Panacea

by F. Paul Wilson

  “What are you doing?”

  “Forgot to send a holster down. Bear with me. Be done in a sec or two.”

  When he finished fiddling with the ties, he fished the pistol from the glove compartment and chambered a round.

  “You really think that’s necessary?”

  “Hope not. Hate to find out it is and not have a round in the chamber.”

  Okay, that made sense.

  Slipping the pistol through the zip ties, he covered it with the flap of his safari jacket and got out of the car. The heat and humidity enveloped Laura and clung like Saran Wrap as she stepped out on her side. They met by the front bumper.

  “How’s it look?” he said, smoothing the jacket. “No telltale bulge?”

  She noticed a slight bulge, but she was looking for it.

  “That’s amazing. All with zip ties.”

  “Thousand and one uses, I tell you.” He looked around. “So here are the houses. Where are the people?”

  “Let’s go find out.”

  They walked through the silent village without spotting a soul. Something was wrong. Laura felt it along the back of her neck.

  On the far side, in a small clearing to the west, they found what appeared to be the entire population standing in a circle around something hanging from a branch of one of the larger ceibas.

  Laura stopped in her tracks. “Is that…?”

  Rick’s hand went inside his jacket but he kept walking.

  “Yeah.” His head was swiveling like a turret as he made a full turn while remaining on the move. “Human. And three guesses who.”

  Laura felt her heart’s tempo pick up as adrenaline began to flow. She’d expected that 536—whoever they were—would be involved, but not … this.

  She forced her feet forward. She didn’t need three guesses, or even one. The body hung by its neck and was charred black. Just like the body she’d posted on Wednesday. Rick had been concerned about being followed. Apparently the 536 sect had arrived first and had their way with Mulac.

  When the villagers spotted Rick approaching they cowered. A couple even started to run.

  “Do not be afraid!” Laura called in the Yucatec dialect. “We mean no harm!”

  Rick held his hands up, empty palms out for all to see.

  The crowd parted for them and they stopped before the blackened corpse, swaying in the gentle breeze. The flies were making themselves at home. Close up she could see that he’d been strung up with wire.

  “There a reason no one cut him down?” Rick said.

  Laura hadn’t even thought of that. She felt as if she were in a bad dream.

  She put the question to the villagers. After some hesitation, one woman said in Yucatec, “A tall man and a short man come and they do this.”

  Laura gave her a closer look. She thought she knew her from a previous visit—the most outgoing of the customarily reclusive villagers. She looked much older now. What was her name?

  “I know you. Tlalli, right? Remember me? I came to talk to Mulac years ago.”

  “Yes. I knew you right away. You look the same.”

  She thought, Oh, after marriage, a baby, and divorce, I doubt that, but … she meant the blue eyes, of course.

  “You said two men did this?”

  “Yes. They told us we had to leave Mulac there for three days. They said if we cut him down before that they would burn the village and we would all end as Mulac.”

  Her gut crawled. Oh, God. This was getting worse by the minute. She scanned the tree line and the brush. Were they still around? Suddenly she was glad for Rick and his big Glock.

  When she translated, Rick walked over to the ceiba and used his knife to unknot the wire. Then he eased the body to the ground. It came to rest facedown.

  Forcing herself forward, Laura squatted next to Mulac and tried to shift her mind into professional gear—become a medical examiner rather than a shocked and frightened traveler.

  She’d met him only once, but even if she’d known him well, IDing him would have been difficult. It hadn’t been a smooth meeting. Mulac had been very secretive, inhospitable, even hostile to her presence. He’d ignored most of her questions and had refused to show her any of his medicines.

  His remains weren’t as badly burned as Hanrahan’s. On Mulac’s back she still could trace the outline of a familiar tattoo. She couldn’t tell if he’d been tortured before he died, or if he’d been alive when set ablaze.

  She looked at Tlalli for an answer. “Did they…?” She didn’t know the word for torture. “Did they hurt Mulac before they killed him?”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding vigorously. “Hurt him bad. Then they hurt Itzel.”

  “Who’s Itzel?”

  Tlalli called to someone and another woman brought a little girl forward. She had a bloody cloth wound around her right hand. The other woman—her mother?—began to unwrap it.

  I don’t think I want to see this, Laura thought.

  The bandage fell away to reveal four bloody fingertips. Laura gasped when she realized the fingernails had been ripped off.

  She glanced at Rick. His face had gone white.

  He turned away. “Cover that,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now.”

  Laura motioned to the woman to take the child away.

  Rick’s reaction surprised her, because previously he hadn’t seemed to react to anything. Mulac’s charred, hanging corpse hadn’t fazed him. But the child’s mutilated fingers … the sight of blood?

  Maybe he was human after all.

  “It’s okay,” she said when the child was gone.

  Rick turned around. His color had improved but his eyes, if anything, were flatter and deader than ever.

  “Tortured him and that didn’t work,” he said, his voice low and vibrating with rage, “so they tortured a little girl to get him to talk.” He looked at the villagers. “Someone said a tall man and a short man came. Ask which one hurt the little girl.”

  She did and Tlalli answered.

  “The short one,” Laura translated.

  Rick only nodded.

  “What are you thinking?” she said.

  “Nothing.” He took a deep breath and nodded toward Mulac. “Is this guy—was this guy a panacean like Stahlman suspected?”

  Laura nodded. “He has the tattoo.”

  A number of the villagers started babbling at once, terrified, some wailing.

  “What’s their problem?”

  Laura listened and caught the gist of their concerns.

  “You cut Mulac down and they’re worried the men will burn the village as they promised.”

  “Well, I’m not about to string him up again. And you can tell them to bury him or whatever they do with their dead. The men who did this won’t be back.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “They left his body hanging here for one reason: you. To let you know they’ve got the lead in this and you might as well give up and go home.”

  “Well, that’s about all that’s left to do, isn’t it?”

  Home … it sounded so good. Stahlman could keep his money. She’d expected a certain amount of risk, but not torture and murder.

  Rick looked around at the villagers. “Somebody’s got to know something. Anyone hear what Mulac told the 536ers? And do you see that girl who was in the photo with Brody?”

  Laura didn’t see her. She asked Tlalli what Mulac told his killers before he died but she said no one had heard anything but his screams. But when Laura pulled out the photo and showed it around, the villagers shut down.

  “What’s wrong?” Laura said.

  Tlalli handed back the photo. “The bad men … they have same picture.”

  That struck her like a blow.

  “The same? With both people?”

  Tlalli nodded.

  But the papers had published only the half with Chaim. How—? Oh, hell. When 536 hacked her computer they must have found the original scan. Dear God, the photo had helped lead them strai
ght to Mulac … and now Mulac was dead. A wave of guilt swept over her. She hadn’t sent that photo to the papers, but still …

  She shook it off. She could play the blame game later.

  “Do you know the man?” she said, pointing to Chaim.

  “We all tell the men that we don’t know.”

  “But you do?” When Tlalli hesitated, Laura said, “You know you can trust me. I’ve been here before and never hurt anyone.”

  After a long pause, Tlalli said, “Chet.”

  Okay. Right. Chaim’s nickname.

  Tlalli added, “But Mulac say, he doesn’t know him, even though they say Chet is dead. Is that true? Chet is dead?”

  “It’s true, I’m afraid,” Laura said. “Why was Mulac trying to protect a dead man?”

  She touched the woman in the photo. “Because Chet is with Ix’chel here.”

  Now they were getting somewhere.

  “And who is Ix’chel?”

  “Mulac’s sister.”

  Now she understood why Mulac had denied knowing Chaim in the photo—because if he knew Chaim, they’d expect him to know the woman as well.

  Laura looked around. “Where is she?”

  “She works in the city.”

  “Chetumal? Has anyone told her?”

  “Atl went to tell her. He will bring her back when he finds her.”

  “Finds her?”

  Tlalli shrugged. “We do not know where she lives.”

  “But she comes back from time to time?”

  “Many times. She helped her brother with his medicines.”

  When Laura relayed all this to Rick, he said, “Well, if she helped her brother, we should probably wait around for her.” He cocked his head and looked at her. “You don’t look too sure about that.”

  She rubbed her moist, shaky palms against her upper arms. She wasn’t easily rattled—medical examiner work had toughened her—but this had left her deeply shaken.

  “I’m not sure of anything right now.”

  “Yeah, things got ugly real quick, didn’t they. Look, this is your gig, so it’s your call. You want to quit, we get right back in the Jeep and haul ass back to the airport.”

  Laura clenched her jaw. He’d said quit. She hated that word. Why’d he have to say quit?

  “You think we’re in danger here?”

  “We’d only be a target if we knew something 536 doesn’t know. Since that’s not the case, I’d say we’re safe.”

  That was small comfort, but …

  “But that could change after we talk to Ix’chel,” she said. “We might learn something they want to know.”

  “You let me worry about security. That’s why I’m here. Your job is the panacea.” He spread his hands. “Stay or back to the States?”

  Oh, hell.

  “Stay.”

  “Fine. Gonna take a walk through the village and check out the perimeter. Just to get familiar. Why don’t you make more friends with the locals. Maybe someone knows something useful.”

  “I’m going to check in at home first.”

  She accompanied him as far as the Jeep, then watched him stroll off.

  There he goes, she thought, leaving a trail of cast-off verbs and pronouns in his wake.

  She sat in the Jeep and turned on its satellite phone. First, call home.

  “All’s well?” Steven said after she’d had a little talk with Marissa. “You find your healer?”

  “Yes.”

  How much to tell him? Couldn’t say he was murdered and set on fire, maybe burned alive. He’d freak.

  “Any help?”

  “Unfortunately he looks like a dead end.”

  Oh, my God! Did I just say that? I didn’t mean—

  “Oh, hell. Too bad. What next?”

  “Trying to figure that out. I want to talk to his sister. She’s supposed to show up later. Maybe she knows something helpful.”

  Finally—a string of completely true sentences.

  The call ended with Steven’s usual exhortations to stay safe and her usual assurances that she would. She wished she could feel just half as sure as she sounded.

  Next she called her voice mail. One message:

  “Hey, Doc, it’s Phil. I know you say this guy saved you from a mugging and all, but the more we dig into him, the shakier his story looks. Turns out he wasn’t a SEAL at all—in fact he was never even in the Navy. In case you didn’t know, you’ve got to join the Navy to be a Navy SEAL. That’s the bad news. But listen, lots of guys try to make themselves look more interesting by, shall we say, enhancing their past. The good news is, it looks like he’s an ex-cop from Sausalito—that’s the other side of the Golden Gate from San Francisco. He was in the Marine Patrol out there. Nowhere near as glamorous as being a SEAL, but hey, it puts him on the right side of the law. Joined young and took an early retirement. No black marks against him. I’m trying to see what he’s been up to since he quit but that takes a little longer. Get back to you soon as.”

  Laura shook her head as she exited her voice mail. Okay. Rick was lying about the SEAL thing. She didn’t like being lied to, but it wasn’t a malicious lie, and he wasn’t lying to hide anything. Like Phil said: enhancing his background. Maybe that helped his business. But she was surprised Stahlman hadn’t scoped that out before hiring him.

  So instead of an ex-SEAL she was being shepherded around by an ex-cop. Not so bad, she guessed. He’d handled that Glock like he was very comfortable and familiar with it. And Rick’s deviations from the truth weren’t the problem; 536 was the problem. She hoped Rick was right about them being gone.

  She saw him approaching from down the road and stepped out to meet him.

  “Well?”

  He shook his head. “No sign of anybody who shouldn’t be here. But I got to thinking.” He reached out a hand. “Can I see your bag a minute?”

  She hesitated, then handed it to him. He promptly upended it, spilling its contents on the hood of the Jeep.

  “Hey!”

  “Don’t you think it strange that 536 reached our destination ahead of us?” He began pawing through the empty bag, one hand inside, the other outside, squeezing the leather. “And just happened to be looking for the same curandero? That means either Stahlman or his guy James is tipping them off—unlikely—or they’ve been listening in. I realized you’re never without this bag, so—ah!”

  “What?”

  He held up a black button. “You were bugged. That 536 mugger wasn’t just after your phone. He planted this.”

  Laura couldn’t hide her shock. “That’s spy movie stuff.”

  “Not anymore. You can buy these gizmos online. Don’t have much range so I doubt they’ve been able to listen in since we took off from JFK. But if they are…” He cocked his arm and hurled it into the jungle. “Let ’em listen to the crickets now. Or whatever passes for a cricket in these parts.”

  Laura was about to respond but stopped at the sound of a revving engine behind her.

  A battered, topless Jeep Cherokee appeared, racing toward them. Rick’s hand snaked inside his jacket as he grabbed her upper arm and gently but firmly pulled her behind their own Jeep. The Cherokee didn’t even slow, however. Laura saw a young Mayan woman with a tear-streaked face in the passenger seat.

  “Ix’chel,” she said.

  “Sure?”

  “Ninety percent. I recognize her from the photo with Chaim. Of course she’d been smiling then.”

  They followed the Cherokee on foot as it raced through the village. It finally slowed to a halt near the crowd of villagers clustered about Mulac’s remains. The young woman leaped out and ran. She didn’t have to push her way through; the villagers parted for her. Laura saw her drop to her knees beside the corpse before she was closed from view.

  Her wails of grief were wrenching to hear.

  “Yep,” Rick said, eyes and voice flat. “Guess you’re right. But I don’t think we’ll be getting too much out of her tonight.”

  Poor girl, she though
t.

  Laura wasn’t sure she even wanted to talk to Ix’chel now. Bad enough to lose your brother, but in such a horrible way.

  “We can spend the night in Chetumal and come back in the morning,” Rick said. “Or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Or stay here.”

  “Really? It looks like rain and, in case you hadn’t noticed along the way, we didn’t pass any motels.”

  “Got the Jeep.”

  The Jeep? Was he kidding?

  Then she thought about it. They were outsiders here. If they spent the night on the outskirts of the village, they might seem less so. Maybe Ix’chel would be more willing to open up to her.

  “We’ll be safe?”

  He patted the spot where he kept the Glock. “Oh, yeah.”

  “How will we work it?”

  “You can have the backseat. Looks fairly comfortable.”

  Yeah. She could handle that. She wasn’t quite as flexible as her younger self, but she’d slept in less hospitable spots during her bioprospecting days. The problem was sharing the car with Rick. Not that he gave off a lechy vibe—he didn’t—but his weird worldview made her a little uneasy with him. Just how stable was he?

  “Fine for me. But even if you could fit up front, I don’t see you draping yourself across that center console.”

  “I can doze off anywhere, anytime, in any position. Sleeping on a semi-reclined cushioned car seat is a piece of cake.”

  “Really?” Laura had to say it. “Something you learned in your SEAL training?”

  He nodded without looking at her. “Yep.”

  Liar.

  4

  Brother Miguel called after sunset.

  “We’re going to spend the night near the village,” he said.

  “Why?” Nelson’s grip tightened on the phone. “Have you found something?”

  “No. But it looks like the Fanning woman and her bodyguard or whatever he is are staying, so I figure we better do the same.”

  “Do you think she’s on to something?”

  “Not yet, but it looks like some relative of the curandero showed up.”

  “The girl in the photo?”

  “We couldn’t get close enough to make an ID, even with the binocs. And then the sun went down and so an ID is out of the question until morning. Looks like your gal and her guard dog have called it a night.”