When The Jaguar Sleeps: A jungle adventure (20 page)

‘You, too, deserved to die. My love for you died the moment I discovered your betrayal. No one can mock me and get away with it. It just does not work that way.’ Emilio turned to his men. ‘Take away both bodies and get rid of them. I trust you know how to do it so they cannot be discovered.’ Emilio went slowly down the steps and climbed behind the wheel of the car. He turned on the ignition and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. It was time to go, he had already lost enough time here. The next few days were going to be very busy. At the end of the week he was planning to go with Antonio and José to the ruins of the Incan city in the jungle. Afterwards he would need to classify the Pre-Columbian artefacts brought in by Brian; some of them would enrich his collection and for others he had still to find buyers. Antonio would replace Brian in searching for new, as yet hidden, treasures.

Emilio could manage very well without Steinwall. Arrogant and overconfident, he had believed he was irreplaceable but he would not be missed. A few fine specimens brought from his last expedition to the jungle were already on their way overseas to foreign dealers of archaeological artefacts.

Emilio’s car left the driveway and soon disappeared down the street.

When he heard the popping sounds of the gunfire, Didier - hidden behind one of the bushes in the garden - tensed and started to feel an annoying tightness in his stomach. He touched his own gun to reassure himself it was still there. Would he need to use it? Would they discover him here? The air felt suddenly thick, almost too heavy to breathe. Panic rose in his throat, blood kept drumming in his ears. He forced himself to stay calm, sucking in a few deep breaths until his hands stopped shaking. He couldn’t figure out yet what was happening. Horrified, not daring to move, he watched the scene enfolding in front of him. He wasn’t prepared for anything of that kind. He wasn’t expecting anything more than another business meeting. Having seen Brian entering the house, he had decided to hide in the garden hoping to be able to creep up to the house later on, look through the windows and see who Brian was meeting with or if he had brought any of the stolen handicrafts with him. But his plan hadn’t worked. All the windows had heavy blinds. He hadn’t been able to see anything of what had been going on inside the house. So the only option left was to stay well-hidden and patiently wait for the man to come out.

Instinctively, with sweaty, trembling fingers, he took a couple of pictures of the gray-haired man who had killed the young woman. He was standing immobile staring at the woman’s body lying in a pool of her own blood, his right hand clenched tightly around the handgun.

Didier knew the woman. He recognized her right away. It was the same one he had seen earlier with Brian. Was she his fiancée, his lover? Why did the man kill her and why Brian was nowhere to be seen? Why didn’t he come out? Didn’t he hear the gunshot? What was he doing inside the house? Was he going to leave soon? Too many questions without answers.

Then, a few minutes later he saw three strong-built, black-clad men walk out the front door which right away closed heavily behind them. Two of them weren’t empty handed. They were carrying what looked like another dead body. Again shivers of dread started running down his spine. He strained his eyes to see better. Yes, he was right. It was definitely another body, a body of a man. Slowly, they descended the steps and put the inert man’s body down beside the one of the woman. Only then he managed to glimpse the corpse’s face. It was Brian, and he definitely looked dead. Didier felt stunned and confused. It was more than he had bargained for.

What did it all mean? Why had they both been killed? Would the plundering of the ancient ruins stop? Or maybe Brian’s death was just a settling of scores between the gang’s members and now someone else would take over the leadership of the whole operation. One of the black-clad man headed towards the property’s gate and stepped into a big white car parked just outside of it. Then he drove the car slowly up the driveway and parked it next to the two bodies lying now peacefully side by side. The three men grabbed roughly both bodies, one by one, and put them in the trunk of the car. Eventually, they all stepped into the car and drove away.

Didier waited some more before he decided to get out of his hiding. Finally, he dared to straighten up and cautiously head for his car. He could hear no sound nor see any movement in or around the house.

The situation took a strange turn and was getting far too complicated. The whole thing was getting too big for him. He decided he had done enough digging for evidence. He couldn’t go on playing his detective game anymore. There were too many people involved. He wouldn’t be able to follow and watch all of them. The police should deal with it all further. After all it was their job to do it. He was going to give them all the information he had gathered so far to help them find the men involved in the theft of the ancient artefacts and put them in jail. The only reasonable thing was to return right away to Quito. Once there, he would check whether his passport was ready and if so, go back home.

He slid into the driver’s seat of his rental car, started the engine, stepped on the gas and drove away.

I
t looked as if he’d chosen the worst time of day to leave the city. The streets were jammed with traffic and Didier’s taxi was stuck in a line of cars moving slowly forward in jerks. He sat in the back seat, his eyes slightly narrowed, his head tilted back, with a small travelling bag at his side. He didn’t feel like making forced conversation with the driver; he just wanted to relax and release the tension that had been building in his body.

His right hand fumbled through the pockets of his bag until it closed around his new passport. He had to touch it to make sure that it was still there. It was a legal document issued by the French Embassy. He didn’t need the fake one anymore.

He’d booked the earliest possible flight to Paris and was now on his way to the international airport situated in a broad mountain valley lying to the northeast of the city. It wasn’t far from the city centre, and he expected the journey to be no more than forty minutes. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. The taxi had hardly advanced at all, stuck as it was along with hundreds of other vehicles.

Didier glanced briefly out of the window at the impatient faces of the drivers in other cars. They looked resigned to their fate, doomed to follow the long line of vehicles moving bit by bit.

As soon as he’d set forth to the airport Didier felt himself becoming tense and anxious. With all the traffic, would he get there in time for his flight? His nervous fingers ran a few times through his shiny, black hair, then started to tap an inconsistent rhythm onto his knees.

At last the traffic began to thin and the taxi speeded up. Even so it was another half hour before they pulled up in front of the sterile façade of the terminal building, opened only two years before.

Didier pulled out a wad of cash to pay the driver. They’d agreed the fare at the start of the journey. The man took the money eagerly but after counting it out shook his head. Due to the heavy traffic at that time of day it had taken him longer than usual to cross the city, so he was forced to charge more for the ride. On another occasion Didier would have argued but he felt tired and so eager to get out of the country that he just handed over some extra notes. Then he stepped briskly out of the car and slammed the door behind him.

There was still two and a half hours to go to departure time. Didier looked for his checkin counter. Everywhere he could see throngs of travellers laden with luggage, milling around. Here and there strolled uniformed customs officers.

Didier took his place at the end of the checkin queue and looked uneasily about. Was it really all over now? He was afraid that something might go wrong at the last moment, something unexpected arise and prevent him from leaving the country.

The queue ahead of him melted away and just a few more people were left in front.

Then it was his turn.

The woman at the counter took his passport and ticket and tapped away on her computer keyboard. Didier waited patiently. He even managed to produce a modest, carefree smile on his lips and take an apparently relaxed pose.

‘Is that the only baggage that you have?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I’ve got everything I need in there. I always travel light.’

‘Do you take this bag with you on the plane as hand luggage?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Do you carry in it anything dangerous or prohibited? Are you aware that you are not allowed to take any liquids on the aircraft.’

‘Yes, I am aware of that, and no, I do not have anything in it that is not allowed on board.’

The woman looked at him blankly from behind the monitor.

‘Do you want a window or an aisle seat?’

‘A window seat,’ he answered automatically.

She stared a moment longer at the computer screen and at his passport, then finally printed his boarding pass, put it inside the passport and handed them both over.

‘The gate number is written on your boarding pass. The gate will be open half an hour prior to departure. Since the gate may change without notice, please check regularly the display monitors in the departure lounge.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

‘Please proceed to the security check and passport control.’

There were no surprises and everything went smoothly. An hour later he was sitting at the back of the plane, by the window. Finally he was able to ease up, feel some of the tension ebb away.

The realisation that danger was over was slowly seeping into him. Yet even as an inward dizzying joy bubbled up, he could feel fatigue creeping over him.

Before he left for the airport he had contacted the police officer he had talked to on his first visit to the police station. He had passed him all the information and proof he had gathered so far. This time the man was more approachable. Didier felt confident that the police would try to do everything possible to arrest the grave robbers gang and to recover – if not all – at least some of the stolen treasures. The officer had also promised him that they would try to locate the ancient ruins in the jungle and take care of them. And he looked as if he really meant what he said. Wanting to be even more helpful, Didier told him that - should the need arise - he would be ready to testify at a trial.

The last passengers were moving up the narrow aisle in the middle of the plane, their eyes darting curiously around until they found their assigned seat.

A young woman stopped in front of his row of seats, stashed her small bag in the overhead compartment and sat down next to Didier. She looked about twenty-five and had shiny golden blonde hair tumbling loosely onto her shoulders. The plane rolled down the long asphalt runway, accelerating gradually, and then soared into the air quickly gaining speed and height. Down below grey clouds moved imperceptibly, only here and there pierced by the rugged, snow-capped peaks of the Andean Massif. However the passengers were not able to enjoy the view for long as soon everything went dark, the evening came, and then night fell. A fifteen-hour flight with a stopover in Madrid awaited them.

Didier noticed that the blonde looked as if she wanted to strike up a conversation.

‘What brought you to Ecuador, business or pleasure?’ she finally dared to ask.

‘I always travel for pleasure.’

‘Really? Lucky you. How long were you away? Did you visit other places, or just Quito?’

‘A couple of weeks in Quito,’ he said, choosing not to mention his ill-fated adventure in the jungle or his trip to Cuenca.

‘I stayed very briefly in Quito, mostly visited other places. I went to Cuenca and Guayaquil and spent a few days in the jungle.’ Her voice sounded full of enthusiasm.

‘Oh, yes, in the jungle, really?’ he feigned interest.

‘Yes, in the middle of the real, wild jungle. It was fantastic although so damn hot and muggy. I had to smear my skin with mosquito repellent all the time. Otherwise it was really an amazing experience. It was truly worth the trouble and the money. So many wonderful plants and animals. Not to mention all those strange animal sounds that could be heard, especially at night. If you have not been there you cannot actually imagine how it is when you hear them so close. Sometimes it was kind of eerie.’

‘And where did you sleep, in a tent, or a self-made shelter?’

‘A self-made shelter, a tent? In the jungle? You must be joking. No, in neither of them. I am not that crazy. No, my group and our guide slept in wooden cabins covered with reed-thatched roofs. To tell the truth it was more like a luxury resort in the wilderness. If you are ever again in Ecuador you should go there. I assure you it’s really worth it, you will not regret it.’

‘Yes, yes, certainly I should go there,’ he repeated, a hint of a smile creeping to his lips.

‘But I am babbling without even introducing myself. My name is Chantal.’

‘Didier,’ he said quickly.

Taking a closer look, he saw that Chantal had very nice delicate features and big hazel eyes. She had a lovely smile, too, that lit up her whole face in its frame of golden hair.

‘Do you live in Paris?’

‘No, in Toulouse.’

‘So, you are not done yet. Another long journey awaits you from the airport. Lucky me, I live in Paris. I am glad I don’t need to go any further. I’m worn out. Fortunately I have taken a few extra days off so that I don’t need to go back to work straightaway.’

The flight attendants served an evening meal and then a movie began on the television monitors placed above the passenger seats. Didier and Chantal continued to talk, hardly aware of what else was going on around them until finally they slumped in their seats and fell asleep.

They landed at Orly early in the morning. Chantal headed for the baggage claim area. Didier accompanied her for a while but then they had to go their separate ways. Before they parted, Chantal pulled out of her bag a piece of paper and a pen and wrote down her address and phone number.

‘If you are ever in Paris call me, maybe we could see each other,’ she said.

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he said and took the piece of paper, shoved it in his pocket and forgot all about it.

Outside the terminal building it was cloudy with a faint drizzle. Not very agreeable, but it didn’t matter, it was just good to be back in France after everything. There had been so many times when Didier had thought he would never see his home country again. He breathed deeply. Finally he felt safe. He walked to a bus stop and waited for the next bus. He would go to Gare Montparnasse and catch a train to Toulouse. There was every chance he would be home by evening. If all went well. But it did not.

At the station he was bluntly informed that all trains in the direction of Toulouse were halted due to a strike of the employees of the French railway company, SNCF.

No one seemed to know how long the strike would last. Although he had slept on the plane, Didier still felt somehow strangely tired. It was probably due to the abrupt change in climate from Ecuador. He had been crossing so many time zones in a short period.

He stood for some time yet in the middle of the busy railway station hall, irritated and undecided what to do next. Then he left the station to look for a cosy café somewhere close by where he could drink a nice cup of coffee and decide on his next move. He was lucky because right away on the adjacent boulevard de Vaugirard he found what he was looking for. Apart from the cash for his ticket to Toulouse, he hadn’t much money left, maybe just enough for one night in a middle-class hotel and dinner in a cheap restaurant. He put his hand into his trouser pocket and his fingers touched a piece of paper. He took it out and saw that it was the one Chantal had given him.

They had really seemed to hit it off on the plane. Maybe he could ask her a favor and spend the night at her place. Nothing more than a place on a couch. He wasn’t into casual sex; no one night stands for him. And he wasn’t ready to start a new relationship. Not yet.

He pulled out his cell phone, bought in Quito the day before his departure, and pressed the digits of her number. When voicemail kicked in, he left a brief message. Half an hour later she called him back.

‘All trains for Toulouse are cancelled today due to a strike. I don’t know anyone in Paris but you. I was wondering if I could stay at your place. Just for one night, no more, I promise I won’t be a nuisance.’

After a moment of silence Chantal said: ‘Of course you may come. You have my address. The best way to get here is to take a taxi. I have just got home myself. I’ll be waiting for you.’ Didier detected a slight hesitation in her voice. ‘But don’t count on anything more than a couch to sleep on. Alone.’

‘I don’t.’

It was an hour later before he arrived at her address. Traffic had been heavy. Chantal lived in a six-storey apartment building in a residential quarter. Pressing the intercom button, Didier went inside, finding himself in a vast entrance hall. The lift was old-fashioned with ornate wrought iron railings and he decided to take the stairs. He always avoided this sort of lift in case the old mechanics went wrong and he ended up stuck between floors.

When he arrived at Chantal’s door on the third floor she was already waiting for him, leaning in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. She turned and led him to a modestly furnished living room. In one corner lay her open suitcase.

‘Sorry about the mess. I had just started to unpack,’ she said apologetically. ‘Make yourself at home.’

He looked enquiringly around the room, but there wasn’t much to see there. Sparsely decorated and filled with somewhat outdated furniture, it didn’t have a lot of character.

‘Oh, I see you brought a souvenir from Ecuador,’ he said, pointing to a colourful clay figurine standing on the salon table. It represented a strange looking, enigmatic creature. He had seen many like it on the market stalls and in the souvenir shops in Quito.

‘You mean this clay figure? Oh no, it’s not mine. One of the employees of the hotel where I stayed in Quito asked me if I could transport it to France and take it to the person whose name and address he gave me. I agreed to do it as a favour to him, though he was ready to pay me well. And I always gladly seize each opportunity to make extra money. I do not know what the figure is supposed to represent. I think it’s meant to look like some ancient sculpture of the Incas. I don’t like it myself but there is no accounting for taste, as they say.’