The Jaguar (35 page)

Chapter Forty-Three

The Marshes

Mulac had grown broad, old and content in his new role. He had remarried and now had more children, but it was his first son, Yochi, of whom he was most proud. Half a head taller, brave and fair, he had supervised the completion of the temple in his father's honour. It lay on the sacred island of Ceneal and had taken many years to build. This was not because it was particularly large or complex, but simply due to Mulac's own apathy. The traders he dealt with every day in his role as a customs officer were, in many cases, his good friends - simple, hard-working artesans - as he had once been. He had no wish to add another tax to their already heavy burdens. Yochi, by contrast, grew up only knowing his father as hero. The stories of his exploits had been spun, woven and embellished until they bore little relation to anything that Mulac himself remembered. Still, he did little to disillusion his son. The pride he took in his famous father seemed to make him grow ever straighter, taller and stronger until, to Mulac, he appeared such a wondrous being that he must really be the son of a hero.

Through tired and itchy eyes Mulac peered from his canoe to study the totems and charms that rose in two lines from the marshes. They marked out either edge of the wide channel that had been cut through the reed bed to reach the island. The rhythmic motion of the broad-backed paddlers added to the growing propensity for his mind to wander. In his daydream he was a young man again, back on the Coba Road, leaving prayers and offerings at wayside shrines and in front of ornately carved local deities. Someone, he reflected, as he returned to the present, must have noted his youthful piety. He had led a charmed life, but the dull, enervating pains in his belly now told him clearly it was coming to an end. Today he would visit his son's shrine to the man he thought his father to be. Next time he travelled this way he knew that he would see nothing, at least not in this world.

Chapter Forty-Four

The Marshes

The powerboat's engine had been cut and the pursuers were now paddling, pushing and pulling clumsily forward, inevitably making more noise than they had intended. The quartet of men in the boat were each large, their craft barely big enough to contain their combined girth, and all were sweating profusely. The party of tourists had not been hard to follow, as they had scared one flock of birds after the other to swirl high above their perches, making easy markers in a clear blue sky. But then the vegetation and shade had grown more embracing. Progress was slow and ambush impossible.

Alerted by the sound, Luis saw the men battling through the trailing canopy as a fleeting shadow in the corner of one eye. Even before he could turn, he was reaching for his revolver. Instinctively, he fired into the trees. Once he had their attention, he fired again. “Put your fucking hands behind your fucking heads!” he shouted. He was obeyed, although two of the drifting figures had to fight the thick mix of leaves and vines around them to lift their arms clear. Luis noted the green national park uniforms and cloth badges worn by three of the individuals, but not for a moment did he believe them to be genuine. These men were more steak dinner and mixed grill than campfire cooking. The tattoos bursting from sleeves and collars reinforced this conviction. He swivelled rapidly and swept the gun briefly across his own party, trying to ignore the fear and surprise in the eyes of the children.

“Alfredo!” he barked.

His brother looked as stunned as any of the tourists.

“Alfredo, I need you to cover me. Don't let anyone move.”

Still his brother did nothing. He stood incongruously with a soda halfway to his mouth. Alfredo knew they were still being pursued, he just hadn't expected to be caught. His fantasy world crashed around him, as his new-found tourist friends either dropped their drinks in panic, or crushed the cans between tensing fingers. All stood frozen to the spot, at once terrified by the perceived poachers and relieved that Luis, the park warden who had come to help them, appeared to be in control. Only Cesar moved. He gave an involuntary start as he focused on the speedboat and instantly recognised his own father, Carlos, sitting alongside three burly looking officials.

“Alfredo, for God's sake, you must do as I say: it's Xterra! If we hold our nerve, their boat is our way out of here!” Luis appealed.

Alfredo's drink fell unnoticed to the ground as at last he came to his senses, but even before his hand reached his pocket he realised their joint mistake. Luis still had his weapon. “Give me the other gun,” he yelled desperately, but it was too late.

Luis wasn't looking at Alfredo anymore, he was looking at Cesar. Cesar's face had become a picture of horror as he continued to stare at his father. Luis ducked, but not fast enough: a bullet clipped the right side of his chest. He spun around and flopped heavily into the dirt. There he lay awkwardly on one side, groaning and gasping for air like an angler's discarded catch.

Marcus stared at the pistol which had fallen from Luis' hand and now lay, half buried, at his feet. He barely registered the screams, or the members of his party running into the forest for cover. But he did notice Carlos shifting his position in the speedboat, to slowly and deliberately take aim once more. This time his target was Alfredo.

“Father, no, you can't do this!” Cesar shouted hysterically in Spanish.

The revolver was now in Marcus' hand and it was his turn to pull the trigger. The power of the overhead shot flowed through him like a high voltage current, more so as he had never fired a gun before, and had only half expected it to work. The adrenaline rush enabled someone else - someone powerful and in control - to speak through him. “Carlos, stop this, I need to know what's going on.”

Each now had a gun pointed half-heartedly in the general direction of the other. Both were trying to compute this new and unexpected turn of events. Marcus had no idea why he trusted Luis and Alfredo more than Carlos and his crew, but he did. It would have been different, he told himself, had Carlos shown up with the police, but his present companions were no rescue party. Instead, there was a good chance that Luis had told him the truth about the depraved nature of his pursuers. His own party of tourists could still be in grave danger. Then there was the venomous leer from his former taxi driver, who was sitting unmistakeable alongside Carlos in the boat, just as he had in the helicopter earlier, looking as though he was itching to draw another weapon. The uniform he was wearing was ill-fitting and clearly not his. Marcus had had enough of fake officials.

Alfredo leapt to his brother's side as the others hesitated. Desperately, he tried to stem the bleeding, oblivious both to the imminent duel and to the easy target which both brothers now made.

“Father, please!” Cesar stepped in front of the now crouching Alfredo to shield the brothers.

Carlos looked uncomprehendingly towards his son - gun still raised - but couldn't stop his face dissolving into a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Then a brief, enigmatic smile played across his lips and he lowered the weapon.

Cesar sprang to assist the two brothers, desperate to limit his father's crime. Marcus followed, wondering at his own motivation, before realising that despite good reasons not to, he actually liked his kidnappers. A small part of his brain rebelled, as he remembered this was a common psychological reaction to such trauma.

There was much splashing and cursing from the newcomers as they took their opportunity to make for dry land. Wading through the slimy shallows, they were looking daggers at Carlos, who still sat frozen in the speedboat. Clearly desperate to regain the initiative, they hauled him unceremoniously ashore as soon as the boat grounded, and pushed him towards the group huddling around Luis.

Fighting through the pain and nausea, Luis used his good arm to pull his sibling closer. With some difficulty he passed him the forgotten, now blood-stained second gun. “Go, Alfredo, go now. These are our enemies. They may spare the tourists, but not us.”

Alfredo looked up indecisively at Marcus.

“Yes, go,” Marcus concurred.

Alfredo was swept up in the shadows and vanished.

Marcus stood up and stepped cautiously backwards to get a clearer view of the approaching men, Luis' own gun still dangling loosely from his fingers. Behind Carlos his three colleagues clung to rifles, but showed no imminent intention to use them. Unconvinced, Marcus bellowed into the undergrowth, hoping that the remainder of his group, all of whom had fled, would be able to hear. “Everyone stay where you are. Don't come out ‘til I give the all-clear.”

Carlos responded: “Don't worry, Marcus, I have no interest in hurting your English friends, but your two companions are dangerous criminals. They - they must be stopped.” He was trying hard to regain some semblance of resolve, but his voice faltered for lack of conviction.

Cesar was still warily shielding Luis, who was now only semi-conscious and moaning between each snatched gasp for air. Crouched beside his body, Cesar shot a piercing glare at his father. There were tears in his eyes. “What do you think you're doing?” he hissed, the question teetering between fear, fury and confusion.

Carlos regarded his son with an equally incongruous mix of guilt and rage. Then he glanced warily over his shoulder, squatted beside him and whispered rapidly in English. “You must understand, Cesar, that this is your fault. If you hadn't started dealing drugs, I wouldn't have to negotiate with gangsters to keep you safe. There are people in this world that can't be bought off, people for who murder is a business plan. If I don't do what they want and stop these two fugitives, then other people will come for you instead, perhaps even for your mother and I. Have you heard of Xterra, Cesar? This is who I mean. These are the people you brought upon your family by flouting the law. There is no other way for us now.”

“I will not let you do this,” Marcus interjected, adamantly.

“You cannot stop me.” Carlos replied bluntly, half turning to remind him of his unsavoury companions.

Marcus stared hard at Carlos' men, who looked frustrated, but still willing to wait and see how the situation played out. They were clearly intent on Carlos doing any dirty work, perhaps even under orders to that effect. Though his revolver offered no more than a token of resistance, Marcus remained determined. His was the resolve of someone backed into a corner. “You will not harm this man again,” he declared, furiously.

The men leered back at him, unmoved. One chuckled silently to himself, as though he were dealing with a child.

Marcus took a deep breath. He knew he had only one card to play if he were not to be a party to cold-blooded murder, but also that playing it might make things a lot worse. Slowly and deliberately he gestured towards his former taxi driver then did his best to meet the menacing stare. “I know who you are. Do you remember me from your taxi? You can't get away with this without being identified. Are you prepared to kill me - maybe kill us all - just to settle your score with these two men? I don't know what these brothers have done to you, but one at least has helped us. They are not entirely bad people. Even if you kill us, you know you'll be hunted down. Kill a tourist and you kill the economy. Kill a tourist and you kill your own taxi trade.” Marcus stopped, now breathless and gripped by panic. Just the mention of killing had brought home the enormity of what he had just expressed. If his appeal didn't work he was either in a gun battle or must stand by and watch Luis' execution. His adversary said nothing but looked just a little kowtowed. He had indeed recognised Marcus as one of his recent customers.

Carlos was deep in thought. Then he shrugged, gestured with his pistol towards the foetal figure of Luis, and rose to address his men. “This bandit is dying. He can't cause us any more trouble. Even if he makes it out of here and survives, he'll end up in prison now for kidnap. You have the contacts to finish him off there - so let's go.” Carlos began to struggle determinedly through the encroaching undergrowth in pursuit of Alfredo. His posse hesitated then two men followed him into the deepening gloom of the forest. For several seconds the taxi-driver stood alone, growling malevolently at Marcus, and swinging his rifle from side to side. Then he too was gone.

Shaking from adrenaline, Marcus forced himself to retrieve a first aid kit from a boat and busy himself helping Cesar clean and cover Luis' wound. Their task was made easier as Luis had passed out and the bleeding had eased. Satisfied at last with the dressing, he stood up and bellowed into the trees. “Everybody back here now. Don't worry; it's safe to come out.”

Daniel emerged first, a ghost-faced child under each arm and Jackie and Darryl tearfully in tow. The Tanners stumbled into the clearing a few moments later, Sharon blubbering and mumbling hysterically.

“Cesar, go and find the others if you can, but be very careful. Felicity, Ethan, Laura and David are our priority. Alfredo can fend for himself. We're getting out of here, hopefully before the others return with your father and, maybe, force him to do something even worse.”

As Cesar dutifully disappeared, Marcus hopped into Carlos' speedboat. As he expected, the keys were gone. There didn't appear to be any other weapons or any way of calling for assistance. He thought for a moment then ripped the fuel pipe from between the tank and the engine. They could fix it, but probably not in time for a pursuit. With Darryl and John's help, he got Luis into one of the launches. Daniel made ready a second. By the time Cesar returned, without Laura and David, but with a very muddy Felicity and Ethan, everybody else was aboard.

Marcus knew what he must do. “Cesar, I'm going to stay here and find the others. You can't wait any longer, but I'm not leaving Laura and David behind. Get everybody else to Punta Allen as soon as you can. Alert the police and get our casualty to hospital. It's up to you whether you tell them who Luis is, and what he's done. We'll have to in the end, of course, but I'm worried for him, after what your father said might happen in prison. You must contact Dana too.” Marcus hesitated then continued pointedly. “You need to be honest about your drug dealing, Cesar. You were truthful with me, after all. If the police know your father was acting under duress it's likely to be a lot easier for him. Who knows, perhaps he'll persuade them he shot Luis only to protect us.”