Temple of the Jaguar God (6 page)

He
decided to have a look for himself, although archaeology had never
really interested him. It occurred to him that it wasn’t always
digging in the dirt in some sort of grid pattern with trowels,
brushes, and knives, all blackened bits of pottery and burnt
bones.

Coming
to the bottom of a short flight of steps, the room was relatively
well-lit by the flashlights.

He
stopped dead upon seeing it.

“
Ah. Jeremy. Nephew. I’m not sure if you should be seeing
this—”

Jeremy
almost lost his breakfast, the sight bad enough but the smell so
much worse in the confined space.

It
was…it was…

The
altar, for surely that’s what it was, was a big flat slab. The rest
was carved in the body of a jaguar, its head sticking up
incongruously from the left side, turned to face the entrance. The
legs had been carefully cut and polished at the bottom end into
feet, holes drilled all over it representing the animal’s spots. At
one time it might have been painted and some faint vestiges of
colour still remained…

Reality
sank in and one had to acknowledge it.

There
was a dead man up on the altar, flat on his back, chest torn open,
exposing blackened flesh and blood. His head was missing, and it
was God-awful.

Blood
had spilled and fallen on the floor, littered with dead leaves and
a layer of silt from the rains pooling up inside before leaking
away through the cracks. One corner still held a dank pool,
possibly an inch deep of black muck with a little water on
top.

The
ceiling was low and plain.

The
walls were covered with more barbaric carvings, all garish, the
sun, stars and heavenly objects, animals, spirits and demons. They
were carved in high relief in the native stone which must have been
quarried in the highlands above.

Jeremy
couldn’t look away. As much as he wanted to—

The head
definitely appeared to be missing, although those were surely
Mister O’Dell’s rather bronzed and hairy knees, his shorts, his
socks and shoes—what was left of the shirt.

“
What—what?”

Gerald
Day cleared his throat.

“
Mister O’Dell, one must presume.”

So much for electric eels, then.

“
Gentlemen? Doctor Fawcett? What’s happening?” It was still
bright, and hot, and sunny out there.

It was a
different world out there.

They
heard her voice, looking at each other in silent consternation. It
sounded like she was climbing up towards the entrance, calling out
for some help or reassurance.

His
uncle’s face was pale, eyes black and staring in the dim
light.

“
Jeremy—
please,
don’t let her see this.”

“
Oh, my God. No—no, Uncle Harry.” Tearing his eyes from the
horrible sight, Jeremy turned and nipped back up the stairs to head
her off before she got there.

He was
just stepping out of the door when a whoop went up from below that
practically made him jump out of his skin.

***

Treasure.

The
effect that it had on men, himself included, and even the lady, was
amazing.

They
stared, fixated, Mister Syrmes having dragged a dirty, mildewed
knapsack out from under a pile of leaves and dead branches in the
far corner. He opened it and dumped it on the ground.

Their
faces were dumbfounded—there were bracelets, hoop earrings,
necklaces, upper arm bands, chains, loose gems of emerald and ruby,
sapphire and nameless others. The most stunning work was a death
mask. Parts of it were missing but it was crafted out of gold,
brass or copper wire, and dozens of small pieces of jade. The wide,
staring eyes and other stylistic features indicated the Jaguar god
again.

Unnoticed by the others, and it had proven impossible to keep
Melody out of the chamber—her eyes still drawn to her husband as
all else ignored her, Mister Syrmes had drawn back. With Kevin
Smith leaning in, eyes agleam at all of the loot—no one was
really
thinking
yet, he drew a revolver from inside the rear of his
jacket.

He
coughed, politely at first, then louder upon being totally
ignored.

They
turned upon his insistent tone.

“
Mister Syrmes. What is the meaning of this?” His uncle’s face
was pale, with two red splotches of anger high on his
cheekbones.

Smith,
staring, found himself confronted with a pistol two inches from the
tip of his nose.

“
Give me the rifle—very, very slowly, Mister Smith.”

Face
bleak, Kevin unslung it and handed it over, held horizontally,
muzzle pointing well away from anyone else. An accidental discharge
would ricochet any number of times in a stone chamber.

“
Yeah. Sure. No problem—what’s up, Mister Syrmes.”

Syrmes
lowered the pistol and fired two shots into Kevin Smith’s chest. He
fell back, hitting his head hard on the leg of the altar. He lay
there, twitching, staring at Syrmes with shock and incomprehension
before losing blood pressure and any sort of body control and
slumping into immobility.

Syrmes
quickly put the rifle over his shoulder before anyone thought to
move. He waved the pistol.

“
Put the stuff back in the bag—you.” Mrs. O’Dell’s hands were
shaking, and she was afraid to turn her back on him.

Syrmes
jerked the pistol.

“
You. Over in the far corner.”

The men
hastened to comply, splashing into the black muck. Outside, native
voices chattered but Syrmes appeared unconcerned.

“
But, but—”

“
It’s pretty simple, Doctor. You’ve been had.” Her voice was
strong and bitter. “We—
we
have been had.”

Jeremy
tore his eyes from Kevin who had finally stopped moving. There
really was such a thing as a death rattle.

“
In the corner, boy. I don’t have to leave you alive—” He
smiled. “It’s just that I only have so many bullets.”

With the
exception of one or two gemstones that might have fallen off the
altar and rolled into corners, Melody was done.

Wordlessly, Syrmes beckoned.

At arm’s
length she offered the knapsack, but he shook his head.

“
No. You carry it.”

“
Damn you. I’m not going with you.”

“
Yes, you are. Otherwise I will shoot you.”

“
Argh.”

Not
bothering to sling it on her back, heavy as it was with all of that
gold, Melody O’Dell stepped disdainfully past Mister Syrmes and
began climbing the steep stairs. The heavy bag scraped on the
stairs. It was almost more than she could manage.

“
Gentlemen. I wish I could tell you what a pleasure it has
been.”

“
You’ll hang for this, Mister Syrmes.”

Those
cold, dead eyes locked on Jeremy’s.

“
Actually—I rather doubt that, young man. If you gentlemen come
after us, I will kill Mrs. O’Dell without hesitation.” He smiled
that death’s head smile. “Put that in your little pipe and smoke
it. Boy.”

Backing
up the stairs, the light from above dimmed and then brightened.
Their voices were right there, and then fading away.

They
were gone.

Uncle
Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

“
Steady, lad. We’ll wait here for a bit—although I’m thinking
this might somehow account for what happened to Mister
O’Dell.”

Gerald
and Jeremy and the Doctor stood there, listening, thinking, trying
not to look at the bodies of Mister O’Dell and Mister
Smith.

One of
them, at least, was still warm.

“
What—what do you mean?”

“
Syrmes was alone in camp. Mrs. O’Dell was sleeping. We were
out in the bush. Syrmes just…took a walk. I suppose we all did at
one point or another .It would have been easy enough to catch
O’Dell—knock him on the head with a rock. This
beheading,
is easy enough to fake, if
one wasn’t squeamish…he might have killed you as well.” There was a
catch in his uncle’s voice.

The
heart and the head could have been tossed in the creek, where the
flesh would have been quickly stripped off by scavengers. It was
all for shock value, according to Uncle Harry.

One big
distraction at the psychological moment.

“
What are you saying, Doctor Fawcett?” Mister Day was pale,
still in shock but in control of his emotions.

Finally,
Uncle Harry let out a big breath and looked on the faces of the
dead, shaking his head and uttering one or two quiet
curses.

“
It’s just like the lady said. I’m afraid we’ve been had, er,
gentlemen.”

“
What—what’s he going to
do,
Uncle Harry?”

“
Hmn. I reckon he’ll grab the cash box. That’s the key to
controlling the work party. He’ll strike camp, and head back down
the river. With Paolo interpreting, he’ll be able to take as many
of the natives as will go along with him, one would
think—”

***

For no
particular reason, the ocelot chose that moment to come into the
temple. Spotting Jeremy straight away, it headed for him with happy
eyes and mouth open.

“
Hey, little friend.”

“
Oh, Jesus. What, are you back again?” Technically, Mister Day
had other things to think about.

“
I don’t know, but it’s a nice animal.”

Kneeling, Jeremy buried his face in the thing’s neck as it
purred and swiped at his eyes and tried to bite him any which way
it could.

“
Uncle Harry.”

“
Yes, lad?”

“
Are we going to get out of this?”

The
older men exchanged a long look.

Mister
Day spoke first.

“
Of course we are, Jeremy.” He snorted. “You’re bloody well
right, we are.”

Uncle
Harry just nodded, thinking furiously.

***

They
were still a quarter mile from camp when there came the sounds of
gunfire.

“
Damn. That didn’t take him too long.”

Day
shook his head.

“
He can’t be shooting them all.”

“
We have no idea of what’s happening.”

“
Uncle Harry. Maybe we should get off the trail.”

Standing
there in thought, Harry sort of sunk into himself. Whatever it was,
they had no way of stopping it.

There
was nothing to do but wait.

The
sound of a boat motor starting up came, the throttle roared after a
time and it would seem that they were away.

“
Right. Cautiously, lads. Let’s not just go running in there.”
No coward, Uncle Harry was just being sensible.

It took
a few minutes of walking, hot and sweaty and with the heart
pounding. Breath seemed a bit ragged in the throat to
Jeremy.

Mrs.
O’Dell was standing there waiting for them at the end of the
trail.

She
waved when she saw them.

“
Don’t worry. He’s gone.”

They had
struck a couple of the tents.

Some of
the food was missing and a good number of their jerry-cans of fresh
water.

“
Gerald.”

“
Sir?”

“
Check around and see if he’s left us any weapons—is there
anyone else here, Melody?”

“
No. He took all the natives with him. And the
boy—Paolo.”

“
What was the shooting?”

“
The boat.” She pointed to the edge of the jungle with the
creek and the landing area beyond.

“
Of course! The boat. Come along, Jeremy.”

***

Syrmes
had been unable to sink the second boat, although he’d holed it a
good dozen times.

There
was a foot and a half of water in the back end, less in the front
end, tied up and grounded on shore as she was.

“
More serious, I think, is the motor—” Syrmes had put a couple
of bullets through it, with engine oil leaking down into the
water.

His
uncle looked up.

“
Right. We need some plugs. Make them about two or three inches
long. A quarter-inch at the small end. Make them tapered. We’ll
stick the small end in the hole, pound it in and then bail her
out.”

“
Right, Uncle Harry.”

“
The motor’s useless, we’re better to take it off.”

Apparently, they weren’t dead yet, although there were only
one or two paddles in evidence.

With the
axe and a machete, they might be able to do something about that as
well.