David devoured books about archaeological discoveries. This was his first trip to Mexico and he’d been excited to see the ruins he’d heard about for years. He didn’t think of himself as particularly brave, but as they sped downriver, he decided what to do.
He had no idea who these guys were or what they wanted, but he was convinced none of the hostages would survive. David chose to try something now rather than being killed in the jungle, having missed an opportunity. He talked himself into doing something proactive instead of waiting for eventual execution like they’d done to the bus driver. He would escape, make his way back to Yaxchilan, and hide until morning when the tourists arrived. He hoped he could save the others by contacting the authorities.
For once in my life I have the chance to help other people. Not like a Boy Scout helps people. I can hopefully help save lives.
Rolando saw quick movement at the front of his boat. He saw a man dive over the side into the dark river. Several people screamed, but the rebel laughed at the man who was paddling briskly toward shore. Both drivers cut their engines and aimed spotlights at the place where David was swimming.
He aimed his pistol as the hostages screamed, “Don’t shoot him!”
Smiling, he replied in Spanish, and the archaeologist translated grimly. “He’s not going to shoot. You may want to turn your heads. If what’s going to happen next is what he thinks, you won’t want to watch.”
The leader took the spotlight and played it sideways along the riverbank. What appeared to be a huge black log lay on the sand a few feet from the water. Suddenly it became tragically obvious what was going to happen. David’s splashing made a lot of noise; a scaly head with a long snout slowly turned to watch him paddle furiously toward shore. Then the crocodile smoothly slid into the water.
In shock the horrified tourists watched the ripples as the creature moved quietly along.
“David! David!” someone yelled. “There’s a croc!”
Both boats sat dead in the water. With the engines silenced, the noises of the jungle were amazingly loud. Howler monkeys screeched, the roars of nocturnal felines and the buzz of giant insects merged in a surreal cacophony that was performed nightly in the forest. The denizens of the forest simply ignored the scene playing out in the river. It was the same as always – survival of the fittest.
“Let’s make an example of our foolish guest,” Rolando said to his driver. He yelled to the other boat; both drivers aimed lights at the swimmer. The hostages sobbed helplessly, shocked as they numbly watched the giant reptile close in on David.
“Swim! Swim, for God’s sake!” Dick yelled.
Then most turned away, unable to watch.
In the beams of the spotlights David finally noticed the crocodile. His terrified scream echoed eerily; the hostages would never forget the sound. He started to paddle crazily toward the bank just ten yards in front of him. Finally his feet struck bottom. He stood and began to walk, splashing awkwardly through the water.
“Big mistake,” Rolando idly commented.
Like a submarine the huge creature slid effortlessly beneath the surface, and within three seconds David disappeared too, pulled under and taken to the bottom to drown. He’d almost made it – he had only ten feet to go – but now he was gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The boats stank with vomit as people reacted in horror to David Tremont’s death. No one really knew him – they had all met just forty-eight hours earlier – but suddenly one of them, one of a group who’d signed up for a simple trip to Mexico, was dead. The execution of the bus driver had been a shock, but this death was more personal to the rest of the hostages. He was an American tourist, just like they were. And he was dead. Just like each of us will be, many of them now thought.
Three and a half hours into their trip, they reached the rapids. Ted and Mark knew of them; when the river was low, they could be treacherous. Sometimes the drivers hauled the boats by hand through the swirling waters while the passengers walked on shore. This time of year the rains came almost every day and the river was high. There would still be tricky rapids, but the boatmen were used to it.
When they hit the whirling, agitated foam, the people held on, many screaming as the boat rocked wildly. One wrong move and they’d be upside down. Though it looked as though they’d capsize, the boatmen steered expertly through the foamy water and around jutting, jagged rocks. Finally they popped out into calm water on the other side.
The time dragged by, slowed by the endless repetition of shoreline, water and engine noise. By now many of the captives were dozing, heads lolling up and down, but everyone became alert when they heard the engines throttle down. It was nearly two in the morning and they’d been on the river over four hours. Rolando stood in the rear of the lead boat, staring intently ahead. He saw a signal – somewhere onshore a light blinked on and off three times.
“Ahi esta!” he said to the boat driver, pointing. There it is.
The light blinked its signal twice more as the boats drew near and turned toward the shore, moving at a snail’s pace through very shallow water. In the moonlight the tourists saw a tall rock structure – three stones stacked like a snowman, the top one clearly resembling the skull of a huge bird with a long, protruding beak made of rock. It was impossible to miss.
Bird Monster, Mark thought to himself. The ancient Olmecs believed it was the statue of a god.
There were a dozen men waiting for them. Rolando jumped out and waded onshore. He was greeted with hearty rounds of congratulations and backslapping from the band of grubby, sloppy ruffians. Mark understood their raucous banter.
“You did it! You actually kidnapped them! We’re rich! We’re rich!”
When Hailey had been ordered into the first boat, she’d hoped Paul would be there too, but he wasn’t. She was disappointed, but even more, she was afraid; even after such a short time she somehow felt safer with him around. She couldn’t put words to her feelings; he was a different kind of man than she’d ever met before. He exuded confidence and had a take-charge attitude that made others comfortable. He seems like the kind of guy who could plan our escape, she thought to herself, although she couldn’t figure out why she felt that way. I really don’t know him at all.
Now that everyone was standing on the beach in the moonlight, she looked around. Where is he? He isn’t here! What the hell? What if he tried something on the other boat like that guy did on ours? What if he tried to resist and they killed him? Bile rose in her throat as she thought what could have happened. Should she say something to the others?
Wait, something inside her cautioned.
Rolando barked orders to his lieutenant. “Diego, you know what to do now. Get started. Quickly – we only have a few hours before daybreak.”
His men knew their assignments. Some started unloading luggage from the boats, stacking bags on crude wooden wheelbarrows. Others picked up rifles leaning against nearby trees and herded the group toward a path leading into the jungle. Rolando, one of his men and the two drivers stayed on the rugged beach. As they walked away, the leader counted again. There were eleven. All accounted for.
Diego walked at the front, guards were interspersed among the hostages, and two men pushing the carts brought up the rear as they marched single file into the bush.
Gavin was in front of Hailey. He knew Paul – he’d sat next to him when they did introductions the other evening. She whispered, “Gavin, was Paul on the boat with you?”
“No. Wasn’t he with you?”
“No! What do you think they’ve done with him?”
“Dear God, with these murderers I can only imagine. I hope to God he’s all right. He seemed like a great guy. Look at me, talking in the past tense about him already. He seems like a great guy. Let’s not jump to conclusions. He’s around somewhere. Our hosts seem pretty good at keeping up with everyone.”
“Good Lord, Gavin. Do you think they’ve killed him –”
“Silencio!” one of the guards ye
lled. She began to panic and struggled to think positively.
After an hour they came to an area that was cleared on both sides of the trail. Moonbeams played across huge ruined temples that soared a hundred feet into the sky.
Hailey murmured, “Where are we? What are these ruins?”
“Piedras Negras,” Gavin whispered. “Guatemala side of the river. The lost city of the Maya, built maybe a thousand years ago. Last excavated in 2005 or so and abandoned since then. Except for the bandidos, I hear.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I wrote a novel about this place once. After we passed Yaxchilan, I figured we were coming here. There’s nothing else for miles, far as I know. This site is four hours by boat from Frontera Corozal, so that matches. Piedras Negras is also the only excavated ruin on this side of the river. I’d hoped to see it someday…”
“Bet you never hoped to see it like this.”
One of the guards approached and jabbed her side sharply with the butt of his rifle. “Silencio, puta! No talk.”
“Fuck you,” she muttered, grimacing from the blow.
As they left the ruins, the trail narrowed again; the bushes on both sides were close enough to touch. It was inky – no moonlight penetrated the thick trees. Only the guards’ flashlights indicated where the path was.
Gavin pressed a button on his watch and saw they’d been walking about two miles. The author was a fitness buff – his watch measured heart rate and blood pressure, but it also had a pedometer. He’d set that when this forced march began in hopes the knowledge might come in handy later.
The guards dropped their efforts to keep people quiet. Some were complaining about the long hike, most vocally Alison Barton, whose boyfriend Win’s calm reassurance kept her moving ahead. No one knew what the guards had been told to do with stragglers, and no one wanted to be the first to find out.
At last they arrived at a large, roughly circular campsite. Gavin clicked his pedometer off at 2.1 miles.
Three rebels sat in rickety chairs around a blazing campfire. When they saw the group marching in one by one, they stood and drew their pistols.
The suitcases were dumped and Diego shouted, “Take bags!”
The captives gathered their luggage. Only David Tremont’s suitcases were left, a sobering reminder that one of them was gone. Win and Alison carried his bags along with their own. Whatever he’d packed might help the others survive.
“Go there!” He pointed to the edge of the clearing, where they saw a yawning black hole – the entrance to a cave. Lanterns hung inside, their glow casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.
The cavern was thirty feet wide and fifty long. The ceiling was twenty feet or more above them. The weary captives were ushered inside, where twenty filthy cots were set up in two rows. There were no pillows or sheets, but at least they wouldn’t be sleeping on the dirt floor of the cave.
“Sleep now!” Diego yelled at them. “Take place!”
Hailey walked to the back of the cave, glancing here and there to confirm what she already knew. Paul was gone. She hoped for the best; maybe he was alive. Maybe he’d escaped and was working on a plan right now.
She picked a cot at the end of the room, and Alison immediately claimed the one next to it.
“Aren’t you bunking by your boyfriend?” she asked.
“I hate him for bringing me into all this,” the girl sputtered, tears forming in her eyes. “I hate caves. I can’t stay in here! I need to use the bathroom. Where is it?”
Oh boy, Hailey thought, rolling her eyes. I’m no backpacker, but this little baby is going to have a hard time. “If I had to bet, I’d say that’s the bathroom.” She pointed to a bucket on the floor in a corner. There was no privacy whatsoever.
“Oh God, you’re right.” Alison sobbed pitifully. “I can’t … I can’t use that. There’s not even…”
“What? Any toilet paper?” Hailey snapped. She’d had enough. “Listen to me, sweetie. We have to try to stay alive here. I don’t care if they make me poop in a can and eat it for breakfast. I just want to get out of here and do it fast. So quit your whining and get with the program. You’re either part of the problem or part of the solution. Buck up, for God’s sake. We have a long, long way to go.” She turned and began to unpack her bag.
Doc Spence helped his wife use the bathroom while the rest – the men, Hailey and Alison – went outside. The girls squatted nearby while the men walked a few feet away to give them some semblance of privacy.
“That’s better than using the pot inside,” Hailey said to the girl when they were done, trying to assuage her earlier comments. “We can always come out here if we need to go to the bathroom.”
“Aren’t there wild animals? Do you think –”
Hailey interrupted gently. “Around here the human wild animals are the ones I’d be afraid of. That guy Rolando’s a psycho, and you can bet his band of merry men is too. We haven’t even figured out why we’re here yet. Getting eaten by a jaguar’s the least of our problems.”
Within moments the sound of snores filled the cavern. The people had used whatever they’d brought to fashion makeshift pillows. It was so hot that the men stripped down to shorts and T-shirts. Modesty not being one of her hang-ups, Hailey knew the less she had on, the cooler she’d be. By the time she crawled onto the dirty cot, she was in a T-shirt and panties with two cotton shirts spread underneath her for a bottom sheet and a jacket forming a makeshift pillow. As she closed her eyes, Alison whispered. She said she admired Hailey – you’ve got a lot of courage, she said – but Hailey didn’t respond. If Alison only knew. Hailey always put up a great front – she was good at keeping her emotions to herself. Right now she was scared to death. But she was too bullheaded to let anyone know.
As she rolled over, Hailey noticed a guard sitting at the entrance to the cave. She felt strangely relieved that animals actually wouldn’t be able to just stroll in. Sleep came at last among grunts, farts and snores mixed with jungle noises just feet away from the exhausted travelers. A roomful of strangers had taken the first step in a long journey. They’d get to know each other a lot better before it was over.
Rolando and one other rebel had stayed behind while the hostages were marched to the camp. They carefully swept the beach to remove footprints and smoothed out the two notches in the sand where the boat prows had dug into it. When they finished, there was nothing to indicate a group of bandits had taken eleven hostages ashore. They headed off to join the others.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The buzz of motors jolted Paul awake. He was sitting stiffly upright, leaning against a tree at the top of the cliff. Two boats rounded the bend with drivers but no passengers. He checked their numbers. These were the same boats that took the hostages away.
It was 6:30 a.m. and the sun was popping over the horizon, bathing the river and the verdant jungle in light. Paul stood and stretched; his back ached. He stuck the pistol and phone in his pocket and waited. The men tied up their longboats and started up the hill. It was good timing. Although breakfast was being prepared and the smells of bacon and coffee were wafting from the lodge’s kitchen, there were no guests up yet. No one saw him walk over to the concrete stairway. He greeted the boatmen in Spanish as they reached the top of the stairs.
“Good morning. Long night, eh?”
He surprised them. Weary from an eight-hour round trip in the dark, they simply wanted to go to bed. Their part in this affair was over; what these bandits wanted with a bunch of Americans was none of their business. That man who was the leader had made it clear they’d better keep things that way if they wanted to stay safe.
The boatmen were paid handsomely for hauling everyone to Piedras Negras – two hundred American dollars each, more than a month’s wages in this dreary town. When they got there last night, they’d been surprised to see a band of rebels on the shore. There must be a camp near the ruins, they figured. But they’d been paid to drive a boat, not to think about what the
y’d seen. It was safer for them and their families to forget everything that had happened.
Now here was some guy, probably an American, inquiring about their long night. What was this about?
“Hola,” one of the men replied casually as he kept walking.
Paul stepped in front of them. “I want to know where you went.”
“Vete a la chingada, gringo. I’m tired.” Go screw yourself. He turned to walk away.
Suddenly Paul jerked the man’s arm, knocking him to the ground. In a sweeping move he brought the pistol up and aimed it at the other man.
“There’s no need for disrespect. I asked you a simple question. Where did you take the people?”
“Piedras –”
“Shut up, you ass!” the other man screamed. “He’ll kill us!”
“Who, Rolando, or whatever his name is?” Paul responded. “I wouldn’t worry about him. It’s me you have to worry about. I’ll kill you. Right now. You have ten seconds to tell me where my friends are.”
The first man started to get up. Paul pushed him down with his foot. “Stay where you are. Where did Rolando go?”
They looked at him quizzically. They didn’t recognize the name.
“What’s the boss’s name?” Paul asked.
“We don’t know. One of his guys hired us. We just drove the boats.”
“Did they get off at Piedras Negras?”
He didn’t answer. The other man was sitting on the asphalt, shaking his head. Their jubilation over making a small fortune last night was forgotten. They were far more afraid of retaliation by the rebel leader than anything this gringo might do.
The first man started to stand. “You won’t shoot us. There are people over there at the lodge. You can’t risk firing your pistol.”
“You’re right,” Paul replied. With a quick swipe, he hit the man squarely in the forehead with the butt of his gun. The boatman fell backwards, unconscious. He turned to the other driver. “You’re next. Talk to me or you’ll wish you had.”
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