Jungle of Deceit

by Maureen A. Miller

“That is charming, but couldn’t you rent out some office space and lay them out on conference tables…isn’t this a bit excessive?”

  “This is a dream, Alex. And don’t sit there all righteous and indignant and deny that when you stepped out of that elevator…for one moment you dared to believe. You dared to believe this temple and these grounds were real. Try to deny that Xibalba did not hold the finest collection of Mayan art you have ever seen in your life.”

  “It does.”

  “Yet you discredited it?”

  “Yes. It is illegal and the person responsible needs to be brought to justice.”

  “Heh, good thing you thought you were betraying Phillip today. Had you known it was me, I’d probably be stretched across this altar right now.”

  “The day is young,” she whispered.

  Alex felt Mitch move in behind her chair, one hand resting on her shoulder. She was too far into a spiral of rage to obtain consolation from that gesture.

  “As I sit here and look around,” she said, “the scope of your criminal charges staggers me. You have stolen millions of dollars worth of historical antiquities, and that may be a low estimate. You have abducted citizens against their will and kept them as prisoners−and I will not venture to guess what you have done with the ones who are no longer here. But this place…” words failed her, “−how did you do this?”

  Disregarding her preamble, Franklin’s smile was genuine as he turned around and stepped up to the open balcony. “I was working in the Petén when our group discovered Solis’s compound. He was young and rogue and ready to abduct us for ransom. I looked at his location, perfectly cloistered from society, wholly protected, and I made him a deal he could not resist. Between the two of us, and the isolation the jungle offered, we were able to begin construction.”

  “You must have solicited the help of hundreds.” Alex observed. “Engineers. Electricians. How could you manage to keep them all silent?”

  Franklin’s shoulders dropped. “That was not mine to take care of. Solis bribed whoever he could. If they did not accept the terms, or if they were considered a liability, then he dealt with them.”

  “So basically you killed anyone in your path if they caused trouble.” As Alex said it, she felt Mitch’s fingers restrict on her shoulder. It was not a consolatory gesture. He was as angry as she.

  Before Franklin had an opportunity to speak, she continued, “You collected artifacts from around the world and yet this place is dedicated to the Mayan culture.” She took a deep breath. “Please don’t tell me other museums like this exist.”

  A prolonged silence gave her the answer she didn’t want.

  “This was my first, and I had plenty of associates who felt as I did−that they would rather keep the art in private collections.”

  “Your associates are drug lords,” she challenged.

  “They weren’t at first,” Franklin sighed, “but once it leaks out that you are selling stolen goods, the seedy enthusiasts of the world begin to appear. And yes, they are the ones with the money to afford such affluence. As I stated, they have all been very civil because I am providing a service that they can’t find anywhere else in the world. This−” he waved his hand at the exhibits below, “−is a resort like no other. And the fact that it must remain private makes them feel as if they are part of an exclusive society.”

  Fatigue sucked at Alex like a body-sized leech. Exhaustion turned her muscles into stone and she thought there was no doubt she would become petrified and placed inside a glass coffin along with all the other exhibits of Xibalba.

  “And what now, Father?” She loved that he flinched every time she used that word. “What comes next? Do you kill your own daughter?”

  He turned around and the sharp glare of the business man returned. “I will not kill you. But if you don’t accept your value to this museum, if you don’t open your mind to the potential−the future of the art here…” He stepped towards her with an enthusiastic glean in his eyes. “Alexandra, I’m not asking you to stay down here. I want you to bring me treasures. You can’t imagine the level of pride you are going to feel when you see your acquisitions on display in a manner they were meant to be showcased. You are restoring them to their original luster−you are bringing them home.”

  “Yeah, well, my appreciation wouldn’t get to last very long. According to you, I have to sell it a day later.” Alex shook her head. “Look, I’m tired of this. You know I am not going to cooperate with you.”

  Pale lips pressed into a thin line. A white eyebrow dipped and Franklin reached up to pat his hair into place.

  “I said that I would not kill you.” Franklin’s voice was curt as he addressed Alex, but then his eyes rose above her. “But I will kill him. He means nothing to me. His presence here is a physical slap to my face delivered at the hand of Phillip Nicholson. The only reason he is still alive is because I was afraid it might come down to me having to use him in negotiations with you.”

  Alex vaulted to her feet. “You are not negotiating with me! And if you do anything to Mitch, then what in God’s name would you expect to get from me? Cooperation? You are mad, Father.”

  Franklin looked her in the eye−a silent face-off−a battle of the blood, but not of the mind. He was the first to secede. Stepping behind his altar, he rested his hands on it. “Then we are done here. And I have no heir. This could have been all yours, Alexandra. All of it. You would never want for anything.”

  “I would want my mother back,” she whispered.

  Chapter Twelve

  Franklin reached for a button behind his desk, no doubt summoning the troops, Mitch thought. He had remained silent, allowing the debate to unfold between father and daughter, but while listening to one absurdity atop the other, he was busy assessing the environment…and it offered promise. What he needed was an opportunity to speak to Alex, but he was not going to be permitted that luxury. All he could hope is that she would trust him. Hah.

  “If the proverbial ‘slap in the face’ can have a moment to speak, I’d like to say something.”

  The old man jumped at the sound of Mitch’s voice.

  “What?” Franklin spat.

  Alex stared at Mitch with a curious slant to her eyes.

  “So, I guess the soldiers are coming back?” Mitch walked around the desk as he saw Franklin Langley stiffen in preparation for an assault. The old man reached towards the stone slab, no doubt to grab a weapon.

  “Hey.” Mitch held his hands up in the air. “Easy now. I just want to see the view. I mean, say what you will, one has to step back and marvel at what you have done here.”

  Skeptical, nonetheless Franklin’s jaw relaxed into a smug set. “Tell your girlfriend that,” he muttered, retracting his hand.

  “Alex, come here and just look at this for a minute.”

  Alex stared at him as if her eyes had the power to castrate him on the spot. With Franklin’s attention on her, Mitch used the moment to lower his eyebrows in a silent command. Come on, Alex, he pleaded. Just come over here.

  There was a flash in the verdant lasers that disemboweled him. She studied him with her head cocked as if she were a jungle predator trying to assess the intentions its prey.

  “I have no interest in the view.”

  Bingo. He made contact. She denied him, but he knew she was trying to act disinterested.

  “I guess you wouldn’t,” Mitch muttered and turned back towards the balcony with an analytical eye.

  Beside him, he sensed Alex step up beside him. He could still smell the hand lotion she had applied from the medicine cabinet, and recalled how he had been captivated by the motion.

  “There is nothing out there that appeals to me,” she said, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

  Mitch looked back and shrugged as if to say to the old man, “I tried.”

  Franklin was not interested though. His glance volleyed from his Rolex to the elevator door, awaiting the Solis and his militia.

  In that brief res
pite of attention, Mitch turned to Alex and signaled his objective. Her eyes widened in disbelief and she shook her head in denial.

  Franklin looked at them again.

  “Anyway,” she said for his benefit, “it’s all a moot point. The customers won’t return now.”

  “Alexandra,” he spoke to her back, “there will always be customers.”

  “What is the term they use?” She took another step which placed her boot onto the wrought iron structure. “Viral? It will start to leak that you are selling counterfeit goods. The word will spread…”

  Dammit woman, don’t get him riled! Mitch took a step onto the balcony, and tried to change the subject. “If you lose that business, you could always open this place up as an amusement park.”

  This idea didn’t seem to amuse Franklin Langley. He looked at his watch again, impatient.

  The elevator was going to open at any second. Mitch caught Alex’s eyes and asked the unvoiced question. She looked up as if she were uttering a swift prayer and then nodded, mouthing, one, two, three.

  Planting their hands on the iron railing, they each vaulted over. It was no more than a half second that Mitch was suspended in open air, yet it felt no shorter than a freefall from the open door of a jet. The cold rush of water, and the sharp pain in his ankles jerked him into clarity. Beside him, Alex was on all fours and struggling to rise against the current.

  “Oh my God!” she cried out, blinking water out of her eyes and hauling her head around to look up at the balcony one story above.

  Mitch followed her glance and there stood Franklin Langley, his face red with rage. He was quickly joined by Solis who was shouting over his shoulder.

  There was no time to see who else was coming. “Come on.” He grabbed Alex’s arm, steadying her in the channel of water. “This way.”

  They ran against the stream and into its source−the tunnel. In an instant they were swallowed by shadows.

  “You’re insane, Mitchell Hasslet.” Alex’s voice echoed as she rushed hunched over in a passageway only four feet high.

  Mitch’s gate was awkward. He flattened his hand on the slick aluminum wall for leverage. “I think I know where this leads, but I’m sure they know as well, so chances are we’re going to get caught on the other end.”

  Alex tugged on his pants pocket to stop him.

  In the waning light he saw her stooped over, breathing in gulps like she suffered from a severe case of hiccups. Her bangs were wet and plastered to her forehead, but he glimpsed a devilish flash in her eyes.

  “If this is the end for me, I would rather go this way than have my father hand me over to some thug for a fate he was too much of a coward to impart himself.” She still had a hold of his pants. “But Mitch, I’m so sorry you are here. I’m so sorry you−”

  “Stop.” He cut her off. “I came to Guatemala voluntarily.”

  “Right.” Alex snorted.

  “Look, we can debate this later.” He started to move forward again, the water up to his knees.

  For Alex he could see the current was touching her thighs, but she trudged forward with the relentless motivation of a football player trying to gain that last inch for a touchdown.

  “My concern is,” the exertion was toying with his voice, “that they could have jumped down after us. But I doubt they would bother when they have drawings and know where we’re going to end up. Anyway, my concern is that this path is going to start an incline soon. We may just be on a giant waterslide and end up back in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall with a bunch of Uzis in our face.”

  “Are you trying to encourage me?”

  He stopped and took hold of both of her arms. She was shivering and he could see her lips trembling. He lowered his head and touched them with his own and felt her hands clasp his biceps as she drew back in order to look at him. In the lingering light from the end of the tunnel he could see her eyelashes were feathered with drops.

  “We’re going to die.”

  He realized she wasn’t speaking to him. She had reached that conclusion and was trying to wrap her head around the fact. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Hey.” His fingers gripped tighter. “We don’t know that. My guess is that this is going to open up into a chain of air vents at some point. It will be a race to see if they can cover all exits before we get out.”

  Alex nodded and he could feel the small ignition of hope snap into her. “So,” she stuttered. “You’re telling me to move my ass?”

  “If I was going to be eloquent, I’d tell you what a lovely ass it is.” He released one of her arms but held the other to assist on the next few steps. “But I’m not eloquent, so I’ll just say, vamos, doctor.”

  They charged against the stream, still traveling on an even plain. Their progress was almost blind, relying on the current to gauge direction when light failed them. Mitch held onto Alex’s hand, the wet skin sometimes difficult to keep a grip on.

  “Whatever you do, Alex, don’t let go of my hand. If we can’t see each other, we’re going to lose one another.” His fingers squeezed. “Don’t lose me.”

  “I won’t.”

  Verbal communication was growing more difficult as the rigors of the trek and the cold water set their teeth to chattering. Mitch feared that however hushed their conversation may be, it almost certainly reverberated through this shaft and heralded their location to whomever was listening.

  Blind now, with his fingers meshed between Alex’s, Mitch scraped his free hand along the wall for bearing. As their legs plodded through the water it sounded like waves lapping against the hull of a boat. His face was dampened by the splatter making it sensitive to any variance in the air so that he noticed when a slight breeze struck his cheek. Half a second later, his hand collided with a pipe.

  “Whoah, hold up,” he whispered.

  His words echoed as if the space around them had expanded. He guessed that they had reached a juncture in the shaft. A flashlight would have been worth more than the millions of dollars in artifacts at the moment. Mitch leaned in closer to where he sensed Alex’s head to be and added, “I have to let go of your hand. Hold on to me, Alex. I mean it.”

  He felt her free hand collide with his abdomen as her fingers crooked and grabbed onto the loose material of his shirt. Only after that grip was established did she release his hand and worm her finger through his belt loop for a solid hold.

  Confident that she was secured, Mitch reached to investigate the pipe and latched onto what felt like the bars of a ladder as he traced the pipe with his hand and sought the next rung. Motionless for a moment, he listened for any sound of pursuit.

  “There’s a ladder here, Alex,” he murmured so quiet he wasn’t certain she had heard, but she uttered a faint, “Oh?”

  “I think we’re at a juncture in the shafts,” he explained. “Can you feel it?”

  “Yes. But we need to go up. Do we chance this one or keep going?”

  “I’m thinking we take this one. We could wander around down here forever in the dark. It’s just−”

  “What, Mitch?”

  “I don’t know how high this goes. We could be climbing for a long time. Your arms are going to get tired. So will mine. And we can’t see−”

  “Let’s do it.” She tugged on his belt loop.

  Mitch held onto the iron rung with one hand. With the other he swooped down her body till his arm snaked around her back to draw her close. The crown of her head smacked into his jaw and he winced.

  “I’m going to go first because we don’t know what is at the other end,” he whispered. “If you need a break−if there is any reason whatsoever that you need to stop, you tell me.” He touched his lips to the top of her head−about the only spot on her that was still dry. “You tell me, Alex. Promise.”

  He felt her shift and then felt soft lips on his chin. He tilted into that kiss.

  “I promise.” Her whisper tickled his mouth.

  ***

  The ascent was maddenin
g.

  Right hand up. Grip. Right foot up. Step. Left hand up. Grip. Grip! Left foot up. Step.

  Above her, the echo of Mitch’s boots against metal became the staccato to control Alex’s cadence. He was the conductor and in her mind the tune sounded like the March of the Winkies−the Wicked Witch’s soldiers in the Wizard of Oz. Ooo-eee-oooh.

  She was so cold. On the surface the temperature hovered in the 90s and was made more oppressive by the jungle’s contribution of humidity. But down here, in the catacombs of the underworld, death’s icy fingers clutched her.

  They took breaks, hooking their arms through the rungs during the prolonged ascent. The tiniest wisp of air tickled the spot beneath Alex’s nose. She thought it was a fluke, but by the next rung it ruffled a few strands of her hair.

  “Mitch?”

  “I feel it. We’re coming up on something. I don’t want to get too optimistic, but I think there is light ahead.”

  In tandem they advanced until Alex lost her grip. A bleat of terror escaped her lips but she caught the rung and took a deep breath to steady herself.

  “Alex!” Mitch’s voice was soft but the anxiety rang out like the horn of a tractor trailer.

  “I’m okay. Keep going.”

  Right hand up. Grip. Right foot up. Step.

  She wasn’t even conscious of the glow infusing their environment until she began to detect the outline of her hand in front of her face. On the next rung she was certain she saw her fingers. Afraid to look up and risk a dizzy spell, she kept climbing. Above, Mitch must have slipped. His boot clamored against metal and they both halted with their breath held.

  All of a sudden, a wild, chirp-like shriek overwhelmed them, its high-pitched assault so loud that Alex had to link her arm through the ladder and clasp her hands over her ears. It reverberated for several seconds and then fell still.

  “What the hell was that?” Mitch hissed from above.

  “I’ll be damned,” she whispered. “Mitch, stomp your boot on the ladder again.”

  She heard the thump of his heel above, and then half a second later the bird-call filled the passageway, like the screech of a thousand pterodactyls lifting off the treetops. Again she muffled her ears until the duct fell silent.