01 _ Xibalba Murders, The (25 page)

I sat back on my tarpaulin, my back against a tree, and thought about all this.

Who were these people? Guerrillas? Zapatistas? And were they, too, on the trail of Smoking Frog’s codex? Certainly such a find would be a powerful tool to increase nationalistic feelings among the indigenous peoples, and as such would be a potent weapon for the guerrilla groups.

If the group, whoever they were, was intending to guard the cave at night, then this would definitely throw a wrench into my plans. I would have to find some way of luring the watchman away, or distracting him in some way.

I found a place in the forest where I could see the cave opening clearly. Workmen came and went, and I was able to pick out the three men who had been with Lucas in the clearing in the forest.

About one, I munched on the sandwich Guadelupe had given me, and sipped at the bottled water she had included with my lunch. I had told her that I was going to be exploring the countryside on foot, and she gave me a big lunch so I could keep up my strength, I guess. Sitting there in the woods, it was difficult after this big lunch to stay awake, and it is possible that I dozed off from time to time.

At about five the Jeep pulled up and Jonathan got out.

I watched him carefully as he went into the cave. About an hour later he and Lucas came out at the same time, got into their vehicles—Jonathan the Jeep, Lucas one of the pickup trucks—and pulled away. I wondered where Jonathan thought I was, and whether or not he was worried about me.

Shortly after that a whistle sounded, and the workmen trudged wearily out of the cave. The last man out turned off the generator.

Several of them crowded into the back of another truck, which was driven by one of the men from the forest. A couple of others waved and headed off cross country, presumably for another village. One of them was the man who had volunteered for tonight’s watch, if I was not mistaken about the intent of that conversation in the woods.

The site was absolutely silent. Darkness came quickly, and the forest itself seemed very dark. Still, I didn’t move, but kept scanning for some signs of movement near the site.

I waited for more than an hour before I saw it. Just a quick burst of light, a match struck, then quickly extinguished. Perhaps he was lighting a cigarette, or perhaps checking his watch. But it was enough for me to locate the position of the watchman.

He was fairly close to the cave entrance, and I knew it would not be possible to get into the cave that night.

Tomorrow, however, Lucas was on watch, and that presented some interesting possibilities.

When I returned to the village, I found the boys playing at volleyball by the light of a bright pole lamp. I called my young friend Carlos, and he and I talked awhile. After a few minutes he and I had a deal. If trickery was what it took to defeat the Lords of Darkness, then trickery it would have to be.

Today was Etz’nab, the day associated with sacrifice, with the obsidian blade used for that purpose. If anything was going to be sacrificed, I suppose it was the truth.

CAUAC

The storm began just after dawn with surprising ferocity. Just before the first light, the air became very heavy and still, the calm before the storm. Then the first large drops of rain fell, forming little craters in the dry soil. But these soon vanished before the onslaught. Sheets of water, driven by heavy winds, blasted the roads, making them muddy tracks in a matter of minutes.

Thunder rumbled almost constantly, and lightning cracked with elemental force, sending the little dogs in the village whimpering for favorite hiding places.

The storm’s intensity, together with its arrival several weeks ahead of the rainy season, surprised everyone. Anyone unfortunate enough to be out and about that early was caught largely unawares, and scurried quickly for cover.

By noon the storm was the number-one topic of discussion and debate in the village, where theories ranged from clouds of dust in the stratosphere, caused by volcanic eruptions in the South Pacific, to holes in the ozone, to destruction of the rain forest, to my personal favorite, the rain gods’ anger with the current political shenanigans in Mexico City.

From my perspective, the last theory was closest to the truth. The storm was here because this was Cauac, a day of thunder and lightning. The Tzolkin was unfolding as it should.

By midafternoon, I had ensconced myself in a little lean-to in the forest, one tarpaulin under me to keep me out of the mud, the other strung from three branches over my head to provide some shelter. Fortunately the storm was abating.

My binoculars were trained on the entrance to the cave, several hundred yards away. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I watched with a concentration that surprised me, brushing the droplets of rain off the lenses as I waited.

Siesta time over, a number of the workmen returned to the cave and made a dash for the entrance, newspapers or paper bags, or whatever was at hand, held over their heads for protection from the rain.

About five once again, a pickup truck arrived, and Lucas got out and made the dash for cover. A few minutes later Jonathan arrived and did the same. From what I knew of activities of the dig, both had arrived to check the day’s work, and to assist with the recording of any of the archaeological finds.

Darkness came soon enough, and I could see little except shadows emerging from the cave, running for the trucks and departing for the evening. A dark figure that I assumed to be Jonathan got into the Jeep and pulled onto the road, or what was left of it after the torrents of water, turning in the direction of his house.

A few minutes later another figure followed, presumably Lucas, the generator at the entrance was turned off, and a truck pulled away, leaving the site in silence and darkness.

I waited, my binoculars trained on the spot where the sentry had stationed himself the previous night. If I had calculated correctly, Lucas would be doubling back to the spot. Soon I saw some movement in that general area, but I couldn’t be sure. Lucas, if there, was stealthier than last night’s sentry.

Right on time, Carlos, my young and unwitting co-conspirator, showed up, his flashlight announcing his arrival long before he actually got there. By the time he reached the cave entrance, Lucas was down there to meet him. Carlos handed him a letter and Lucas read it by the light from Carlos’s flashlight.

Carlos left, and shortly after that I could see some movement in the darkness down by the entrance. A few minutes later I heard an engine start up somewhere down the road, and soon Lucas’s pickup went by the site, heading out to the main road.

I did not have to ask what the note said. It was from me, telling him I had news about the murder of Don Hernan and asking him to meet me at the
museo
at ten p.m. I figured that would mean he would have to leave right away for Merida, and it would keep him fully occupied for the evening. I believed that unless he found someone else to stand his watch—and I didn’t think I had allowed him enough time to do so—I now had the place to myself.

I very carefully checked my watch in a short burst from my flashlight, concealed as best I could. It was now about eight p.m. I decided to wait another couple of hours before proceeding. I unwrapped the
torta
Guadelupe had given me and sat munching it, taking swigs from my water bottle. A rather soggy dinner, but it would have to do.

The time passed extremely slowly, and I was beginning to lose my concentration. Suddenly I had the sense of another presence. I froze in my place and peered in the direction of the cave.

I thought I saw some movement near the cave entrance, but in the darkness, and without benefit of the moon on such a stormy night, I couldn’t be sure. The generator was certainly not turned on, and I had not seen a flashlight.

I waited another hour, however, just in case. I neither heard nor saw anything else except the sound of the wind in the trees, and the rain, and in the distance, thunder. Even the creatures of the forest, the owls, the night insects, had all taken shelter from the storm.

Just before midnight, I decided to make my move. Leaving my tarpaulin behind, I moved as quietly and carefully as I could to the cave entrance. I remembered that the entranceway was fairly steep, but was unprepared for the slippery slope it had become because of the storm. I slipped in the mud and slid down the first slope on the seat of my pants, making a fair amount of noise as I did so. I moved cautiously after that, holding on to the line from the generator to find my way, until I felt I was a safe distance inside.

Then I switched on my flashlight, certain that it could not be seen from the entranceway, and proceeded toward the cavern, stopping at intervals to listen for any sounds that would indicate someone else was still there in the dark.

The passage seemed much more menacing than when I had first visited it with my friends, or at least people I thought were my friends. It was sobering to think that one of them might be a murderer.

I reached the cavern at last, and shone my flashlight around the area, trying not to be frightened by the awful visages of the Chacs on either side. I took a quick look at the faint carving over the tunnel, which dropped off into the cenote, and was both gratified, and terrified, that it seemed to match the drawing in Don Hernan’s diary and the pottery shard I had found in Jonathan’s desk.

Everything in the cavern was much as I remembered it. The large crates containing the artifacts, all cataloged and ready for shipment to the
museo
for safekeeping were still there, although there were fewer. I remembered the crates I had seen in the basement of the
museo.
Presumably they had come from here.

The beam of my flashlight swooped over the pile of unnamed artifacts—what had Jonathan called it?—the GOK pile, for God Only Knows. It had grown considerably, I noted, and smiled as I thought of its name.

I passed by it on my way to examine the carving around the tunnel leading to the cenote, to see if in fact it was the symbol for the Maw of Xibalba, the place where Smoking Frog’s codex might wait.

As I did so I stepped over a dark rivulet that meandered between me and the tunnel opening. A leak from the storm above, I thought, but then I looked again.

It was not water. It was blood. I followed its winding course with the beam of my flashlight. It appeared to emanate from the GOK pile just a few feet away from the tunnel entrance.

I didn’t want to look, but I knew I had to. I moved woodenly to the pile of dirt and artifacts and, setting the flashlight down with its beam aimed to assist me, used a stick lying nearby to scrape away the layers of dirt. Soon the very dead face of Major Martinez stared up at me.

I backed away from the horrible sight and turned away quickly, my back to the GOK pile and facing the tunnel entrance, my hands over my face.

I heard a sound, but before I could turn I felt someone grab me from behind. I struggled as hard as I could and almost broke free. But as I did so I lost my balance, and strong hands pushed me very hard, propelling me through the tunnel opening.

It seemed a long way down before I hit the water. Unprepared, I hit it very hard, and my mouth and nose filled with water. Gagging, I flailed about in the water, trying to find first the surface, and then the side of the cenote.

My attacker, above me, had moved quickly to get a flashlight, probably mine, and soon the beam of light was swinging about searching for me. Fortunately it was a long and steep way down into inky darkness, and it would be difficult to lean far enough out to see the bottom without falling in yourself.

I pressed myself to the side of the cenote directly under the opening and tried to get my bearings. There was a small ledge or outcropping above me that afforded me some protection from the light. But otherwise the sides of the cenote seemed very smooth. It would be difficult at the best of times to climb out of this. I was not sure it could be done without ropes and some kind of assistance. In this case, even if I could, there was certainly no point with my attacker waiting up there for me.

I stayed in the water, hugging the side of the cenote, and watched the flashlight move erratically around the space above me. With one swing I could see that there was another opening, just a couple of feet above the waterline. Another tunnel perhaps, or a small cave.

It was the only chance I had, but the beam of light kept moving in a frenetic way above me. Whoever was above me was making sure I was not climbing out.

Fortunately for me, it is human nature for people’s actions to fall into a pattern, whether they intend to or not. The beam of the flashlight, unpredictable at first, had, over a period of several minutes, begun to settle into a fairly consistent rhythm.

By and large I found I could count slowly to about fourteen or fifteen before the next round of light came by, and the beam now invariably swung from right to left.

I waited for the beam to swing by, then very carefully, trying not to let my arms or legs break the surface
of
the water, swam toward where I remembered the opening in the side of the cenote wall to be. When I reached the far side of the cenote, I reached up in the darkness to try to find the ledge below it.

By my count I was now at thirteen, and sure enough the light began to swing around the perimeter, right to left, and I felt very exposed. I took a breath and sank below the water’s surface. With my eyes open under the water, and looking up, I could see the distorted beam of light pass overhead.

When the light vanished, I surfaced carefully, then felt once again for the ledge. It took to the count of ten to find it, so I waited in the water and once again ducked below the surface as the beam went by.

I knew I would have to move fast, because it would not be possible to haul myself out of the water and into the cave without making some sounds as I left the water. Once again I waited for the beam, ducked under the water, and then pulled myself up as quickly and quietly as I could.

As I had expected, there was what seemed to be a thunderous splash as my body left the water. The light reappeared quickly, but my attacker must have moved back from the edge after the last swing by, and by the time the light had reappeared, I had pulled myself back far enough into the opening that I was reasonably sure I could not be seen.