by PJ Skinner
***
Wilson left the office in a total panic, hyperventilating and shaking with fright. By the time he reached the street his shirt clung to a veneer of cold sweat on his back. He leaned against the wall of the building, trying to regain his composure. He removed the packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket with trembling hands and took one out. He managed to light it with the third match, and then he took a deep drag, which only served to give him a major coughing fit that almost removed his lungs. He stopped coughing and straightened up, red in the face with effort. He took another drag of his cigarette and had a renewed bout of coughing. A small, bald man with a ferret face who had been watching this from the shadows placed himself right in front of Wilson, uncomfortably close to him, and spoke in a hiss.
‘Wilson Ortega?’ he asked.
Wilson nodded wordlessly, trying to hold down the cough, which was forcing itself up from his lungs.
‘I have a message for you from El Duro. You have exactly one week to pay him his money, or he’ll cut off your dick and stuff it down your neck.’
The small man smirked, pleased with his delivery and the effect it had on his victim. Wilson was still choking but now more with increased panic rather than cigarette smoke. He managed to catch his breath long enough to speak. ‘I’ll have his money soon. I promise. A week is not long enough. If he’ll give me a month, I’ll pay fifty percent on top. I swear.’
‘Double it, and I’ll see what I can do,’ said the man. Wilson had no doubt that he was planning on taking a large cut of the extra money.
‘Okay, okay, give me a few weeks. I’m on to something big. It’s a done deal if you let me get on with it.’
‘I doubt that very much. However, it is rumoured that El Duro has a soft spot for you. He will surely give you a couple of extra weeks to save your manhood.’ He stuck out a child-sized hand and spat in the palm.
‘Shake on it,’ he said.
Wilson shuddered as he felt the spit transfer to his hand and stopped himself from wiping it clean immediately. The man turned on his heel and strolled down the street with his hands in his pockets. Wilson rubbed his hand on his trouser leg to remove the drying spittle and took another drag of his cigarette. He couldn’t believe what a nightmare the day had been when it had all started so well. Jose Falconi, the man he had paid to rig the brakes on Gloria’s car, had called early in the morning to tell him about the car crash on the outskirts of Calderon.
‘The job on the brakes was a success, Mr. Ortega. The car was a total wreck. I’m pretty sure that no-one would’ve survived a crash like that.’
‘I should hope so, too, considering how much I had to pay to get it done. Is Miss Sanchez dead then?’
‘I am not privy to that information yet, so I can’t confirm any casualties but I can find out for you later.’
‘Casualties?’
‘Yes, I believe there were two people in the car. A Miss Sanchez and a Mr. Vargas.’
‘Jesus! Two people? Are you sure?’
‘That’s what my source says.’
‘Okay, thank you. I’ll call you later.’
This was terrible news. Wilson couldn’t believe his bad luck. Filled with trepidation, he had gone to the office to find out what was happening. He was completely flummoxed when he met Alfredo there, and he hadn’t mentioned the car crash at all. Maybe the police officer was mistaken? Perhaps only Gloria had been in the car? When she also waltzed into the office as if nothing had happened and started chatting to Marta, Wilson had been stunned. That woman must be made of steel. She hadn’t a scratch on her, and she hadn’t even mentioned the crash. Wilson couldn’t understand it. Had Jose fixed the brakes on the wrong car? He didn’t know that some people actually wore seat belts. Most people in Calderon cut them off where they were attached to the frame of the car and threw them out. That meant car crashes were generally fatal because people drove too fast and were ejected from the car if they crashed, hitting the road or a tree at one hundred and twenty kilometres per hour, which didn’t leave much for the undertakers to work with.
His failure to silence Gloria was a disaster. He had always been concerned that she would tell Mike about his debts and other shady dealings, but if he didn’t hold on to his job and get money fast, El Duro would make him pay. There was still the chance he could sell one of the mining concession areas to Mike, especially if he could get rid of Sam. He decided to play it by ear for a couple of days and only act again if he had to. After all, Mike still treated him like a long-lost brother and had even forwarded him some of his salary. This was not the behaviour of a suspicious man. Now that he was going on the ‘secret’ trip he might have an opportunity to make some real money, money which could save him from the wrath of El Duro and for which he was prepared to kill.
Chapter XIV
On the other side of Calderon, the mechanics in the garage surveyed the wreckage of Gloria’s car, which had been hauled over the engine pit and was a complete write off.
‘How the fuck did she survive this?’ asked Felix, the head mechanic.
‘I don’t know. Can you smell the whisky? They must have been drunk as skunks,’ said Angel.
‘Miss Sanchez says the brakes went. I don’t know how that’s possible. I replaced them and refilled the brake fluid a few weeks ago. Perhaps she was driving too fast. It wouldn’t be the first time.’
The other mechanic snorted.
‘She’s some woman. I wouldn’t mind taking that firebrand into my bed.’
‘The boss would kill you for sure.’
‘Yes, but it’d be worth it.’
They both laughed. The head mechanic slid into the pit under the car and started to poke around underneath it. His companion leaned against the crumpled vehicle and smoked an illegal cigarette. Suddenly, there was a commotion under the car, as the head mechanic hit his head on the axle and swore loudly. He emerged, rubbing his head. He looked shocked.
‘Holy fuck, Angel. Someone tampered with the brakes,’ said Felix, visibly shaken.
‘Seriously? Are you sure it wasn’t the accident that did it?’
‘No. Someone’s made a small hole in each brake line. They must have used a gimlet or something similar. The fluid would have been forced out bit by bit each time the brakes were used until it ran out. Oh, my God, someone tried to kill Miss Gloria. We must tell her father straight away in case they are still trying.’
‘Tell Don Sanchez? Are you kidding me? What if he blames us? He’ll make us disappear,’ replied Angel.
‘It’ll be much worse if he finds out, and we aren’t the ones to tell him.’
‘You’re right. I’ve heard that he’s a man who likes to take revenge. Okay, call him now. He should be at home for lunch. I’ll take some photographs of the damage to the brakes. We need to cover our butts on this one.’
‘Yes, that’s a good idea. You never know what might happen next.’
Felix went over to the grease-covered workbench and moved piles of stained paper and random wiring out of the way. The telephone was under a pile of copies of invoices for money owed by the rich clients who used the garage, but were not too bothered about paying their bills. He riffled through them for the telephone number of the Sanchez residence. Then he pushed them aside and grabbed the receiver. He got through to the Sanchez household and asked to speak to the boss. He could hear the indignant grumbling caused by his interruption of Señor Sanchez’ lunch, a sacrilege unlikely to be forgiven. He almost hung up the phone but decided that the damage had already been done. Heavy footsteps made the wooden floor creak as Hernan Sanchez made his ponderous way to the telephone. There was a bout of laboured breathing and then the sound of a chair being pulled up.
‘What the devil do you mean by disturbing my lunch, Felix? This had better be important.’
‘Señor Sanchez, it’s a matter of life or death,’ replied Felix. ‘I think someone tried to kill your daughter last night.’
There was a long silence punctuated by more heavy br
eathing.
Finally, Hernan Sanchez said, ‘I thought she crashed the car. Are you absolutely sure about this, Felix? And I mean, absolutely sure?’
Felix knew what he meant, but there was no going back now, and he had the evidence in his workshop.
‘Señor Sanchez, I swear on the virgin. Someone tampered with the brakes.’
***
Hernan Sanchez hung up the telephone without saying another word. He called over to the maid, who had returned his lunch to the oven and was hovering in the kitchen waiting to take it out again.
‘Agatha, bring me my address book.’
The tiny maid scurried into the study and returned with an ancient address book, dropping several loose pages on her way and bending down to pick them up. She couldn’t read so she couldn’t put them back in the right place. She looked at her boss in supplication. He waved the problem away and beckoned her forward. He had soon shuffled the pages into the right order and looked for the correct number. In the book, Hernan Sanchez had some contacts from the old days whom he knew to be au fait with dodgy goings on in Calderon. Someone who could find out who had rigged the brakes on Gloria’s car and why. He grunted with satisfaction as he found the number and dialled it immediately. The phone was answered by someone who had his mouth full and had obviously also been disturbed at their table.
‘Hello. Who’s calling me at this hour?’
‘Segundo, it’s me. Hernan Sánchez. I’m sorry to disturb you at your meal, but I need your help and it can’t wait.’
The tone of voice at the other end of the line immediately became apologetic and obsequious.
‘Señor Sanchez, you do me a great honour. How can I help you?’
‘Segundo, my daughter crashed her vehicle last night. She was lucky to survive. It wasn’t an accident. Someone tampered with the brake lines. I need you to find out who it was. Can you ask around? Use your discretion. I’m sure someone will have told someone who told someone else, if you know what I mean.’
‘Of course, boss. I’ll get right on it. The scum who did this will pay.’
‘Don’t do anything foolish, Segundo. We need to know who paid him to do the job and why it was done before he pays for his savagery.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand. You can rely on me. Thank you for thinking of me. I’ll not let you down.’
‘Thank you, Segundo. Quick and quiet, please.’
Señor Sanchez hung up and signalled to the maid that he would now like his lunch. Agatha brought the food to the table and served him a new platter. Unusual for him, his appetite had now quite disappeared, and he toyed with the food for some time before abandoning it. He felt sick with worry for his beloved daughter. What sort of trouble could she possibly have got into that had led to such extreme measures being taken against her? Even worse, maybe it was someone trying to get revenge for one of his deals? He had decided not to tell Gloria for the time being. The poor girl had enough problems in her life without this. He took his coffee in the study and was soon snoozing in his big, leather chair.
***
To Sam’s surprise, Alfredo appeared to be less enthusiastic about the trip than she had expected. He was distant and distracted. He was unwilling or unable to accept that his search could be at an end, checking and rechecking his documents and staring obsessively at Sam’s photo of the serpent cipher. She wondered if the shock of discovering that for years he had been searching in the wrong place had been a bit much for her alcoholic friend. Alfredo had a fragile grip on reality at the best of times. He preferred to talk about literature rather than current affairs and was happiest with a glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other. As the time came to set out from Calderon, he seemed to doubt his own reasoning.
‘But what if it’s not there, Sam? I can’t be sure, you know. If only I had more time.’
‘Alfredo, we believe that you can find the treasure. After all these years searching, you may finally find what you’re looking for.’
‘Be careful what you wish for, Sam, because you might get it,’ he replied.
The treasure hunt was Alfredo’s entire existence, and she was unsure what effect finding an answer to the riddle would have on her friend. Gloria tried to help, but even she could not reach Alfredo in his lost world.
The next few days were manic. To make matters worse, Tati announced that she was going away to attend to some family business.
‘But Tati, we need you here. Can’t you go another time?’ asked Mike through Marta.
‘I’ve got to go now, my aunt is dying,’ she said.
Marta questioned her and shook her head at Mike.
Since she never took any time off and was desperate to go, Mike decided that they could cope without her. Gloria got her own maid to come to Avenida Miranda and cook a constant supply of food for the ‘troops’ in the office over the weekend. Mike had planned to take the team to San Martin on the evening of a national holiday so that they could take the train to the jungle the next morning.
They bought the usual boxes of bottled water, tuna, rice, cooking chocolate (which survived in the heat better), Ritz crackers, raisins and peanuts for snacks to take with them. Sam packed tea bags and powdered milk for herself, as the locals only drank coffee. She double-wrapped all her clothes in plastic bags so they wouldn’t get wet in the canoe. Also contained in her bag were a dozen rolls of film for her camera, a big bottle of insect repellent and some mints for the train journey. Finally, she put in a woollen hat to wear at night to prevent hair loss.
She could hardly contain her mounting excitement about the trip. What if they found the treasure? Would she be famous? Maybe even a bit rich? It had dawned on her that this was no ordinary search and that they could solve one of the biggest mysteries of South American history. No wonder Mike was so disappointed that he couldn’t go. She couldn’t help wishing for a positive outcome, even though the cynic in her couldn’t quite believe that the treasure had not been found and divided up years before. But what if it hadn’t? If they found the treasure, whose would it be? Presumably Mike would take the lion’s share for Edward Beckett, who had financed the trips. Mike would doubtless take a large share for himself, too. Would the team who found the treasure benefit as well? Alfredo would surely expect something for his discovery. Would she get a proper salary? And what about the State? Surely there were laws about historical treasure? And if she was thinking about this, maybe the others were, too.
Perhaps because of the excitement, she had not yet rung her parents except to say that she had arrived in one piece. She didn’t want to use up goodwill where phone calls were concerned but she was determined to talk to her family before setting out. She asked Mike if she could call home.
‘On one condition.’
She knew what he would say.
‘Don’t mention the treasure, okay? If you can do that you can have ten minutes.’
‘I can do that. Thank you.’
She took the phone from Marta’s desk and pulled the cord to its full extension so that she could shut herself in Mike’s bedroom. It took her ten minutes to get hold of an international operator. She asked for a call to England, gave the number and hung up. The phone rang minutes later and she grabbed the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘I have your international call. Please speak now.’
‘Thank you. Hello?’
‘Sam? Where are you?’
‘I’m in Calderon, Hannah.’
‘How is it? Are you having a good time? Did you meet a nice man yet?’
‘Umm, not really. But I’m having a great time. I’ve been to the jungle and I’m going again in a few days.’
‘Did you have to eat strange things there?’
‘Mostly rice and tuna and some bananas straight off the trees. How are things at home?’
‘Routine. Mum and Dad are both in good form but they’re not here because they went out to tea with friends. I didn’t fancy it and stayed here. By the way...’ she hesitated.
&n
bsp; ‘By the way what?’
‘Umm, Simon rang me.’
‘He rang you? Why?’
‘He’s been looking for you. I think he wants to apologise, try again maybe.’
‘Try again? Is he on drugs?’
‘Look, he sounded sorry. I was cross with him but he wouldn’t back down. He says that he has tried and tried but he can’t face life without you.’
‘That’s weird.’ And annoying. Talk about bad timing! Like she could deal with distractions right now.
‘Yes, I was pretty stunned when he called.’
‘I can’t think about that now. I’m off to explore the jungle.’
‘I didn’t want to upset you in the middle of your adventure but I thought you should know.’
‘I’m not sure how I feel about it now but I’ve got plenty of time to think about it. There’s no telly here.’
‘No telly? I’m definitely not going.’
‘It is pretty amazing, though. It’s easily the best thing I’ve ever done. I’ve taken loads of photographs.’
‘I’m so glad it’s all you hoped for. I’m dying to see the photos. I’ll tell Mum and Dad that you’re okay. They’ll be sad to have missed your call.’
‘I’ll try to call again soon. Oh, by the way, can you ask Daddy to please deposit one hundred pounds in my account. I’ll explain later.’
‘Why do you need money? I though Mike Morton was paying you.’
‘Just tell him please.’
‘That man is a bastard. You have to stand up for yourself.’
‘And lose my job? Don’t worry. With this on my CV I won’t have to accept this sort of arrangement again.’
‘I’ll tell him. Bye, sis. Please look after yourself in the jungle.’
‘I will. Bye.’
Sam sat on the bed for several minutes digesting the news about Simon. She wasn’t too sure how she felt. Vindicated? Maybe. But she had thought that part of her life was gone for good and now the corpse was reviving. Could it be different this time? Can a leopard change its spots? She remembered the nights of passion and let out an involuntary moan as Mike opened the door. He looked startled. ‘You okay?’