by S. D. BROWN
"It must be reasonable," she said, sounding both tired and concerned. "It can't jeopardize the mission."
"Relax. I'd never do that. You have no idea how important the outcome of this assignment is to me. Now rest."
Once I had Mum settled, I went out to make nice with new stepdad Harry and pump him for information on the assignment.
Harry was sitting in front of three portable computers. He had on a set of headphones and seemed to be typing on all three machines at the same time. No need to guess his role in the mission. He was our tech man.
Who was snacking on a prodigious supply of taquitos and salsa while he worked. Obviously he liked them. There was a fortnight's supply of empty tomato sauce-smeared dishes on the counters, floor and in the sink. He bit into the last rolled-up tortilla and moaned as he chewed and smacked his lips. They must taste better than they look.
I moved closer to get a better view of the screens.
The surveillance screen of the left computer showed a suite almost identical to our own. But then I noticed the subtle discrepancies. The room was not an exact copy of our tacky décor. The iguana painting by the window was of a yellow lizard, not a green one. The placemats on the table were red, not orange. And the bullfighter poised on his tiptoes looked left, not right.
The middle screen was broadcasting a live satellite feed of the resort. The gorgeous landscaping of the grounds impressed me. Hopefully I'd be required to spend some time in the lavish pools near the beach.
The third screen displayed a dozen or more alpha-numeric codes. I leaned forward to see if any were familiar and bumped Harry's arm. He jumped, ignored the empty plate clattering to the floor and hit a button. The third screen went blank. But not before I had translated the top inscription.
The beacon shines red at midnight.
Hmmmmm. A code phrase embedded in a code? It made no sense at the moment, but I mentally stored it for future reference.
"Sorry," I said and bent down to pick up the plate. Make that, pieces of the plate. It had split into three neat segments.
He pulled down the headset so that it resembled an ill-fitting collar. "It's all good, little lady. The wife won't have to wash it up." He winked. "Speaking of which, you got the old-ball-and-chain settled?"
I nodded and couldn't help smiling at his accent. Was it real or a put on, I wondered? Either case, it'd take getting used to. "Yeah," I said and pointed to the left screen. "I take it that's their accommodation."
He nodded and tapped a key. Another room appeared. "This is the father's bedroom and this," tap," the boy's. We have a third camera on their balcony."
"Nice," I said, nodding my head. "Any problem getting them installed?"
"Are you kidding? You'd be amazed how a little personal charm and few pesos will open doors."
I looked at him and frowned. "Are you sure that was wise? If they find the cameras, you'll be their prime suspect."
He grinned and winked again. "One. They won't find the cameras. I guarantee that. Two. I told the maid in question that I wanted to check out the views from Building One. That I wanted to know if the higher room rates were worth shelling out for the next time I visited the resort." He looked smug and self-satisfied like a cowboy version of the Cheshire Cat. "She bought it, hook, line and sinker."
"When did you install the cameras? Can you access the videos from last week?" I asked, because I wanted to see a picture of the monster responsible for my parents' deaths. I had the boy's photo, but not the father's. "Do you have footage of the father?"
"Honey, I just got here yesterday. All I have is footage of the empty rooms. Weren't you briefed?"
To avoid answering the direct question, I raised my eyebrows and nodded to the piles of dirty dishes. "It looks like you’ve been playing bachelor for a week or two. I'd think a place like this would have a suitable maid service."
He grinned. "Who needs a maid when I have a brand new filly and stepdaughter to wait on me."
"I don't think Mum will like being referred to as your new horse."
Suddenly he looked all business. "We wouldn't want the hired help viewing the surveillance equipment, now would we? A little housekeeping won't hurt you."
It was my turn to be serious. "You asked if I was briefed? The question is, were you? You do realize I am Mr. Santana's favorite niece. He didn't send me on this assignment to clean up after you."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He sighed like he'd just been injected with a shot to prevent smallpox. "It sounds like you already have all the answers."
"But not on your M.O.S. Maybe we should review. Go over the plan from both our viewpoints."
Harry scrunched up his chin, forcing his mouth into a frown. He tapped his lips with an index finger. "Don't suppose it could hurt." His gaze slid sideways toward the room phone and then back to me. "Don't suppose you could rustle up some more grub?"
Now I knew why Uncle Monte had downloaded the American slang into the cognitive part of my brain. It was so I could understand Harry, but Harry didn't know that. Maybe it'd be wiser to let my new step-dad think I was a little on the slow side. That way he might let his guard down and tell me more than he would otherwise.
"I don't think they eat grubs in Mexico," I said, sounding like an informed Form Four know-it-all. "You've confused it with Australia. That's where they eat the grub worms. I think they eat mostly tacos, burritos, enchiladas and tostados here."
"Then order me three of each," he said. "And whatever you like as well. Just dial 24 for room service. Best of all it's included in the price of the room. Which reminds me, you'll need this."
He handed me a plastic silver-colored bracelet. Not at all my style.
"That's okay," I said. "You didn't have to get me a present."
He laughed and held up his arm. He was wearing one just like it. "I have one for the wife, too."
"Great," I said, thinking I'd take it and lose it at the first convenient opportunity.
"You have to wear them while on the resort grounds. It shows you belong here." He put it on my wrist. "Now rustle up lunch and then we can have our little father-daughter talk."
I called in the food order. I'd never eaten Mexican food, so I ordered one of everything. It was more than I could reasonably consume, but Mum might be hungry when she got up. And if she wasn't, I doubted we'd have any leftovers. The dirty dishes Harry had managed to accumulate in less than twenty-four hours indicated that he had a sizeable appetite. The man should be obese instead of having the appearance of a trim athlete. Once Mum cleaned up, they'd look good together.
Harry returned to his bank of computers and started tapping keys. "Why don't you check on your momma and get unpacked. Once the boy shows up, you won't have free time. I'll let you know as soon as the food arrives."
"What about our father-daughter talk?"
"Wellllll," he drawled. "After giving it a second swirl in the brain, I think it'll wait until your Mum can participate. We're a new family and all. Don’t want to start the honeymoon off on the wrong foot by leaving her out of the equation."
"You're probably right," I said, but inwardly was thinking that the good old stepdad was shrewder than I'd thought. He'd been playing me. That's okay. I'd return the favor before the mission was complete. In the meantime I'd take his advice and unpack. "Let me know when lunch arrives." I gave him my most innocent smile and added, "Or the boy."
Suddenly I felt exhausted. My internal computer system required a recharge. Uncle Monte had warned me not to let the power battery die or my ability to walk would die with it. Evidently all the new downloads had drained my system quicker than usual. Normally I only had to plug in once every week or two.
8: J.T.
Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.
Proverbs 17: 28
AZTEC PALACE RESORT
CANCUN RIVIERA
It was only two in the afternoon. Almost the same time zone as Phoenix, but I c
ould hardly keep my eyes open. This ride was taking forever. Mom getting me up at five in the morning must have had something to do with it. That, and the fact I'd stayed up to three repacking my bag. Putting in the stuff I'd really need and taking out the stuff Mom thought I'd need. Like who needs bug spray in paradise? Her junk went in the back of my closet under a pile of old sports uniforms I'd outgrown. She'd never look there.
I jolted awake and grabbed the seatback in front of me. The Aztec Resort's van driver must have slammed on the brakes at the last moment before he hooked a tight turn across the four-lane highway.
Blinking back a full-blown yawn, I stared out the window to check out the resort and didn't see one. I didn't see any ocean either. There was just a landscaped strip of plants and boulders in front of a huge double arched wall of white plaster. On it gigantic wrought-iron black letters announced: THE GRAND AZTEC PALACE BEACH & GOLF RESORT.
Two paved roads ran through the arches. The van took the right one, eased forward and stopped when a guard in uniform stepped out with a clipboard.
The driver rolled down his window, letting in hot moist air. It smelled fresh and exotic at the same time.
"Buenos días," the guard said.
The driver rattled off a stream of words in Spanish. The only words I understood were, "James Thomas Chapman."
The guard nodded, scribbled something on the clipboard and waved at me. "Welcome to the Aztec Place, Mr. Chapman. May you have a pleasant vacation with us."
He stepped back and motioned for the driver to proceed. Once inside, the road wove its way through a kind of landscaped jungle. Bright red flowers cut into low hedges. Palm trees. Cacti. Giant Birds of Paradise blooms that looked like they were about to take flight. Trees like Yuccas but were different. A wide walking trail ran along the left side of the road. Maybe I'd get up early and run every morning. It'd keep me on my game. Then I laughed when I saw the NO JOGGING sign. GOLF CARTS ONLY.
Five minutes later the courtesy van parked in front of the resort's main office. Now this was what I'd expected in a resort that my dad would choose. The lobby scored a ten on the luxury scale with its high ceilings, polished marble, plush seating areas and impressive artwork. Not to mention air conditioning. It'd be awesome if the rooms were even half as nice.
Three groups were already checking in and so I had to wait my turn. I tried to call Dad on my cell and was put through to voice mail. It informed me that the mailbox was full. That was a good sign. It meant his business calls were piling up. Which translated into he and I having a fantastic, uninterrupted vacation.
The family group in the middle finished their check-in and was escorted out the door by a resort employee in a gold uniform. The parents seemed at odds, but their little twin daughters looked too excited to care. That, or they were used to the bickering.
The young man at the counter smiled and waved me over. He looked even younger than me. His nametag read: Raul.
"Checking in?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow, obviously noting the grease stains on my slacks.
"Sorry about how I look. I had a little accident at the airport."
"You weren't hurt, sir?"
"No," I said and dredged up one of Dad's phrases. "Just my pride."
He smiled. "Let me be the first to welcome you to the Aztec Palace. We have a very good cleaning service that can restore your pants. Like new."
"Thanks, but I think I'll just chuck them." A confused look appeared on his face, so I added. "Throw them in the garbage."
"Oh," he said, nodding and smiled. "I understand. Chucked is American slang for throw away. I have to remember that. Let's get you checked in. May I see your passport?"
I pulled it from my front slacks pocket and handed it to him.
A smile lit his face. "Senor Chapman."
Weird. Did he think I was Dad? Not possible. Still, it was kind of fun being treated like an adult, so I just smiled and nodded like a bobble head.
"Your father is expecting you." So much for that fantasy.
"Yeah," I said. "I guess he's got a head-start on the vacation."
"One week he's been here, but I think he was working."
That surprised me. I thought he had arrived yesterday.
Raul typed on his computer. "You know, one day I want to go to America for the good life. Get a good education for a good job." He handed me back my passport. "You are so lucky to have free education."
I frowned at being reminded that I went to the exclusive and private Christian Academy. My old public school had been so much cooler, even with Ms. Turner on campus. Still, there was no reason to ruin his dreams. "You wouldn't think so if you had my old English teacher. She's a real dragon lady."
He laughed, pulled out a silver-colored rubber bracelet and motioned for me to hold out my arm. "You Americans are all the same. Don't appreciate how good you have it."
I shrugged.
The manager came over. Raul stiffened. Now sounding all business-like, he said, "You'll need to wear this while on the resort property. It is your ticket to everything."
The manager shot Raul a frown.
"Great," I said as he adjusted it to fit my wrist. "I noticed some people have red bracelets."
"That is because they pay for accommodation only," the manager explained, elbowing Raul aside. "Our platinum customers, like you and your father, have access to all amenities. Drinks. Food. Entertainment. Golf. Room service. Pool service. Even laundry, if you like."
"Not bad," I said.
"I hope your check-in was satisfactory. Normal protocol is that I personally register our executive guests. Raul is new . . ." He let the words hang in the air while a deep red blush darkened the young guy's mocha skin.
"Everything's cool," I said. Suddenly, I felt a little uncomfortable. "Can't wait to see my dad."
"Very good. Oh, I almost forgot." He reached under the counter and handed me two envelopes. "These arrived this morning."
"Thank you," I said, glancing at them. The official-looking one was addressed to Dad. The other one was to me, written in Dad's wide loping handwriting.
"Raul," he snapped. "Show young Mr. Chapman to his master suite." His voice lowered. "And remember you are an employee. Not a guest."
Raul hurried from behind the counter like a beaten dog and reached for my bag.
"That's okay," I said. "I got it."
"Please, sir?" His eyes opened wide and the expression on his face seemed to plead, don't get me in more trouble with the boss.
"Sure, why not." I handed him my carry-on.
He looked grateful. "Please, follow me."
We went out the side door to a line of waiting golf carts.
"Building One," Raul told the driver. To me he said. "You travel light."
"It's the only way to fly," I said and knuckle-bumped him.
It only took a few minutes to get to the room, but I was surprised at how big the resort was. It would have taken at least ten minutes to walk or five minutes to jog from the lobby to our suite. Which was good. It meant the odds of me bumping into the resort manager were pretty slim.
Our place was great. Super fancy. Raul walked me through, giving me the grand tour. All the bright colors shouted Mexico. The iguana painting, in what I assumed was my room, was really awesome. At first glance it almost looked like the real thing. I'd have to talk Dad into buying one just like it for me as a souvenir of our vacation. I could picture the wicked-looking lime green lizard flicking its tongue at my Razorback Basketball poster in my room back home.
Raul's pager chirped and he looked apologetic. "It is the manager. So, anything else I can help you with?"
"It must be rough working with that guy as your boss," I said.
Raul shrugged. "I want to learn good English. It is a small price to pay. One day I will go to the United States and get rich. Like you." He straightened a fiesta-red throw pillow on the lime green couch. "Like you Americans say, his growl is worse than his teeth snap."
"You mean, his bark is wors
e than his bite."
Raul looked at me. "Please say again."
I repeated it.
He practiced the phrase a couple of times before his pager chirped again. He unclipped it from his belt, looked at it and frowned. "The boss calls."
"Don't let me keep you. I don't want to get you fired."
"He won't fire me. He's my father. Blood oozes more than water."
I laughed and tried to figure out what he was talking about. Then I got it and said, "Blood is thicker than water." I pulled out a fiver and handed it to him for a tip.
"Thanks, man," he said. "If you need anything, give me a call. I'll be there."
"Sure thing." He headed for the door. "And Raul?'
He turned back.
"For the record. I'm not rich. My dad is. I don't live with him."
Now why had I said that? Maybe because Raul seemed like the first real person I'd met. Still, that didn't mean I had to blab my mouth off.
He seemed to consider my words and then nodded. "That's okay. You still are thick blood." His pager chirped again and he left.
I turned and faced the empty apartment.
It was awesome. I was in Mexico! I did an imaginary slam-dunk, slapped the top of the door and clipped the bottom edge of a decorative Aztec sun plaque. It clattered on the tile floor. Oops. Luckily it didn't break because it was made of some sort of super duper plastic stuff.
Before I could re-hang it a phone rang. I propped the stern-looking sun on the countertop against a fruit basket so that it faced the wall. I looked for the room phone and spotted one by the kitchen sink.
"Hello?"
Strange. No one answered. There was just a dial tone.
Brinnnnng. Brinnnnng.
The ring tones sounded like they came from the couch. How many separate phone lines did they have in the unit?
Brinnnnng. Brinnnnng.
It was definitely coming from the couch. I tossed throw pillows until I found a cell phone wedged between the seat and the back cushions. Next to it was a wallet. Flipping it open, I saw that it was Dad's. Four credit cards, a wad of cash and his driver's license were all there. Transferring my attention to the phone, I frowned. Mom's number glared at me from the screen.
