Jungle of Deceit Page 5

  Twenty-four hours hadn’t been enough time for Mitch to collect information on the current political strife of this small Central American country. Generally before any assignment, research was critical to his survival. In countries embittered by war, his camera didn’t serve as a weapon. Knowledge was his only defense.

  Given the reputation of the region, Mitch knew that a concrete, barbed-wire compound in the middle of the jungle spelled trouble, but what he didn’t know was one damn thing else.

  Phillip had been adamant that Alex should not be told anything about the stolen shipment. Why? Obviously, her mere presence here placed her in jeopardy.

  “Son of a bitch,” he hissed and ran a hand across his sore jaw.

  Nicholson sent him to this jungle knowing full-well what was here to greet him.

  Why me?

  An army was needed to take on whatever occupied this compound.

  So, why the hell me?

  “Yeah, my sentiments exactly.”

  “Huh?”

  “Son of a bitch,” Chuck repeated.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Conversation was halted at the sound of a snapping twig as Chuck and Mitch crouched down in the brush. The rustle of leaves could have come from a bird taking flight, but it was Alex that emerged from the forest.

  “Well, hell.” She stopped with her hands on her hips. “I expect the total look of horror on your face, Mr. Hasslet, but Chuck, I thought by now you were used to me.”

  ***

  Alex felt Mitch’s eyes trace her with a vivid indication that yesterday’s incident remained fresh in his mind. She cleared her throat and turned towards Chuck. “What are you two up to that’s got you looking so guilty?”

  Chuck reached back and pushed aside a clump of balmy leaves. “See for yourself.”

  Alex had no choice but to brush against Mitch as she stooped forward to peer through the foliage. That sensation was disregarded at the first glimpse of the disturbing tableau.

  By relocating to this portion of the rain forest, she had intended to search for a temple, but this structure was not what she had in mind.

  “I take it you weren’t aware of this four-star resort?” Mitch’s deep voice sounded beside her.

  Letting the leaves fall back into place, Alex met his eyes. “No, I wasn’t.”

  Outwardly, she strove for composure. Inside, her body trembled with the repercussions of her miscalculation. By all rights she should be at least forty miles away from the last reported missing persons case. A husband and wife team—private citizens who chose archeology as a hobby. Their journal had been discovered some fifty miles from here. It documented their trek through the Tikal, but nowhere did it infer any trouble or signs of a secreted compound.

  The Pastorellis’ last contact with the outside world was nearly a year ago.

  “Dare I state the obvious?” Chuck offered. “That this doesn’t look cool.”

  Alex ignored the comment, and instead started back towards camp, hacking at branches with the methodic precision of a mad man.

  “Hey!” Chuck charged ahead of her, his knife at the ready. “I was doing that.” He eyed the ineffective path. “Guess just not too well.”

  Sensing her urgency, and perhaps her brief spiral into insanity, Chuck resumed his task, slicing through glutinous limbs until the jungle swallowed him in its deep green throat.

  Mitch caught up with her. She felt his fingers secure her arm as he tugged her to a halt.

  “Tell me,” he commanded.

  In the deepest shadows of the rainforest, a chill overtook Alex as she stared helplessly at the hand on her arm.

  “Tell you what?”

  “You know what it is. That place. You know what it is.”

  Once again, in Mitch’s eyes Alex saw refuge. How much she longed to slip into these lagoons and engulf herself in their secret depths. But even her precious lagoons harbored crocodiles.

  She did not want to hypothesize on the giant cement exclamation point that proved what a mistake she had made.

  “No,” she answered.

  “Alex.”

  She could sense his frustration before she heard him add, “What are you going to do?”

  He knew she was withholding something, and yet instead of pushing, he simply asked, what are you going to do? It nearly made her feel a connection with this man−as if he was an unexpected ally in a world where no one was trusted.

  Her throat constricted. “I will protect them.”

  ***

  It was an unconditional statement. Mitch watched the resolve on her face and realized that Alex would go to any length to assure the safety of her team, and the notion didn’t sit well with him.

  “How?” he challenged. “Alex, my career has kept me in close quarters with places like that,” his arm swung back towards the underbrush. “They saw us. Trust me. You think we were discreet? Don’t anticipate that.”

  There wasn’t even a flinch. Not a single indication that she was afraid. Calm eyes assessed him.

  “I am not a fool,” she whispered. “Obviously that structure is not on any of our maps, but I’ve spent the better part of a year down here. I have my suspicions as to who inhabits it. It was a tactical mistake to be in this region. A mistake I am quickly going to resolve.”

  “Who do you think it is?”

  She shrugged. “Guatemala hosts any number of denizens. Poachers, looters, drug runners. What am I supposed to do, curl up in the fetal position? You don’t make historical discoveries in the fetal position.” She didn’t wait for a response. “When I had a home, I lived in Sarasota. I could go to the 7-Eleven and run into poachers, looters and drug runners in the parking lot.”

  “But in that 7-Eleven parking lot you could scream for help.” Mitch looked up at the canopy of trees obscuring the sun. “Here in the jungle, no one is going to hear you.”

  “Do you want me to say that I’m scared?” There was an edge to her voice. She glanced into the tunnel Chuck had forged. “Even if I were, I can’t let them see that. They’re depending on me to keep them safe.”

  Mitch followed her line of vision through that channel and located the flash of red and gold charging through the brush far ahead.

  He turned back to her. “Look at me.”

  Alex stared into the jungle.

  “Look at me,” he commanded.

  Verdant irises slid in his direction.

  “Who is going to keep you safe, Alexandra?”

  Chapter Four

  After so many years of snubbing support, why did Mitch’s husky question disturb her so much?

  “The same person that always does.”

  It was impossible to stand confined in the shadows with this man and not be wholly affected by him. He made her feel small and unbalanced.

  “And as far as this group goes,” her voice thickened with emotion. “I will send every damn one of them home if I think they’re in danger. As a matter of fact, that is what I’m going to do.”

  Mitch looked at her as if she was either full of it−or perhaps it was respect she saw in his eyes. “But I will not leave here.”

  An annoyed snort was his only response.

  Alex persisted. “I really don’t know what you’ve done in your career—the places you’ve been. I had a brief verbal bio presented to me by Phillip. Yeah, it sounded impressive. Yes, I have heard that most of the locations were touched by civil unrest.” There was still little to go on from Mitch’s expression. Hell, he wasn’t even looking at her. He had his head up now, staring at the overhead branches. His Adam’s apple slid down his throat when he swallowed.

  “But you’ve been alone,” she reminded him. “You have only been responsible for yourself. It’s different.”

  To her dismay, Mitch looked her in the eye and snorted again. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah? What the hell does yeah mean?”

  “It’s different.” And just like that, the apathy left Mitch’s face, to be replaced with what she perceived as ang
uish.

  “Alex, it was different,” he dragged in a breath. “Leave here. Dammit, it’s not worth it.”

  “You sound so adamant. Why? Why in the hell would you even care? You don’t know us. You don’t know me. Everything about you reeks with the air of being inconvenienced by all this.” She waved her hand.

  Something about the conviction in the tiny lines around Mitch’s mouth bothered her. “You almost sound like you’re privy to information that I’m not,” she said. “But that’s impossible. I’ve been in this jungle for a year. You just got here yesterday.”

  “It’s not what I’m privy to,” Mitch uttered. “Hell, I hardly know anything.” The last statement was soft. “It’s called instinct.” He touched her shoulder, preventing her from starting into that tunnel. “You have it. You would have never survived out here if you didn’t.”

  That was true. Alex sensed discord in the jungle nearly as quick and precise as the creatures that inhabited it.

  “So tell me…” Mitch’s fingers wrapped around her shoulder, their touch warm against skin inexplicably chilled, “−do you feel it?”

  Alex swallowed, but her throat was dry. All of her senses were alert, including the sense of touch, which felt the texture of his palm.

  “I—” she started, but her voice was hoarse. “I will let the group know to start packing. We’re moving the camp in the morning.”

  “Good.”

  His relief puzzled her. “You never answered me.”

  “About what?”

  “Why you care,” she said. “Is it self-preservation?”

  His hand dropped from her shoulder and Mitch turned into the shadowed hollow carved by Chuck’s blade. “Yeah, I’m pretty selfish when it comes to keeping myself alive, Dr. Langley.” He looked over his shoulder. “Get used to it.”

  ***

  It took two seconds to identify the sound of the ancient Jeep’s engine over the raucous exchange of men dismantling the campsite. Another two seconds, and it occurred to Mitch that Alex was behind the wheel.

  “Hey!”

  His cry was obscured by backfire from the intake manifold. Slinking his camera strap over his shoulder, Mitch broke into a sprint and caught up with the vehicle.

  “Stop!” he shouted, running alongside it.

  After a moment of disbelief that Alex was ignoring him, he increased his pace and grabbed onto the open doorframe, lunging into the moving Jeep.

  Out of breath, he turned to study Alex’s profile. Her chin jutted out and her lips were set as if she was just waiting for him to lose it.

  He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

  “Want to tell me where you’re going?”

  She never took her eyes from the gnarled path. “Want to tell me what the hell you’re doing in my Jeep?”

  “Finding out where the hell you’re going.”

  A brief glimpse skewed his way and then Alex’s gaze returned to the muddy windshield.

  “Fine.” Her fingers fisted around the steering wheel. “Fine. Just come along. You’re Phillip’s little protégé. I’m on my way to call him.”

  Heat inched up Mitch’s neck. “I am no one’s little anything.”

  “Whatever.”

  God, she infuriated him. But he couldn’t concentrate on that, not when the Jeep hit a rut that nearly catapulted him over the windshield. “Damn woman, could you be more careful?”

  “Want to get out?” she jibed with a grin.

  “Hell no. You’re going to talk to Nicholson. I have some words for that man too.”

  Alex turned to look at him as a lock of golden hair curled around her smile.

  “Then I suggest you hang on, Mr. Hasslet.”

  ***

  They pulled into Ramonez with the welcoming fanfare of a homeless cat.

  Mitch barely warranted a broken snore from the first human he encountered−a man sleeping erect on a motorbike. Alex on the other hand, drew more attention. The blond hair alone roused men from their indifference, and Mitch didn’t like the look in their eyes. Sitting in wicker chairs on the side of the road, these men were hungry for alcohol and hungry for other things. If it were up to him, he would have thrown a bag over her when they walked down the dirt road leading into a town square. The square possessed a fountain in the center, but it seemed its source of water had long run dry. Colonial buildings dating back to the early 1600’s flanked the fountain, the most striking being a church that reflected Spanish masonry with its arched campanile.

  “Wonderful,” Mitch mumbled when she pulled the Jeep up idle in front of a local market.

  “I’m sorry, did you mutter?”

  “Just great to see what a low profile you’re keeping.”

  Alex clenched her hands around the steering wheel. “I have been to Ramonez many times, Mr. Hasslet. My profile is that of an archeologist here for supplies. It’s not unusual in these parts. This town is used to white entrepreneurs. They regard us with the same respect as a slug, but they don’t complain about the money.”

  Alex got out and he followed her into the market, which consisted of rows of mismatched tables covered with assorted sundries ranging from overripe fruit to tractor tires. She moved directly past the snoring clerk to the back wall where an archaic pay phone was mounted.

  Mitch couldn’t resist. He flipped open his cell and checked for ‘bars’.

  “Fool.” Alex smirked.

  “Well, I don’t have any pesos on me or whatever the hell this machine takes, so it was worth a shot.”

  “Centavos.” Alex reached into the front pocket of her shorts and plopped a coin into the phone.

  She spoke in fluent Spanish to the operator and then stood fingering the metal cord as she waited for the connection.

  “Is he there?” Mitch was edgy. He wanted to have words with that man. There were so many elements that Nicholson had misled him on.

  A cat jumped onto the store clerk’s belly, jarring him from his sleep. Now the man stared at them as if they were prospective vandals.

  “I’m waiting on the operator. Why don’t you make yourself useful and pick up these items?” She handed him a crumpled list.

  Mitch refrained from saluting before turning to search for batteries on a crooked table. The formica surface was burdened with cracker packets and bags of rice, their brands indiscernible beneath a coat of dust. He skimmed the rest of the list and perked up at the words six-pack scrawled hastily at the bottom.

  “Phillip?”

  At the sound of the name, Mitch spun around, but Alex switched back into Spanish and turned her back to conceal her conversation. It wasn’t even true Spanish, rather some local derivative.

  So, the enigmatic Mr. Nicholson could speak the local dialect? Why was Mitch not surprised?

  As he picked up a can of beans, Mitch noticed that Alex had grown agitated. He also noticed the clerk watching her. Mitch grabbed the next item−the cherished six-pack.

  “He wants to talk to you.”

  Alex looked miffed by the fact and extended the phone towards him.

  “Good.” Mitch put the beer back. “I want to talk to him.”

  As Alex handed over the receiver, she stepped back and rested her hip against a table, studying Mitch with interest.

  He raised an eyebrow and stared her down until she made a slight huff and stalked off.

  Satisfied with her distance and very satisfied with the posterior view, Mitch finally lifted the receiver to his ear. He expected static, but either the connection was very clear or it had already been severed. He didn’t speak. He waited.

  “Hasslet?”

  Nicholson. The last time he heard the man’s voice, Mitch was barely coherent. His jaw had been throbbing and he benefited from the bucket of ice nestled in the back seat of that limo. In those brief moments he had been cajoled and manipulated, but now his head was clear and his blood pressure was topping the scale.

  “This is not what I signed up for.” Mitch started in, making sure that Alex
was still occupied on the other side of the market. “You said I was to integrate myself with Dr. Langley’s outfit. You never let on that it was a woman. Do you know what’s going on down here?” he continued before the intake of breath on the other end could form into words. “Who the hell am I kidding? You know exactly what’s going on. You know what’s in that compound we stumbled on. You don’t need me to identify the people involved in the heist. What do you need me for? Why the hell did you send me down here? I don’t like being a pawn. I don’t like it at all.”

  Alex glanced at him over her shoulder as if she sensed his agitation, but the distance combined with the sounds from the town square precluded her from the conversation. Mitch was confident enough to continue.

  “You implied I was looking for Franklin Langley. You never said anything about it being his daughter. She’s in danger here. You need to get her out. Yank the grant. Do whatever you have to.”

  “Are you through?” Nicholson cut in with composure.

  “Not by a long shot.”

  “I suspect the compound that you stumbled upon in that jungle is the ultimate destination for my hijacked artifacts.” Nicholson explained.

  “Wow, going out on a limb there.”

  “But I can’t prove that now until a visual is made on any of my pieces, which I had uploaded to your SMC card. Or—” In the background a man interrupted the conversation but Nicholson could be heard angrily dismissing him. “−or until you identify someone as having been on that dock in Newark.”

  “And then what?” Mitch fired. “So I identify someone? You already knew your shipment was coming here. There was no tracking as you had me believe, was there, Phillip? You knew from the second those helicopters left the dock where the artifacts were bound for. So why the hell go through this whole damn ruse?” Mitch turned around to face the wall and added, “Why did you send me here? Who the hell are you?”

  There was a long delay, to the point that Mitch thought he’d lost the connection. Over the shout of men herding chickens in the courtyard, he heard Nicholson sigh.

  “Look…” Nicholson’s voice was resigned, and much softer as Mitch pushed the receiver tight against his ear, thinking he might catch some godforsaken jungle disease from the previous clients of this device.