by S. D. BROWN
We'd been on the road for an hour, and I felt like a rubber band that had been stretched to its maximum capacity. The slightest increase in pressure and I'd snap. It wasn't J.T.'s erratic steering or the fact that he'd insisted driving with the top down and churning my hair into a nest of tangles. Nor was it the two cars that had tailed us from the resort. Mum and Harry in their pavement-gray Honda had played road-hopscotch with J.T.'s Dharma and friend in a dark green Jetta for the last forty-five minutes.
I wasn't even bothered to see hired guards everywhere, protecting empty looking compounds. Hardly noticed the barrage of Fedérale police in jeeps cruising the highways. Didn't blanch at the soldiers pointing guns at us from little towers at the numerous checkpoints along the way.
It was the incessant chatter of the Mexican boy J.T. had insisted on bringing along as a translator.
Raul.
Raul, who sat in the back seat and had a comment for everything and anything, all the while slaughtering the English language with the excessive exuberance of a yapping little dog.
Perhaps my annoyance was a tad unfair, but I couldn't concentrate. He wouldn't stop talking. If he nattered on like this to virtual strangers, how much would he blab to undesired parties about today's excursion? He was a real security risk. I already knew all about his hopes and dreams for his future in America. His family history, including the names of every pet he'd ever owned. And the financial difficulties of managing a resort. His presence was like a toothache that wouldn't abate. Plus he'd put a cramp into my developing relationship with J.T.
I already felt self-conscious enough about flirting. It was bad enough I liked J.T. in spite of the fact he represented the enemy. Having an audience made I the game almost impossible.
"This car is the dynamite," Raul said from the backseat. "When I'm rich I'm going to buy one. Yes. It is the explosion."
"Bomb," J.T. said, making little more sense than Raul. "It's the bomb."
"What are you guys talking about?"
"I'm teaching Raul American slang."
"And I'm getting below with it."
"Down with it," J.T. said. "Getting down with it."
I rolled my eyes and glanced in the side mirror to check on our tails. Dharma and friend were four car lengths behind Mum and Harry. Between them was a police car. Suddenly it flashed its red lights, coming up fast behind Mum and Harry's car. I grinned. Love to hear Harry try to talk his way out this one. Next thing I wore a frown. The police car swerved around their Honda, lights still flashing and swung in behind us.
"J.T.? There's a police car behind us. I think he wants you to pull over."
A siren blasted and I jumped in my seat.
"It's okay," Raul said. "Put some money in your license for the policeman."
"How can I do that? I'm driving."
"Pull over," I said and pulled out my wallet. "How much?"
"Twenty dollars should do it," Raul said.
"It's illegal to bribe a cop," J.T. said. He flipped on his turn-indicator and started to slow the car. "It'll just get me in trouble."
Raul shook his head. "No. Trust me. Not bribing the cop will get you in trouble. You know American slang. I know my country. And whatever you do, don't volunteer any information. Just answer the policeman's questions. With only a yes or a no if you can."
The mustang slid to the side of the road and stopped. I handed J.T. the money. He slipped it into his forged driver's license. Raul slid back in his seat and clipped his seat belt on. Amazingly, for the first time that morning, he remained silent. Harry and Mum sped by, followed by Dharma and friend.
I watched the policeman in the side-mirror. After fiddling with something inside the car, he put on a hat and exited his vehicle. A dark complexioned man who sported a distinguished black mustache and dark sparkling eyes. Once he was out of the car I realized this wasn't the first time I'd seen his pock scarred face. I never forget a face. At our last meeting, he played the role of an airport customs agent. So what was he doing here as a traffic policeman? Such a coincidence didn't seem credible. Obviously he was kind of a spy. Had Mum paid him to pull us over? Or, had he been employed by the enemy?
He made his approach in slow motion, pausing to put on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Every move looked deliberate. Perhaps he liked to allow the driver a little self-torture before writing them a ticket. Or maybe he was just giving J.T. time to retrieve a bribe from his wallet.
"May I see your driver's license and car rental papers?" the man asked, his voice grim as his stern countenance. His nametag read Sgt. Perez. He gave J.T. a second look.
J.T. said to me, "Get the rental papers from the glove box."
I complied.
J.T. took them and handed them over with his license.
"Passport."
J.T. fumbled it out of his pocket and gave it to the man. The officer took his time studying the documents. He half turned and slipped the bribe in his pocket. That's when I noticed the revolver pistol holstered on his belt. Turning back to us, he returned J.T.'s papers.
"I see you're still in a hurry."
"Yes, sir. I mean no, sir."
"Watch your speed. I'm going to let you go with a warning this time. The speed limit is one hundred."
"I was only going seventy. We're going to visit the pyramids."
In the back seat Raul coughed, and I felt the kick he'd leveled at the driver's seat. Obviously J.T. had forgotten the advice not to volunteer information.
"Seventy miles per hour," the officer repeated.
"Yeah. That's like thirty miles under the speed limit. So what's the problem, officer?"
"The speed limit is in kilometers. Translated that makes it sixty miles per hour."
"Oh." J.T.'s face went white. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. . ."
The man frowned and transferred his gaze first to me, and then to Raul. Suddenly a big grin lit his face. "Primo Raul."
Primo Raul? Cousin Raul.
"Cousin Hector." Raul's voice sounded nervous.
The man suddenly started in rapid fire Spanish. Luckily I understood every word. "Little cousin. It's been a while. How's your mother? Father? The resort business?"
"We're good. It's all good."
"Glad to hear it." He leaned into the back seat and lowered his voice. "Because your mother is my favorite cousin, let me give you a little advice. Don't put your trust in this gringo. He's headed for trouble and you don't want any part of it."
"He's my friend."
"If you say so. But remember, I warned you. It's your funeral." He stepped back from the car and spoke in English. "Watch your speed. Next time I won't be so generous."
"Ouch," I said and twisted to look at Raul in the back seat. "What did the policeman say to you?"
He shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just said that I should be careful who I ride with."
"Oh," I said. "How did he know your name?"
"Quit giving Raul the third degree." J.T. started the car and eased back onto the toll road. This time he set the cruise control at sixty. "I think that cop is just the kind who likes to harass kids."
"You're probably right," I said and decided not to push. I smiled; satisfied I'd found a way to get rid of the pesky boy who obviously wasn't an innocent bystander in this game.
As soon as J.T. and I found a little privacy, I'd tell him what I'd overheard. That Raul and the policeman were family. That Raul had lied about it. That I suspected he might have something to do with J.T.'s father disappearance.
I'd have to word the latter part carefully because as far as J.T. was concerned, he thought that I thought finding his dad was just a game.
16: J.T.
Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? There is more hope of a fool than of him.
Proverbs 26:12
Chichén Itzá
Yucatan Peninsula
I parked the car under the shade of a broadleaf tree. Even though it was still morning, it was ten times hotter than at the resort. And drier like Phoenix.
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"I don't think you should leave the top off," Raul said. "Someone might take the radio."
"But there are security guards everywhere." I pointed to two men dressed in khaki uniforms patrolling the lot in a golf cart. "Besides, it was kind of a hassle to put it down."
"They can be paid to look the other way," he said.
"You mean like your cousin?" Rena said.
Raul gave her a hard look. "Not all blood is thicker than water."
I pushed the button to automatically restore the car's top. Nothing happened. Great. "What's wrong with this thing?"
"Maybe someone sabotaged it," she said. "Someone who has difficulty with the truth. What do you think, Raul?" His name came out like she'd stepped in a pile of you know what. Then she added something in Spanish I didn't understand.
He didn't answer, but his face turned a dark red. "Let me see if it's stuck." He jumped out of the car and tried to lift the roof manually.
"Cut him some slack," I whispered, wondering why she didn't like him. "He's a righteous guy. And my friend."
She returned my whisper. "I don't trust him."
"Why not?" Being pretty made it easy for cute girls to be unreasonable at times.
"It's stuck good," Raul said. "Go find your Senior Perez tourist man. I stay with the car."
"You'll miss the pyramids."
"That's okay. I've seen pyramids lots of times."
"This wasn't the plan." I slammed the door and locked it, which was pointless since there was no roof. "I need you to come. I need you to translate."
Raul shook his head. "Senor Perez will speak good English. Better than mine."
"You sure?"
He stood up straight and saluted. "Go ahead. Make my day."
I laughed. "Okay. Come on, Rena. Let's go talk to the man."
As soon as we were out of sight, I said, "Now tell me, why don't you trust Raul?"
"Because that policeman was his cousin."
"How do you know that? You just met Raul a few hours ago."
"They called each other cousin."
"You speak Spanish?"
"A little. Enough to understand that the policeman is Raul's cousin. I wager they're as thick as thieves and he'll get half of the bribe money when he goes home tonight."
I frowned. Was what she said true? She had no reason to lie. Something was definitely off. The traffic policeman who stopped us was the same one that had hassled me at the airport and gone through my stuff. It didn't make sense a customs officer could be a traffic cop, too.
Hello. He was following me.
What better way than to have his cousin Raul make friends with me? I wouldn't tell Rena my suspicions, because then I'd have to tell her everything. After Raul's betrayal, I realized I couldn't trust anyone. Not even her. My dad's life was at stake.
"Thanks for telling me," I said.
Rena and I rounded the corner and almost ran into a mob of tourists waiting in line to get inside.
"Wow," I said. "Check out all the people. Didn't expect this place to be so popular."
"They're probably here for the spring equinox," she said. "To see the spirit of the feathered-serpent god."
"The what?"
"The spirit of Quetzalcoatl, like the statue in the pool. It's really just an optical illusion. The northwest corner of the El Castillo pyramid casts a series of triangular shadows against the western balustrade on the north side. It evokes the appearance of a serpent wriggling down the staircase of the pyramid. It happens twice a year."
"Whoa. We'll have to check that out." He grinned. "Who needs a tour guide when I have you?"
She blushed a nice shade of pink. "If we're still here. It doesn't appear until in the late afternoon."
"Too bad, but maybe." The line inched forward. "Hey. We're next."
"Oh!" Her face turned into a pout frown. "My charm has detached itself." She held up a little silver sombrero. "Can you keep it for me?"
"Sure thing," I took it, slipped it into a pocket and stepped up to the ticket counter. When I pulled out Dad's credit card, Armando Perez's business card flipped out onto the counter. Good reminder.
"Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Perez?" I asked the lady cashier after I paid for our tickets and realized I should have checked to make sure he was there before making the trip. "He was recommended to us."
"Today he is not leading tours."
My stomach sank.
"But you will find him here at the sacred Cenote Sagrado. He's giving short lectures every hour." She marked the site map with a yellow highlighter.
Whew. I really had to talk to him. He might have been the last person to see Dad.
"Thanks." I handed Rena the map. "You navigate. I'll keep an eye out for anyone who looks suspicious."
We walked through the entrance gate. Talk about mind-blowing. It was like we'd walked onto one huge movie set from an old archeological treasure-hunting Indiana Jones film. Ruins exploded up everywhere, but what caught my attention was the huge pyramid dead ahead.
"Totally awesome," I said. "I'd love to climb it. Not as challenging as scaling a rock face, but still would be totally cool."
"El Castillo is impressive, but they don't let people climb it any more," Rena said. "It's also known as the Temple of Kukulkan."
"Is that where they did the human sacrifices?"
"One of the places. Actually there are several in Chichén Itzá. It's too bad we don't have time to properly explore the archeological site. It is rich with Mayan, Toltec and Aztec architecture."
She was right. No matter how cool this place was, I didn't have time to play tourist. I needed to find Dad.
"Let's go find Perez," I said.
"According to the map, we need to go this way. There's the Great Ball Court. It won't take any longer to walk through it than to go around."
She pointed at a picture carved into a section of the wall and shuddered, "Look at that relief."
A ball player had been decapitated. His head lay at his feet, eyes wide open and staring straight at me. Streams of blood gushed from his neck like wriggling snakes.
"Cool," I said.
"But uncivilized. The losers were executed." She grabbed my arm. "Come on, we need to get moving."
17: Serena
Evil brings men together.
Aristotle
Chichén Itzá
Yucatan Peninsula
I fanned my face with the site map. The heat was even more oppressive than earlier. A drink from the plastic water bottle I'd brought along didn't provide much relief.
A tiny Mayan woman, even shorter than myself, spotted us and hurried over. She carried a woven basket and held up a brightly embroidered handkerchief. Hot-pink, electric-yellow and cornflower-blue flowers meticulously stitched onto the soft white fabric.
"One for one dollar, American." She smiled a toothless grin and mimed patting her face with the kerchief. "You like? I have many colors for you to choose."
"Sorry. I don't have any cash," I said.
"Let me get it." J.T. pulled out two crisp one-dollar bills. "Pick out two. I'll give the other one to my mom."
Once the exchange was complete, the woman moved on to another tourist who studied the pages of a local tour book.
"No thank you," the American woman snapped. It sounded like Dharma. Looked like Dharma. Was Dharma. "Go away," she said, sounding like she was grinding her teeth. "I don't want any."
She must be following us. I looked around, but didn't spot her friend. Either he skulked elsewhere or was more proficient at the spy game.
I wondered if J.T. had noticed her, but he was too busy examining another stone carved relief of a disemboweled warrior. His fascination with gore shouldn't surprise me. It just went to prove that although technology had advanced in the last 2,000 years, the typical adolescent male mind hadn't experienced the same breakthrough.
My net shades vibrated, giving me a little tickle.
"Look at this one," J.T. said, moving to the next stel
e of a skeleton.
I tapped the on-button for my special sunglasses. Blank screen. Oh right, I had to activate them. "Looks like the Aztec version of an angel," I said, with emphasis on the activation word, angel.
Immediately a text message appeared from Harry.
TRACKER ACTIVATED. MISTAKE?
"Cool," J.T. said and laughed and pointed. "This guy's doing the bone dance on a cloud."
"J.T.," I said. Instantly my spoken response popped on the halo-screen. "You can look at those later. We should keep moving," I added, thinking a voice-activated system wasn't so brilliant when my next two sentences appeared.
GOOD MOVE. IF YOU GET separated WE CAN STILL TRACK HIM. WHERE ARE YOU HEADED?
"We don't want to miss Mr. Perez at the Cenote Sagrado."
"You're right," J.T. said.
GOT IT. NEED PHOTOS FOR LEVERAGE.
"According to the map, we should be there in a tic." I deactivated the sun-shade glasses and wiped beads of perspiration from my forehead with my new flower embroidered souvenir. It was sweet of J.T. to buy it. Why did he have to be so nice? "First, let me snap your picture with the decapitated player."
"You do realize in America ticks are blood sucking bugs," J.T. said and posed, grinning. "But that's not what you meant, is it?"
"Not likely."
All of a sudden he looked serious. "I don't know why I'm wasting time. I guess I'm a little afraid of what Perez will tell us."
I fought my instinct to comfort him. It's just that he was so cute and at the same time so immature. Vulnerable even. Add in that he was the enemy and my attraction to him made no rational sense.
"Let's go find out," I said.
Mr. Perez matched his picture on his business card. He was surrounded by a gaggle of tourists and stood on a boulder. It seemed he had just started his rehearsed lecture.
"The entire Yucatan Peninsula is a limestone plain." The man's English was impeccable and I wondered if he'd studied at Oxford. "We have no rivers or streams, but the plain is not without water. It is pockmarked with cenotes like this one. The Cenote Sagrado. It is one of the largest."
