by B French
THIRTEEN It was early morning when the chime rang for the gate to be opened. Even though the limo, from the government facility, was a regular occurrence, Doug did not want his privacy, and security compromised by anyone, or anything. The house maid and grounds keeper, were responsible for every day household functions and deliveries, while Carlos, his bodyguard and driver, was responsible for security.
This morning was slightly different, while both master and servant were recovering from their failed exploits of the night before. Doug wanted to remain in his cave, while Carlos had no alternative but to respond to the intrusion. Opening the entrance door from the marbled foyer, he was not surprised to see one of the familiar drivers from the Catacombs Branch, a ghost department of Internal Affairs, standing at near attention before him.
“Good morning,” the driver announced cordially. “A request for Mr. Baldwin, to attend a meeting this morning at the offices, has been given. I have been ordered to wait for Mr. Baldwin. You are to follow at a later time. You will be notified and given instructions for a specific time, and place for pick up.”
“Carlos, a little uncertain as to how to handle the request, gently closed the door and proceeded up the large, central staircase to the upper floors and private quarters of Doug.
The Baldwin Estate was more than just grounds, but a conglomerate of real-estate holdings, shipping companies and shares in some of the most predominate, pharmaceutical companies in the world; most were acquired during the last twenty years in association with the custodian. The estate grounds which overlooked a small valley close to Belmopan, in the foothills of the Mayan Mountains, bordered a small river called Roaring Creek. It emptied into pristine freshwater lake that was encompassed by a conservation area that ended closer to Belize City. Birds, crocodiles, tapirs, and the occasional jaguar were all home to this near native habitat. Grounds acquired from native farmers, through a variety of means, were kept in order by the very people who were forced to give up their lands a hundred years previous.
A gentle knock on the ornate, paneled door, brought a grunt as a response from the interior of the room. “What is it,” rang loud and clear.
“A meeting sir,” Carlos replied from the mahogany, paneled hall outside the door.
The door slowly opened revealing a near broken man with black, near closed eyes, accented by a swollen and red nose. Doug tilted his head to get a better view of the abrasion, and bruise to the side of Carlos’ head, where Edmundo had struck him. “Nice.”
“But not as pretty as yours,” Carlos vehemently returned.
“We will return the favor in due time,” Doug retorted.
“You are requested at the office shortly. What would you like me to tell him?”
Doug thought for a moment and finally said, “Let them wait. I have a few things to clear up.” He turned to re-enter the room, but stopped short, “I have a plan for you when you come later.” He gently closed the door and retreated to his private locker that housed a private collection of firearms.
The drive to the Government Compound seemed slow, near timeless to Doug as scenarios ran through his mind of the purpose of this meeting. He had an inkling, it would be his last. But, if all went well, it would be he who re-surfaced to the land above the catacombs, not the custodian who had become so enigmatic to him these last few years. It would be dangerous, his plan, but if executed properly, would rid him, and the rest of the world, of a cancer that had plagued the world for too long. The polymer pistol, he cared in his pocket, was undetectable by conventional security systems, and carried deadly, needle-like projectiles that could penetrate all but the newest of armament and protective alloys. From what he knew, of the last few years, nothing had been done, or added to, the already outdated system that protected the catacombs. He was anxious, but remained calm to the outside; besides no-one would be able to recognize any changes to his eyes or skin tone due to extent of damage to his face. All would go as planned.
The blue sky was dotted with thick, fluffy clouds that seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon, as the 4X4, that delivered Doug, disappeared into the bowels beneath the freshly mowed, grass common that covered the catacombs. He began to feel strangely odd. Sad that the life he had been accustomed to, these last thirty-odd years, would soon be coming to change. He watched as the security gates opened and closed, allowing the vehicle that housed him, to continue down, further into the bowels of the earth and concrete.
Lifting his hand to adjust the tape that crossed his nose, he found that the itch had persisted and tried again to relieve the annoyance. Shocked at the slowness of the response to move his hand, he tried with the other to support the endeavor. Doug’s mind raced at his inability to lift his hand. Reaching for the pistol that hung lifeless within his inner jacket pocket, he realized the gravity of his situation. The custodian had long prepared for this day by charging the interior of the rear seating area of the vehicle with a paralyzing, odorless gas to accommodate, with ease, the incarceration of whomever he pleased. The driver occasionally checked in his rearview mirror to witness the reactive time and thoroughness of the procedure.
By the time they had reached the glass doors to the inner sanctum of the catacombs, Doug was paralyzed and unable to move a muscle. Two orderlies, with a sheeted gurney, exited the doors and pulled alongside the truck and waited for the driver to unlock the rear door, allowing them to extract a near panicked Doug.
Laying him down, they started to ventilate him with oxygen, not to help bring him around, but to oxygenate the tissue, and cells, that would be necessary for the operation about to take place. Helpless, he watched the ceiling flash by and listened to the gentle hiss of the escaping oxygen from the tank that lay close to his ear. They quickly wheeled him down the maze of corridors and ultimately to a preparation room.
The room had been kept cold while the orderlies stripped him of his clothes and shaved the hair from his chest and lower abdomen, A prick in his arm and a face came to block the light that had blinded him from all the equipment that surrounded the room. His eyes came to focus on a pair of glasses and the piercing eyes of the custodian’s assistant that he had continuously loathed and treated with disdain. The buzz of the overhead light became more dominant as warmth started to spread through his body. His mind wandered to the past and to the many things that he would be accountable for. A scene of his drunken father, as he lay bleeding from his ears, had entered his mind. Another, of his mother, beside him, as they knelt in the pews of the Cathedral they had attended when he was young, and his father not present. His mind began to drift more, and unable to focus, he softly spoke the words of reconciliation, “forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
His body began to glow and pulse, as flashes of light began to strobe before his eyes. The custodian had entered the operatory.
Later that day, Carlos’ phone rang. Surprised, at the long wait outside the obscure, service door in the tunnel of the drainage aqueduct, he expectantly waited to hear the direction that he was to take. Doubtful, at hearing an unfamiliar voice, he was given directions as to where to pick Doug up. Uncertain of the location, he followed the direction of the GPS co-ordinates along a dirt road, close to the Baldwin Estate, almost obscured by jungle foliage. Stopping his vehicle close to the edge of the Macal River, more of a creek at this tributary, he exited and called for Doug. Walking down to the river’s edge, he called once more. Wondering at the absent response, he headed up a path that led to a clearing just up from a bend in the river. A Cardinal chirped, and flew off at the intrusion, while a Macal flew off to a perch not far distant. Almost stumbling over a green garbage bag, he called once more and scouted his surroundings. Carlos began to realize something was amiss. Beside the green bag, the toe of his shoe had hit something solid, but moveable. Looking down to the plastic bag, it was belled out at the bottom as if filled with liquid and solids. Reaching over, he picked up the item his toe had touched. He pulled forth the polymer pistol that Doug had taken with him to the catacombs.
Looking back to the bag, and several others in close proximity, a sickness began to fill his being. Carlos threw-up.
FOURTEEN It was late in the afternoon as Brian and Shawna pulled along the edge of the boulevard to the grass covered shoulder that fronted Henry’s house. Several other cars, as well as Magnus’s dusty Land Rover, sat perched at an angle off to the side. The sun was beginning to set beyond the mountains in the near distance that cradled Belmopan. A light breeze blew the sheer fabric of Shawna’s cotton, knee-length skirt, cooling her legs from the heat of the short car ride from Santa Elena. Brian wore a crumpled, light-colored, cotton shirt that had obviously been pulled from a duffle bag; his jeans were no better and frayed at the rear just above his worn sandals, his sneakers had been discarded.
The door to the quaint bungalow, opened to a ceramic tiled foyer, and the smile of a short, brown lady of native decent. Slipping their shoes from their feet, the two crossed the cool tile to a sunken, living room that housed several couches and a vista to the valley and the mountains. Magnus rose to his feet and crossed the expanse of living space to give the greeting of a kiss to Shawna. Reaching across, he took Brian’s hand for a firm shake and pulled him close for a hug.
“Where’s Steve,” he enquired, looking toward the door?
“He’ll be following shortly,” Brian replied. “He needed some more patching after the little tussle with Doug and his driver last night.”
“I think the Chief in San Ignacio will be happy to see the end of us,” Magnus returned smiling.
“Yeah, he has had more attention and paperwork in the last twenty-four hours than he has seen all year. There is a lot to explain, and a few missing pieces that will need to be filled in.”
”Yes,” Magnus returned. “Caution is of the essence. We will have to be careful how much we divulge regarding the nature of the Custodian. It will only further entrench the resolve of those involved in his anonymity to sweep the scenario under the rug,” Magnus motioned in the direction of the sitting area, following after Shawna and Brian. “There are some, who have been embarrassed by their inaction in the past, knowing the implications to his clandestine research, while others have chosen to turn a literal blind-eye.”
The short woman, who had straightened the shoes, skirted the periphery of the foyer, and disappeared through an arch to the kitchen area. Henry’s head popped up from behind the counter, decanter of ice in hand, and cleared the opposite archway in long strides.
“Well, hello my dear,” came the warm salutation from Henry as he noticed Shawna now sitting on the couch. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.” He placed the ice down on the side-board and reached forward to greet her outstretched hand. “I have been somewhat aware of your work prior to now, but have never been able to put a face to your name,” he squeezed her hand lightly. “And now, with the repatriation of the ‘Pillars of the Moon’ that came through my department several months ago, you will not go unnoticed.” He looked to Brian, now standing tall beside Shawna, “You Mr. Alexander,” he said with a sigh, “we owe you much more than we could ever repay. The Department of Archaeology is much in your debt.”
“Perhaps, we could make a deal for Steve’s medical bills,” Brian suggested with a laugh.
“We can discuss it over a drink.”
The three sat down and watched as Henry scurried about, intent on making them their drinks. With smiles and much conversation, and relief from the tension of the last few days, the atmosphere lightened. Brian started to go into embellished detail of his dealings with Magnus in Mexico; laughter abounded whilst Henry retreated to the kitchen to help with preparation of the meal and the laying of the dining table. Littered with cutlery and empty crystal wine glasses, the heavy, mahogany table became congested with the pre-feast accoutrements. The aroma of roasted lamb, and the faint scent of mint, began to drift into the living room area to tease the appetites of the waiting guests and send tummies rumbling. All had eaten sparingly over that last eventful days due to the circumstances. The many visits to officials and dignitaries had left them all rather undone. Henry popped a bottle of red wine and poured it into a decanter to breath just as a knock came to the door.
“Come in,” he shouted in the direction of the door, without lifting his head from the preparatory work of the meal.
The wooden door swung open to reveal a stunning Amalia. Dressed in a satin, mid-thigh dress that clung to her form like a spray of turquoise paint, she stood motionless and waited. Magnus and Brian rose to their feet as Edmundo came to her side and they entered together. Clean and shaven, Edmundo still sported the bruises and walking gate that alluded to the previous night’s encounter. Down the walkway behind, Steve struggled with a bound foot, and now a cast on his hand where he had fractured a meta-carpal in his wrist. He would need to hold his glass in his left hand.
After several moments of greeting, and cordialities, Henry yelled to Mag to make sure all had drinks and continued on with the preparation.
After several hours, several bottles of wine, and multiple courses of a delicious meal, they all retired back to the living room where aperitifs were served and all settled down into comfort. With windows wide open, and a gentle breeze that blew away the concerns and fears of the coming months, they relaxed.
Shawna cuddled close to Brian’s side. He considered the men in the room and asked his host, “Henry, how are you and Mag professionally related?”
“As far away as possible,” he retorted with a hearty laugh that melted into a concerted frown. “Mag and I have known each other since we were young men, new to Belize. We had coordinated personnel, and pooled our skills on a number of digs in the field; we have been through a lot together.” He took a slow look to an aging and frail Magnus and returned a smile. “We’ve done lots of things we should have, and far more things we shouldn’t have - a paradox of life for sure.” He sat pensive for several moments before looking up again.
Edmundo, not at all familiar with the inner workings of the ministry due to his military and tourist involvement, asked of Henry, “What about this fellow, ‘the Custodian’, the name that everyone refers him to?” He gave Amalia’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Who is he? How is he able to be involved with this subversion and yet go unimpeded? The guy was let go at the Macal River, and continued on to wherever he goes.”
Henry’s eyes gave a quick flick in Magnus direction as if in concern. Magnus gave him a nod and looked in Emundo’s direction.
“Many years ago, before most of you were born,” Magnus started, “Henry and I travelled around a bit, visiting archaeological sites, putting together a timeline involving certain events that were reoccurring throughout ancient history. We had found things, the remains of surgical instruments and tools of a quality far beyond the supposed technological skills of the allotted dig’s timelines. The ones we had chosen to investigate, had certain semblance, or blueprint to them. Some of these findings had occurred in one area of the world at one time, and re-occurred again in another, in a different time, perhaps even different century. We were trying to find correlation and evidence that would show how these events may have been connected. There was congruency. These events were the ones we pursued. As we dug deeper, somewhere, feathers were ruffled; perhaps the ‘feathered serpent’, mind the pun” he smiled and stopped.
Henry sensed his pause to gather his emotion and thoughts.
“It was at that time that death threats were made to Mag and me, in regard to our research,” Henry continued. “I took heed and backed off, while Mag persisted, unabated in his quest for the truth.” Henry stopped to pause. “Unrelenting, he continued till it cost him the dearest possession he had.”
“Your wife,” eased from Shawna’s lips as she looked toward him. She thought for several moments, “While we were bound in the shed together, you mentioned your wife occasionally. When you hesitated in your recollection of your life together, you became sad.” She paused again, and then continued, “It was difficult for us to communicate with the
guards’ right there, but I did sense a change in your mood whenever you talked of her. You never mentioned, or alluded to her death, till now.”
With a certain ease while looking back to her, Magnus replied, “You remind me so much of Angelina, and especially then. I felt so powerless to get you from there; I was feeling a double whammy of guilt, and fear. There was nothing I could do for you, as I could not all those years ago. I felt useless, and helpless.” He stopped for several moments to gather his thoughts, “I had a chance to kill the man that abducted her all those years ago, and I failed. He was much younger then, barely out of his teens.” Magnus looked over to Amalia who was held captive by his story. “I recognized the voice more than I did his looks. Men change over the years, with age and weight, but the voice never changes. His cadence and words are burned in my mind these near thirty-some-odd years, never to be erased.” Without mentioning his name, Magnus lowered his eyes to his drink and took a long sip.
“Are you saying Doug had something to do with the murder of your wife,” Amalia questioned with reserve in her voice? “He had done a lot of business with a pharmaceutical company and met occasionally with someone running it, or at least I thought so.”
“It was more than likely this fellow,” returned Magnus pensively.
“Now that you mention it, the old van, in the parking area at Xunantunich, had some faded RX letters on its side,” declared Steve, shifting to get himself comfortable on the couch.
“Doug has worked alongside the Custodian for many years.” Henry took another sip of his drink and continued. “I am a little familiar with him due to the reports of artifacts crossing my desk and about an export company that Doug is a director of. If memory serves me well, in the beginning, Doug’s father ran supplies and goods down from the eastern seaboard of the United States, and returned with a hold full of rum and other substances. Doug just took over his father’s business and contacts when he died. He had an apprenticeship in the shipping business that very few individuals have Custodian met shipment of medical equipment, destined for Cuba, that was high jacked. Lucrative for both parties, but swept away in the red tape of bureaucracy; the two found an alliance, of sorts, mutually beneficial.” Henry shook his head in recollection and glanced toward the kitchen and his wife cleaning the kitchen while he entertained the guests. He rose and left to give her a hand.