The Green Cathedral

by Kerry Mcdonald

  He stood in a large, open kitchen with a breakfast bar directly in front of him. Beyond that was a casual living room complete with a forty-inch flat-screen TV, a couch, some comfortable chairs, and a couple of nice end tables topped with lamps. At the far end of that room were two giant open-air windows that looked out over a porch and then the beach and the Pacific itself, stretching as far as his eye could see. The open-air windows appeared to have both blinds and solid wood shutters that could be lowered over them for privacy and to mitigate sunlight, which would, in a few hours, come full bore into the house as the sun set over the ocean.

  Noting a door off to the side of the kitchen, Abel entered and stepped into a master suite that was sort of a smaller version of the living room, except done up with a king-sized bed and an en suite bathroom that was simple yet elegant. Abel especially appreciated the large, glassed-in shower. A door on the backside of the master suite led to a second bedroom behind it with two double beds and its own bathroom, which also had a door opening out onto the parking area. Both bedrooms had private entrances from the beach.

  Abel tossed his two bags onto the floor of the master suite, removed his shoes, and plopped down on the king-sized bed. Piling up some of its many pillows, he sat back and gazed out the huge window nearly the size of the wall that faced the ocean. A gentle breeze blew in, pungent with the smell of the sea, and Abel could hear the clatter of palm branches overhead that shaded the beach house. Nothing but sand, sun, sky, and the awesome ocean could be seen. It was like having his own private home on his own private beach. The beauty was breathtaking, even for him.

  And then he noted the island he’d seen earlier in the day, looming across the water, seemingly within touching distance. He’d definitely take that boat Monti had mentioned for a spin, and he just might find a discreet way to get out to that island without being too conspicuous. After all, he wouldn’t want to set the whole town buzzing about the American who went out to the “Isla del Diablo.” Someone might take him for an emissary of evil himself.

  He got up and within five minutes had unpacked the entirety of his things and was ready for his boat ride. He snatched up the altered motel registration form and was about to ball it up and attempt a three-pointer into the nearest wastebasket when he stopped. He looked over the paper again and smiled. Where else would he get a unique memento of this particular journey? He decided then and there that it was time to start collecting memorabilia again. There was no getting back all that he’d lost in his Cartagena apartment, but he could start again, and he decided that this odd piece of gallows humor would be the first thing for his new collection. On the way to the boat, he’d stop by the general store and see if he could get a few photos that he’d taken printed and enlarged, and he’d buy some pushpins to stick them on the walls of his guesthouse bedroom. It was nice, for the first time since leaving Cartagena, to feel like things were finally safe enough to make a small attempt at starting over with his life.

  11

  —

  Abel waved at Monti, who was planted in his chair at the head of the pier, doing his lollipop-selling thing. Abel vaguely wondered what the whole deal with the lollipops was, but for the moment, it didn’t concern him. He’d walked from his motel this time rather than driven and stopped into the general store to see about getting his pictures enlarged. Sure enough, they had a self-service kiosk where he could upload images directly from his phone, pay for the size of the prints that he wanted, and come back a few hours later to pick them up. He found the pushpins he’d seen before and set aside a box with the store’s owner, a tiny woman with a winning smile, and told her he’d be back after his boat ride to pick them up. She’d smiled at him like she thought he was a movie star, and said she’d be there when he came back.

  Then, with his backpack slung over his shoulder, he continued down to the road and walked to the pier. Anticipating lots of sun, he wore light pants and a short-sleeved button-down with half the buttons undone. He brought a few snacks and water, his monocular, and a warmer shirt to throw on if it got colder, and he wore the same trail runners he liked so much, but he also had some sandals with him in case he just wanted to hang out on the deck. To top it all off, he wore one of his camouflage-style SEAL cloth hats with a broad-enough brim to keep the sun off his face and neck. And, of course, scuttled away into one of the backpack pockets was his Glock 19 with two extra clips of ammo.

  Tipping his hat to Monti as he passed by, he walked out on the pier to the last boat, as Monti had instructed. It was a very bland sort of boat of moderate size, with a wooden hull, a wood deck with guardrails that went entirely around it, a small cabin of which most was below the deck line, a raised bridge where the helm was with a deck that was roofed over and had cheap glass on three sides, and a stairway that went down to the deck level and also through the main hatch into the rear cabin, which Abel assumed led not just to the cabin but the hold as well.

  Like any Navy officer would, Abel inspected the entire ship, stem to stern, and down in the cabin area, as expected, he found the contraband that he was supposed to find, ten kilos of product along with a couple of old forty-five semiautomatics and some ammo. The pistols looked serviceable, but seriously, they were probably left over from the Vietnam War. They did have holsters with them, but then again, who carried holsters these days besides beat cops? Abel left all the stuff where he’d found it, figuring that he’d call in his find sometime later, and someone from the Jacó post would come down and pick it up.

  But he wouldn’t do it right away. Whoever came would probably want to impound the boat as well, and Abel wanted to use that boat for at least a couple more days. Today was just a day to get a look at the island, maybe find a suitable mooring place so he could go ashore for a few minutes. But he’d most likely want to do some serious exploring at some time, so he’d continue using it to search out more contraband for now.

  Seeing that his fuel tank was full, Abel headed away from the beach areas and pointed the boat toward the mouth of the Rio Palma and his beach house. Once there, he took a few pictures of the place from out at sea, then continued down the coast for another half mile before heading out farther into the ocean. With a keen eye to the island, he didn’t turn back toward it until he was well past it, then slowed so that the motor could barely be heard as he coasted up to the shore. Skirting the side with the sharp cliffs that came down from the volcano, which looked absolutely awesome up close, he put the island between himself and the coast and now trolled along with no worries of being spotted. He studied the island’s shore in earnest, his eyes popping with wonder as he did.

  The first thing that fascinated Abel was that the backside of the volcano, which was several hundred feet high, was not only covered in what looked like jungle but also clouds, which clung to its sides and feathered out like frayed cotton all over the mountain and the surrounding flatlands. Abel surmised that the island, because of the volcano, had its own microclimate that gave it a rainforest-like appearance. Moist air from the ocean rose along the sides of it, cooling enough to form clouds, which in turn would cause rain to fall and which would be hard to see from the coast side.

  No wonder the place looks so green, he thought. He pulled out his phone and snapped a couple of pictures.

  While eyeing the volcano, he hadn’t noticed that he’d been steadily drifting into a small bay. On the mountain side of this bay, jungle came right up to the shore, but toward the island, the forest thinned to just a few trees here and there, and a large meadow of very tall grass covered the land all the way to a sandy spit, which acted as a breakwater for the bay. There was also a beach area directly ahead of Abel’s boat, where sand prevented grass from growing so close to the shore.

  Abel did not allow his boat to cruise much farther before he throttled the engine down to an idle. He would take no chances on running the boat aground. Instead, he shut the engine off, dropped the boat’s anchor, opened up a box on one side of the dec
k, and hauled out an inflatable dinghy. Taking it to the stern, he opened the bulwark that gave access to the boat’s rear launch-and-recovery platform, inflated the boat, and grabbed his backpack. Removing his gun and putting it in his waistband, he slung the pack over his shoulder and boarded the sturdy rubber boat. Dipping the propeller of its small outboard motor into the water, he motored slowly through a hundred or so yards of calm waters and pushed the boat up onto the beach. He’d done this kind of thing with his SEAL team so often. How ironic that he was now doing the same thing just for the fun of it.

  The first things that greeted his eyes as he looked up were the giant, overarching trees that formed a canopy over the jungle, which was probably another hundred yards or so inland through a plain of grass that was as tall as he was.

  “Where’s a machete when you need one?” he grumbled to himself, making a mental note to pick one up at the general store when he got back. He snapped a couple of pictures of the awe-inspiring view, then, using his hands and arms, did his best to clear a path for himself through the dense grass. After several minutes, he emerged onto the dirt-covered floor of the forest, which extended a few yards out from where it actually began.

  Craning his neck, he gazed up at the majestic trees and their branches. They reminded him of some of the old European churches he’d seen while on leave from various deployments in Europe. Fresh breezes rustled the leaves of the trees, and, as he actually entered the rainforest, he heard an unceasing cacophony of sounds: the cries and chirps of any number of brightly colored birds that flitted and sailed about; the howls of howler monkeys, an animal familiar to many areas of Costa Rica; and the incessant sound of things falling around him from the upper layers—from waterdrops coming off leaves to tree-living animals dropping down from branch to branch. It was like a symphony of life. He set his phone to video mode and recorded the sights and sounds as he slowly walked along before catching himself and getting back to paying attention to where he was stepping.

  Abel knew that what was under him could cause him far more trouble than what was over him, as any number of poisonous tree frogs or plants could be in the shrub, and snakes and nasty insects like fire ants could be lurking on the forest floor. Proceeding with more caution, his eyes mostly down, Abel progressed farther into the forest, careful to break off shrub branches and scuff up the ground as he went so he’d be able to find his way back later.

  Presently, though, when he stopped to admire the majesty of the canopy of trees once again he was greeted by a sight that almost made him burst out laughing. About fifty yards in front of him, gathered on a very thick branch of one of the understory trees, was a group of three howler monkeys. They were just sitting on the limb like preteen boys who’d climbed a tree to see what was going on in an adjacent baseball park—except they were all staring at him! Abel chuckled.

  “Hola, muchachos,” he called. “¿Habla inglés?”

  The three just continued to sit there. Abel had just snapped a picture when three more monkeys showed up, this time capuchins (Abel could tell by their smaller size and pinched little faces), and they hung out in another tree as if they were checking him out.

  “Guess you guys don’t see humans around here too much, huh?” said Abel as he shot the capuchins with his camera. “Allow me to introduce my race to you. I’m a man, as in male of the species. Strong, handsome, amazing, if I do say so myself.” He doffed his hat, bowed, made muscle poses, did turns, and struck modeling poses. The confused looks on the monkeys’ faces almost made him laugh out loud.

  Suddenly though, he saw that, in another tree, he was being observed by a very different audience member: a pitch-black jaguar lolling on a branch nearly within striking distance of him. He took a couple of steps back, eyeing the big cat as it eyed him back curiously.

  “Sorry, sir,” said Abel. “Didn’t see you show up. Nice to make your acquaintance. Now, if I can just get this shot . . .”

  He quickly snapped a couple of pics, then backed away a bit more, but the jaguar didn’t seem inclined to move. Abel noticed that the birdsong that had permeated the woods before was now silent, and then came a chorus of strange, musical birdlike sounds from all around him. It was as if some bird (or birds) had learned how to sing like a human. Abel looked higher into the trees but couldn’t see any bird in particular that seemed to be doing the singing. What he did see was a large nest, like a giant eagle’s nest. And yet, there were no giant birds around either.

  Suddenly, the strange birdsong stopped. Abel lowered his gaze to see that all the monkeys and the jaguar were now gone, vanished. He looked around to see if any of them were swinging or sauntering away, but there was nothing. Feeling slightly spooked, Abel decided that it was probably time for him to get back to his boat. The instant he turned his back to leave, all the sounds of the forest returned as if someone had turned them back on with a switch. Abel followed as best he could the signs that he’d left for himself, but once he could see the meadow grass, he veered a bit away.

  It was then that he kicked something that made him nearly trip. He paused to check out what he’d almost fallen over and became more curious when he saw something round and quite white partially buried in the ground. At first, he thought it was just a smooth rock, but as he used his SEAL knife to dig around the thing, he could see that it was no rock. Once he’d scraped around it enough to actually lift the object out of the ground, he saw that it was, as he’d suspected, the crown and face portion of a human skull.

  Abel stared at it in shock for a moment, then carefully stowed it in his backpack, hustled back to his rubber boat, returned to his ship, and pulled away from the island.

  As he did, the two eyes—human eyes—that had watched him since his boat had come near the island now watched again to make sure that he and his boat left entirely and didn’t turn around and come back.

  12

  —

  When Abel finally got back to the pier at Playa de Palma, the sky was at peak sunset. Surfers and swimmers were being replaced by slow-strolling lovers and tripod-wielding photographers on the beach, and Monti Ruiz was just closing down his outdoor “throne room,” as Abel was now calling it, and heading back up toward his house. Abel, backpack slung over his shoulder, jogged up to him.

  “How was your boat ride today, mi amigo?” said Monti. “Did you catch any fish, find anything out of the ordinary?”

  “I found plenty out of the ordinary,” replied Abel.

  “Ah, bueno, bueno!” replied Monti. “And when will the DEA be here to pick up their confiscated weapons and contraband?”

  “Probably in the next couple days, but that’s not what I’m needing to talk about.” Monti stopped and turned to see Abel’s stern face. “I went to the island,” he said simply.

  “You should not have done that,” replied Monti. “I’m surprised you’re alive.”

  “And why would that be?” asked Abel more forcefully. “Maybe because of this?” He tugged his backpack open at the top and let Monti look inside. “I need to talk to you about that place.”

  Monti sighed. “Why is it that you need to talk with me so urgently about this?”

  “Maybe because I’m curious,” replied Abel. “Maybe because I wonder why everyone in this town is afraid of that place and calls it Isla del Diablo because of the evil thing or whatever that’s out there. Maybe because I think the DEA might be highly interested to know what really goes on, on a ‘forbidden’ island that’s just a mile and a half away from where one of their informants says he only runs a small, local operation.”

  It was the last part that really got Monti’s attention. He sighed. “We shall meet in the morning for breakfast at the restaurant across the river from where you’re staying. Good night.” He turned away, but Abel didn’t budge.

  “No! We talk tonight at that restaurant as soon as I’ve finished an errand at the general store,” he commanded. Abel was in full Navy SEAL m
ode now, and Monti could tell that he wasn’t to be trifled with. And he’d also just thought of an idea that would make all this potential trouble go away.

  “Fine,” he said wearily. “We will stop at the general store so you can do your business, then we will walk to my home and enjoy Maria’s taco salad. I have a room that is private where we can talk.”

  “I prefer a public place,” replied Abel. “I’m not going to be looking like this dumb bastard come tomorrow morning.” He indicated his backpack.

  “And I prefer tomorrow morning at breakfast,” retorted Monti, “but I don’t want to endure the wrath of my wife and the scolding of my granddaughter because I didn’t show up for supper!” His face was firm and unyielding. “So, we compromise. We talk tonight, but at my home, and I promise on the lives of those I love in that home that you will not end the evening like that poor bastard in your backpack!”

  Abel finally nodded. “Okay, fine. I’ll be less than five minutes in the store, and that taco salad better be good—and not too much hot sauce.”

  ***

  “Ah, La Catedral Verde,” mused Monti as he munched on taco salad while he perused the prints Abel had gotten of his pictures. He was sitting at a neatly arranged desk in an impressive office that occupied the spare bedroom in his three-bedroom house. Abel sat across from him in a cushy chair, fanning his mouth and guzzling water like he’d just spent a week in the Sahara.

  “Shit! Holy shit, that’s hot stuff!” he exclaimed. “Thank God she just gave it to me on the side. What the hell is that anyway?”