Belmopan

by B French

  “Well my dear, what do you think? Are you going to do as I say and keep quiet, or will you be encouraged to silence in other ways, like these?” Doug directed his hand toward the others in the group.

  She looked up with hate in her eyes and spat, “You bastard! You will not get away with this.”

  The back of his hand fell hard against her face bringing her to her knees. Magnus forced his way forward to shield her from another assault. The man just cursed and backed away. It was then that I realized that this was Amalia’s boyfriend, the Americano businessman that had also flew in to the Ministry at Belmopan.

  Edmundo’s hand grabbed me once again, “Not yet, we need a plan.”

  “We have to get up there, right?” Brian quarried.

  “Yes!”

  Brian quietly slid from his hiding spot, a huge, limestone block that made up the embankment to the ball-court and gave a gentle whistle just enough to get Magnus’ attention. Startled at his appearance not thirty feet away, he stood up then quickly looked around and crouched down again as not to draw attention. Amalia, noticing his attentiveness looked Brian’s way as well. Backing up slightly to give himself greater cover, he signed with his hands the fact that he and Mundie needed to go up the pathway to the upper portion of the temple. A little bewildered, Magnus began to understand the intent and whispered to Amalia that they would need to make a diversion to allow the two of them to span the open area, about sixty feet to the base of the pyramid-shaped temple. Amalia, getting to her feet slowly, walked to where Doug had been standing farther across the front of the temple. Without hesitation, she bolted passed Doug and started into a run for the thick underbrush at the edge of the court. All eyes turned that way as Doug and his guards took off after her towards the edge of the clearing, oddly enough right in the direction of Juan.

  Taking the opportune moment of the diversion, Edmundo and Brian took off in a mad dash for the pathway that led to the higher tiers of the temple and much cover from the audience. Magnus occasionally glanced as the two disappeared from sight. Taking a path slightly more to the rear of the temple, they scrambled as fast and as carefully as they could. Half way up the temple, they heard an almost simultaneous, double shot that echoed throughout the plaza; it stopped them in their tracks. Glancing at each other, they realized this could have only meant that Amalia had given her life for the two of them. Shattered and breathless, they stopped in the cool shelter of an overhang in the crumpled ruins.

  With little choice and not much more hope, “We will have to split up,” Edmundo suggested.

  “I know,” Brian resounded. “The only way we have a chance is if we can somehow separate the guards as they bring Shawna up.”

  “Well, once they get this far, they are not going to turn back if one of them ends up alone with Shawna, right!”

  “I guess so.”

  “I’ll stay back here,” Edmundo continued, “and try to take care of at least one of them.”

  “But what if you fail? They could kill you.”

  “If I fail, all three of us are dead, and Amalia’s death will also be in vain. We can’t fail.”

  With that, Brian reached out his hand to Edmundo’s and pulled into a firm embrace.

  “We will do this amigo!”

  “I’ll see you soon,” and with that, the Canadian cleared the edge of the wall and struggled up to the next tier of the temple.

  Following the worn path that meandered through the ruins, Brian soon became disoriented and faltered at the near stone maze. Fallen walls and semi rebuilt pathways, crisscrossed and seemingly led to nowhere. Backtracking, he came across a small archway that led inside the ruin and up a set of narrow, steep steps. Knowing he had to get further up into the ruins, he considered the possibility of exposure and chose to backtrack to the far side of the tier. As he was about to leave, a shadow came to block the bright archway at the top of the stairs. Startled, he watched in fear expecting an alarm to be sounded and a fight to ensue. Trepidation was replaced with apprehension as the silhouette of a young, native boy stood to block the brilliance from beyond. Considering the situation, and the compromise a young child may cause in the present circumstance, Brian headed up the steep stairs, careful not to slip from the narrow, slippery, stone steps. Looking beyond the threshold of the arch, the near, naked boy with black, shoulder length hair disappeared around a distant corner, up the steep incline toward the front of the temple. Cautiously climbing the slope, not wishing to be noticed, he crouched low and followed in the direction the boy had led.

  At the edge of the wooded area, the demented Juan could not believe his eyes. Amalia was running directly to him, and better still, Doug was following close behind. Crouching low in the shadows just beyond sight, Juan pulled the revolver, he had retrieved from the forest floor, from his pocket. He had one shot and it had to be a good one. He had patience for this sort of thing, but his heart began to race and he became anxious. Doug had grabbed Amalia from behind and was shaking her. The guards were close behind; he didn’t notice them. ‘Why was he shaking her; Amalia was coming back to him and Doug stopped her once again; why won’t he let her go?’

  Standing up from his hiding place, Juan walked from the cover of the trees, pistol pointed directly at Doug’s head. Startled, but with fast reflexes, one of the guards directly behind the two fired a shot hitting Juan directly in the forehead just below the bluish bruise at his hairline. Juan’s gun fired. The bullet slightly dipped to the right taking off Doug’s left, lower ear. Screaming in agony, Doug fell to the grass clasping the side of his head. Juan lie dead, face-up; his anger still deep within his dimming eyes.

  Owen, from his sheltered vantage point, was shocked and unprepared for the violent exchange. Camera ready, he was able to capture the episode on camera, but fumbled at the aggression and cowered low. Taking a moment to gather courage and realizing the gravity of the situation, he gently lifted his camera and continued documenting.

  High above as Brian neared the apex of the incline, near the front of the temple, the paths converged into one. Looking about to find the boy, he gave a sigh of exasperation at not finding him and lifted his face to the dimming sky as if to gather strength from the ethereal. The clouds drifted in from the south-west.

  Around the next turn was the platform where they had seen the fellow organizing his paraphernalia for the ceremonial display. Taking a deep breath, he peered out to the treetops that resembled a lush, emerald carpet covering the entire periphery of the complex. The mist that had lazily hung between the treetops earlier drifted away to a milky haze that spanned into the far distance; the cool, encroaching wind betrayed the inclement rain. The damp air smelled sweet, enriched by the scent of orchid and plant blossoms that emanated from the jungle below. The surroundings were deafly quiet as Brian prepared to run the course and surprise the priest in his lair. Taking another deep breath, and pumping himself with adrenaline, he took flight and raced to the front of the temple. Completely stricken with fear at what he saw, Brian stopped dead in his tracks. There, before him stood a tall, darkskinned man with a facemask that resembled a Toucan bird. Long, colorful feathers stuck out the top of his head-dress adding an extra foot to his already imposing height. Equally as startled as Brian, the priest backed up, tripped, and stumbled over an outcropping of flagstone and fell over the edge. To Brian’s delight, he remained in a crumpled heap on the stones twelve feet below, motionless. Unsure and confused at the next course of action, he looked down to the milling people at the base of the pyramid. Quickly considering the options, the most important being the guns in the hands of the guards below, Brian eased himself over the edge and jumped the remaining distance to the fallen fellow. Giving him a nudge and then a kick, insurance to his unconscious state, Brian dragged the body to a shallow niche, and then proceeded to take off the priest’s sparse clothing. Not all that certain his ruse would work; Brian sheepishly climbed back to the perch on the next level and continued in the fictitious preparations for the ceremony. Stum
bling around in a loincloth that kept falling to his knees, and a headdress with feathers that continually dropped down over his eyes, Brian entertained himself as best I could. The guards below noticed no abnormalities.

  Within the small cave barely high enough to stand in, behind the makeshift stone altar, Brian was surprised to find, not the rudimentary knives and chisels of the ancients, but the precision surgical tools of a doctor. Scalpels, knives and saws of various sizes were laid in array on a short table and covered with sterile cloths, that he promptly put back. Two coolers filled with ice were off to one side, one already holding a plastic bag enclosed an organ of some sort, to whom or what he had no desire to know and quickly slammed the lid shut. Sitting on the second cooler and taking stock of his emotions, Brian wondered at the proceedings and if the young lad was a part of it. Why would they want a second organ if they already had one? Perplexed, he decided that it was probably best not known. They were not going to get Shawna’s heart at any rate; it belonged to him. Brian tucked his loincloth between his legs and sat on the cooler.

  Within moments, the closeness of the cave and the miasmic dampness emanating from the hole in the floor began to have a nauseating effect on him. Light headed and dizzy, he stepped forward out into the open. Taking a breath of fresh air, he sat down upon a large cut stone. Looking around the periphery of the landing, he took notice of the weathered stone carvings and the deterioration of the distinct etchings that had become worn with the assaults of wind and rain. Above the threshold of the alcove, just out of reach in near shade and dampness, a lone, black orchid grew from amid moss and other fragile foliage; a statement of the purity of nature’s intent. Undaunted, but fragile, it spoke of the intricacies and desire for natures dominance in man’s structured and finite domain. Wishing to capture its fragility, Brian rose to grasp at it when he noticed a man through the sparse raindrops, below, waving up at him. Simultaneously, screams and cries of the women, bellowed up from the small crowd. The first act had begun.

  With scantily, clad warriors painted blue on either side of her, Shawna staggered across the front of the temple grounds. Some of the woman wept while others remained silent. Magnus stood erect ready to act on whatever circumstance from above arose that needed his attention. He had no idea what would transpire, but he knew he could not stand by and be witness to such a gruesome event.

  Shawna was in a daze. She had no idea where she was or the fact she was dressed in white cotton. The two paraded her up the narrow path, and then disappeared for a while behind the line of limestone blocks that made up the promenade; they reappeared after several minutes at another corner of a higher tier. Most of the temples had a wide, central staircase that ran up the face, but this did not. Whether it is lack of proper excavation, or slightly different design influences from earlier dynasties, this configuration would allow for greater opportunity to whisk Shawna away. There was a maze of passageways and alcoves, great staging points for an ambush.

  Edmundo waited patiently, but knew his time was coming close. If he could separate the three of them and perhaps eliminate, or at best occupy one of them, then Brian would have a better chance at the other one. There had been a section, if his memory served him well, that had a narrow opening and hallway with stairs that opened up onto the top tier. If he could position himself out of sight, this would be an ideal spot at which to act. Perched on a short shelf at the rear of the temple, he watched as the first priest leading Shawna disappeared into the crevasse of the rocks. Stopping, while the first ducked and struggled to get his tipsy headdress through the opening, Shawna half collapsed at the opening. Reaching from the opening to pull Shawna through, the first priest was out of sight and the second, with his back to Edmundo, was aiding Shawna through the narrow opening.

  ‘Whomp!’ and a light sound echoed as a ten pound rock came crashing down through the priest’s headdress. Crumpled and heaped at the entrance to the oblong entrance, Edmundo struggled to drag the body out of the way. Sneaking through the opening to the hall and narrow stone stairway, he waited while his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Within moments, the silhouette shape of Shawna in her Mayan, maiden regalia disappeared into the blinding light above and beyond; it was now up to Brian. Unaware that his priestly-partner was not taking up the rear, the first plodded methodically around to the front and his fateful demise. With a swift swing of Brian’s ceremonial spear, the butt end came crashing into the unsuspecting priest’s temple above his ear. Like a rag doll, he collapsed with Shawna following immediately after.

  With the unwilling audience below watching through the increasing raindrops, Brian raised the spear above his head and gave the signal for Ocho, Oz and Knobby to begin their assault. Collapsing to Shawna’s side, he tried to waken her from the drug-induced stupor. Unable, Brian lifted her into his arms and started the long, timeless trek down the descending pathway. In the background, a barrage of gunfire began to echo through the surrounding courtyard. Retracing the steps and coming to the rear face of the temple, he could hear return fire and the revving of vehicle engines. Resting from the weight of Shawna, Brian watched as Edmundo bounced and slid from tier to tier, anxious to reach his fellow commandos, the stony pathways had become slick with the rain and mud.

  From behind a stone outcropping of a temple across the courtyard, Ocho took slow aim with his Beretta, 50 caliber-with scope, at the driver of the lead car; it would take a man’s arm off, so he was very careful with his sights. The outburst of gun-fire from Oz and Knobby were to disorientate and get the crowd to disperse; heading for cover, the area would be devoid of erect individuals and less chance for collateral damage. Edmundo had been quite explicit with his request for targets only, no innocents would be sacrificed today even at the expense of allowing the guilty to temporarily escape. The assault team would individually strategize from their vantage points who would be the vital targets. Unimpeded, they could sight the key personnel and immobilize the vehicles before they proceeded out under the cover of the jungle trees and foliage.

  Ready to take the shot, Ocho had to abort when blurs of motion blocked his view and people at the rear of the temple ran helter-skelter. Doors slammed in the large, black vehicles as the entourage realized the compromising situation they had found themselves in. He aimed instead for the grill of the vehicle that was most in the clear. With a puff of smoke emanating from under the hood, the last vehicle limped along behind the first two vehicles that had managed to escape through the density. Oz and Knobby, who were to concentrate on assuring that the hostages would not be hurt or compromised, worked their way up the sides of the courtyard from their intermediary location, through the underbrush and outcroppings of ruins that scattered the periphery of the courtyard, to the base of the great Castillo.

  Owen amazed at the flurry of activity, tucked himself as flat as he could to the boulder that had hid him safely from the unfolding, passion-play. Still obscured by deep foliage, he panned his camera toward the now hazy drama as he tried to capture the scenes as they unfolded.

  Spurts of AK 47 rifle-fire, began to echo throughout the open area from all directions. The prone spectators in front of the temple were unwilling to move while bullets embedded themselves with a pop and a puff of dust into the large, carved stones behind. The few in ceremonial dress sprinted to the back of the temple and hid. The man with his ear blown off ran to a waiting vehicle and drove off in a cloud of unspent fuel, followed by several others. Some of the guards had returned fire phantom assaults figure of Edmundo bent low, jumped from the lowest tier of the temple and on to the stone steps that rose but were ineffectual against the

  from hidden locations. The lone empirically from the grass courtyard. He raced to where the small group of people had been held and embraced the old man.

  Thunder turning into whirling radials shattered through the drizzling rain as two Gazelle helicopters hovered and swayed to gentle landings in the midst of the field. Spilling a handful of camouflaged soldiers onto the wet grass below, they returned
to the misty skies with clamorous fortitude. Four more figures emerged from behind some of the lesser temples and underbrush, quickly surveyed the scene and disappeared as mystically as they had appeared. The round-up began; the recovery in the courtyard was over.

  As Brian rested on the steps of the last tier before the grass-covered courtyard with Shawna balanced on his lap, her eyes began to flutter, opening and closing trying to focus on his face. A fragile palm came to rest on his right cheek as her lips parted and eased, “Brian?” Lifting her close, Brian pressed his face to hers and held her firmly.

  Steve, unable to react quickly to the crackle of breaking trees and underbrush, watched powerlessly as three, black SUVs emerged from the corner of the parking lot at accelerated speed. Loosely navigating from the gravel to the paved road, they skidded sideways and squealed sharply as rubber contacted moist pavement. They disappeared down the hill and out of sight in a cloud of smoke and disruption; a Gazelle hounded them relentlessly from the sky.

  Unable to land in the narrow roadway to block them, the one helicopter could only watch as the lead vehicle drove onto the small ferry. At gun point, the operator was encouraged to pull them to the other side. Attempting to cross the shallows a short distance from the ferry, the second of the vehicles became mired in the light gravel and remained motionless, the muddy water slowly inching up its sides to the windows; the last, on the paved road, remained static, its hood paint smoldering emanating chopper, two crewmen jumped with lines and harnesses to the ground and stood firm ready to assault on command, the remaining vehicle whose occupants started to spill onto the roadway. Moments later, on the opposite side of the shallow river, a motorcade of military vehicles, along with some local police arrived from San Jose Succotz. As the vehicle, laden ferry tied up to the far side of the shallow river, the assailant’s gun was put away. The blockade was in place. For several moments, no movement was apparent on either side. Soldiers behind the line of blockade vehicles were ‘at-arms’ along with others that had surrounded the aquacade truck. Slowly, the rear window of the Tahoe lowered and papers were handed to one of the guarding men and transferred to the waiting military commander by the jeep blocking the disembarking SUV. Returning to the jeep and scrutinizing the papers, he was seen talking on the radio. After a fifteen minute standoff, the commander slowly walked onto the ferry with his hand hovering over his sidearm. After gazing at the open window momentarily, he handed the papers back through the window. Slow to retreat, he removed himself from the ferry, head down-turned as if to search for answers in the worn planks of the decking. After communicating with the surrounding forces, he and blistering from the intense heat