“You guys need to go,” Wes pleaded. “They don’t want you. They just want Alex.”
“For what?” Mitch took a step.
“I don’t know.”
Judging from the desperation in Wes’s voice, Mitch believed that.
“Here’s an idea.” Mitch tried to keep a level tone, still avoiding Alex’s solemn eyes that sought to lock onto his. “You have a gun to you, and you have a two-men-to-one ratio. If you shoot Alex, we both destroy you in a matter of seconds, and what we don’t finish off, Solis will attack the rest of the carcass because you didn’t bring back his prize.”
Mitch paused, letting that vision sink in. “So, that’s one option. The other is that you turn Alex over to us and we let you run−and we’re banking on the fact that you’re not going to run in Solis’s direction.”
“Man, I’d go with option number two.” Chuck concurred.
Wes looked back and forth between both men, and then towards the dense greenery at the end of the street, calculating the alternatives.
His head slumped down and his hand dropped to his thigh. Alex jolted from his grasp and ran directly to Mitch. He enveloped her in his arms, holding on so tight he thought he would hurt her, but her arms linked around his waist and her face dove into his chest as he felt her tremble.
Chuck moved in and seized the gun from Wes’s hand. There was no struggle. Wes avoided everyone’s eyes, his demeanor a defeated one.
“Franklin called my cell,” Wes explained. “He−he said she betrayed him on a level that can only be resolved with her being returned to Xibalba. That if she doesn’t disappear−his reputation−his respect will be destroyed.”
“Bullshit.” Anger laced Mitch’s retort. “You were bringing her back to a death sentence.” He held Alex tighter against him, hoping to impede her hearing. “You cared that little?”
“I didn’t want to do it.” Wes looked at Alex and then pleaded to Chuck. “Knowing that, I didn’t want to bring her to him, but−”
“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re a saint.” Chuck nodded, holding the gun steady.
Mitch was relieved that Chuck now possessed Wes’s gun. He doubted the guitar player’s relic could even fire.
“It pisses me off, Wes.” Chuck spat. “Man, I thought you were my friend.”
“I was,” Wes sighed.
The sound of a motor filled the air, followed by the rumble of more vehicles as a trio of Jeeps appeared on the far end of the road beneath a cloud of red dust.
“Shit, Solis?” Mitch swung around.
Alex ground the palms of her hands into her eyes and then squinted into the sun.
“No, Wes said they’re stationed out in the woods behind us, waiting for him to bring me to them. These Jeeps,” she squinted at the oncoming convoy, “these are the local law. As long as they’re on our side, we’re safe.”
The Jeeps pulled to a stop before them with the engines still running, adding to the heat. A young man stepped down from the compartment. He was dressed in khaki-colored pants and shirt, with a badge of grey stripes sewn onto the short-sleeve, and a rectangular pin attached to his pocket that read, HERNANDEZ. Shrewd dark eyes assessed the situation and he motioned his head towards the guns in Chuck’s hands. Men in similar uniforms stood inside the Jeep, their rifles trained on Chuck. He raised his hands and the muzzles of their rifles rose in tandem.
“Señorita Langley?” Hernandez accent was substantial.
Alex made a strangled sound of affirmation.
“A Señor ummm, Neek-ole-suhn has asked me to inform you that he is on his way. He is–como se dice−a pushy man.”
Mitch saw relief jolt through Alex, but she remained mute.
“That he is.” Mitch murmured in her stead.
Beside him, Alex pulled her shoulders back, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice cracked, but she managed to say, “This man is with us.” She nodded at Chuck. Pain then pooled in her eyes as she added, “He is detaining this man who is with Miguel Solis.”
At the sound of the name, Hernandez’ face pinched as if he had taken a deep whiff of the garbage cans behind Hotel del Lago. He twitched his head and two men alighted from the Jeep, moving in to flank Wes. Hernandez jerked his chin, and another man reached to claim the guns from Chuck.
“We will wait unteel your transport arrives.” Hernandez glanced down at his watch. “The van will come from Santa Elena.”
The lure of relief started to douse Mitch, but the bunched muscles at his shoulders refused to relax. He remained focused on the arch of whitewashed masonry at the end of the cobblestone road where he expected a rickety bus to round at any second. Beside him, Alex and Chuck mimicked his stance so that combined, they resembled a herd of gazelle with their heads inclined and alert to danger.
A loud clap rang through the air, the sound ricocheting between the concrete facades. Hernandez reached for his rifle and bowed behind the Jeep door, while shouting orders to get down as several more shots were fired.
Mitch ducked, tugging on Alex’s hand to draw her behind the Jeep, but her hand felt slack in his. The fingers began to relax, withdrawing from his grip−sliding away, like those of Eurydice being pulled back into the underworld. Before he could stop it, Alex’s hand slipped from his.
Shock painted an unsightly image of Alex at his feet, splayed on the ground with a pool of blood forming a macabre crown on the cobblestones above her head. Some of the blood began to seep into the cracks between the loose pebbles as he dropped to his knees, reaching for her, trying to stop that precious life source from feeding the earth.
“No!” His cry went unheard by the woman in his arms.”
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to do this sooner, but with circumstances being such as they were−”
Nicholson’s voice faded off as he toyed with the miniature jade cow kneeling on a bronze mount−one of many trinkets on his leather blotter.
“I know.”
Outside the window, Mitch caught a glimpse of the arrowed pinnacle of the Empire State Building behind the adjacent skyscrapers. “But I want to put that behind me.”
“Right,” Phillip said.
The director of the Musuem of Historical Art and Antiquities looked less polished today. He wore his typical Armani or Brioni or cannoli Italian suit, and his full white hair was no doubt styled by one of New York’s finest salons. His eyes were still keen and blue, and he reminded Mitch of those “World’s Most Interesting Man” commercials. Perhaps Mitch’s illusions of grandeur regarding the director stemmed from the first time he laid eyes on him, when Mitch was at his worst and thought the man was Zeus coming down from the mountain.
The next time Mitch saw Nicholson−well it was at the lowest moment in his life and Nicholson was not even visible to him. He was nothing more than a vague shadow and disembodied voice.
But now, looking at him with an unimpaired eye, Mitch saw some flaws in the refined armor. Slightly sagging jowls and deep crevices formed on each side of the man’s lips.
“Well,”
“Before we begin−” Mitch cut him off. “You have to answer some questions.”
Nicholson released the jade cow and sat back in his upholstered chair. The office might as well have been an annex to the museum. It had a vaulted ceiling with ornate marble molding and faux marble pillars embedded in the walls, making one believe they were in a Greek temple. The sound of running water filled the room as a brass angel poured a stream into a graceful basin. Artwork from every end of the globe lined shelves on the walls illuminated from lights strategically placed in the ceiling.
“Go ahead,” Nicholson laced his hands together and touched his joint fingers to his chin.
The questions were about to spill as freely as the torrent running from the angel’s fingertips when the resonance of a door opening echoed inside the vaulted chamber.
Nicholson’s eyes gleamed as he rose behind his desk.
“There she is,” he an
nounced with a wide smile.
Mitch shared his enthusiasm at the vision that entered the room. Sporting a chic, short bob haircut and a silky red dress that flirted with tanned calves accentuated by the matching crimson pumps, Alex looked like she came straight from the catwalk. She approached with an awkward gait on the high heels as she read Mitch’s expression.
“Don’t get used to this look.”
The external beauty was obvious, but what humbled Mitch was her strength. He considered Alex to be the most compelling person he had ever met. A glimpse of the single small bandage that remained tucked under her hairline on the side of her neck weakened him to the point that he needed to reach for the back of his chair for support.
She stepped up beside him, her blond bob sliding in motion with her head as she raised it and smiled up at him.
“Pick up your jaw, Hasslet.”
He grinned and raised his hand to his chin. “The high heels are killing me.”
“They’re killing me too. Get used to me in boots.”
“Just boots? I could get used to that. Or better yet, barefoot.”
“Uhh-hmm.” Nicholson cleared his throat.
“Phillip.” Alex met the man at the corner of his desk and wound her arms around his neck.
The smile Mitch detected on Nicholson’s lips was that of someone truly content.
“Alexandra.” Nicholson stepped back and gave her the once-over, his salt and pepper eyebrow arching in approval. “You look beautiful.”
“You guys are easy to please.”
Looking at her neck, Nicholson’s eyebrow lost its arch. “Sit down.”
“Really, I’m fine. You saw me at my worst. Tell him, Mitch.” She turned with pleading eyes.
“She is fine, Phillip. The bandage is from the last round of stitches. They wanted to minimize any sign of a scar. That last surgeon in Guatemala City with all his smooth latin charm said,” Mitch aimed for the same accent, “a beautiful Señorita such as this should not be spoiled.”
Alex rolled her eyes and Nicholson let loose a throaty laugh.
“Yes.” Nicholson sat back down behind his desk. “Well, the doctor was correct.” He sobered. “But seriously, when I made it to Ramonez, I was so afraid. There was so much blood.”
The recollection made Mitch tremble. There was indeed so much blood. He was clueless to the fact that two of the Jeeps charged forward towards the source of the gunfire. He was oblivious to the volleying barrage of bullets between Hernandez’s officers and presumably Solis’s soldiers hiding in the cloak of the forest’s edge. He was deaf to Chuck’s words and touch on his shoulder. He was unable to hear Hernandez’s order to lift Alex into the back of the Jeep, and was nearly arrested for assault when he saw arms attempt to haul her out of his reach.
“It was just a surface wound,” she chided as if it were a bug bite. “I really don’t remember much until Guatemala City, and then all I remember is Mitch challenging my doctor over everything and demanding to sleep in my hospital room. They say…” for the first time she hesitated, “−they say Solis is dead.”
“Yes.” Mitch cleared his throat. “One of Hernandez’s men got him, but there are many who escaped back into the jungle.”
Cheshire Cat was not accounted for.
“And−” Alex played with the shiny material covering her knee. “They say that no one has found my−”
This time Nicholson spared her. “No, Alex. No one has found him. We have to assume he has gone−pardon the expression−underground.”
Alex continued to stare at her knee until Mitch reached for her hand. She grabbed it and squeezed, but kept her head down.
“Because of your clever deception in that museum,” Nicholson continued, “Franklin is probably a wanted man by more than just the law. If he is wise, he will not surface for a long time. And as for his museum−thanks to Chuck accompanying Hernandez’s police force and several Guatemalan government officials, they were able to chronicle the inventory and it will be re-claimed by Guatemala and any other country that had been misappropriated by Franklin. The pieces at Xibalba will go down in the books as a joint discovery by you, Alex, and by the Pastorellis.”
“They’re okay?” Alex looked up.
“They are fine. They’re back home now. I understand Joseph Pastorelli has signed a book deal.”
“And Wes?” It was impossible to miss the pain in her tone.
“He is still being detained in Guatemala. He drew a weapon on you, but aside from that there aren’t many charges pending against him, so we’ll have to see what happens.”
An awkward silence descended as everyone was caught up in inward thoughts. The angel in the corner continued to pour her water, and Alex released Mitch’s hand. It would take him a long time to get used to the sensation of her fingers leaving his.
“Phillip.” Mitch broke the silence, trying to jar himself from his own reverie. “I had questions.”
“Right.” Nicholson snapped his head up.
“How did you know I would be on that dock? And how did you know so much about me when I climbed into your limo?”
Nicholson’s rigid posture eased as he slumped in his seat, the shoulders of his suit jacket bunching up. He tapped the tip of his finger on the jade cow’s head.
“I had been following Franklin Langley’s moves for a long time. A very long time. But he was always one step ahead of me. I could never prove his corruption. Through the industry I had heard rumors of a museum so grand and full of unimaginable treasures, and even Franklin himself once boasted of such a place. His arrogance nearly betrayed him.”
Muffled inside this chamber, a siren could be heard passing by on the street below. Its cry peaked and then faded.
“My break finally came when someone in the Venezuelan government received an invitation to partake in an auction of rare,” Nicholson frowned at the use of the word, “−artifacts. An avid collector of sometime unscrupulous items, this Venezuelan was reluctant to disclose the host, but he made inquiries to see who all had received an invitation. I called this official, who I will not mention in order to respect his position in the government, and I was able to ascertain an approximate site of Franklin’s secreted museum. The invitees were never told the exact location. They were flown in, and then taken directly by helicopter to Solis’s compound. They were treated like royalty. In their circles they were the elite sect.”
“Anyway,” Nicholson continued. “I began to cross-reference the positions of the vanishing archeologists with the airstrip where the Venezuelan was being told to direct his plane, and then sadly I realized that Alex was in the heart of my pencil-drawn triangle.”
“I know the man from Venezuela that you speak of.” Alex injected. “So he was not entirely corrupt?”
“Not entirely. He is a victim of an illicit hobby, but so far it is trivial enough to be considered inconsequential, and he protected his office by inquiring about the legitimacy of Xibalba.” Nicholson sighed. “Franklin was a fool to think he could carry this on much longer without being caught.”
Nicholson pushed back from his desk and stood by the window. This was an old building. There was no such thing as glass-plated walls. Here, the windows were narrow and arched, some of the view obscured by burgundy brocade drapes with gold tie backs.
“I suspected that Franklin was going to try and pull something with the Mayan exhibit for several reasons. One, his fondness for Mayan culture. Two, it came from my museum and he would do anything to disgrace me, and three…” he turned away from the window and the sunlight revealed age spots across his cheek, “−and three, he knew that Alexandra was down there and he was planning to abduct her. Though he never gave her any credit, he was astute enough to realize that she was the best candidate to sell his selective inventory.”
“Why in God’s name did he think I would condone that?”
“He wouldn’t give a damn whether you approved or not. You are young. You are beautiful, and your best asset is your knowledge. He
most likely felt you were perfect for sales. Who could resist your good looks and expertise?”
“Not me,” Mitch uttered.
His interruption drew Nicholson’s attention.
“In answer to your question, Mitch. I knew nothing about you until I received that first frantic phone call from my guards on the dock. I started making calls to see if there was any press onsite that might have captured the heist and came away with only your name. I was in shock that Franklin executed such a bold attack−that he outnumbered and destroyed my guards. I was astonished that the helicopters were given clearance in that airspace. It appears they took off from close by and returned to that spot all before any officials were even aware. By that time the shipment was already on a plane−and all I had left was the name of a photographer from the Chronicle as the only living witness.”
Nicholson rubbed his face. “You have to forgive me, but I very much feared for Alexandra’s safety at that point. After all, it was my grant that put her directly in the lion’s den. I did my research and used some of my clout, and I found out what buttons to push to get you to help me.”
“Surely you had better resources to hunt down the shipment than me.”
At this point, Nicholson seemed embarrassed. “I did, but I couldn’t risk sending in the cavalry. Franklin would be on to that. I had to keep my infiltration simple. I wanted two things. I wanted Alex’s protection and I wanted to know the location of Xibalba.” He looked at Mitch. “I figured that you could possibly recognize the soldiers from the dock if you saw them walking amongst civilians down there, and,” Now Mitch honestly thought a flush invaded Nicholson’s cheeks. “It’s immature, but after reading about you and seeing your picture−and definitely after meeting you in that limo and seeing how you fought for my guards’ safety, I thought that maybe you could find a way to sway Alex. To get her out of there.”
“You were playing matchmaker?” Mitch’s voice pitched. “At a time like that?”
Nicholson shrugged which caused his suit to rustle. “A lot was going on in my mind then. The most dominant thought was to get Alex out of there. If I believed that you were attractive enough, and good-natured enough to entice her, then dammit, I was going to use you.”
Jungle of Deceit Page 21