The Mayan Secrets

by Clive Cussler

  When Sam and his companions returned to the plaza, the army helicopters’ doors were open and people were climbing aboard. Soldiers loaded the two civilian copters with the camera equipment, folded tents, and supplies. The camera crew, Sarah Allersby’s assistants, and the dig supervisors got in.

  What caught Sam’s eye was Sarah Allersby in handcuffs, being escorted by Commander Rueda to one of the two big military helicopters.

  Remi stood, waiting for Sam, at the field. She ran to meet him. “Where are they?”

  “One of them rolled over to where the other one was and chewed through his leather shoelace. They got away.”

  “I’ll bet it was Ruiz,” Remi said. “He has beautiful teeth.”

  “The sergeant says they’ll never get anywhere on foot. On the other hand, I keep remembering that lots of people in this part of the world don’t have shoes. What’s going on?”

  “Rueda said that Sarah had photocopies of the four pages of the codex that made up the map in her suitcase, with this site marked. She also had aerial photos of the same four sites we picked out, and a few more. It’s not the codex, but it’s proof that she at least had the original codex long enough to photograph it.”

  “She’s under arrest?”

  Remi nodded. “She’s on her way to be booked in Guatemala City for possession of stolen property and for damaging this site. I think Rueda wants to arrange something public, to discourage the other people who do this kind of thing.”

  “If we want a ride to civilization, we’d better go retrieve our backpacks,” said Sam.

  “I did that while you were gone,” she whispered. “I also went back to retrieve our pistols in the woods. I broke them down and put the pieces in the packs. I’ve already put them aboard.”

  “Good thinking. Thanks.” Sam looked around him as the soldiers climbed into the helicopters. A half dozen of them remained near the pyramid, setting up a camp of their own, to guard the site. “We’d better get seats in the chopper before they run out of room.”

  Remi climbed in, and Sam followed. There were seats of crisscross nylon netting along both walls. They selected a pair, strapped themselves in, and a minute later the engine growled to life and then lifted the big chopper into the air.

  Jerry Ruiz looked up at the sky. First one, then another, then the last two helicopters soared overhead. He judged that they were moving southward toward Guatemala City.

  “It’s safe to head back to the pyramid now,” Russell said. “Two of those were definitely the big troop carriers.”

  “Okay. Let’s go,” said Ruiz. “Keep your eyes open to see where Fargo threw our boots.”

  Russell walked for a few feet, then stepped on a sharp stone, hopped on one foot, and landed on a pointed stick in the path. “Ow! Ah!” he said, sat on the path, and stared at the soles of both feet, then got up again and moved ahead gingerly. Russell’s already red and painful face now looked worse. Much of the sandy gravel that Sam Fargo had thrown in it had been stuck to his raw skin and was held there by the Vaseline, and when he’d been hog-tied on the ground, his face had also picked up more dirt, grass, and small sticks.

  Ruiz wisely said nothing. There was no need to remind Russell of his face or to warn him that the path was treacherous and studded with sharp stones or that the low brush on both sides had thorns. Russell had already sworn about it six or seven times in the last ten minutes.

  Ruiz had trouble walking too. The shovel had left a shallow cut and a large bruise on his leg just above the knee, his right hand hurt, and his breathing was labored because of some damage to a rib or two. Nevertheless, he had managed to roll over to where Russell lay and chew his way through Russell’s leather bonds. It had not been easy, but he’d known that they had to get free or they’d be dragged into the Guatemala City jail and charged with attempted murder. And even if the soldiers didn’t find them, they could easily die out here.

  Ruiz had been raised in a remote village in Mexico. He knew that two bleeding, helpless men could hardly go unnoticed by the jaguars that patrolled the jungles at night. He also knew that the worst dangers didn’t always look the worst. Fatal malaria, Chagas’ disease, or dengue fever could come from the bite of a tiny insect. So he had done what was necessary to free them. They’d lain still in the jungle, covered with fallen leaves, while the soldiers came and went. Maybe now all would be well. But he was concerned about Russell, who had gotten a little crazy since he’d been painted blue. He was in a constant state of rage, goaded on by the pain in his face and the pain of his anger.

  Ruiz was worried. Poor judgment was a vulnerability. Mistakes one could shrug off in a city would kill a man out in the jungle. Ruiz hobbled off the path and selected two five-foot saplings from a stand of little trees growing where a big one had fallen and broke off the branches to make two walking sticks. “Here. This will help.”

  Using their sticks, they moved on in silence for a time. Leaning on the sticks kept them from stepping down too hard on sharp stones and gave them enough balance to avoid some of the worst spots. It took them about an hour to reach the ancient city. While they were still on the edge of the jungle, they could see that the whole site had been evacuated except for a half dozen soldiers, who loitered by the great pyramid’s steps. They had built a small fire and pitched three two-man tents.

  Russell stepped toward the open area, but Ruiz held him back. “Wait,” said Ruiz. “They’re soldiers.”

  “I can see that.”

  “What if they’ve been left here to wait for us?” asked Ruiz.

  Russell stopped and thought, but he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.

  Ruiz prompted him. “The Fargos must have told the soldiers we tried to kill them.”

  Russell said, “All this is beside the point. We’re a hundred miles from anywhere. We don’t have shoes, water, or food. They do.”

  “They also have guns. Assault rifles, full auto,” said Ruiz.

  “We can wait until they’re asleep, crawl up, and cut their throats.”

  “There are six—two in each tent. Even if each of us could kill two men in a tent with a knife we don’t have, the one would yell while the other was being killed. There would still be two in another tent who would hear it and open fire on us.”

  “We can’t walk out of here barefoot,” said Russell. “It’s too far to civilization.”

  “Wait,” said Ruiz. “Look over there. They left the sun awning up. We can wrap our feet in the canvas and walk out.”

  Russell’s expression made him look like a wounded animal, but when he saw what Ruiz was talking about, he seemed to calm down. “Okay. Let’s try it. I don’t want to get into a fight with six men any more than you do.”

  Ruiz was relieved. “I’ll go get the canvas.” Without waiting for an answer, he started off in the jungle outside the open space. The rough, unpredictable ground tortured his feet, but he got there. He looked in the direction of the pyramid to be sure the soldiers by the steps couldn’t see him. Then he used the sharp end of one of the aluminum poles to cut a hole in the canvas, tore a large swatch of the fabric off, rolled it up, and carried it with him.

  When he reached Russell, they tore four squares, put a foot in the center of each, and used the remnants of their leather shoelaces to tie the canvas around their ankles. They looked at the late-afternoon shadows of the buildings on the plaza to judge the compass points, took up their walking sticks, and began to hobble off into the jungle toward the south.

  “Next time, I won’t fool around with neatness,” Russell said. “No grave digging, no taking them off somewhere else so nobody ever knows. If I see them, I’ll open fire. If there are witnesses, I’ll shoot them too.”

  As Ruiz and Russell made their way along the jungle paths, Ruiz had to listen to a constant, unending litany of complaints. Each time Russell started up again, he promised to kill Sam and Remi Fargo in more el
aborate and time-consuming ways. Ruiz walked in silence. Some might have advised that talking would have eased the pain in Ruiz’s feet, ribs, and hand. But the pain served to take his attention away from Russell’s complaints, and that was enough for now. Later on, if he and Russell ever made it through this green prison and Ruiz kept the use of his limbs, he would be happy to talk about the killing.

  GUATEMALA CITY

  The arraignment was held a few days later in the central court building in Guatemala City. Sam and Remi arrived with Amy Costa from the embassy. As soon as they were seated, Costa said, “Uh-oh. I don’t like the look of this.”

  “What is it?” asked Remi.

  “I’m not sure yet,” said Amy. “But it looks as though this isn’t going to go the way we thought. Take a look at the row of men sitting behind the defense table.”

  Remi held up a compact, ostensibly to check her makeup, and used the mirror to study each man. There were six of them, in expensive tailored suits. About half the people in Guatemala were of Mayan descent, and most of the rest were mestizos. But these men all looked about as Spanish as the people Sam and Remi had met in Valladolid while they were looking for the Las Casas papers. “Who are they?”

  “The Minister of the Interior, the chief judge of the courts, two important commerce officials, two senior political advisers to the president.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It’s like the bride’s side and the groom’s side at a wedding. They’re sitting on the defendant’s side.”

  “Are you surprised?” asked Remi.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t be, but I am. In 2008, the country set up the International Commission Against Impunity. It was formed to clean up the court system and rid the country of illegal security forces just like the one you faced in Alta Verapaz. At least three of these men are members. I guess they’re not against impunity for their friends.”

  A moment later, a side door of the courtroom opened, and Sarah Allersby was escorted in by two police officers, who were followed by the Allersby attorneys. Remi nudged Sam. “Look familiar?”

  Sam whispered to Amy, “The first three are the team who came to our house to make the offer for the codex.” The Mexican, American, and Guatemalan attorneys who had been at that meeting were joined by three others.

  “The other three are partners in a respected local law firm,” Amy said.

  Sarah Allersby and the lawyers all remained standing. After a moment, the bailiff called the court to order, and the judge came in, climbed the steps to the bench, and sat. He hammered the gavel a couple of times and called for order. Everyone sat down.

  Just as the cloth of the judge’s robe touched his chair, attorneys from both the defense and the prosecution hurried to the bench. They conferred with the judge for several minutes. Sam whispered, “I don’t see any arguing.”

  “Neither do I,” Amy whispered. “I think the case has been settled.”

  “How could it be?” asked Sam.

  “And if it is, what are all the important men doing here?” asked Remi.

  “I’m guessing they’re lending the weight of their support to the winning side, so even if justice is blind, it won’t be foolish enough to cause trouble.”

  The judge made an impatient gesture at the attorneys, who all scurried away like a flock of chickens and dispersed to their places behind the tables.

  “The court has received the following settlement proposed by Miss Allersby’s counsel and seconded by the people of Guatemala.”

  “Why would the prosecution settle?” said Sam. Several people nearby turned to look at him with disapproval.

  The judge consulted his notes, then began again. Amy translated. “The charge of possession of a Mayan codex should be dismissed for lack of evidence. No such book was found. The charge of threatening people with violence should be dismissed. The two supposed suspects were never found.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Sam said. “Don’t the police get to produce evidence?” There was a murmuring, and people turned to stare a second time.

  The judge rapped his gavel and glared at Sam. Amy Costa whispered, “He’s considering clearing the courtroom. Please stay calm or he’ll throw everyone out, and we might have to wait weeks for transcripts.”

  The judge set aside the paper he had been reading and picked up another. He began to read again in Spanish.

  “I’m not catching that,” said Sam. “What’s he saying?”

  “Miss Allersby is claiming to be the uncontested discoverer of the ruined city. She’s asked for a ninety-nine-year lease on the land in exchange for a sum of money to be used by the Interior Ministry to protect wildlife in the Alta Verapaz district.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  Amy Costa whispered, “He’s describing the negotiated settlement. That doesn’t mean he’ll accept it. Nothing you say will change the terms.”

  Sam sat still, watching in silence.

  Amy whispered, “Now it’s Commander Rueda. She has asked that he be reassigned so he can’t retaliate against her.”

  Sam winced and looked down at his shoes but said nothing.

  Amy Costa listened for a moment while the judge said something in a loud, stern voice. Amy translated. “I approve the terms of the settlement and declare this case closed.” He rapped his gavel.

  Amy Costa stood up, as a number of other spectators were doing, so they could clear out before the next case began. “Come on,” she whispered to Sam and Remi.

  Sam said, “What? It’s over? We can’t testify or present any evidence?” He stood.

  Remi watched while half the courtroom turned to stare at Sam again. One of the people who turned to look at Sam was Sarah Allersby. A barely detectable smile of delighted amusement played on her lips for a second, and she turned to face forward again.

  “No,” said Amy Costa. “It was settled out of court ahead of time. It happens everywhere.”

  “This time, it’s a fraud. The richest person doesn’t just win, she never even gets charged.”

  Sam didn’t need any translation when the judge pounded his gavel and ordered, “Remove that man from the court.” He stood and stepped to the aisle. “Don’t bother. I’ll remove myself.”

  It was too late—the order had been given. Two large police officers seized him. One twisted his arm behind his back and the other placed him in a headlock, as they hustled him down the aisle, pushed the double doors open with his head, and kept going down the hall. When they reached the larger doors at the entrance to the building, they pushed them open with their free hands and then released Sam with a little push toward the steps.

  When Sam found himself outside the imposing building, where the rush of people and traffic surrounded him, he was relieved. He had already been mentally preparing himself for a booking session and a night in the Guatemala City jail. He stopped and waited for Remi and Amy, who appeared a moment later.

  As they walked down the steps, Remi said, “I know he’s a friend of yours. I’m so sorry that we got him in trouble. The evidence against Sarah Allersby really was conclusive. You can’t take a picture of something that isn’t in your possession.”

  “Don’t worry,” Amy said. “Commander Rueda knew what he was doing and he’ll be fine. He has allies too, and in a week, after this is forgotten, they’ll go to work on his behalf. This is how countries go from corrupt little backwaters to modern nations. People have to push them every step of the way—people like Commander Rueda and people like you.” She gave Sam and Remi a sharp look. “Don’t let up on Sarah.” She turned and walked off toward the American Embassy, leaving Sam and Remi standing in front of the courthouse.

  “Come on, let’s go,” said Remi. “I don’t want to be standing here when Sarah Allersby comes out, gloating over her great victory.”

  Remi and Sam walked along the street in the direction of their hotel. �
�So, what do you want to do?” she asked.

  Sam shrugged. “I don’t think we can let her go on doing this kind of thing, do you?”

  “No, but what can we do about it?”

  “We use the Las Casas copy of the Mayan codex to figure out where she’s going and beat her to it.” He smiled. “Then we do it again. And again. And again.”

  ALTA VERAPAZ, GUATEMALA

  Sam and Remi sat in the passenger seats of the Bell 206B3 Jet Ranger helicopter with their earphones on to cut the noise while Tim Carmichael, president and chief pilot of Cormorant 1 Air Charter, guided the craft above the endless miles of green treetops. Carmichael spoke over the radio in his Australian accent. “We should be at your next set of coordinates in a few minutes.”

  “Great,” said Sam. “We spend one day at each site. At the end of each day, we climb aboard the helicopter and get out of the jungle for the night. The following morning, we fly to a new site.”

  “It’s the perfect job for a charter,” said Carmichael. “Fly in, take a nap, fly out.”

  “The sites have all been pretty remote,” said Remi. “And all of them are in heavily forested parts of the highlands.”

  Carmichael smiled. “No worries. We’ve been in this business since the 1960s and we haven’t lost anyone this week.”

  “Good enough for me,” said Sam. “Here’s the aerial shot.” He handed Carmichael an enlarged photograph with the coordinates marked on it in the white border.

  Carmichael stared at it, checked the coordinates on his GPS, and handed the photograph back. “We should be there in under five minutes.”

  They looked out at the treetops. There were ranges of low bluish mountains in the distance, a deep blue sky, and puffs of unthreatening white clouds. Earlier, they had seen a few roads and small towns, but it had been a long time since they had seen any signs of human inhabitants. Carmichael looked at the GPS.