“I want a goddamn answer, that’s what I want.”
Solis raised his eyebrows. “Fine, doctor. I’ll give you your goddamn answer.” He slammed the glass down and stalked towards her so fast, that Alex jolted. He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face the door, knocking her off balance.
Prepared to be thrown up against the wall, she was ready to execute a roundhouse kick and take him to his knees. But instead of attacking her, Solis reached for the door to his office and pushed her out, still clutched in his grasp.
Alex searched the corridor but there was no sign of Mitch. She prayed he had listened and escaped with the others.
But when had he ever listened?
Chapter Eight
Mitch punched the wall opposite Solis’s door and then spun around to lean in close and listen. The suite was well insulated with only muffled sounds escaping, but he would hear if Alex screamed, and he would kick the goddamn door down to get to her.
Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch.
Pacing wasn’t an option, although he doubted his boots could be heard on the thick carpet. Instead, he propped against the wall and waited with the patience of an organ recipient. A sound at the far end of the corridor jerked him into alertness. The door leading to the guard shack was opening. Shit.
Mitch tipped his cap down and averted his head as a leg broached the entryway. He aimed for an indifferent stance as he heard the tread approach. To his dismay, the boots stopped a few feet away and the guard called out to him.
“What are you doing here, soaking up the air conditioning? Get outside and work.”
Mitch nodded but did not move. He heard the gun strap slide off the man’s shoulder. “Now!”
Rather than instigate a brawl that could attract Solis’s attention and potentially blow his cover, Mitch kept his head down and shouldered past the guard. He would wait it out and get back upstairs as soon as possible.
At the bottom of the steps, he searched the courtyard for a vacant post when a voice called out from above.
“Wait!”
Mitch stopped with his hand on the rail, but did not turn around.
Boots clamored down the metal steps and then thudded onto earth. “Turn around.”
Shit.
Mitch pivoted, trusting that his eyes were still concealed.
As he turned he flinched. Since that day on the Newark dock, the image of a macabre smile had been locked inside his head, and now it returned from the land of the damned. A single scar at the corner of thick purple lips elongated them into a ghoulish smirk. The Cheshire Cat.
Nicholson was right. Mitch had discovered the dragon’s lair.
The distorted grin broadened as the guerilla extended the tip of the rifle to swat Mitch’s cap from his head. He then nodded at the sunglasses and waited.
Mitch yanked them off, glaring. Instead of being anxious, he was pissed. This was bullshit. He shouldn’t even be here. He should be back in Central Park snapping a picture of Paris Hilton’s dog taking a leak.
Alex.
Well, yeah, there was that.
Again the rifle was raised, and this time it scraped against Mitch’s cheekbone where he could feel it dig into his bruise. The Cheshire Cat chuckled like a feline overdosing on catnip.
“Proud of that, are you?” Mitch asked in English.
It seemed that the man did not comprehend the language, but he pretty much got the gist. He possessed the arrogance of one who was in control as he swung the barrel of the gun towards the stairs and pitched his head in the same direction. Mitch’s fingers curled up into a fist, but he knew he had no other recourse. His goal was to get back to Alex anyway−but this thug was going to expose his cover. And when he did reveal that Mitch had been on that dock in Newark, Alex was not going to be happy to hear she had been lied to all along.
For each step that he mounted, Mitch uttered an innovative curse against the HAA director, Philip Nicholson.
***
“This way.” Solis pulled Alex.
At the end of corridor, in the opposite direction of the guard shack, there was an elevator. Solis swiped a keyfob dangling from his key ring at a panel lodged inside the wall. The illuminated box altered from red to green, and on a soft hiss, the brass wall slid open to reveal a mirror-plated interior.
Alex stepped inside and saw her distorted reflection cast back at her from beveled angles. The image in the mirror mocked her belief that she was strong. Shoulders that were normally pinned back in resolve had now atrophied. Her khaki shorts revealed slim, tanned legs that in her boots and white socks looked clumsy, like those of a colt. She never paid much attention to her breasts, but surely they were bigger than what she saw in the reflection. When was the last time she ate? Her normally lustrous hair looked dull yanked back into a flat ponytail. Her eyes revealed anxiety. It was the one feature that disturbed her the most.
“We’re here.”
Solis’s deep rumble broke Alex from her reverie. By the tumble of her stomach, she sensed that they had descended, but saw no indication of it by the floor numbers. How far down could they go anyway? It was only a two story building, with possibly a cellar. A jail? Was he taking her to a dungeon?
The elevator slid open and Solis extended his arm.
Where in God’s name was she?
Alex walked out on numb feet and felt her jaw crack inside her head. She emerged into what resembled a Victorian hotel lobby with a two-story atrium and a vaulted ceiling speckled with mosaic stained glass panels. It reminded her of the Grand Floridian with its lustrous white wood molding. Inside the atrium, the circular foyer was furnished with marble tables and brilliant violet floral displays housed in white vases. In the center, a grand piano sat elevated on a pedestal, its onyx surface polished so bright she could see the reflection of the chandelier above it. That weighty chandelier was comprised of nearly a hundred miniature lamps stacked in ascending symmetrical order to produce a prism effect across the black piano face.
Alex could have likened herself to Alice in Wonderland, but Alice’s world seemed much more coherent than this.
“Where the hell are we?” she whispered.
“We’re not there yet,” Solis took on the role of the white rabbit as he seemed impatient now and extracted a cell phone from his shirt pocket, glancing at it and then dropping it back in place.
“This way.” He motioned.
Walking around a potted kapok, Alex heard water and was astonished to see a fountain inset in the wall. Burgundy cushioned seats circled its base−a place for weary travelers to sit and socialize…only there were no travelers. As they progressed, the only sound was the splash of water and the footfalls of her boots against the silver and black-veined marble. Solis’s loafers made a slight scraping noise, some of the dirt from the courtyard stuck in the grooves of his heel grating against the smooth surface. They crossed the vestibule and stopped before yet another elevator. This time Alex noted that he pressed the DOWN button.
Inside the mirror-plated chamber, Solis did not meet her eyes. His head was downcast and he hoisted out his cell phone again. How could you possibly get a signal in hell? Surely that was their destination if they kept going south.
The motion of the elevator stopped and Alex shook off a brief spell of inertia as the doors slid open.
Beside her, Solis glanced at her with a curious expression on his face. It was half-smile, half-condemnation.
“Welcome to Xibalba, Doctor,” he said and stepped outside.
Alex hesitated, her boot literally suspended in the air, afraid to break the barrier. Curiosity beset her with a vengeance as she stepped onto the bed of limestone, struggling to keep from dropping to her knees and caressing her hand across the pockmarked surface. If only she was in possession of her equipment−but even the paraphernalia that was consumed by the fire back at her camp was inadequate for this task. Auger cores would be necessary to date the limestone−
“Señorita!” Solis stood at her side. “Look up.”
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Alex dragged her glance away from the marvel of the ancient floor and gasped.
It was the echo to Solis’s voice that should have first alerted her. They stood in a chamber so vast it could easily have accommodated several 747’s in a row, and probably a couple stacked on top of each other. It resembled a colossal underground cavern the likes of which she had only seen in movies. There was no external source of light, and yet the nurture of the sun was emulated from resources embedded in the rock walls. These cave walls were layered with what she imagined was synthetic flowstone meant to mimic nature and appear as if they had been carved by running water. The limestone walkway that she stood on was flanked on both sides by coarse tropical grass and the thick trunks of impossibly tall kapok trees. Her head jerked at the shrill cry of a macaw as a flourish of blue and red feathers took flight from one limb to the next and then stopped to stare at her with yellow-rimmed eyes.
So fascinated with the essence of the jungle around her, Alex nearly lost track of Solis. He was now five paces ahead, and in seeking him out, she caught a glimpse of what lie beyond him. The blood drained from her face and she reached out for something to hold onto, staggering a step to the left until she could rest her hand on a wrought iron bench.
Fifty yards away, ascending from the ground like an ethereal pyramid, a temple dominated the cavern, towering over 150 feet. At the summit of the majestic staircase mounted on its face, she could discern the customary funerary shrine, and in her conjecture, guessed this to be a replica of the Temple of the Jaguar from Tikal’s Great Plaza.
Xibalba. Solis had referred to this place as Xibalba. In Maya mythology, Xibalba represented the underworld. The “Place of Fear” ruled by the Maya death gods.
“What have you done?” she shouted at Solis.
He came to a stop, annoyed with her delay.
“Please stop dawdling, Señorita. There are people you need to meet, and my presence is required back upstairs.”
Alex jogged a few steps to catch up with Solis as he turned his back on her again, executing a brisk stride to the mouth of the temple. Temples such as this were supposed to depict a sacred mountain, a place to be revered as a house of the gods, carved painstakingly from limestone. But this deceitful edifice possessed a set of wooden double doors with ornate brass handles−a contemporary touch with nothing divine to it. Alex patted the speckled limestone and was dismayed to learn that the walls were synthetic as well.
Of course it was artificial. Had her biased determination to unearth a temple and discover a lost civilization allow her to consider this real for an irrational moment? This was not real. This was dark. Dark and deceptive magic.
Solis hauled open one of the doors and waved her through. Alex hastily followed and realized she had grown immune to the shock that each portal presented. Inside this temple, she discovered that the exterior was simply a shell and that the core of the structure housed a three-story open atrium lined with wraparound balconies to expose individual floors. On each level, illuminated glass enclosures exhibited masks, ceramics, and wall murals−antiquities in all shapes and sizes.
Displayed on a prominent podium before her was a stone altar, its carved face detailed by the strobe lights aimed at it from three different angles. It was a circular slab that she estimated to weigh over 500 lbs. Curiosity drew her closer. Here there was no security−no barrier to keep her from touching the piece. This altar was not a replica. In fact, she knew of this specific piece, recognizing it as an item recovered from a group of looters attempting to sell it to drug traffickers in Honduras four years ago. It depicted Cancuen's greatest king, Taj Chan Ahk Ah Kalomte playing handball with another king.
What the hell was it doing here?
“You stole this,” she asked still tracing the inscriptions with her fingers.
“No,” Solis stepped up to the bottom of the platform. “Not that one. I cannot take credit for that one. Come on, Señorita, the others are waiting.”
Alex followed, trying not to be distracted by exhibit after exhibit, some with life-sized mannequins depicting ritualistic acts with what she now imagined were authentic weapons. Solis disappeared behind a limestone wall and she was forced to jog to catch up. At the back of this wall, in what she thought was the most ludicrous spectacle yet, were restrooms labeled MEN and WOMEN. How mundane.
But it was an unmarked door beyond these that Solis targeted on. It looked like a janitorial closet. Solis yanked off his key ring, the cascade of metal sounding like wind chimes. He inserted a key and shoved open the door, announcing, “You have a new staff associate.”
What she had guessed to be a custodial closet was actually a studio apartment, with a small living room comprised of a beige upholstered couch and loveseat seated before a widescreen television affixed to the wall. There was a galley kitchen from which the smell of coffee pervaded. The source of that aroma was visible perched on the corner of an L-shaped bar and past it Alex saw an oval dining room table. A man and woman sat across from each other at the table, plates of half-eaten food set before them.
The man rose and peered at her with wary hazel eyes. The eyes were distorted behind the thick lenses of his plastic-framed glasses. He had brown thinning hair with an influx of grey at the temples and a completely grey beard hugging a rounded chin. Alex gasped. The grey was new, but she recognized the man from online photographs. It was Joseph Pastorelli. And when Alex lowered her gaze to the seated woman with long cherry-blond hair also infused with grey, she recognized the petite figure as Gwendolyn Pastorelli, his wife.
“Mr. Pastorelli?”
Blinking in confusion as if he had been trapped in the dark too long, Joseph Pastorelli’s eyes shifted towards Solis, where they narrowed with distrust. Solis snorted and reached for his cell phone, mumbling. “I told you I would be bringing on a new assistant.”
“Who are you?” Joseph Pastorelli ignored Solis and addressed her.
“Alexandra Langley.” Her voice caught.
“Dr. Alexandra Langley,” Solis added with sarcasm.
Pastorelli frowned and exchanged a glance with his wife who was seated with one thigh on the edge of the chair, devouring Alex with her eyes as if she represented a grand feast. It was disturbing to feel like a prime cut of steak in a room full of ravenous dogs, but the expression on Gwendolyn Pastorelli’s face was not simply hunger. It was lust. The lust of desperation. The woman before Alex seemed consumed by despair.
Gwendolyn looked back at her husband and nodded.
“Franklin’s daughter?”
Alex managed not to roll her eyes. Someday. Someday she would be able to stand on her own name.
“Yes.”
Joseph Pastorelli shot a condemning glance at Solis. “You finally blew it,” he cried. “My wife and I, I’m sure our family mounted a search for us. I’m certain my son and my brother would have flown here to start an investigation. But if Franklin Langley’s daughter goes missing, it will not disappear from the news in a matter of days like we probably did.”
Alex thought otherwise. Perhaps for the benefit of the press her father would stage a public plea for her safety, but aside from that, she had not spoken to him in over five years. It was the day she acquired her doctorate in Maya Archeology at the University of California. She had already become an associate doctor in anthropology, but this field was her true inspiration. Regardless, Franklin Langley maintained that it was not a career befitting her. Had he had a son he would have fully supported his rise in academia and heralded his triumphs in the field. But instead, he had Alex, and Franklin Langley thought she should have married and produced him a grandson that could follow in his footsteps. The blatant sexism seemed so archaic to Alex, yet her father had been like this for as long as she could recall−as if he was a member of a charter club that she could not be privy to.
“You should pray for your loved ones.” Solis’s words were full of menace as he addressed Joseph. “That they don’t try to find you here.”
“I h
ave to get back,” Solis continued. “They will be here soon. Fill her in on her duties. As I understand it, she knows a hell of a lot more than either of you.”
Solis turned around and left the apartment. The extra click after the door closed alerted Alex that she was locked in−trapped inside a studio apartment deep underground.
She turned as Gwendolyn Pastorelli rose from her chair to stand beside her husband, her hand linking around the crook of his arm.
“I’m Gwen,” she said with a hesitant smile. “And this is my husband, Joe. Welcome to Xibalba−or as we like to call it…Hell.”
There was no time to waste. Alex needed to get out of here. She launched towards the table, rounding it and pulling back a wooden chair, hastily sitting down. “I’m Alex. Tell me everything.”
Gwen shifted into the kitchen area and asked across the counter, “Do you want something to eat?”
Despite the preposterous nature of the past twenty-four hours, Alex’s stomach responded with a sound like a walrus rolling over. “If you have enough, that would be wonderful.”
“One thing they do down here is feed us at least.”
“Tell me.” Alex pleaded.
Joseph Pastorelli sank down into his chair and picked up his coffee mug. “There were others. Other archeologists. Like us they had been plucked from the jungle. Like us, they strayed too close to Solis’s compound. Some did not accept their fate without a fight. Some tried to escape.” He shook his head. “We haven’t seen them since. It’s just been Gwen and I now for almost a year.”
“You don’t know what happened to them?” She addressed Joseph, and then accepted Gwen’s plate with a quick, “thank you.”
“No. We asked and demanded our release, but−”
“After awhile,” Gwen picked up for him, “you get tired of asking. A year takes the fight out of you.”
“You’re going to get out of here,” Alex tore into the toast, thinking of it as medicine. She needed strength. “We have someone on the inside. Someone in this compound who is going to help us.” She prayed the testimony were true.
Jungle of Deceit Page 11
