Jungle of Deceit

by Maureen A. Miller

  “Great,” he said. “Let’s just eliminate the guesswork and tell them exactly where we are?”

  Alex shook her head. “No. They won’t know.” She smiled in the middle of the unlit channel and mumbled to herself, “I’ll be damned.”

  “Alex? What?”

  “It’s an acoustic trick the Mayans used when engineering their temples. It’s designed to sound like the call of the quetzal bird, but the intention is to disorient. Actually, they learned to use sound for crowd control well before our army ever experimented with it. Anyway,” she continued in hushed enthusiasm, “that echo will reverberate throughout these airshafts so that it will be impossible to tell where it originated from. It’s the equivalent of sending them on a wild goose chase, or in this case a wild quetzal chase.”

  “Your sense of humor is warped,” he chuckled quietly, “but at this moment you are my hero.”

  “If there are enough outlets to this air duct system, it’s just possible we can throw them off and they won’t be waiting at the one we exit from.”

  “Good idea,” he murmured. “We’re getting close. I’m starting to see outlines above, so every ten feet or so I should let loose the birds?”

  “Yes. Just cover your ears.”

  “Huh?”

  “Mitchell.”

  His soft laugh rumbled through the channel.

  ***

  To the tune of a thousand screeching quetzals they reached the end of the air duct. Mitch’s arm and thigh muscles felt like granite. On the aluminum wall beside him, the sun cast a checkerboard shadow from the grill dissecting the exit above. Clumps of moss and dead leaves draped across the screen, obscuring the view of the sky. Sunlight filtered through swaying tree limbs to stroke his damp skin. Cautious, Mitch advanced until his hands reached the top rung. He took one more step, his head within an inch of the grill so that the musty smell of dirt replaced the blend of metal and humidity trapped in this channel. The melodic sound of treetop birds was a pleasant diversion from the prehistoric screech of the caverns, but aside from that there was no indication that anyone loomed above.

  Granted, at this moment the perimeter of the shaft could be flanked with twenty rifles pointed at the opening and he wouldn’t know it.

  Alex tugged on the hemline of his pants. He tucked his head down and looked under his arm to see her pensive face staring up at him.

  “I have to lift the grate.” His words were nearly inaudible. “This is it, Alex.”

  “I know. At least the quetzals might have given us a chance.” She nodded her encouragement. “Go ahead.”

  Mitch faced the sun and inserted his fingers through the mesh grate. He half expected his knuckles to be severed by gunfire, but so far there was no fanfare. There were no agitated voices to signal their discovery. He shoved up on the grate, but it didn’t budge. Despite sore biceps, adrenaline proved a powerful stimulant. After the next heft, he heard the sound of suction as moist dirt released metal, indicating progress. He slid the grate to the side, which afforded him enough room to step up and poke his head out like a prairie dog, unaware that a hyena might be waiting with saliva pouring off its tongue.

  No one blew his head off. It was still attached to his shoulders. Mitch scoped the area from grass level, but couldn’t detect any motion. Chancing a step up one more rung, he identified this as the duct he had stumbled upon in the dark, recognizing the tree formations and the lay of the turf. About ten feet from here his camera lie broken.

  Mitch was about to hoist out of the hole when he heard voices. Hunkering back down, after a few suspenseful seconds he realized that they were in the distance.

  “They’re out there,” he whispered down to Alex. “But not close by. It sounds like they’re coming our way, though.”

  Alex’s eyes looked nearly black, the pupils so large with her face still lodged in the shadows.

  “If we do this,” he said, “we have to move fast.”

  “Go, Mitch.” She nodded. “I’m ready.”

  In all the dangerous jams of his career there was never someone else’s safety to account for. The fact that it was Alex’s wellbeing made the anxiety all the more intense. Conscious of the encroaching shouts to his left, he shoved the grate aside so that his shoulders could slip through. Without deliberation, he was up and reaching for her. She squinted in retaliation of the sun as he grasped under her arms and hauled her from the pit into a spill on the grass. One last survey assured him that the motion had not drawn attention as Mitch yanked on her hand and they jogged, hunched down into the refuge of the forest.

  Afraid to linger, he charged through the underbrush, wary of gnarled roots that could produce an ankle injury to bog them down. Above, the sunlight was completely masked by an impenetrable mesh of vegetation.

  “Mitch.” Alex yanked from his grasp, executing a pirouette as she stared in awe up at the leaves. “Trees. Birds. They’re all here.”

  “Yes.” Intent on progress, Mitch kept walking, but his eyes combed the ground in search of the green and gold-knitted camera strap, or the camera itself. It had to be here. Hell, even if it was broken there had to be some parts he could salvage.

  “Mitch, the jungle.” Alex had her hands on her hips and did not budge. “It’s here.”

  “Yeah,” He slowed down and tipped his head back, but he was not marveling at the trees, he was listening for signs of pursuit. “Solis’s men targeted just a section of the forest to herd you guys in like cattle with that fire.”

  “Bastards,” she seethed. “You’re looking for your camera?”

  “Yes, but it looks like it was sacrificed to the Mayan gods, or what did you once say?” He returned her gaze. “Fish bait?”

  Not waiting for a response, Mitch kept moving, his hand up and pointing to the right. “The river is up here, and I know from the map that you had in the camp that it will lead us to Ramonez−but I’m sure Solis expects us to follow it. He’ll either catch us along the river’s edge or just set up camp in Ramonez and wait for us.” Mitch grunted. “I’m guessing the latter. Less exertion on his part.”

  “Ramonez is our only option.” Alex looked serious. “The next town is thirty-six miles away.”

  He stopped and clasped her shoulders. “We’ll figure it out, Alex. We made it through the toughest part. The more distance we put in now, the safer we are for the time being. What do you guess, ten or twelve miles to Ramonez? We were in a Jeep so I’m not sure.”

  Alex nodded. “Yeah it’s about twelve miles, but if we’re not following directly along the river we’ll be tacking on some distance.”

  “We can keep parallel to the river. It won’t be too bad. We’ll stop soon and rest.” His hands squeezed. “How are you holding up? You have been amazing, Alex.”

  “I do this sort of thing for a living, Mitchell.”

  “Nice bravado, but no, you don’t climb five-story ladders.” He let go of her to rub his bicep. “I know I don’t. What I’m trying to say is…I’m trying to say that I’m glad you were with me.”

  “That’s me−the person you want in a bunker with you.” Alex chuckled and started off into the brush. “Come on, Hasslet. Keep up.”

  Some things didn’t change.

  ***

  Her auditory senses were so keen that Alex heard the jungle in a different vein. The Howler monkeys sounded more pissed off−or were they simply warning her? They were small creatures in stature, but they made the call of virile gorillas, and right now they were exceptionally verbose.

  Insects and birds vied for dominance with a chorus of shrill whistles and guttural melodies, while frogs clicked their own cry of foreboding. Dusk was upon them and the shadows of the jungle lengthened into black shape-shifters creeping across the underbrush, looking to consume the souls of every living creature.

  “I seriously don’t think they’re following us.” Mitch dropped down onto a toppled tree and stretched his legs out in front of him. “They’re sitting there in Ramonez, with a cervesa in their hand
and a ceiling fan blowing over them, waiting for us to stroll into town.”

  “Mitch−”

  “They haven’t even broken a sweat. Well, maybe that son of a bitch, Solis is sweating. He’s afraid of your father. Kind of ironic. He was the militant leader that captured Franklin Langley, and look at how money shifts supremacy.”

  “Mitch−”

  “So all Nicholson could afford was me.” Mitch snorted. “You would think the director of the Museum of Art and Antiquities would send an army down here to get you out.”

  She had to smile at that, even as she stooped and scooped the black, red and yellow-striped snake that had slithered out from under the trunk serving as Mitch’s couch. She held the writhing creature in the air and peered into its small face, saying, “He didn’t mean to intrude.”

  Mitch launched off the trunk. “What the f−!”

  He stumbled backwards.

  “It’s a milk snake.” Alex held it up as the snake curled its three foot long body, seeking to loop across Alex’s arm. “Red on yellow, deadly fellow, red on black, venom lack.”

  “What?” Mitch paced a perimeter six feet away, never taking his eyes off the snake. “What the hell are you babbling?”

  “This could have been a coral snake in which case there would be extreme irony in escaping Xibalba only to die of a snake bite a few hours later.” She stooped over and set the reptile on the ground, but it did not slip away. It continued its languorous spiral until finally its body stretched out and slid into a veil of ferns. “Coral snakes are some of the most deadly in the world, and that’s this little guy’s defense. Nature gave him similar colors and stripes so that everyone would leave him the hell alone.”

  “How did you know it wasn’t a coral snake?”

  “If the red and yellow strips are touching, it’s a coral snake.”

  Mitch nodded as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets and opted to remain standing. “Why is it called a milk snake?”

  Alex wrinkled her nose. “Ummm, it was an old myth, one you probably don’t want to hear.”

  “We have no light. We can’t travel until sunrise. So I have all the time in the world. Humor me.”

  “Well…” she inhaled, “−they used to say that these snakes fed off the milk of a cow’s udder.”

  “Son of a bitch…next topic!”

  Kicking the fallen tree with the tip of her boots in several spots, Alex felt satisfied that there were no remaining inhabitants. She sat down on the coarse bark and patted the spot next to her.

  “Come join me.”

  “No way in hell.”

  “Come on, Mitch.” She patted again. “I’m getting cold.”

  So much for chivalry. Instead of jumping to her side at that declaration, Mitch made two passes around the tree, stooping to inspect the gaps beneath it. On his last lap he stopped at the foot of it, trying to determine if it was hollow and whether or not something was going to bite him on the ass if he sat down.

  Finally he walked up beside her and asked in his husky voice, “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “Don’t worry. They’ll bite me first. I’m sweeter.”

  At that, he grinned. “You have more venom than a coral snake.”

  With a tentative crouch, he sat down next to her and eyed the turf around his feet. “I’m ruining my dress pants.” He sighed, brushing some dirt off his knee.

  “Pity. Are these the most ridiculous outfits you’ve ever seen?”

  Alex felt Mitch’s eyes on her thighs. “Well, they have some perks,” he said.

  “Alex.” He settled into position and continued quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “About what?”

  “Your father. Aside from the criminal that he’s become, you made some pretty strong accusations there from your childhood.”

  Palms clasped together and tucked between her knees, Alex listened to the crescendo of insects as night loomed. The sound blanketed her in serenity. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

  Sorry was an understatement. No one knew the extent of resentment she felt towards her father, and yet still, she clung to that childhood naiveté that he would someday redeem himself. When he appeared at her graduation she thought for certain that amends would be made and he would encourage her career. But his appearance was simply to criticize her for not pursuing a relationship with Logan Campo, a talented archeologist with much potential.

  Look what all of Logan’s potential got him.

  “It’s hard, Mitch.” She kept her face down. “It’s hard to look at what he’s become−and worse, to have almost expected it. We thought that it would be Phillip standing in that office, and yet when I saw my father, after that first second of shock−everything else fell into place. Wes used to work for my father, and he had told me once that during an exploration in the Philippines that my father had discovered some burial jars dating back to 5 BC. Three jars to be exact. But I looked up the manifest a year later and found that only one made it out through customs.”

  “I wish it had been different for you, Alex.” Mitch was just a faint outline now in the dark, but she could feel the heat of his body next to hers and loved listening to the husky timbre of his voice. It blended with the night sounds. “You deserved so much better.”

  “One could argue that I wouldn’t have achieved what I did without his opposition.”

  “I believe that,” he chuckled, “but you are a woman who is always going to land on her feet. You are a woman who commands respect−and it is justified.”

  Mitch hesitated, but Alex held her tongue, sensing he was not done.

  “You know,” he added, “I was never in one place long enough to maintain a relationship. And then there was the incident in Kosovo. That woman has had such a profound impact−not only did she haunt me in my sleep, but she became the representation of all women to me. I actually feared relationships with them because I could see how vulnerable they could be−that they could be hurt.” He hesitated. “And although I would never in my life inflict any physical harm on a woman, I knew that I could probably hurt them in other ways.” There was another pause filled with the hum of the forest. “So even when I was back home…back in one place, I just didn’t want to have a serious relationship.”

  “Women don’t break, Mitch. There are weak ones, but for the most part we are very resilient.”

  “Yeah, recently I’ve learned that.”

  Alex felt a pinch in her throat. “Well, now you can start to have relationships with women. You’ve seen the light.”

  What was with her? Why was it critical to hear his response? They were not having a relationship. This was just a ridiculous situation with two people thrown together in a mutual effort to survive.

  Alex waited out the silence with the pain in her throat persisting. She heard Mitch shift and felt his palm slide across her bare leg until it reached her clasped hands. He pried them apart and tangled his fingers with hers.

  “I wish I could see your face right now,” he whispered.

  “Why?”

  “I found a woman that I respect,” he said. “I found a woman that I am not afraid to be with. I found a woman that berates me when it’s needed and holds me when the nightmares arrive. Alex, it’s going to sound absurd, but I have found someone who I can have a relationship with−a woman I could love−” he stopped, but Alex’s breath was locked inside her chest, staving off all speech. “I found a partner, Alex, and that thought astounds me, and I’m afraid of it. I’m afraid of you−”

  Her heart thumped against her ribcage in rhythm with a croaking frog.

  He was afraid. Weakness was the one foe she battled since she was old enough to recognize the adversary. She could never reveal that though−she could never surrender authority. And she could never trust.

  Yet now more than ever she wanted to lie in a man’s arms. She wanted the fortification of his embrace−a muscular shield to hold the night at bay. Who the hell was this woman? Surely it wasn’t Al
exandra Langley. Alex would never allow a man to protect her. Alex was not fragile.

  With her vocal chords stuck in a spasm, it was impossible to communicate. She slid her hand up Mitch’s arm and across his collarbone towards the temptation of warm flesh at his neck. Her fingers kept climbing until she reached his cheek and felt the pleasant abrasion of stubble. She used that leverage to draw his head down. A hint of moonlight filtered through the trees, casting him in an azure glow. This dark creature of the night was here to steal the force behind her ribcage.

  A rumble of need sounded deep in Mitch’s throat as he reached for her and kissed her hard. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her for his passionate invasion. This was what she wanted−what she craved. She wanted heat and desperation. She wanted him to need this as much as she. She mated with his mouth and stamped a new impression in his brain of what a woman was.

  “Come closer,” he murmured against her lips.

  Before she could ask how, he lifted her and guided her so that she straddled his lap−an arrangement that brought them chest to chest. She could feel the rigid length of him pressed against her now and she whimpered in need, riding that sensation.

  “Goddamnit, I want to see you.” He drew back.

  “Mitch.” The pause and the invasion of cool air between them revived her. “How are we going to do this out here?”

  A sexy rumble sounded as he kissed the erotic juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Alex, I could be inside you in a minute, and I want that so bad right now, but baby I want to see you when I make love to you. I don’t want a shadow. I want you.”

  It was impossible to restrain her hips. The temptation between her legs was too overwhelming. She rocked against it, seeking to fulfill a need that was as emotional as it was physical.

  “You’re not helping.” Mitch groaned out.

  “I want to make love to you.”

  She said it so softly she thought the words were still locked in her head, unspoken. Mitch cupped her face and crushed his mouth on hers. His hands slipped to her fidgeting bottom where he locked on and hauled her tight against him. The pleasure was so intense she felt perspiration bubble on her forehead.