by A. T. Grant
At first everything went to plan. The family had greeted their guest with all pomp and made offerings and exhortations to the gods at their little shrine in the garden. The priest, a small, elderly gentleman who walked almost sideways with the aid of a stick due to a bad hip, sat happily in a grand wooden chair. Mulac had carved it and his mother had draped it in fine cloth and cushions, even though the priest wore only a simple yellow tunic and skirt. He and Mulac discussed recent trade through the port and the need to improve security on the road to Coba town. His wife stirred at a grand copper pot, whilst his father stoked the fire.
Mulac dug irritably at the earth with a hunting knife, as he recalled the smell of burning that had issued from the pot. His wife had used too little water. A dish of vegetables and rice laced with expensive herbs, that had taken several hours to prepare, was ruined. He recalled his humiliation at having to offer his guest a common meal of bread and baked fish, as though he were his lodger. The priest had remained unperturbed, but this had only served to fuel Mulac’s embarrassment. As the old man bade farewell to his family later on, he had drawn Mulac closer to him and whispered:
“You know, a young wife is like a new wine: potent and intoxicating, but not very subtle. Be patient, Mulac, and in time she will bring depth and fortitude to your family.” A gentle grin had spread across the old man’s lips. “In the meantime, make the most of life’s more obvious pleasures.”
Mulac’s growing rage meant he barely took in what the old man had to say. He had turned and stormed into the house, pushing over the metal cauldron on his way. He would beat his wife like he used to beat the whores who tried to steal from him, when his life was guarding convoys of porters, and pleasure was a series of snatched moments between one long, straight road and the next. And then she had stood before him, slender and dark and naked and his rage had turned to unquenchable desire.
Mulac looked out over the cliffs. “Is this a sign?” a part of his brain mused, as past and present images fought for supremacy. Far out beyond the reef, where the mist had partly lifted, a large brown upturned wooden turtle sat suspended between sea and sky. Out of its body grew a forest of tree trunks and vines, draped in immense billowing sheets and topped with flags. Upon the foremost sheet, painted in blood, was an image like those from the temple: the sacred crosses used to mark the end of each great cycle of life. Mulac twisted backwards to reach the great horn fashioned from a giant conch shell, hung behind him, on the inner wall of his lookout post. But when he turned back to his vision, it had gone. Was it hiding in the fog? Was he seeing things because his wife had given him no sleep, or was it a portent he had yet to divine? His life had grown so complex that he now almost missed the simple hardships of the open road and his bachelor days.
Mulac kicked out in frustration at a small boulder used to provide extra seating during games of dice. He watched as it tumbled slowly and awkwardly down the hill towards the cliff edge. Without thinking, a prayer left his lips, as if drawn out by the rolling stone, a plea to K’inich, jaguar god of day and night. It was the same simple prayer he had uttered whilst passing the steps of the temple that morning. Take the fool from inside me. Cast him distant in space and time. The rock stopped suddenly as it hit a bush, panicking a small scaly lizard.
Four hundred and ninety-six years later David tripped over a fractured fragment of the same stone. He embarrassed himself further by swearing.
“Careful, David.” Laura followed along the cliff path that topped a prominent coastal ridge, accompanied by Felicity and Ethan. Everyone had been struggling with the heat and the lack of shade, David more than most. However, he was determined to explore every inch of the site. The other three had trailed in his wake. They caught up and all stood together and stared from their vantage point upon the large, rectangular, wall-bound complex of ruined buildings and grassy spaces that was the ancient city of Tulum. Below them, on the landward side, was the thick, dark blob of a fig tree. Its large rounded leaves sheltered the remainder of the party, who had all had enough of history and of the sun. Further along the promontory stood the old Castillo; a series of platforms and a grand stairway leading up to this squat, brooding structure.
Laura took the chance to introduce a little of what she had been reading. “I think the flat roof of the old castle was used as a lighthouse by the Mayans. There were two torch lights, one behind the other. Boatmen who were trying to get to the city from the open sea knew that, when the two lights seemed to merge into one, they were in line with a gap in the dangerous coral reef.”
“All too much effort, if you ask me,” observed Ethan. “This whole place looks like a surfer’s paradise. I bet the Mayans used to hit the beach, just as we do.”
“That cove down there looks a good place for a spot of beach fishing too,” enthused David.
“There’s an idea,” considered Ethan. “When we get to this biosphere lagoon, or whatever the place is, you and I can have a little competition. Laura, do you think they’d let us do that? We could ask the guides to bring a couple of rods.”
“I should think so. I’ll see what I can arrange. I know our guides are intending to catch stuff for us to eat anyway.”
“And it would be a great excuse for a barbeque,” Felicity added.
The conversation was interrupted by the sight of the two children, Hannah and Lloyd Morgan, emerging from the shade of the fig tree. They were creeping up on a large iguana lizard, which was sunning itself on the remains of an old palace building. As they burst into a run the reptile first cocked its head to one side, then sprang from its perch and sped off across the grass.
“At least those two have found something to amuse themselves,” laughed Ethan.
On the minibus journey from the hotel complex to Tulum the children had been dismayed to pass an exciting looking eco-park and had only been placated by the promise of swimming and snorkelling later in the day. They grumbled their way up to the ruins and looked positively horror-stricken to find they were supposed to follow a guided tour in the stifling heat.
“It’s like being back at school,” Hannah had suggested, none too quietly.
The tour had been abandoned within twenty minutes, as one person after the other peeled off into the shade. Marcus was now sitting with the others under the tree, chatting casually to John and Sharon Tanner about Tailwind Adventure. They were very much like his usual clients: Home Counties, well off, upper-middle class and privately educated. He felt at ease in their company, but at the same time concerned that the group had fractured so readily in the heat. He could see Laura on the hillside above him, rounding up the strays. He would talk to her later about how they might bond the team.
Marcus shouted to the children: “Time for a swim.” He winked at Sharon, stood up purposely and brushed tiny insects from the seat of his pants. There was a distant, slightly ironic cheer from Hannah. Lloyd lobbed one final stick into the tree in which the iguana was now hiding. Laura and the others took their cue to descend and soon the whole party was snaking its way out through one of the long, narrow passageways that issued through the thick walls of the city’s fortifications. Once back in the air-conditioned comfort of the minibus, Marcus introduced the final phase of their day trip.
“You’ll all be glad to know we’re off now to cool down and relax.”
The Morgan family clapped. David grimaced inwardly. Sharing his flabby form had never been a favourite pursuit.
“We would all roast at this time of day on a beach, beautiful as they are, so we’re going to a cenote instead. As I mentioned yesterday, these are formed by underground river systems.” Hannah gave an extravagant yawn, which Marcus chose to ignore. “You can get down to the water where the rocks above have fallen in. We have towels and snorkelling gear waiting for you and there’s a café on site too. It’s only a twenty minute drive. Do help yourself to anything in the icebox on the way - although I see most of you have don
e that already.”
“Is the water really cold?” Felicity quizzed, anxiously.
“No, I understand it is pleasantly cool. I think you’re all going to enjoy this experience and there’s no hurry to get back to the hotel this evening.”
Hannah groaned.
As the bus swung from the beach road onto the main highway, Laura noticed a line of heavily armed policemen standing to one side. She leaned forward in her front passenger seat to look enquiring past Marcus at their Mexican driver and guide, Cesar.
“Nothing to worry about,” he smiled back at her. “It is just La Policia Local. They make a show of force here to deter criminals. They’re after drink drivers and boy racers. I think they make a nice living from on-the-spot fines, but they never trouble tourists.”
They slowed to a crawl to negotiate a concrete hump in the road, adjacent to the officers. One man lazily waved the vehicle on and another made a note on his clipboard. Laura relaxed back into her seat.
“What time are we off to Coba tomorrow?” she checked with Marcus.
“Early: around seven a.m. We want to get there before any coach parties arrive. It’s a long walk through the jungle to the main monuments. You wouldn’t want to do it in the middle of the day.”
“At least we’re staying in the area afterwards.”
Marcus glanced behind him to ensure that no one else was listening then lowered his voice. “That should be a good opportunity to get everybody together. The resort hotel is too big for a small party. Everyone did their own thing yesterday, and some haven’t even talked to each other today.”
“David was funny on the first night though,” Laura whispered, stifling a giggle.
“Yes, but I think we’re going to have to keep a close eye on him. Talk about an innocent abroad!”
“But did you notice he was the first to go off and explore? I must admit I find him kind of endearing and he seems to be getting on well with Felicity and Ethan,” Laura observed.
“We’ll see,” cautioned Marcus.
The conversation lapsed and Laura pondered whether Marcus wasn’t actually quite narrow-minded. His privileged background seemed more apparent than when she had first met him and he was again displaying an emotional distance that seemed more than just professional. She made a point of turning around in her seat and starting a conversation with the children about ice cream flavours. The conversation caught on and was still in full flow when the bus pulled into a dusty roadside car park. Beyond a low wooden fence, Laura could see a sparse and equally dusty garden and, beyond that, a two-storey concrete building, encircled both by a terrace and a balcony. Low scrub forest surrounded the site and the overall effect was not very pre-possessing. Others obviously felt the same as there was no rush to vacate the vehicle. Marcus glanced at Laura, who realised that it was up to her to take the lead.
Having dismounted, she handed the necessary paperwork with an ingratiating smile to an old man on an old rocking chair. He was sitting in the shade of a roughly fashioned archway, which served as the entrance. The group followed Laura down a winding concrete pathway. It led to a long, narrow building, divided into a series of changing rooms with metal doors. The Tanners shuffled gingerly into one compartment, David took the next and soon every guest but Jackie and Darryl Morgan had disappeared from view.
“I’m not going in there,” Jackie informed her husband.
Marcus moved to placate her, but was overtaken by a scream from Felicity.
“Spider! Loooook! Ethan, get it out of here. Get it out of here!”
There was a moment’s silence then Felicity emerged, crimson-faced and stamping her feet. She and Jackie both stared accusingly at Marcus.
“Look,” he said, soothingly, “there’s nobody else here, at the moment. It’ll be pretty easy to change in the cenote itself, if you would prefer.”
“I suppose there’ll be spiders down there as well?” Jackie picked up her day pack, slung it over her shoulder and headed off. For a moment both Laura and Marcus assumed she was heading for the bus, but she veered to the right by a wooden sign and disappeared below ground level. Felicity followed, expressing a casual “Sorry!” as she passed Laura. Marcus shrugged his shoulders at Laura and gestured for her to join them.
Rounding the sign, Laura found a huge circular limestone chasm spread out before her. Jackie was sitting halfway down a flight of steps, filming the scene. She could see Felicity on a wooden platform, built around fallen boulders and a clump of trees, at its base. Wrapped in a bright red towel, she was squeezing her slightly too full figure into her bathing suit, her arachnophobia already forgotten.
Laura stopped to take in the view. Patches of vegetation broke the layers of limestone rock. Small birds flew in and out of the hole. Around the visible edges of the platform a thin strip of electric-blue water caught the sunlight and hinted at hidden depths below. She remembered what she had read on the flight. The Mayans used cenotes as a source of pure water, in a landscape devoid of surface streams. They were also treated as sacred gateways to the underworld. As she descended the steps the air became deliciously cool and the surroundings watery and green. To her considerable surprise, she found another little slice of paradise.
Chapter Sixteen
Rochas Blancas
Luis stood in the police station in front of two cowering officers, making it clear there were to be no reprisals against any of the prison inmates. Gennaro sat on one of the waiting room chairs, taking a call. Luis heard him swear loudly and then the crack of his chair smashing into the opposite wall. He looked around and frowned. A visibly shaking Gennaro passed him the cell-phone, before kicking his way out unnecessarily through the front door.
“Hello?”
It was Eusabio. Calmly and clearly he outlined to Luis what he had discovered in the mountains. There was no sign of Xterra, but the next poppy crop lay in tatters, a victim of the recent cold weather. His father had not received the news well, and had taken to his bed. The planned meeting with Marcelo and Barrio Fuerte upon Alfredo’s return had been cancelled. There was little point in trying to re-establish relations if there was nothing to trade.
Luis’ shock and frustration at yet more bad news also threatened to turn into rage, but he managed to keep his cool. He told Eusabio to stay where he was and to see what could be salvaged. Some of the plants must have survived, he reasoned. Perhaps there was still time for others to be replanted? He walked out of the building and joined a furiously pacing Gennaro. All the implications of what they had learned were bad. To have any chance of keeping their place in the drugs trade they would need now to import supplies. Their old east coast routes would make them vulnerable to Xterra, whose home territory this was. Importing drugs via the west coast would mean negotiations with other families and cartels. That would be tricky and the west coast was also more unstable, with various local gangs in Acapulco and other resorts trying to force their way into the business. In the meantime, Barrio Fuerte would have the best possible reason to find another supplier. Xterra would be hard for them to resist.
Silvio emerged from the police station and hailed Luis and Gennaro. Returning inside, they stared grimly at the one officer still brave enough to hold his post behind the screened-off front desk. A patrol had just radioed in a warning that another cartel had arrived. They had hijacked two vehicles from the bus station, taking several passengers. Driving south through the town centre, they had fired off random salvoes, apparently, at anyone who caught their eye. The officer appealed uncertainly to Luis for help.
“Xterra!” Gennaro spat at the floor, clenching both fists. The officer confirmed that their mark had been sprayed on the sides of both buses.
Luis nodded thoughtfully. He still didn’t share Gennaro’s anger. Luis didn’t want a pitched battle with Xterra even though his own men were numerous, well-armed and well-trained. He also could not ignore t
he officer’s appeal, if Las Contadonas were not to appear weak. Hopefully, a show of force would suffice. If it came to a battle, better here in Rochas Blancas than in Jaurez. There the family had a lot more to lose.
“Back to the trucks - let’s run these bastards out of town,” he commanded. He smiled at Gennaro and put a hand on his arm. “This is what you do best, old friend. This one is for my father and for the memory of my uncle. I know our family has nothing to fear with you to take care of our affairs.”
Gennaro said nothing. He stooped to pick up a handful of dust as he stepped into the road then rubbed it slowly and deliberately between his fingers. “In case we have to do this the old-fashioned way,” he smiled back at Luis, “I want to make sure I can get a good grip on somebody’s throat.”
There were no signs of the intruders in the centre of the small town. A growing crowd of concerned citizens thronged the bus station forecourt, consoling those whose friends and relatives, boyfriends and girlfriends had been kidnapped. The arrival of a fleet of SUVs crammed full of heavily armed men initially caused further panic and consternation. A few, emboldened by their loss, stood their ground, or even railed against the newcomers. As Luis left his truck, a lump of concrete flew through the air and shattered the windscreen behind him. A grandmother with two tearful children in tow grabbed at his jacket, screaming “Mi hija (my daughter).” Soon he was surrounded, and it took a volley of gunfire before he could make himself heard. About twenty people were missing. The very old and the very young had been left behind, even when they had had to be forcibly dragged from a bus. Luis promised grandiloquently to return the hostages and to restore order to the town, as though he was completing another oration from the prison balcony. As his posse sped away again towards the southern desert, it was followed by a small flotilla of cars and vans, their occupants revitalised by the arrival of Las Contadonas. Some distance still further back, a squad car cautiously tailed the assemblage.
