Martyr's Inferno

by Scott Gamboe

  They passed several resorts along the way. Most of them were very opulent establishments. A few were set far off the road, hidden by towering privacy walls. The taxi safely reached the narrow streets of Playa del Carmen. Krista tipped the driver before they walked down the steep hill to their beachfront hotel.

  They checked into their room to drop off their bags. Krista consulted a map to locate the office they needed to visit. Playa del Carmen was the headquarters for a company called Cardinal Investments, which was another front for Tony Marcel's organization. The company caught Jim's attention because most of the deposits came from a wide assortment of individuals and companies, with amounts well over ten thousand dollars. To Jim, this difference was quite significant. The other companies were probably just covers for deposits made by Tony's henchman, mainly drug money. However, since these deposits were larger and made in a foreign country, he supposed that the account served a different purpose. He hoped it was deposits for other jobs Tony pulled; among them, murder for hire.

  Jim suggested they should look the part of American tourists. They selected bathing suits, tank tops, and sandals from their suitcase. While Krista slipped inside the bathroom to change clothes, Jim put on his trunks in the main room. When the bathroom door opened and Krista returned in her bikini, his eyes flew wide open as his face flushed red. He had known she had a stunning figure, but he had never seen so much of it. The skimpy bikini made her legs look longer, and she definitely had the build of a runner. He folded up the sheet of paper with directions to the office to try to cover his embarrassment. Krista laughed softly at his unease. She donned a long tank top.

  "Never seen a woman in a bikini before?"

  Jim chose not to answer. They left by the rear of the hotel and strolled along the beach for several blocks. He smiled when he saw the bar next door to their hotel. It had a sand-covered floor, wooden barstools, and a small stage at the back. Krista noticed his fixed gaze. She saw the pirate flag-draped bar and elbowed him in the ribs.

  The trip to the office took ten minutes. While they walked, Jim reflected on his trip to Mexico with Matt, just a few weeks prior. Everything seemed the same as before. Cozumel was still faintly visible in the distance. The sun was hot and the beer was cold. The waves crashed ceaselessly upon the beach. Still, this trip had a different feel. Before, he and Matt were there as friends. They were trying to forget a life-threatening experience they had shared. Now, Matt was trying to kill him, and he was involved in a desperate quest to prove his innocence.

  Krista slipped her hand into his. He felt his pulse quicken at her touch. All too soon, they drew abreast with the newly constructed condominiums. They turned away from the Caribbean Sea onto Constituyeten Avenida.

  The building looked like any office building found in America. It was three storeys tall, with a wide assortment of signs proclaiming the owners of the various workplaces. The sign on one door read, "Cardinal Investments, Incorporated: a Twin Cities Trust Company." Jim held the door open. Krista patted him lightly on the cheek as she stepped inside. The secretary, a blonde who Jim assumed had moved south after retiring in the United States, greeted them with a nasal tone.

  "Can I help you?"

  Krista was first to the counter. She fumbled through her hand bag for documents both she and Jim knew were not there. She frowned and gave a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I had a flyer, but I seem to have lost it. My husband and I are interested in buying a condo here in Playa. You came highly recommended."

  The secretary pushed her glasses higher on her nose. "We certainly have a variety of properties available for you to consider. What was your price range?"

  "Price isn't our main factor. What we really want is something along the beach. We plan to rent it out while we aren't here and use the rent money to pay our mortgage."

  While Jim and Krista waited patiently, the secretary pulled various papers from her desk. She stacked them together on the counter and spread them out before the two visitors. She took the time to point out various amenities available with each selection. Jim made a show of hopping from one foot to the other. He looked past the counter to the office beyond.

  "Sir, do you need to use the restroom?"

  Jim managed a sheepish nod. She gave him directions to their facilities, located deeper in the office. He followed her instructions until he was out of sight. He ducked into an ornate room, large enough to be a studio apartment. The doorway and walls were trimmed in oak. The oversized desk was stained a matching honey brown color. A substantial padded leather chair was behind the desk, turned slightly askew when the room's occupant last abandoned it. Behind the desk, Jim found a locked filing cabinet.

  He dropped his pack to the floor and opened several drawers. He had to hurry, not only due to the danger of discovery by the return of the office manager, but also by the secretary, who might come looking for him. He finished checking the desk drawers with nothing to show. The lock on the filing cabinet defeated his efforts to force the drawers open. His eyes swept the room for another place to search.

  The ringing of the door chime brought him up short. The voice of the secretary carried down the hall to him. "Hello, Mr. Hernandez! This is Diane Clement. She and her husband are looking for some investment property. Do you have a moment?"

  "Ah, actually, I'm sorry, but I just have enough time to grab some papers from my office. I'll be back in an hour, if you can return then."

  Despite Krista's protestations, the manager begged off and told her he would return as soon as he could. Jim's eyes darted wildly about the office as he looked for a place to hide. Without any other option, he dove beneath the desk and pulled the chair in front of the opening. Immediately, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and his hands began to tremble. For a few seconds, he allowed his eyes to close as he fought down the unreasonable terror creeping over him.

  He was protected against being seen from in front of the desk, because the facing that covered him went all the way to the floor. But if Hernandez sat in his chair, Jim would likely be found immediately. He heard footsteps in the office, pressed himself up tightly against the front of the desk, and waited. The door to the office creaked open, and Jim heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

  CHAPTER 10

  Hernandez came around the desk. He placed a sun-browned hand on the back of the chair. Jim tensed his legs, ready to launch his body from beneath the desk in a bid for freedom. It was all he could do not to take deep, gasping breaths. The desk seemed to close in around him. His hiding place grew smaller with each passing moment. Hernandez flopped heavily into his seat. He exhaled noisily as he scooted closer to the desk. When his knees were inches from Jim's chest, he stopped. One hand slipped beneath the main drawer. Off to one side, there was a magnetic key holder Jim had missed, attached to a small metal plate screwed into the side of the desk. It yielded the key to the filing cabinet. Hernandez flipped through several folders. He found what he wanted and relocked the cabinet. He replaced the key. Coughing heavily, he left the office.

  Jim waited a few seconds before he scrambled out into the open air. He allowed himself a few moments to regain his composure. His trembling hands groped about beneath the desk. He grabbed the key and opened the filing cabinet. The first drawer only contained information about properties the company was planning to either buy or improve. But the bottom drawer held the company's financial records. Jim pawed through them one file at a time. Toward the rear of the drawer, he found the deposit records. With precious little time left to him, he chose the expedient, if cliché, method of spreading the papers out on the floor and photographing them. He piled the stack together and replaced it in the file folder. With his camera tucked safely away in his pack, Jim sidled out of the office to the restroom. He flushed and ran the faucet, splashing water on his face. When he returned to the counter where Krista waited, he almost laughed. Her eyes darted wildly about as she strummed her fingers on the counter.

  "Thank you," he told the secretary. "Did we find anything
?"

  Yes," Krista said. "You managed to delay long enough to avoid having to help me. But you didn't miss all the fun. Mr. Hernandez, the manager, can't see us for an hour. We'll have to come back."

  They accepted several photocopied flyers from the secretary. With promises to return at the appointed time, they left. At Jim's insistence, they returned straightaway to their hotel room. He wanted to look through his photographs to see what he had found. The pair kept their pace slow and casual. Mexican police officers, some armed with automatic rifles, patrolled the streets. Jim definitely wanted to avoid their scrutinizing gaze.

  For a reason he could not fathom, Jim felt on edge. Maybe it was the near-miss in the offices of Cardinal Investments. Or it could be the way Tony always found them. He frequently checked to their rear to make certain they were not followed. Krista noticed his furtive glances.

  "Is something wrong?"

  He shrugged, pursing his lips. "I can't say. There's nothing I can put my finger on. I just have this feeling . . . something's not right."

  "I've always been a firm believer in listening to that inner voice. Let's be careful."

  "I agree. Let's grab our things and see if we can change our flight to this afternoon. The sooner we get to Saint Martin, the happier I'll be."

  They walked a little faster. Jim never saw anyone who appeared to be tailing them, but he still could not relax. They slipped through a breezeway and into the courtyard of their hotel. The white stone walls reflected the glaring rays of the sun. Jim squinted, despite his sunglasses. He looked back one last time. Two Mexican police officers stood with a tourist along the beach behind their hotel. Jim breathed a sigh of relief. The presence of the officers would confound any efforts by Tony's people.

  They bypassed the shimmering waters of the swimming pool. Jim gave his best nonchalant pose as he admired the women sunbathing on the pool deck. Krista noticed despite his efforts and gave him a playful shove. They climbed the spiral staircase whose stone steps had been worn smooth from the passing of countless feet. Jim had their key in hand by the time they reached their room. They had not unpacked, so it took only moments to get their belongings ready to go. He dropped the camera's memory card into his pocket. Krista picked up the room phone and called the airline. She placed their flight schedule on the table before her. Jim exchanged his sandals for his running shoes, then nodded at Krista's own footwear. Her flip-flops were not entirely appropriate for their situation.

  A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. They exchanged a tense look. Jim wished belated for some type of weapon. Setting his feet down as softly as possible, he slipped across the room to stand near the door. There was no peephole, which was just as well, because too many people knew to watch the peephole from the outside of the room. He eased his ear against the heavy wooden door and tried to listen. He heard two distinctly different voices, talking in low, hushed tones. They spoke in Spanish, so he could not understand what they were saying.

  The knock repeated. "Señor. Open the door, please. We are with the police department." A static-filled radio sounded in the open-air hall outside. Krista rose to her feet as she placed their papers inside Jim's backpack. He edged away from the door.

  He considered leaving by the balcony. They were on the second floor, but he was confident they could safely reach the ground, as long as the window was not being watched. "Check the rear," he whispered. She leaned against the wall and peeked out through the curtains.

  She shook her head. "There are two police officers in the courtyard. It's pretty clear which room they're watching."

  He grimaced. "We're in trouble."

  A solid blow struck the door. The wooden frame splintered with a crash. Another jolt, and the door swung into the room. It dangled precariously by one hinge as three police officers charged into the room, weapons leveled, shouting at them in Spanish. Although he could not speak the language, there was no question about their intentions. Jim eased his hands into the air. He did not resist as he was forced against the wall. A forearm pressed firmly against the back of his head and ground his face into the stone. Someone forcefully yanked his arms behind his back. Another pair of hands ran roughly over his body looking for weapons. He could not move his head in the slightest, so he had no way to know what they had done to Krista.

  An officer grabbed Jim by the hair and jerked him around, pressing a forearm against his throat. A man in a business suit entered the room. His dark hair was slicked back. He smiled pleasantly, his hands clasped before him. Jim assumed he was a detective.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Clement. I believe we have a few issues to discuss." He motioned to the door. One of the officers stepped out through the open doorway, swiveling the remains of the door back into place. Jim assumed the officer had taken up a position in the hallway. The newcomer licked his lips. The smile never melted away as he pulled a cigar from inside his sport coat. He removed a lighter from his pocket and lit up.

  The detective spoke around the cigar clenched in his teeth, which garbled his words. "The first problem we have is your fraudulent identification papers. You have entered this country illegally." He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. "Let's see. James Hunter and Krista Marcel." He glanced up over the note. "Mr. Hunter, it seems you are wanted for multiple homicides back home."

  "He didn't do it," Krista said. "We're here to prove my brother was the killer."

  The detective glared at the officer holding Krista. The officer smacked her sharply across the face. Jim pushed forward, but the officer in front of him shoved him back.

  "Miss Marcel, I'm aware of everything. Your brother keeps me well-informed. If it makes you feel better, he asked that you be allowed to come home, if possible. Unfortunately, that will not be the case. I will send him my condolences."

  Something snapped inside Jim's mind. Shades of Matt's betrayal stung him, a betrayal that came from not only a fellow officer, but his best friend. Now there were three police officers in the room, with another right outside, and all had taken money from Tony Marcel. Jim knew if they left the hotel with the officers, they would likely be taken to a remote area and shot. Tony did not want them in prison. He wanted them dead.

  Jim slumped along the wall, feigning weakness. The officer stepped closer and reached low to stand Jim upright. Jim brought his knee up sharply. He struck the man's chin, knocking him backward. The other officer released Krista, but as he took his first step toward Jim, she drove a kick solidly up between his legs. With a howl of agony, he collapsed to the floor.

  The fourth officer pounded against the damaged door, which was wedged shut against the shattered frame. Jim swept up a fallen rifle as he raced across the room. He reached the doorway just as the door swung open and final officer entered the room, gun leveled. Jim swung his own weapon like a club. The man was unconscious before he hit the floor. He aimed the rifle at the man in the suit, who stood immobile in the center of the room.

  "Tony told me a lot about you, Señor. I know you won't kill me."

  Jim’s right index finger edged toward the trigger but stopped. He’s right. I can’t do this. His indecision ended when Krista grabbed the bulky metal lamp off the nightstand and slammed it across the man's head. He collapsed in a heap, unmoving. Jim tossed the rifle aside. He knelt next to the man in the suit to pat him down. His searching hands found a small handgun, which he slipped into his waistband. Collecting the officers' radios and weapons, he stuffed them into his suitcase. He checked out the window once more. The officers outside were still in place.

  The officer who had held Krista groaned and thrashed. He gritted his teeth as he looked up at Jim. "You'll pay for this!"

  Unbidden, the image of him striking Krista flashed in Jim's mind. His entire body stiffened as white-hot rage boiled within him. He had a handgun belonging to the detective. It would be a simple matter to kill this man, insuring he couldn't report the incident to his superiors. But the moment passed, and Jim was a police officer once more.

  He n
udged the officer with his foot. "Come on, Krista. Let's get out of here."

  She still held the lamp in her hands, the cord wrapped about one wrist. "Wait." The man who had held her tried to sit up. She swung the lamp at his head. He thrashed once, then went limp. She tossed the lamp onto the bed. "Now, let's get out of here."

  Jim slung his pack over his shoulder. He hefted the heavy suitcase and led the way outside. He pulled the door shut as best he could but paused outside the room, peering over the edge of the railing. The ground was at least twenty feet down through a narrow opening between the hotel and a building behind it. He unzipped the suitcase, removed the weapons and radios, and dumped them into the gap. With the zipper closed once more, he reared back and heaved the suitcase across the opening. It tumbled across the roof and came to rest against a vent. Krista climbed atop the railing. She leaped across and rolled to her feet, but Jim was less graceful. He came up with a few scrapes in the process. At the other side of the roof, he dropped the suitcase over the edge. They scampered down to the street.

  Jim ignored the queer looks from passersby. He picked up their luggage. The two walked briskly up the hill away from the beach. He had no idea how long it would be before their escape was discovered, but he wanted to be as far away as possible. Another alley led north, narrow and dark, and filled with debris. Jim pointed into the alley. They slipped through the incapacious opening.

  "They'll be calling out our description pretty soon,” Jim said. “We need to change clothes."

  He cast a quick glance in each direction to ensure they were alone in the alley. He dropped the suitcase to the ground. Krista picked through the clothing piled inside. She selected simple nondescript attire for both of them. Casting modesty aside, she discarded the bikini and slipped into the shorts and top she had chosen. After he recovered from his initial shock, Jim wordlessly followed suit.