Scorpion (9 page)

“
Port of Spain just ahead,” Dependable Ted said, slowing down. “We’ll be stuck in traffic for ten or fifteen minutes till we pass.”

Broxton turned to look behind and couldn’t see the BMW.

“
He’s back there, ’bout ten cars,” Ted said. “But not to worry, once we pass the yacht club we be losing him good.”

“
The city reminds me of Nairobi,” Broxton said.

“
Why, ’cause we’re all black?”

“
Maybe, but it’s more than that.”

“
Maybe ’cause we were both colonized by the British.”

“
That could be,” Broxton said.

“
We’re not all black, you know, ’bout ten percent white and the rest split ’tween African and Indian. That’s Indian from India not the American kind.”

“
I’d never really thought about it,” Broxton said.

“
But the white people run things,” the driver said.

“
How’s that?” Broxton asked. “Isn’t this a democracy? Don’t you have elections?”

“
We do. The government was African, now it’s Indian an’ the prime minister’s a light skin Indian fellow, but it makes no difference. Once they get elected they think they’re white and they start stuffing their pockets.”

“
That’s a shame,” Maria said.

“
Way it is,” the driver said.

“
The same all over,” Broxton said.

“
True, true,” the driver said.

Then they were past Port of Spain, the beach still at their left, the sun starting to hang low in the evening sky and the traffic had thinned considerably. Broxton noticed the bars on the windows of the homes that flew by. “It looks like you have a lot of crime.”

“
Not like you do in most your big American cities. Peoples just over react. Nobody wants somebody breaking into their house.”

“
A mall,” Maria said, looking out at the buildings to their left, between them and the beach.

“
We have some malls in Trinidad. Not great big ones like you do. But they’re nice, just the same. And up ahead is the yacht club. We gets a lot of foreign boats in Trinidad.”

“
We saw some this afternoon,” Broxton said, remembering the tall masts he’d seen earlier that seemed to be reaching up from the sea, trying to grab the plane and pull it down.

There was a short bridge up ahead where the road changed from four to two lanes. Cars were putting on the gas. Everybody wanted to pass the slow moving taxi before the bridge. Broxton turned and looked out the back window. Not everybody was trying to pass. The BMW was three cars back, still following. Broxton continued watching as a battered, left-hand-drive American Chevy flew past the car immediately behind them and kept on coming.

“
I think he’s going to try and pass us, too,” Broxton said, his voice rising. He was more than a little surprised that the car wouldn’t slow down.

“
Can’t make it,” the driver said, but it made no difference, the car kept coming.

“
He’s not passing, he’s coming in on the left!” Broxton shouted as the car plowed into the left quarter of the taxi, then slammed on its brakes as the taxi lost control. He threw an arm in front of Maria, keeping her pinned to her seat as the taxi spun onto the other side of the road. A pickup truck, coming in the opposite direction, clipped the taxi’s rear bumper, tearing it off.

Then they were off the road and spinning through a park toward a soccer game. Children screamed and fled the oncoming taxi and for an instant Broxton thought they were going to roll, but Ted let out a whoop, like an American Indian’s war cry, and spun the wheel into the slide, managing to turn the car away from the fleeing children, pumping the brakes all the while, trying to slow the car as they scraped along a huge tree.

Ted screamed again as the car slid by the tree with a soul wrenching sound that shrilled through the evening. The tree slowed the car, but it didn’t stop it, and Dependable Ted never stopped working the wheel.

* * *

“
Hold on,” he yelled from the front seat. Maria looked up and saw what he saw. Another tree, this one, thicker than the last, and it seemed to be charging straight for them as it loomed larger and larger in the front window, a giant, green grizzly, with raking claws on the end of the branches. Claws and jaws, reaching for her, reaching to tear her apart, but at the last instant the roaring rear wheels found purchase in the wet grass. The old Toyota shot forward like a race horse. Ted yelled again, because even though he was heading for the tree, he was back in control.

He spun the wheel to the right, missing the tree, but the branches scraped the side of the car as it headed, like a wild mustang, into a huge mass of green, the very edge of the rain forest. Ted jerked the wheel one last time and stomped on the brakes. The engine died, but the car continued its slide through the lush green vegetation, twice missing trees that would have brought it to a crashing stop, coming softly to rest in an almost anticlimactic absence of sound.

“
Sheeit,” Dependable Ted said under his breath, but Maria heard.

“
Is anybody hurt?” Broxton asked.

“
Don’t think so,” Ted said.

“
I’m okay,” Maria said, looking out of the car. Seconds ago she’d been on a highway, with cars, houses, stores and people. Now she was surrounded by green—leaves, grass, weeds, bushes and trees. She was in an ancient world, a primitive place, and something deep in her heart told her that man wasn’t welcome.

“
That car hit us on purpose,” Ted said, turning toward them. His smile was gone and there was a glazed look in his dark brown eyes.

“
Looked like it,” Broxton said, and even as he said it the glaze faded from Dependable Ted’s eyes and as they cleared Maria saw anger, bubbling and boiling, raging and ready to burst forth.

“
It was an accident,” Maria said.

“
Wasn’t,” Ted said, “and somebody is going to pay.”

Broxton put his hand to the latch, pulled it and pushed against the door. It creaked and groaned, but it opened. He turned back toward Ted and leaned forward till his face was inches away. “My name’s Broxton. Call the American Embassy tomorrow. Tell them I owe you a new car and cab fare. It’ll be taken care of.” There was something about the way he said it. Low and slow, every syllable clear, even though it was barely a whisper, that told both Ted and Maria that what he said was truth.

“
Yes, sir.” Ted held his hand out. Broxton shook it.

“
Then forget you ever saw me.”

“
Yes, sir.” Ted released Broxton’s hand.

“
No questions?” Broxton asked.

“
You best get going, ’cause I never saw you,” the driver said. Then he added, “go straight into the green till you get to the river, ain’t far, then turn right and follow it back to the road. Bridge goes under, you come out on the opposite side. It’s easy. I used to do it all the time when I was a boy.”

“
Thanks,” Broxton said, and he grabbed both bags, took her by the hand and slipped out of the car, pulling her out after himself. She offered no resistance. He led her around a large teak tree and pulled her further into the tall grass and dense growth. He heard the running water and in seconds he was confronted with a small river that wound from the mountains above down to the sea. Still holding her hand he started to step down the bank.

“
Wait,” she said.

Broxton stopped.

“
Why are we running?”

“
I don’t know,” Broxton said. “Somebody ran us off the road.”

“
It was an accident,” she said again.

“
No, someone tried to kill us.” Again he was whispering and again she heard truth.

“
You can’t know that.” She was panting and she felt sweat rolling down her back. She wiped an insect off of her face with her free hand and met his eyes.

“
I’m an analyst. I’m paid to think and figure the odds, and right now my training tells me that if we don’t move we will wind up dead.” He was talking fast now, trying to convince her.

“
What if you’re wrong?” she said.

“
What if I’m not?” he said.

“
They went in there,” she heard a voice say, gravelly and menacing, not friendly.

“
You’re not,” she said, deciding. “Let’s go.” She felt him tighten his grip. Then he turned back toward the river and started down the bank. The ground was wet, muddy and it smelled. People up in the mountains had been using the river as a dump for too long. The water that should have been fresh and sweet was polluted with litter: plastic bottles, Styrofoam cups, coke cans and other odd bits of trash. The river was taking it all toward the sea.

At the bottom he sloshed through the river, still pulling her along behind. The water was only inches deep, but the mud was tugging at her shoes, threatening to pull them off. The growth was dense and oppressive and she was thankful that he was breaking trail for her. Chills ran up her spine, sliding under the sweat that was running down her back. She was as frightened now as she’d been on the plane. She squeezed his hand tighter as he led her toward the road and safety.

“
Shit, I think they’re headed back toward the road,” the gravel voice from behind said, and Broxton answered her squeeze by gripping her hand even tighter as he picked up his pace through the shallow river, pushing low overhanging branches aside with his other hand.

“
Bridge up ahead,” Broxton said. “We have to go under.”

But when she looked ahead she didn’t see a bridge at all, just the highway above the trees and a place where the river vanished into the undergrowth beneath it and he was pulling her steadily toward it.

“
No,” she said, jerking on his hand and forcing him to stop. “Let’s climb up this side.”

“
That’s what they’ll expect,” Broxton said. “They might even have somebody up there waiting.”

“
Who?” she asked.

“
Don’t know and we don’t have time to discuss it,” he said, then he released her hand and turned toward the spot where the river disappeared under the road. “I hope there’s no snakes under there” he said. “I hate snakes.”

She shivered. “Me too,” she whispered, as he slung the bags over his neck and dropped to a crouch, making his way toward the dense growth.

“
Going to have to crawl.” He dropped his hands and knees into the water. She watched as he forced himself through the wet and slimy foliage that guarded the area under the bridge, and then she couldn’t see him anymore and she was alone. She heard the slight murmuring of people overhead and the sound of a siren off in the distance, but there were no traffic sounds on the highway, no cars whizzing by above. Traffic was stopped. She didn’t want to go in there. Maybe she could climb up on this side. There were people there, she’d be safe.

“
Hurry up.” It was the gravel voice behind her. “Not much farther,” it said, and it made her mind up. She dropped to a crawl and scooted through the muck and slime, pushing as much of it away from her face as she could. Her heart was racing, sweat chilled her skin and she felt insects crawling on the back of her neck. She wanted to scream each time her fingers curled into the muck, but she fought it back and pushed forward.

She was closed in by the dark, like a letter in an envelope and she was waiting for somebody to seal her in. Then she felt something else under her hands. The mud and muck had a bottom to it and it was solid. A chill rippled through her as she pulled a hand out of the river. She reached out to her left and shivered when she struck something solid. A wall. She thrust her hand above her head and whimpered when it touched the concrete top.

She was in a drain pipe.

Every ounce and fiber of herself screamed, Go back, but she bit into her lower lip, closed her eyes and plunged on ahead. Then she felt sunlight on her eyelids, and when she opened them she saw Broxton. She pushed herself out of the pipe as a great wave of relief flooded through her.

But as quickly as it came, it went, when she saw she had nothing to be relieved about. They’d gone only halfway. They were under the highway, between the lanes. There was another drain pipe on the other side. She was going to have to do it all again. She didn’t know if she could.

He leaned toward her and put his lips to her ear. “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered. “You’re doing fine.” His whisper calmed and soothed her. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath, trying to get control of herself. “That’s the way,” he said. “It’s going to be all right.”

She shivered, but not as much as before. She opened her eyes and looked around. She was in a place where trolls lived. Under the bridge, under the feet of people and the wheels of cars. A mythical, fairytale, dangerous kind of place. There were things here she didn’t want to know about. Creepy crawlies and slithering slimies, all chucky jammed full of poison. She wanted out and the only way was to slide through that other drain pipe.

He took her hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze, then he turned away and went back down on all fours. She followed and again she was in the dark and again she felt the chili whillies shoot through her, but this time she wasn’t alone, because she grabbed onto one of Broxton’s feet as he crawled ahead and not God or the devil himself could have made her let go.

Then they were through it and on the other side. She let go of his foot and he took her hand again and led her up the embankment, onto the far side of the highway. Then she saw why she’d heard no traffic sounds. The car that hit them had itself been rear ended and the result was an accident on the bridge, causing traffic to be backed up in both directions. People were out of their cars, some were helping the victims on the bridge, others were in the park assisting the taxi driver and still others were watching, talking, laughing, having a good time, enjoying the excuse to take a few minutes off toward the end of the day. Most of the drivers were apparently viewing the accident more as entertainment than aggravation.