The Mayan Priest

by Guillou, Sue

  Unlike other families, Arun’s parents succumbed to their poverty, selling him at the age of ten as a sex slave. He quickly escaped, physically unharmed but scarred with the trauma of being worth little more than a commodity. His hatred for his parents, although long dead from malnutrition, was the driving force behind everything he did in his life.

  Quickly towelling himself off with his fluffy white Egyptian towels, Arun moved to his den and hurriedly consumed his breakfast of free range poached eggs and toast.

  He was in a hurry.

  Whilst in the shower, he had decided to fly to Tikal to chastise Samuel for failing to ensure things ran smoothly and to determine the status of the dig. He also wished to discover the reason behind the elaborate treasure hunt the archaeologists had embarked on and to wrap up proceedings at Tikal as quickly as possible. Without Santiano to act as a mediator between the government and the Tikal National Park, he feared that he would attract unwanted media attention.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Dale stared at the map in frustration. He had twisted it, turned it and stared at it but was no closer to uncovering its secrets or why Ferrero had chosen to give him this particular one in the first place. Common sense would tell him that Ferrero was having the last laugh, but Dale didn’t think so. He had seen the fear in his eyes and the piss that ran down his legs. Ferrero was a coward and was not smart enough to try and outwit him. The answer had to be here … but where?

  Neither lateral thinking nor the addition of a magnifying glass was of any assistance to him, and Dale was on the verge of ripping it up when light filtered through the window opposite him. The rays shone through the thin paper, highlighting a barely visible black line traced on the opposite side of the map.

  He had found it.

  In conjunction with the road map and markers, the black line worked like a dot to dot puzzle and Dale could easily see the outline of a lizard. It’s tail corresponded with Santiano’s home and the tongue with a small inlet on the Texan coastline.

  Dale swore loudly, ‘Shit!’ This was of no benefit to him. He was convinced that Arun’s business was based at Campeche, but the map told him otherwise. When he had initially discovered the children, he had quickly put two and two together. Children, particularly orphans, would not be missed and would provide the perfect solution to manufacturing a worldwide source of cocaine. They did not require wages, would be faithful and not likely to escape. The only problem was the trail on the map ended at Galveston, which did not fit with his theory.

  Dale stomped up and down a little like a child until his eyes fell on the large port that was home to many boats from ocean-going liners to small pleasure craft.

  It suddenly clicked. That was it. That was how Arun was sneaking these children undetected into Campeche.

  He longed to get his hands on this despicable man.

  Now what? His trail had ended and he fully expected Arun to have informed the boat crew that the children were not arriving. Although if it was a purpose-built boat, as he suspected, it would have no reason to leave and may remain in dock until the next shipment. He had to find out.

  Galveston was over 200 miles away and Dale had to get there quickly. He had no option but to ditch Peter’s beloved Kawasaki at the airport and catch a plane. Although he had many employees capable of picking him up in a helicopter, Dale feared that the suspected spread of corruption had infiltrated his own office and could cause a breach of his initial directives. The long standing instructions had come directly from the White House many years ago and this was the first real opportunity they had to actually make a breakthrough. Dale could not afford to mess it up.

  He decided that the most inconspicuous way to travel was by public transport, so he booked a seat on the first available flight from Austin-Bergstrom International Airport to Scholes Airport in Galveston. It was due to depart in eighty minutes, leaving him enough time to buy an extra large cup of coffee and properly secure Peter’s beloved bike which, to his immense relief, had survived unscratched. Peter would not forgive him otherwise.

  He boarded the plane with a couple of minutes to spare and settled easily on the short flight. To be honest, he was looking forward to being fussed over and he was pleased to discover that this airline had a host of good-looking attendants to occupy his time. One particular lady caught his eye, bringing about the familiar twinge of desire and anger at his beliefs. It had been a long time since he had experienced the delights of a woman, partially due to his own inability to share himself, but mostly because he was opposed to one-night stands. He had strong personal principals, which he tried to adhere to, but noted that they were often to his detriment.

  His gaze settled wistfully on a tall, dark-haired lady, instantly recognising her resemblance to Reynata. Despite her scars and personal demons, he found himself developing a love for Reynata that was not quenched by his regular visits. She had a strength about her that he greatly admired and his long suspected suspicion that she was the mother of Gillian only made him feel all the more connected to her. He worried about her although he was comfortable in the knowledge that Peter would take good care of her.

  A sharp dip to the left jerked Dale out of his reverie as the short flight came to an end. He sighed as he climbed reluctantly from his seat, reflecting on his brief time of relaxation that was way too short. He decided that he was exhausted.

  The airport was familiar to Dale, so he quickly made his way to the taxi rank and flagged down a passing vehicle. The driver was a nervous young man with pimples and greasy hair who spoke a little too much for his liking.

  ‘My name is Sean. Welcome aboard my limo,’ he joked as he pushed two empty cans of coke from the seat to make way for Dale.

  ‘Where can I take you to today? Your office, hotel, meeting?’ asked Sean, mistaking Dale for a businessman.

  ‘The marina please,’ replied Dale as he grinned at the young man. Despite his cool demeanour and friendly manner, it was not hard to determine that this was Sean’s first job. There were small beads of perspiration around his forehead and his hands shook as he put the car in gear. He smile was confident but his jaw and facial muscles tensed with fear.

  ‘Why did you stop your studies?’ asked Dale.

  Sean’s eyes flashed with surprise at the unexpected question. He answered with hesitation. ‘Um … my family could no longer afford to fund my education, so I left school to pay for my living and to help support them.’ His face filled with bravery and determination belied only by his slouched posture and rolled shoulders. He spun the wheel and headed directly towards the masts visible in the distance. His driving was good.

  ‘So, what would you have wanted to do if money was not an object,’ asked Dale with interest. He liked this young man. The honesty he portrayed and the determination to assist his family to his own detriment was admirable. It was a characteristic most people could benefit from.

  ‘Well, as a boy, I had a fascination with planes. I suppose this is a common form of play for a child, but it was more than that for me; it was obsession,’ grinned Sean as he deftly avoided a couple of stray dogs and entered the gates into the port before pulling over.

  Dale glanced down at the young man’s holey shoes and did something he had never done before. He had no idea what came over him, particularly since he had only known Sean for such a short time. He feared he would live to regret his brash decision.

  My name is Major General Dale Bright of the United States Military.

  Sean bowed his head in respect.

  ‘Here’s my card. I am a little busy over the next couple of days, but I have a staff job available in the office. It is not much to start with, but we will also give you the opportunity to study in the field of your choice, and obviously we have aircraft.’

  Sean did not move. He was stunned and Dale observed moisture in his eyes.

  ‘You will have to move to the base, but we have free accommodation and you can still send funds to your parents.’

  ‘Thank you
,’ Sean whispered in disbelief as Dale chuckled and stepped from the taxi.

  ‘I will see you at the office in three days.’

  Dale felt good. He had offered a young man a chance to fulfill his dreams and knew he would not be disappointed. He was obviously dedicated, keen and eager and would prove to be a loyal employee. By the time he reached the forefront of the marina, the taxi had not moved. He knew he would see Sean bright and early in three days time.

  Dale viewed the yacht club with interest. It was large, noisy and brimming with activity. The boats numbered into the hundreds and ranged from small sailboats to multimillion dollar luxury cruisers.

  Preparations were underway for the unloading for those arriving and the departure of many others. Dale looked about in awe, admitting that he had no idea which area to head towards or even what he was looking for. He mentally envisaged Arun’s activities and requirements and determined the needs of his operations. If his conclusions proved correct then Arun was shipping the children in small groups to Campeche some 800 miles from here. He would need a cruiser that had the capacity to carry at least twelve passengers with a top speed of fifty knots. Even then, it would take at least thirteen hours to reach Campeche, but with all of the traffic, moving about the Gulf of Mexico and Bay of Campeche, a small passenger boat would remain largely undetected. The majority of normal cruisers were only capable of fifteen to twenty knots, so he needed something with more substance and speed, but what? The only boats capable of that pace were large modified navy boats or speedboats, none of which would fit the incognito requirements.

  He stopped an older gentleman and asked for directions.

  ‘You’ll need to take this path down to your left and continue on past the restaurants and smaller sailboats. The larger yachts are the next berth over.’

  Dale thanked the distinguished-looking man and readily followed his directions before pausing mid step. Years of training and a sixth sense set off an alarm in his head. There was a shadow behind him that did not fit into the landscape! It moved when he moved, ducked when he bent over and stepped sideways as he passed through the gate.

  With an air of casualness and cautious movement, Dale wandered towards a large gleaming white boat with numerous glass panels. He knelt down, using the pretence of tying his shoelace, to view the reflection of the scene behind him. Initially there was nothing of note and Dale had to dally a little longer than he would have liked, but just as he had begun to move, a figure darted from behind the fence to an adjacent flagpole.

  It was a definitely a man and he was quick. If Dale had blinked, he would have missed him. There was also an unmistakable action to his movement that was instantly recognisable as ex-military or the like.

  He was being followed.

  Dale quickened his pace as much as he dared. He instinctively knew that the detective was just behind him and it did not take much intelligence to realise that it was one of Arun’s men.

  Dale was worried but pushed the details of his pursuer out of his mind to concentrate on his search target. He was looking for a boat capable of high speed that was not a typical cruiser or sailing boat. It would not be brightly colored or signwritten so as to attract any attention and may even be a little time worn as an added diversion. Unfortunately it was like looking for a needle in a haystack until he spotted a hull that he was familiar with. To the layman it looked the same as every other boat, but Dale recognised the altered lines instantly.

  Designed in 1986, Dale had been consulted on the boat design which was ultimately destined for the Israeli navy. With a low-profile aluminium hull and false hull bilge to store the diesel fuel, the Shaldag Mk-11 was capable of his estimated top speed of fifty knots. The excellent crew quarters could easily hold ten to fifteen children and the manoeuvrability assisted in escaping any unwanted attention. It was the perfect choice although the price tag of four and a half million dollars did surprise him. Arun Keane clearly had cash to burn with money not an object when it came to protecting his empire. He was evidently wealthy beyond belief, leaving Dale to wonder just how many people were on his payroll.

  Dale moved with caution towards the boat, noting that it appeared to be deserted. This would provide him with the perfect opportunity to explore, but just as he stepped onto the gangway, the boat blew up in front of his eyes. He was violently and forcefully swept off his feet and slammed face first onto the concrete path twenty feet away. The noise was deafening and the heat from the flames swept over him with the ferociousness of a lion attacking its prey. The hair on his head and hands totally evaporated and the rubber soles of his shoes softened to a pliable material that was sticky to touch. His woollen slacks and jacket withstood the temperature but were torn to pieces, leaving cuts and bruises all over his extremities.

  Dale felt his body to ensure it was in one piece before concluding that he had to move. It would be an additional disaster if he was discovered in the vicinity of the debacle, but the falling debris made his escape difficult.

  Dale stifled a scream of agony as he tried to stand, driven onwards only by the desire to relocate to safety before the emergency services arrived at the scene. He could already hear the sirens in the distance, but his body did not respond to the commands of his brain and he was becoming desperate when a pair of strong hands reached for him and dragged him to the nearby grassy mound. Dale sank into the lush grass, savouring the softness as if it was his own bed at home, but he was still unable to see. The blinding flash had created spots of light which temporarily impeded his sight. He would have to wait a couple of minutes for it to clear.

  His brain raced at a hundred miles an hour as he tried to determine what had happened, but it was evident that someone clearly wanted to keep their secrets hidden, and it was worth blowing up a multimillion dollar boat to hide. If only he had caught a glimpse of the interior or discovered a clue!

  With his vision gaining clarity, Dale eventually opened his eyes and found himself face to face with a grim-looking Sean.

  ‘It was your lucky day. One foot closer and you would have resembled that boat.’

  Dale turned and looked at the scene behind him. Nothing but charred and decimated debris lay floating in the spot that was once occupied by The Shaldag. The boats situated next to The Shaldag, a large catamaran and a tri-level cruiser, looked as if they had been in a war. Their gleaming hulls were blackened beyond recognition and plagued with holes and the decks were littered a good foot high with charred debris. Both were tilting dangerously on the side that had previously faced the doomed boat.

  What a waste!

  ‘Thank you, Sean. I am grateful that you hung around,’ said Dale as he noted that the young man had pulled him behind a supply shed that concealed him from the arriving firefighters.

  ‘I was so blown away by your offer that I simply could not leave. It was then that I noticed a man following you.’

  Dale sat bolt upright. ‘Your saw him?’

  ‘Sure did, but that can wait,’ said Sean as he passed Dale a damp cloth and a change of clothes. ‘Can you stand?’

  ‘Yes,’ stuttered Dale in appreciation as he viewed the first aid kit and jogging outfit Sean had given him. He also noted that Sean had removed his shoes and started to clean him up. He admitted that it was a rather strange turn of events. One minute he was the knight in shining armour and now Sean had returned the favour.

  Bedecked in oversized Nike track pants, shirt, hat and runners, Dale felt both sore and stupid. He had never worn anything other than tailored clothing in his life and here he was looking like a wannabe teenager. Still, he was grateful beyond words.

  Thankfully, in the few minutes he had spent recovering, a large crowd had flocked to the scene, providing them with complete anonymity, and they were able to escape unnoticed.

  Once clear of potential hazards Dale’s self-control failed and he almost collapsed in pain. His body throbbed and pounded in places he didn’t know existed and his headache rivalled anything he had ever experienced before.<
br />
  He needed painkillers and lots of them.

  ‘So, what are you involved in?’ asked Sean as they neared his car.

  ‘Nothing,’moaned Dale as he sank to the ground near the front wheel of the taxi.

  ‘Come on. I may be a pimply teenager, but I’m not stupid. You were being followed and it can’t have been a coincidence that the boat blew up right when you were about to step foot onto the deck,’ said Sean as he passed a bottle of water and four Panadeine Forte to Dale.

  He swallowed the large dose quickly, not bothering to ask why this young man travelled with a complete emergency kit, clothing and painkillers.

  ‘You’re right. I’m on a mission but the destruction of the boat was a large setback that my body’s not likely to recover from in a hurry,’ replied Dale, feeling somewhat deflated. This was a major impediment to his plans and he was temporarily at a loss as to what to do next. Deep in thought, Dale almost missed what Sean said next.

  ‘I’ve got the registration number of the car the detective arrived in.’

  Sean repeated himself again after receiving no response.

  ‘I’ve got the registration number of the car the detective arrived in.’

  ‘What did you say?’ replied Dale as he broke his reverie and tilted his head in Sean’s direction.

  ‘I’ve got the registration number of the car the detective arrived in,’ grinned Sean.

  ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’ chuckled Dale as he punched Sean joyfully on the arm.

  Sean beamed from ear to ear as Dale rang Antony Larrami and ran the registration plate through the database. He came up trumps. The vehicle belonged to Michael Brewner, an ex Navy Seal, and was sold to him by a man by the name of Rossler Townsend with an address just outside of Campeche. Dale grinned. He was pleased on two accounts; one by the offer of a helicopter from Antony and two, the added proof that Antony was not on Arun’s payroll.