo, we have faith in you to find out the truth about the treasure. After all these years searching, you may finally find what you’re looking for.’
‘Be careful what you wish for, Sam, because you just might find it,’ he replied.
Sam understood that the treasure hunt was Alfredo’s entire existence and she was unsure what effect finding an answer to the riddle would have on her friend. Gloria tried to help, but even she could not reach Alfredo in his lost world.
They set out for San Martin in two cars. The excitement Sam felt was only momentarily extinguished by Gloria running over a stray dog which wandered into their path. Gloria had no choice but to run the dog over, as the oncoming cars and pedestrian traffic on the side of the road gave her no space to avoid it. There was a gasp in the car as it bounced over the body of the canine.
‘I hope that’s not an omen,’ said Alfredo.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Gloria, who drove on as if nothing had happened. Sam was not convinced by this show of bravado, as Gloria proceeded to light a cigarette with shaky hands. They reached the town in the late afternoon and parked outside the Hotel California. All of the goods were unloaded and placed in Sam’s room, leaving a small space for her to reach the bed. She was just happy she did not have to share her room again. Mike and Gloria got back into the cars and drove back to Calderon in convoy.
Everyone went straight to bed after supper, even Wilson. Sam was hoping for a repeat performance from the love-struck troubadours but they did not materialise. She was soon fast asleep.
***
Meanwhile in Calderon, Señor Sanchez’s fixer, Segundo, had been busy in the streets of the old town. He followed a trail that led him to the home of a certain Jose Falconi, a well-known thief and violent lowlife. He knocked on the door and waited. A battered-looking young woman answered the door. She was thin and bruised with a new black eye. She wrapped her shawl tighter as the cold evening air hit her frail body.
‘Yes?’ she asked. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’m looking for Jose Falconi. I’m an old friend. I’ve come to repay a debt.’
‘He’s not here at the moment. He should be back soon. Would you like to wait?’
‘No thank you. I’ll wait in the cantina around the corner. Would you be good enough to direct him there when he gets home, please?’
‘Of course, Señor. I will do that as soon as he arrives.’
Segundo felt sorry for her, as he noticed how the expectation of some money had lifted her spirits. He knew that she would never receive any again from Jose, although he doubted that she was doing well on the pittance he was obviously giving her. He stuffed a couple of generous notes in her hand, knowing that Señor Sanchez would approve. Despite her protestations, he assured her that he had come into some money and that God had told him to be generous with it.
‘Well, God bless you and keep you, sir,’ she said.
‘Now, don’t go telling him about the money,’ said Segundo, but he could see from the way she stuffed it down her bra that she had no intention of telling Falconi. As she shut the door, he walked away, feeling that she would be much better off without him. That black eye she had was not from walking into a door.
He walked around the corner and entered the small cantina that smelt of deep fried tripe and old cooking oil. He ordered a soup of pig’s trotters and settled down to wait.
***
The next morning in San Martin, they all got up with
the lark. Wilson hired a barrow boy, who was passing the hotel, to carry their supplies. They were soon standing and shivering in the cold dawn light, waiting for the train to arrive. Alfredo showed unexpected efficiency and had organised several porters to make a pile of their supplies next to the tracks, ready for loading onto the roof. Wilson had pushed his way through the normal mêlée at the ticket office and he and Sam had made their way back to the tracks, clutching the tickets.
A lot of people were pushing and shoving around them. Sam felt quite claustrophobic. Suddenly, her money belt slid mysteriously from around her waist, and in a flash, it was gone. Sam gasped and looked around. All she could see was a sea of eager faces and jostling bodies as the train was coming into the siding. She tugged Wilson’s arm.
‘Wilson, someone stole my money belt.’
It was obvious that he had not understood her. He shrugged and turned away.
‘My money. My passport. Stolen.’
‘Stolen? Shit! Move back from here. Wait at the station.’ He disappeared into the crowd toward Alfredo, who was directing his porters to lift the boxes onto the roof. Sam could see him gesticulating at the men, who were lowering the boxes back down to the ground. Alfredo looked over at Sam, who shrugged apologetically. They all knew that no one could travel anywhere in Sierramar without identification. Locals had to carry an identity card, and foreigners had to carry their passports with them or risk arrest or worse. They would not be travelling to Riccuarte that day. Sam felt a terrible sense of anti-climax. She gazed at the train, which was now full and ready to go. The passengers were crammed in even more than usual, and some people were hanging out of the glassless windows for air. Then Sam saw someone she knew. Tati was on the train. But why?
‘Tati!’ she shouted. The train was moving away and there was no reaction on the face she thought was Tati’s. Sam stood there with a startled look on her face. Wilson came over with Alfredo.
‘What now?’ he asked, furious about the delay in their departure.
‘Tati, she was on the train. I’m pretty sure,’ she faltered, feeling less sure under the scrutiny of Wilson and Alfredo.
‘Why would Tati be on the train? Don’t be stupid, Sam. All black people look the same,’ said Wilson dismissively in Spanish. ‘You’re confused because you were robbed. Tati is in Calderon doing the laundry.’
Alfredo translated this to Sam, who also became furious. She flushed red with confusion and her knuckles whitened as she struggled to contain her emotions.
‘But she’s on holiday. It was her. I’m sure. I know what Tati looks like. Well, almost sure anyway…’ Sam trailed off, embarrassed, as she realised that Wilson had made her look stupid. Wilson had turned away and was attracting the attention of a local policeman, who was loitering at the coffee stall. He walked over to the man, taking some bills out of his pocket. Alfredo rolled his eyes at her.
‘Don’t worry, Sam,’ he said. ‘The local police know the pickpockets who work the station. They’ll get your passport back by this evening.’
‘Seriously? How can you be sure?’
‘I’m from here, Sam. I’m pretty sure.’
It was a grumpy group that returned to the hotel to book rooms for another night. Their mood was not improved by Alfredo singing his version of the Eagles’ song Hotel California.
‘Welcome to the Hotel California. You can check out any time you want, but you can never leeeeeave.’
‘Shut up, Alfredo,’ said Wilson.
They all went back to bed for a couple of hours and re-emerged for a lunch of chicken soup and rice with tripe. The two men munched their way happily through this culinary feast, but just when she was about to tuck in, Sam was put off by the chicken’s feet floating to the top of her bowl of soup. When Alfredo translated the second course as tripe, nausea rose in her throat.
She had rice and a fried egg instead. She had had enough local culture for one day.
They were all sitting in the front lobby of the hotel in the late afternoon when Sam’s money belt was pushed through a gap at the bottom of the entrance door. Sam ran over to the door and looked outside into the street. The street was full of local people bustling about their business and local buses picking their way through the crowded streets spewing out clouds of exhaust fumes. She could not see anyone who looked remotely suspicious. She picked up the money belt. The strap had been sliced through cleanly with surgical precision. She shuddered as she imagined just how sharp the knife must have been and just how close it had been to her skin. Unzipping the purse, she gasped in amazement. Not only was her passport inside but also her money.
‘I told you, Sam. It’s traditional. The police always get it back for you if you pay them,’ said Alfredo, who was still sitting in his chair.
‘But the money is still in it,’ protested Sam. ‘What sort of pickpocket leaves the money behind?’
‘Never mind the pickpockets,’ said Alfredo. ‘What sort of policeman would return the money belt with the money inside?’
Wilson shook his head in disbelief. He reached for the money belt and marvelled at its contents. Even Sam knew this was an unlikely scenario. The police in Sierramar were not famed as beacons of honesty. He showed Alfredo the cash.
‘Now that’s really weird,’ said Alfredo.
‘Perhaps the pickpocket was looking for something else? A document or credit cards?’ Wilson was keen to dismiss the incident as a freak occurrence. He was anxious to get out and about and see if he could find some entertainment in town.
‘It’s a mystery,’ said Alfredo.
‘I’m going out for a walk around town,’ said Wilson. ‘Alfredo, are you coming?’
‘Yes. Let me get my coat.’
Sam was still standing near the door of the hotel. She knew she was not included. She could not think of anything worse than a night with two alcoholics but she still felt hurt and excluded. Even Alfredo had not asked her if she wanted to come. She swallowed her disappointment.
‘Have a good time,’ she said, knowing they would not. They would just get drunk and talk about how badly life had treated them and then come home in time for a rotten hangover on the train. She still felt left out. For once, she did not know if it was because she was a woman, a foreigner, or they just did not like her. Maybe it was all three reasons. This was not at all reassuring, as there was nothing she could do about any of them. Sam craved acceptance more than air. She stomped off to her room and hid under the ancient blanket. Down in the street, people were shutting up shops and going home to their families.
It started to rain. Sam sat up in bed and watched the rain wash the rubbish off the streets and into the drains. The old town, with its wooden balconies hanging over the streets full of laundry and flowers, reminded her of the Wild West.
She wondered where Wilson and Alfredo had got to and wished she was not so sensitive. She hoped that Alfredo could keep a secret when he was drunk. She did not want Wilson knowing about the treasure but she had a nasty suspicion that he already knew.
XIII
Back in Calderon, Señor Sanchez received a call just as he was getting ready for bed. He had been waiting with growing impatience and trepidation for confirmation of the identity of the man who had tried to kill his daughter. He worried that someone was taking revenge on him for some dodgy deal he had done in the past, like cutting corners on a building contract or failing to reinforce a road properly before applying tarmac.
He had lately withdrawn from that sort of business and was planning to live out a comfortable old age with his vast fortune. Gloria was part of that future. Having neglected her in the past, he was now trying to make up for it before it was too late. The sabotage of Gloria’s car had been a massive wake-up call for him. It had forced him to spring into action in the only way he knew how. He lumbered back into the hallway to pick up the persistently ringing phone. He had a good idea who would be risking his wrath by calling so late.
‘Segundo?’ He grunted. ‘What news do you have for me?’
‘Boss, forgive me for disturbing you so late. It couldn’t wait until the morning. Your daughter may still be in danger.’
‘Nothing is more important to me than her. Tell me what you know.’
‘I discovered that a certain Jose Falconi was the man who cut the brakes. He was low-life scum who would’ve murdered his mother for a couple of dollars. Finding out who paid him was more complicated. I’m afraid I had to use some persuasion. I hope that is alright with you.’
‘Naturally. Anything you had to do to save my daughter is legitimate in my eyes, Segundo. I will shelter you from any consequences. Where is this Falconi now?’ asked Don Sanchez.
‘I understand that he is swimming in the Yanacocha Lake.’
‘Of course. Good. And who is this scoundrel who ordered him to murder my daughter? Tell me his name,’ ordered Don Sanchez.
‘Wilson Malvado,’ answered Segundo. ‘An apt name, don’t you think, sir? He’s well known about town as a frequenter of brothels and low-life bars. I understand that he owes a great deal of money to some dubious people. It’s not clear why he targeted your daughter. I haven’t managed to find him yet as he’s travelling to the coast. Do you want me to find out where he is, or to wait for him to come back to Calderon?’
Segundo waited patiently for an answer, his hands sweating with anticipation. The phone slipped out of his grasp and when he picked it up there was only a dial tone.
Hernan Sanchez had hung up and was now frantically dialling his daughter’s number. He felt sick and there was a cold prickling at the back of his neck. No one answered. Where was she? He shuffled back to his room and pressed the bell to call for his maid. Agatha appeared in disarray with her long pigtail hanging down her back. He sent her to wake the driver and to order him to have the car out front as soon as possible. Meanwhile, he struggled out of his pyjamas and back into his clothes, panting with exertion.
