Jungle of Deceit (23 page)

“
No,” she cried.

Her knees gave out and she would have collapsed were it not for the guard’s secure grip.

“
Hello, Alexandra.”

***

Vomit inched its way up Alex’s throat. Her balance wavered as oblivion beckoned her down a dark tunnel with skeletal fingers.

“
You defy me every step of the way, even when you don’t know it’s me.”

Incisive eyes disemboweled her, but his face was the greatest punishment. It was a parallel of hers, with keen jade eyes and high sculpted cheekbones. His hair had once been blond as well. Women would often remark about his similarities to Robert Redford, but to Alex his features were macabre.

“
Franklin Langley.” Her father introduced himself to Mitch as if this were afternoon tea in London.

Beside her she sensed Mitch reel and felt his eyes on her. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at anything. She stared at the floor−at the blood red carpet as if her father had slain many a victim on the altar that served as his desk.

“
What have you done here?” she whispered with her head still down.

“
Leave us.”

The manacles that ensnared her relinquished, but the deep purple marks across her forearms remained.

“
And you, as well. I will deal with you later.”

“
Señor Langley,” Solis pleaded, “it is not my fault.”

“
Enough. Go.”

A panel hissed behind her, followed by the sense that the office had been vacated with the exception of her and Mitch−and
him
. With a discreet glimpse, she studied the architecture which was intended to emulate a shrine at the summit of a temple. By tradition, the peak would offer a sky roof, but that was hard to do when you were underground. One of the walls to the office portrayed a god carved into its limestone face, but the depiction was random, as well the murals on the other walls−as if someone had collected ideas from a host of temples, Uxmal, Chichen Iza−and just created a collage of graphics here.

Would she and Mitch be sacrificed atop this altar?

“
Why did you do it, Alexandra?” she heard the squeak of her father’s chair. He had risen.

She would not succumb to panic in front of him. Franklin Langley thrived on power and manipulation, and he would attain neither of these with the one person that dared to defy him. He had destroyed her mother, but her mother was weak. He could kill his daughter−but he would never destroy her.

“
Honestly−” she looked up into the eyes of the man who had sired her and done nothing more. “I sought to ruin the credibility of whoever was running this operation. I thought that man was Phillip, but to find out that it is you only makes the sting more gratifying.”

Franklin walked around the altar and rested the rear of his white trousers against the coarse rock edge as he crossed his arms and looked at her with a glean of loathing in his eyes.

“
Phillip Nicholson.” Franklin snorted. “That man has been a thorn in my side for years. He fancies himself a father of sorts to you.”

A snarl of frustration sounded beside her.

Franklin turned towards Mitch and smirked. “Yes, I found out about
you
only a week ago. How Phillip came to know that I was the source of the heist I have yet to determine. That you were there was an inconvenience my guard should have taken care of on that dock. Of course, neither he nor I had any idea Phillip would show up so soon.”

“
This place.” Alex was obsessed with the need to understand her father’s descent into corruption. She waved at the tawdriness of the shrine. “Why? How?”

“
Sit down, Alexandra, you look pale.”

He pointed at two mahogany chairs, one of which she accepted only because her legs were failing. Mitch chose to stand, but he walked up behind the other chair and gripped its frame with burly hands. She could feel his gaze swing from her profile to that of her father’s.

Please, Mitch. Don’t compare us. Please don’t.

“
I always considered your greatest crime to be arrogance.” She spat at her father. “But boy did I underestimate that. You are capable of so much more. Murder. Murder by neglect.”

“
Ahh,” Franklin smiled, revealing white capped teeth against thin lips. “You know your name comes from the city you were conceived. Alexandria. The same city where your mother passed away.”

“
Passed away. How quaint. The poor woman must have been so ill.”

“
Don’t start, Alexandra. The woman could have fended for herself. She didn’t have to just sit there until she ignited. She could have had someone come find me.”

“
She sat in the desert, with nothing but a flimsy cloth above her to obstruct the sun. She sat there because she was told to. She did what you told her to.” Alex’s fist hit the armrest. “I don’t.”

“
Yes.” His complacent smirk faded. “I’m well aware of that.”

“
A man who cares about his wife, about his daughter, doesn’t leave them in temperatures over 100 degrees−especially when the wife is pregnant.”

Alex was only four at the time. She barely remembered the tent on the desert, but she remembered being excited at the prospect of having a sister. “You killed them both with neglect.”

“
I’m aware of your opinion, Alex. We have had this conversation before. At your graduation ceremony if I recall.”

“
Yes, the day you told me I was not cut out for a life like this. That I was soft, like my mother. I’m not soft,
Dad
.”

The title tasted like acid on her tongue.

“
No.” He shook his head. “No you’re not.”

“
And it ticks you off that you were wrong about me. You wanted a son. An heir. I guess if Mom was expecting a boy we would have had more water. We wouldn’t have been out on that desert to begin with, huh, Dad?”

“
That is absurd, Alexandra,” he scoffed. “I cared for you. I paid for your education.”

“
Yes, you paid for some of it. Imagine how I feel now knowing my education was illegally funded.”

Thank God she was sitting. The scope of what he had done was causing vertigo. She leaned forward and held her head in her hands, trying to encourage blood flow. “How long have you been doing this−and for God’s sake…
why
?”

“
Why?” Franklin hefted off the altar and paced on heels that scuffed across the crimson turf. The boots gave him an inch leverage over her. For a man who always exuded great height, she realized the height was a farce as well as everything else.

“
You have had a moderately successful career.” His speech was subdued as he stood profiled by the terrace. “But wait until you make your first major find...” he turned back, “−and they take it away from you. For years they’ll tuck it in storage in the country of its origin. If you want it on display in the states you must pray for an exchange between museums, or apply for a lease. Either way, the opportunity to glimpse the items that you have risked your life to locate can be stuck in bureaucratic red tape and customs paperwork−it can be years, even decades before you will see it on exhibit.”

“
I was about thirty the first time it happened,” he explained. “In a tomb in Egypt I came across a heart scarab made of solid gold.” He caught Mitch’s confused look, and elaborated, “A scarab looks like a beetle.”

Mitch gave a mechanical nod. He apparently knew that much, but his frown remained.

“
It is placed with the mummy at the time of burial−a goodwill gesture to the divine tribunal that the heart would not abandon the deceased.” Franklin sneered. “Translation−a dead man should tell no tales nor confess any sins. Their heart should stay with them.”

He glanced down at his palm as if he still held that scarab. “I was supposed to mark it and add it to the rest of the inventory, but it was so beautiful−so small and innocent. I thought, ‘couldn’t I just keep this one item as a token?’ So I smuggled it out of the country. On my next dig, I smuggled out another.”

His stride resumed and he avoided eye contact. “Eventually my collection grew. I had it in my mind that I wanted to create a museum, a single venue where I could display my private collection. I knew there were other collectors such as myself.” Now he looked at Alex. “And yes, I knew they were criminals, but criminals or not, when it comes to art such as this there exists a bond of respect.”

“
That is charming, but couldn’t you rent out some office space and lay them out on conference tables…isn’t
this
a bit excessive?”

“
This is a dream, Alex. And don’t sit there all righteous and indignant and deny that when you stepped out of that elevator…for one moment you dared to believe. You dared to believe this temple and these grounds were real. Try to deny that Xibalba did not hold the finest collection of Mayan art you have ever seen in your life.”

“
It does.”

“
Yet you discredited it?”

“
Yes. It is illegal and the person responsible needs to be brought to justice.”

“
Heh, good thing you thought you were betraying Phillip today. Had you known it was me, I’d probably be stretched across this altar right now.”

“
The day is young,” she whispered.

Alex felt Mitch move in behind her chair, one hand resting on her shoulder. She was too far into a spiral of rage to obtain consolation from that gesture.

“
As I sit here and look around,” she said, “the scope of your criminal charges staggers me. You have stolen millions of dollars worth of historical antiquities, and that may be a low estimate. You have abducted citizens against their will and kept them as prisoners−and I will not venture to guess what you have done with the ones who are no longer here. But this place…” words failed her, “−how did you do this?”

Disregarding her preamble, Franklin’s smile was genuine as he turned around and stepped up to the open balcony. “I was working in the Pet
é
n when our group discovered Solis’s compound. He was young and rogue and ready to abduct us for ransom. I looked at his location, perfectly cloistered from society, wholly protected, and I made him a deal he could not resist. Between the two of us, and the isolation the jungle offered, we were able to begin construction.”

“
You must have solicited the help of hundreds.” Alex observed. “Engineers. Electricians. How could you manage to keep them all silent?”

Franklin’s shoulders dropped. “That was not mine to take care of. Solis bribed whoever he could. If they did not accept the terms, or if they were considered a liability, then he dealt with them.”

“
So basically you killed anyone in your path if they caused trouble.” As Alex said it, she felt Mitch’s fingers restrict on her shoulder. It was not a consolatory gesture. He was as angry as she.

Before Franklin had an opportunity to speak, she continued, “You collected artifacts from around the world and yet this place is dedicated to the Mayan culture.” She took a deep breath. “Please don’t tell me other museums like this exist.”

A prolonged silence gave her the answer she didn’t want.

“
This was my first, and I had plenty of associates who felt as I did−that they would rather keep the art in private collections.”

“
Your associates are drug lords,” she challenged.

“
They weren’t at first,” Franklin sighed, “but once it leaks out that you are selling stolen goods, the seedy enthusiasts of the world begin to appear. And yes, they are the ones with the money to afford such affluence. As I stated, they have all been very civil because I am providing a service that they can’t find anywhere else in the world. This−” he waved his hand at the exhibits below, “−is a resort like no other. And the fact that it must remain private makes them feel as if they are part of an exclusive society.”

Fatigue sucked at Alex like a body-sized leech. Exhaustion turned her muscles into stone and she thought there was no doubt she would become petrified and placed inside a glass coffin along with all the other exhibits of Xibalba.

“
And what now, Father?” She loved that he flinched every time she used that word. “What comes next? Do you kill your own daughter?”

He turned around and the sharp glare of the business man returned. “I will not kill you. But if you don’t accept your value to this museum, if you don’t open your mind to the potential−the future of the art here…” He stepped towards her with an enthusiastic glean in his eyes. “Alexandra, I’m not asking you to stay down here. I want you to
bring
me treasures. You can’t imagine the level of pride you are going to feel when you see your acquisitions on display in a manner they were meant to be showcased. You are restoring them to their original luster−you are bringing them home.”

“
Yeah, well, my appreciation wouldn’t get to last very long. According to you, I have to sell it a day later.” Alex shook her head. “Look, I’m tired of this. You know I am not going to cooperate with you.”

Pale lips pressed into a thin line. A white eyebrow dipped and Franklin reached up to pat his hair into place.

“
I said that I would not kill you.” Franklin’s voice was curt as he addressed Alex, but then his eyes rose above her. “But I will kill him. He means nothing to me. His presence here is a physical slap to my face delivered at the hand of Phillip Nicholson. The only reason he is still alive is because I was afraid it might come down to me having to use him in negotiations with you.”