Jungle of Deceit

by Maureen A. Miller

  “Yes, I had a good idea where the stolen shipment was heading. And it’s a delicate matter that can’t be handled by the authorities. I needed you to confirm my suspicions. To tell me for sure that the compound you speak of is occupied by the men only you have made a visual contact with. I needed you because I know the episodes you’ve dealt with in your career, and that combined with your interaction with these guerillas, you were my best bet to accomplish two things.”

  Nonplussed, Mitch prompted, “Which are?”

  “Identify my shipment…and get Alex out of there.”

  “Excuse me?” he coughed and leaned in closer to the wall mount. “As of twenty-four hours ago, I had never heard of you. I had never heard of Alexandra Langley. And you had never heard of me, although I’m beginning to doubt that fact. What’s with all the manipulation, Phillip? I want out of this.”

  Mitch sliced a look into the market to make sure he was alone and then hunched over the mouthpiece. “You knew what buttons to push with me. How could you have possibly known about Kosovo? You show up on that tarmac, escort me into the back seat, and start dropping the litany of my career. The events of Kosovo won’t come up on a wiki search. How could you have obtained that knowledge in the back seat of a limousine?” Incensed now, Mitch shot out, “You preyed on my lack of clarity on that dock. Hell, I was still seeing three of everything. I was not lucid.”

  “You were lucid enough to get on the plane the next morning,” Nicholson countered in a deep voice. “Don’t be sanctimonious now. You are there because you want redemption. You want my power to reinstate you. So let’s just cut with all this bullshit, Mr. Hasslet and move on to the matter at hand.”

  Mitch’s hand curled into a fist and he rested it atop the phone’s wall mount. “You didn’t answer one damn question. So let’s cut with all this bullshit, Mr. Nicholson. What is in that compound?”

  “You won’t believe this, but I don’t know. I suspect my artifacts are there−but why or how remains a mystery. I first learned about that complex when an archeologist in the area reported seeing it, and then he disappeared.”

  “So cryptic, Phillip.” Mitch chastised with barely contained ire. “You knew this and you let her group come down here.”

  “I can’t control Alex. I try—for her best interest, but that’s all I can do. She was forty miles away last I checked. She gave me her charts and I honestly thought she was branching away from that area, not towards it. I even tried to suggest a different location, fabricating some information to get her out of the area. I just found out today that she moved the camp.”

  “You fabricated information. Wow, it’s good to know I’m not the only one you manipulated.”

  “There is no time to haggle over details right now. It is what it is. And when you return and collect what will most likely be a substantial check from HAA, accompanied by a referral that will name any job you want, we can sit back in my office over a couple of glasses of whiskey and hash out all the details. Right now your best bet for answers and an expeditious resolve is to find the exact location of my shipment and get Alexandra safely out of there.”

  “Why not the authorities?” Mitch asked.

  “Authorities are the last people that can be trusted. The absolute last.”

  The finality to that statement was the only bit of truth Mitch walked away with from the conversation. He honestly believed Nicholson’s lack of trust in the law−but after that he did not believe a damn word.

  “I didn’t know a discussion on photography could last so long.” Alex interrupted.

  Mitch jerked around. Alex stood with several bags hanging from her fingertips.

  “Yeah, well when you’re getting your ass reamed for not having anything, the conversation gets defensive, right Phillip?”

  “Put her back on the phone,” Nicholson ordered in a hushed tone. “And don’t you say a word about this conversation. For as little as you trust me, Alex trusts no one. You’re on your own now. Use your own judgment. Get back to this phone as soon as you can and I’ll do everything possible to get you both out of that jungle.”

  Mitch arched an eyebrow. “You do that. Here’s Alex.” He handed over the phone.

  ***

  “You didn’t sound very pleased from what I could tell.” Alex mentioned the moment they were outside and began the hike back to the Jeep.

  “I’m not. You think I was whining on the phone with Nicholson? No, I told him that I felt we were in danger here. But hey, what would my opinion count for? I’m just a guy with a camera.”

  “No need for the attitude, Mitch. I already agreed with you. When we get back to camp, we’re taking it down and moving on.”

  They were out of sight from the town square, and the jeep was just a little way up the road. Alex was startled when Mitch grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt, facing him. He reached up with his other hand so that now he was cupping both her arms and looking at her with such intensity her breath hitched.

  “What?” she whispered, afraid.

  “I−”

  His eyebrows knitted, and she thought he seemed in pain as he struggled to say what was on his mind.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  She was ready to berate such nonsense, but the anguish in his eyes made her hesitate. He was sincere.

  “Why?”

  She felt him squeeze her upper arms.

  “You’d just laugh at me.”

  “No. Why, Mitch?”

  His hands fell, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

  “Maybe I’m starting to feel a little something for you, Alex. Maybe I just want to know you’re going to be safe.”

  Her first instinct was to laugh, but that was a defensive reaction. Her second instinct was to remind him that he was not going to get into her pants, but that too seemed an overreaction. In reality, his declaration made her stomach lurch.

  “I don’t understand,” she frowned.

  Mitch chuckled and rounded the jeep, his hand on the door. “I’ll explain it in detail later.”

  “F−fine.”

  Still frowning, Alex climbed into the driver seat. She turned ready to pursue the topic, but the moment was gone. Mitch was focused on the jungle as if he anticipated an ambush. That keen deliberation was contagious. She tapped the gas and silently encouraged the vehicle to go faster.

  She could smell it before she saw it. Traveling through a tunnel of vegetation, they should have been swathed in the jungle’s humid perfume. The strong scent of bromeliads should have clashed with the tang of mud and monkey excrement.

  Beside her, Mitch was quiet. She could tell that he had not noticed the alteration in the dank air. Only she sensed it. She and that flock of toucans that just took flight, their vibrant colors lost in the clash of sunlight leaking through the trees.

  Smoke.

  Alex’s fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel as she drew in another deep breath and lifted her face to calculate the path of the wind.

  “What?” Mitch was looking at her now.

  “What?”

  “What is it? And don’t give me that nothing crap. You are up to forty-five, which is about ten miles past the limits of this piece of crap.”

  She ignored him. The smell was more pervasive now−as was their proximity to the camp.

  “Go.” Mitch commanded.

  His voice was lost beyond the sound of the Jeep’s tires slapping into muddy ruts, but she saw him lean forward. He had smelled it too.

  “Alex−” he grabbed the top of the windshield frame, “−slow down.”

  “Slow down?” She sounded borderline hysterical. “You just told me to go—” Her foot fell off the gas pedal and the air fled her lungs.

  They emerged into the clearing. The camp was set up five hundred yards away, hugging the forest edge for a respite from the sun. Out of that low canopy of trees, smoke poured in a black cloud, spouting the acrid scent of menace. Even now Alex caught the tell-tale shimmer of heat above the treeto
ps, an indication that the unseen flames would soon reach oxygen and propel out of control.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Come on.” Mitch was around the front of the Jeep and at her side. He had both her shoulders and was looking right at her, speaking, yet she could neither see nor hear him. Her eyes stung and the only sound she could perceive was that distinct crackling, the staccato of tree limbs collapsing. She also heard a chorus of men—her men. Each urgent peal was like a dagger to her heart.

  “The wind is coming from the east right now. If we move everyone out to the south before it shifts, they’re all going to be fine.”

  Mitch’s lips were moving. She blinked and tried to read them.

  “South,” he shouted, and this time she heard.

  Of course. South.

  Just before they reached the clearing she noted the course of the wind. The fire was a fast and savage animal. Even now the smoke caused her eyes to well, and that crackling, that invasive crackling made her want to claw at her ears. The avenue to enter this field was the only roadway—rutted path that it was, and it was in the fire’s immediate route. The forest curved. Soon the north and west would be inaccessible as well.

  She nodded because her throat failed her. Mitch moved in close to place his mouth by her ear. “We’ll get them all out of here, Alex. Do you hear me? Look, they’ve already packed the Jeeps. They’re ready. Let’s move.”

  What was wrong with her? Why was she paralyzed? She never failed in the face of crisis. She was the rock. Even now she caught a glimpse of a young, frantic face watching her−one of her students seemingly afraid to take a step until she gave the command. It was Zachary Selmon, a grad student from the University of Miami. He and his friend, Tim Gundy joined her field research team, but Tim was the gregarious one while Zachary was the reticent half of the tandem. Behind Zach’s silhouette she could see Tim jogging with gear tucked under his arm towards a parked Jeep.

  Her throat croaked out a warning that would never be heard over the excessive crackling. Flames licked the rim of the field and used brushwood and decaying grass to boost their impetus. Emboldened, the smoldering leviathan crept from the tree line to advance on the parked Jeep. The fiery python slithered a decisive track, reaching the rear end of the Jeep just as Tim started towards them.

  Zachary’s eyes were still locked on her, but behind his silhouette, the burning snake’s head swayed back and thrust for the kill bite.

  “Alex!” Mitch hauled her to the ground.

  She felt the rough sting of the turf and the weight of Mitch’s body atop hers, yet even from this angle her eyes never left the triangle of Zach, Tim and their Jeep. As the snake’s fangs sunk in, an explosion shook the ground beneath her. Zach tumbled to her level, and his eyes finally broke their connection with hers. A scream pierced the smoke-filled air, the catalyst to snap Alex from her paralysis. She used all her strength and launched Mitch off of her. She felt his hand clasp around her ankle but she shrugged free from it and started towards the Jeep. Before she could make two steps, his arm locked around her waist and he yelled into her ear.

  “No. Stay back.” He pointed through the smoky melee. “They’re both okay. It’s just the Jeep.”

  Fire erupted from the rear end of the vehicle, but Tim was indeed safe, offering a hand to Zach to lift him off the ground. The sound of the flames still filled her ears−like fall foliage rustling under the prongs of a rake.

  Mitch’s forearm grounded her, but it was time to act. She turned to him and saw perspiration laced with black ash bead on his forehead. He seemed so strong and assured. It was like looking into an abstruse mirror that reflected all the traits she did not possess.

  She touched the arm about her waist. Her fingers wrapped around it for a second, holding onto him.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, knowing he could by no means hear her. She saw his head dip in acknowledgment. “I am okay now,” she coughed. “I’ll gather everyone up and we’ll head south.”

  He hauled her into a hug, and for a moment she felt fortified by that embrace. Finally he released her and ordered, “Stay close.”

  Chapter Five

  It was chaos. Alex had witnessed brush fires before, but always under some modicum of shelter. At first she had considered the field as an avenue of escape, but the smoke and advancing flames were narrowing that channel down to a single alley in the jungle. She thought that if she could just reach the river that they would be okay.

  The wall of the forest looked animated. Branches fell to the ground, their gnarled forms ablaze, while glowing vines undulated in a curtain of flames. From that curtain, embers dropped to stoke the undergrowth into an inferno that now attacked with cunning precision.

  What staggered her was the speed and aggression of the fire. The group was at an all-out run at this point and she could feel the dogged heat on her tail. In that maelstrom of smoke and flames, the jungle life screeched a tumult of warnings and Alex’ heart broke at the sound.

  As she ran she tried to tally up the head count of her men. Beside her, Wes stumbled across a kapok buttress, and ahead, brief glimpses of Chuck’s shirt looked like an exotic bird performing aerial maneuvers through the branches. Nowhere could she locate Mitch, though. She had to assume he had corralled some of her men. She knew little about him, but some facets could be judged immediately, and she considered Mitch Hasslet a man of responsibility−and a leader.

  Chuck drew up short and Wes slammed into him, the momentum knocking them both forward. The herd of men halted, many with their hands on their knees as they sucked in air.

  Alex moved up alongside Chuck and Wes.

  “We can’t stay still,” she gasped.

  Chuck’s face was black with soot. Combined with the dark hair and brown eyes he looked like a covert militant, except for his ridiculously bright tee shirt.

  “Look,” he nodded.

  The jungle thinned to reveal a concrete barricade as vast and impenetrable as the Great Wall of China. At the sight, only one thought crossed Alex’s mind. A fire wall.

  “Where’s the front gate?”

  “We’re going in there?” Wes asked, incredulous.

  “Do we have a choice?”

  Peeking over her shoulder, the intensity of the heat burned her face. The flames were only fifty yards away and closing. “Get the group. Hug the wall. There is a good ten foot circumference of dirt at the baseline. These people knew what they were doing. They built this place to be impervious to forest fires,” she gasped again. “Hug it till we find the gate.”

  There was no time for debate. She motioned to the young men with panic in their eyes and took the lead, moving up beside the concrete barricade, scraping her bare arm against the façade because it felt cool to the touch.

  The inferno reached for them with smoldering fingers and hissing cat calls as the group progressed in single file until Alex halted them with a lifted hand. Chuck and Wes fell in beside her. The entrance was a ghoulish adaptation of the gates of Oz, where the solid panel was large enough that a man-sized door had been installed in the bottom corner.

  With one hasty look at her ensemble, Alex felt a nagging concern when she could not locate Mitch in the crowd. But there was no time to focus on the roving photographer who had just embraced her and allowed her a frenzied moment of weakness in his arms. She stepped forward and banged her fist against the aluminum-plated gate, feeling the sting of heat from the alloy. From the dull thud she elicited, Alex guessed the gate to be thicker than anticipated. Hoisting up a rock from the ground, she clamped her fingers around the solid chunk of limestone.

  “What the hell, Doc?” Chuck shouted.

  Alex disregarded him and ignored the bite of the searing rock. Lifting it to the gate, she banged three times before caving into the cough that beset her throat. Trying to reach up one more time, her chest felt as if it had inhaled sand. Wes pried the rock from her fist and hammered it against the gate, producing a staccato to compete with the roar of death beh
ind them.

  They jolted when the door at the bottom of the gate opened by a three inch span, and the barrel of an Uzi slipped out like a heat-seeking missile. Another muzzle emerged in that small gap and someone cried out in K’iche dialect, “Back off.”

  Desperate, Alex paid no heed to the guns. She stepped up to the door and shouted in a frenzied blend of Spanish and English.

  “Fuego. Fire. Please let us in. We are trapped. We will die out here.”

  Her words had no impact on the trajectory of the guns. Alex started again, her throat scratching and her eyes watering. “We have no money, but if you help us we can get some once we get back to Ramonez. Your generosity will be rewarded.”

  A voice barked from behind the door, prompting it to swing open. The guns withdrew and Alex saw the sweet promise of shelter only a foot away. She wasted no time and waved her hand. Several team members charged into that entryway as if her hand represented the voice of God.

  After everyone had shuffled by, Alex searched her periphery. The sound of the fire would forever haunt her. Only a few feet away stood a smoldering wall of what was once flourishing vegetation. This monster had consumed and destroyed everything in its path. Everything. Where was Mitch?

  “Alex,” Wes called.

  Her head jerked. On feet hindered by apprehension, she stepped through the gate.

  ***

  Behind her, the metal bars slid shut with an ominous clang of captivity. Alex’s vision was blurred so she closed her eyes and relied on sound. The resonance of her men−grunts of fatigue and fear mingled with their chorus of coughs. Some of the men commented on the fire. Some spoke of their homes.

  A voice of authority boomed above the hum. Guttural Latin commands fired in rapid succession and the armed men leapt in response. Men flocked metal stairways, scaling to the top of the wall where they unfurled fire hoses from their reels, the rubber tubes now plump with water.

  “It will be alright, Señorita.”