The Mayan Priest

by Guillou, Sue

  The sound emitted by the encroaching vehicle increased to such a din that the contrasting silence in the car spoke volumes to the sudden fear they experienced. Adam did his best to quell the feeling of nervousness as Georgio attempted to outrun whatever it was that had just traversed with them, even sinking into the uncomfortable vinyl seat as far as possible.

  It did not help!

  The lights of their pursuer shone through the back window as Georgio drove admirably. A cat and mouse chase ensued, but the vehicle behind then was far superior and rammed the small jeep with such force that the three occupants were flung forward. Adam whacked his head against the driver’s seat and Gillian hit the dashboard. Georgio yelled with a mix of anger and frustration, pushing the vehicle into a sideways skid in an attempt to control the sudden slide on the damp green earth.

  He failed! The vehicle hit them repeatedly.

  The ensuing moments were a blur for Adam. All he could recall was hitting his head against the roof as the little vehicle rolled over and careened into a large object before he blacked out.

  ***

  Consciousness came gradually. There was little pain with the exception of the egg that was developing on his head, and a quick wriggle of all his limbs revealed everything was intact and working. He sighed in relief but was suddenly abounded by panic when he recalled that Gillian and Georgio had been with him. He had no idea how they were, or if they had even survived.

  With a determined frame of mind that involved him overcoming a bout of dizziness and disorientation, Adam sat up. He was met with a supporting hand from Georgio who helped him to his feet.

  ‘Good to see you up and about,’ he smiled the comments delivered with a genuine smile and twinkle in his eye.

  Adam looked about. The darkness impeded his vision but he could easily make out the inverted wreck of the small jeep and a much larger diesel powered four-wheel drive with a damaged front end. It didn’t take much intelligence to know that it had caused the carnage, but the question that was uppermost on his mind was the whereabouts of the men who were driving.

  Gillian hobbled slowly to his position. The grimace on her face was the response to a cut on her leg that had been bandaged. ‘I was worried about you,’ she whispered as she gave him a quick chaste hug he had hoped would be a little more passionate. Never mind. He would take anything he could.

  ‘Thankyou, but you don’t look too good either.’

  ‘Ah, it’s nothing. Just another war wound to add to the collection.’

  Adam smiled. He admired her grit.

  ‘So, the question I’m dying to ask is, where are the men who attacked us?’

  ‘Dead … all dead. It seems that Caton was not disloyal after all. Apparently, he was not with the group when they were captured, so he improvised and pretended to be one of the men placed on site by Samuel’s boss. He used his imposing figure and authority to gain respect and was able to discreetly drop food to his friends.

  Not long after our escape, he overheard Samuel saying that he had initially intended not to follow the stolen jeep but that he had changed his mind. He simply could not take the risk of allowing us to reach the final clue first. Caton managed to climb on board the pursuit vehicle and eventually took control. Unfortunately, he was too late to stop the crash, but he did succeed in killing the assassins before they were able to execute us.’

  ‘That’s a convenient story,’ muttered Adam.

  Gillian blinked and pursed her lips. ‘What do you mean by convenient? Caton risked his life for us and Georgio has faith in him.’

  ‘You didn’t see him with Samuel’s men. He was way too comfortable in their company. For someone trying to improvise, he was an expert actor.’

  ‘You’re too suspicious, Adam. I trust Georgio’s judgement,’ replied Gillian stubbornly.

  Adam did not comment. It did not take a great deal of intelligence to know that Samuel’s men were all highly trained assassins quite capable of noticing an impostor. They would pick an unfamiliar face immediately. He would have to be on his guard.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Arun Keane leant his expansive frame back in his leather recliner and placed his feet, encased in brown Gucci’s, on the pad of his expansive oak desk. He traced his fingers over the polished wood grain and recalled the day he had found it at the back of an abandoned antique store. Purchased as an acquisition for his extensive worldwide property portfolio, the store had been vacated with the exception of a rubbish-filled locked room. Arun had ordered it to be immediately opened and cleaned, the desk only coming to light once the piles of papers had been removed. At first it was considered to be like any other old but insignificant desk until Arun began to do some research. He soon discovered that it was a genuine Victorian, especially commissioned and used solely by Queen Victoria herself. How it ended up here was not known, but Arun did manage to locate a record confirming the theft of a furniture container on route to Buckingham Palace.

  Since that time, the desk had become his pride as it brought him within the same league as the illustrious Queen.

  It gave him shivers of delight.

  Chuckling to himself, Arun lit a Cuban cigar and puffed it gently in contemplation. He had been born into a poor family of little means and took to pickpocketing out of desperation. Fortunately, this developed into a thirst for more affluence, which eventually led to a quest for items of greater value. By the young age of thirteen, Arun learnt the importance of antiques and developed a love for the ancient worlds they represented. This was beneficial in turning his rampant need for funds into a burning passion that he was unable to quench.

  Once fuelled by this new found desire there was no stopping him and he soon learnt that the easiest way to acquire the objects of his desire was with the funding obtained from drugs.

  Drugs were readily available and easy to dispose of. They provided him with an untraceable and endless stream of money, but he was greedy; he wanted more – more drugs, more money and more antiques – and the only solution was to manufacture his own drugs in a quantity that suited his appetite.

  He wanted to be wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. He wanted to leave behind the desperation of his youth and prove that he was worthy of greatness, that he owned the best of everything.

  It was then that Arun decided to collect only one item of each group but with a stipulation that it was the finest example of its kind.

  His first purchase was the highest clarity pink diamond available, followed quickly by an unrivalled black Australian opal. He continued on this line until he had one of each class of precious gemstone before moving onto paintings. He boasted a Van Gogh, Monet, Rembrandt, Da Vinci and many others, only missing a Picasso, which he was currently in negotiations with at a Paris museum.

  He readily admitted that he took whatever means necessary to gain his current aspiration and often resorted to blackmail, quickly creating a vast network of people willing to cater to his every need. And he was generous, offering great sums of money for each transaction.

  Arun considered the connections he had built up over the years and grinned in delight. He was so powerful that his influence stretched from the Mexican government to the White House and everyone in between. He had teachers, accountants, museum curators, police officers, shop owners and every other possible connection on his payroll, all funded by his cocaine factory.

  Arun was unable to resist a chuckle. He had pulled off a masterpiece of planning and organisation.

  When he had realised that the demand for drugs had outstripped his supply, he knew that he would need to manufacture it himself. But where?

  He would require a provision that would allow him to process huge amounts of the drugs undetected, along with the facilities to house the people required. Then there was the problem of loyalty. To carry off his plan, he would need a crew that could not be bought.

  It took careful consideration, assisted by a third straight glass of Makers Mark whisky, to hatch a plan that involved a Mayan-inspi
red cult. It was a perfect idea that would allow him to recruit children, the most innocent and easy to manipulate of them all.

  All that was required would be the support of a couple of key friends, especially Senator Ferrero Santiano, and true to form, Ferrero had been instrumental in obtaining the children and keeping it under wraps from the government for over forty years. It was such a success that it made both of them wealthy beyond their wildest dreams – until recently.

  Fine cracks had started to appear in their venture and Arun was angry. He had received news that Santiano’s home had been raided and the group of new children uncovered. This was a potential disaster that would require immediate rectification.

  Santiano had been his closest ally, but Arun had no loyalty to him. He was merely a dispensable cog in the wheel that had once been an important part of the process. But not anymore! He had become increasingly sloppy, choosing children with families who had listed them as missing and leaving the address of the compound on his desk.

  Arun was also aware that the threat of interrogation or prison would cause Santiano to crack, leaving no doubt that he would reveal the secret of the sect to save his own arse. He was a liability that Arun could no longer carry, leaving him little option but to nullify the risk.

  Without further deliberation, Arun picked up his antique phone and dialled a phone number known only to him.

  Tomas answered immediately, listening intently to Arun’s orders before hanging up without saying a word.

  Arun sighed. Tomas was his personal sharpshooter and his most highly paid employee, earning more than any politician or doctor could dream of. Initially Arun had hesitated at securing this investment for the safety of his business, but it had paid off handsomely in removal of at least half a dozen serious problems to date.

  True to form, Tomas rang three hours later and confirmed that the job was successfully completed although Santiano had already arrived at the local police station, which necessitated the need to shoot him whilst he was in custody.

  Arun cringed. The police station was normally a no-go zone, but Tomas had a clear view through a window and was far enough away to avoid capture. He also understood the urgency of the situation and pulled out all resources to follow his orders. Arun decided to reward him with an extra 100 000 dollars in this pay.

  But his problems were still not over. The person who had infiltrated Ferrero’s home posed a serious predicament to his security and Arun had no idea who he was. Until he had received Tomas’s call confirming the death of Santiano, he had suppressed his emotions, determined to face one concern at a time, but now he could focus fully on the other issue at hand. An unfamiliar flutter of fear washed over him and he reacted instinctively by throwing his glass against the far wall and watching it smash into hundreds of shards.

  It provided no release.

  He skolled a straight whisky, catching sight of himself in his gilt mirror as he placed the decanter back on the African blackwood bookshelf. The years had not been kind to him and he had to swap his brooding good looks for those of an old, overweight, balding man. It greatly displeased him, but he still possessed something far more important than looks … power. Power and money bought him everything he desired, even women who were prepared to close their eyes to his ugliness and treat him like a king. He relished his status more than his own life and would protect it with everything he had. It was for this reason that he must discover the identity of the intruder, and he knew just the man to do the job.

  Once again Arun picked up the phone and employed the services of Michael Brewner, an ex-Navy Seal who gave up the fast-paced lifestyle for what he considered was staid detective work. He assisted Arun regularly with anything he needed found, from antiques, long-missing sunken ships, ancient cities and people. It was Michael, a member on the board of the Archaeological Institute, who informed them of the dig at Tikal and also Michael who helped Arun find General Dale Bright in Houston and eradicate the helicopter. Of course, Michael required a portion of every recovery he made, or a suitable pay as compensation, which Arun readily provided.

  With his instructions handed out, Arun’s thoughts moved to Tikal. This was an interesting dig that had provided much fascination for him and he keenly followed the progress Samuel made.

  Samuel was his son, born from Reynata who was one of the original children they had stolen. She had been a delicious find and he had watched ravenously from the moment she reached puberty. With her glorious, long brown hair, blue eyes and sumptuous figure, he had taken her as his chief lady from the moment she reached womanhood, celebrating when his son and heir to his fortune arrived three years later. This was followed quickly by another child, but Arun’s joy soon turned to anger and bitterness when his daughter did not bare the slightest family resemblance.

  His suspicions grew to paranoia which fuelled his desire to learn the truth and this led to the discovery of an exodus ten months previously. Reynata had defied his rules and had escaped for an entire evening.

  His fury knew no bounds. His daughter was not his and as a result, he was determined to make them pay. If it were not for his son, he would have had both their heads removed instantly.

  Instead Arun tortured Reynata for a further three years until Samuel was five and able to fend for himself.

  He grinned sadistically, recalling her screams as they cut her fingers, burnt her face, stabbed her with knives and repeatedly raped her … not once but many times over the years until he decided to tether her and that abomination of a girl outside the compound for the animals to devour.

  He had, had enough of her and wanted his son to himself. The boy was still at an age that would allow easy manipulation without him being too young to understand directives, so with that in mind, he proceeded to raise Samuel in the compound under the influence of the Mayan society. The ancient Mayans were strong and fierce and these were the qualities he wanted to impart onto his son. He did not tolerate weakness in any form and worked Samuel relentlessly in the arts of military warfare, archery and karate until he had developed into an obedient, well-rounded killing machine without compassion.

  He was the perfect son and heir who would continue his legacy for many years to come, ensuring Arun’s wealth until the end of his life and beyond.

  Arun took a moment to envisage his tomb and elaborate offerings given to a supreme being. His coffin would be solid gold, his treasures would surround him and numerous sacrifices would be placed on the ground near his feet showing reverence for all eternity.

  He shivered in delight until the phone rang.

  It was Samuel.

  ‘We are progressing well, but there have been a couple of incidents,’ informed Samuel, the unease evident in his voice.

  Arun wiped his brow with irritation. ‘Well … I’m waiting,’ he growled. He hated disruptions to his schedule.

  Samuel continued with hesitation. ‘We had just made a breakthrough when there was an explosion in the shaft. It created a large amount of debris and caused some of the ground to give way.’

  ‘So, what the hell does that mean?!’ yelled Arun as he felt his face boil with anger.

  ‘It will delay our progress by a day at least.’

  ‘A day. We can’t afford a day. If it takes that long, I will use you as an example of failure in front of our people!’ bellowed Arun as he attempted to calm himself without success. ‘So, you’d better tell me what the other incident is and be thankful that you are too far away to receive a whipping for the disappointment you’ve caused me.’

  The phone fell silent momentarily as Samuel contemplated his next distressing revelation. ‘One of our jeeps was stolen, our chase vehicle captured and the men murdered.’

  Arun did not reply, choosing to disconnect the call and seek solace with the maid who had just entered the room. When Arun had finished taking out his anger on her, she required treatment for tears between her legs and bruises across her breasts. He passed her a thousand dollar bill to buy her silence, noting with sati
sfaction that she had shame written all over her face.

  Arun was amused. He received fulfilment in knowing that he could buy whatever he wanted, even a woman’s pride given so that she could feed her children.

  It was still early morning, so Arun hurried to have a shower in his marble based, Italian styled bathroom, admiring his collection of elaborate furniture and art on the way. Unlike the coldness of the compound where he housed his drug operation, his home was warm and elaborate. It was the perfect example of his status in the society, exhibiting the best money could buy.

  Inserted into the face of a cliff, the home was not visible from ground level and could only be accessed by boat. All staff were required to drive to a large fortified shed surrounded by a host of salt-resistant shrubs and trees. From there they caught the lift down to sea level and took a small boat to the private cove situated at the front of the home where they passed through a scanning machine before being allowed in. The entire project, designed to give Arun the highest level of security and privacy, took three years and 70 000 000 dollars to complete, although this did not include the cost and time to create the masterful natural rock and glass fascia that concealed the home amongst the rest of the cliff like a chameleon. Even Arun had trouble finding it on occasion and often relied on the GPS aboard his Baja series 405 cruiser.

  Designed to handle all waters with precision, control and speed, it was also able to accommodate nine guests and sleep four. It was the ideal boat to entertain on and the pride of his fleet with the exception of his 30Y2K Superboat designed for speed in the open water no matter what the weather or conditions. As a child, Arun had made small wooden boats to play with to the scorn of his father who considered play a waste of time. If only his dead father could see him now. What pleasure he would gain from shoving his wealth in his father’s face.