Temple of the Jaguar God (9 page)

Taking
the handle in both hands again, he kept going.

There
was nothing more they could do to hurt Mister Syrmes now, and
recovering his body if possible was, arguably, the right thing to
do no matter what sort of condition he was in.

***

“
Well.”

The butt
of the rifle stuck out on the one end. That was
something…

Looking
like nothing more than a big hairball, whatever it was, it had been
successfully removed from the belly of the serpent. The natives,
delighted with their conquest, for surely they must hate and fear
the great animals, were dragging it away. According to the
translator they would skin it and then cook it up. People for miles
around would be eating snake meat tonight.

Mister
Day was looking a bit green. His crotch and legs were dark with
blood. His Uncle looked around, finally settling on
Jeremy.

“
Where’s Mrs. O’Dell?”

“
About halfway back to Buena Vista, by this time. She’ll be all
right. She’s got a gun in her purse.”

Harry
gave a little snort.

“
Sir?”

“
Yes, Jeremy?”

“
We need a good stick or two.” The snake had had a day or two
to digest, and there were other things in there too—what was
clearly turning into a slimy brown lump below Mister Syrmes,
assuming it were really him, and what must have been a big bird,
perhaps a heron or pelican, a stork or something above
Syrmes.

The
snake must have gotten a little peckish—as Day had put it. While
they might go a long time between meals, they were opportunistic
feeders. They poked around and finally exposed a face, one eyeball
staring accusingly out at them. The hydrochloric acid had been at
it, and it was a sight.

It was
Syrmes, all right.

There
was also the hint of a khaki strap under a mess of half-dissolved
feathers and hair and one or two other nameless things
besides.

Hooking
a stout stick under the strap, stomach heaving but mostly under
control, Jeremy put his boot down on the soggy mass and began
pulling and twisting and working it back and forth.

***

“
Goodness gracious.”

It was
all there. It was heavy too. The knapsack appeared to be intact,
for the most part, and still sealed with its leather straps and
brass buckles.

The
smell caught at the back of Jeremy’s throat and he had to turn
away.

“
Is she really gone, then?” Uncle Harry seemed quite put
out.

He’d
wanted her to see this—

“
Here, lad. Take a break.” Mister Day took over the better
stick, poking the knife in and pushing and pulling assorted bits,
bone, flesh and hair, out of the way.

He
dry-retched a couple of times, very contagious that was, too, and
then went on.

“
Not a very nice way to go, it is?” Mister Mateo had a bit of
morbid curiosity in him, that and the fact that he would like to be
paid at some point.

This was all terribly fascinating of course, and now he would
have a
real
story
to tell.

“
No. It isn’t.”

Day
cleared his throat.

“
He would have quickly lost consciousness. One would hope.” He
grunted. “Bastard that he was…”

Mister
Day had the knapsack free, for the most part clear of
other…things.

“
We’ll bury him right here—perhaps we could ask the natives for
a shovel.” Uncle Harry proffered coins. “Oh, yes. And a bucket or
two of water.”

Señor
Mateo spoked in excited tones and a bunch of them ran
off.

It
didn’t take very long before they were back, some of them with
shovels and some of them with nothing more than primitive digging
sticks. They opened a hole in the soft ground in pretty short
order, and then Jeremy and Mister Day, using borrowed shovels,
tipped and rolled what was left of Mister Syrmes into the
hole.

Rifle
and all.

Some
sort of words would seem to be in order, and so they all turned to
Uncle Harry.

“
Er…well.”

He took
off his hat, the horrible-smelling knapsack at his feet.

“
Most of us, good or evil, don’t really get what we deserve in
this life. However, in this particular case, one William Syrmes,
formerly of Shrewsbury, and now a permanent resident of Venezuela,
would appear to be an exception. Ah. Er. Argh. God damn your soul
to everlasting hellfire, Mister Syrmes.” He raised his head and
nodded at their cheerful helpers, fascinated by everything they
did. “May you rot in hell, sir.”

Mateo
laughed, delighted, translating to an eager crowd.

They
shoveled in dirt and Uncle Harry began distributing small coins to
anyone that would take them, although one or two still seemed
pretty shy.

One
could hardly blame them for that.

***

Mrs.
O’Dell had somehow persuaded someone to paddle her home, but then a
few coins and a white face went a long way in this
country.

When
they arrived back at Buena Vista, the first place they went was the
bank. This time Mister Day and Jeremy went in rather than waiting
out front. The manager, Señor Cezar, looked askance at the smelly
knapsack, but when ushered into his private office, after a quick
look at one or two of the smaller, more accessible pieces, he was
utterly convinced.

“
Goodness, gracious!”

“
Yes, well. For one thing, it needs to be thoroughly cleaned,
and properly documented. But for temporary safekeeping, we would
like to rent your largest safety-deposit box. I’m assuming you have
such a thing?” There was just no way they could ever sleep at the
hotel, not with this along.

Their
find might be worth a hundred thousand pounds, maybe even
more.

Cezar
paled when he heard that.

“
I can let you have as many smaller boxes as you need. I don’t
think we have one that big.”

…
Mister Day had his camera hanging around his neck.

“
The other thing, sir. Ah. Do you have a staff room? We’d like
to separate some of this out and give it a quick rinse.”

“
Si.
I mean
yes.
Absolutely.”

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Señor Cezar, who seemed a
pretty easy-going chap, got up and led them down a back
hall.

“
Ah, and what about Mister O’Dell, Mister Smith…and all that
sort of thing, gentlemen?”

“
That, I think, is a job for the police. Seriously, there was
just no way. We were never going to carry two bodies, not with poor
Mrs. O’Dell aboard and a fairly small boat.”

Cezar
nodded his comprehension.

“
But of course. Anyways, you are welcome to our facilities—and,
ah, please, let me know so that we can clean up when you are
done.”

***

Their
next stop was the hotel.

As soon
as she heard them clomping down the hall on their floor, the door
to her room popped open.

“
Doctor?”

“
Yes, Mrs. O’Dell?”

“
There’s something we need to talk about…all of us. You too,
Mister Day.”

Day
didn’t look too pleased at that.

“
Are you sure this is necessary, Mrs. O’Dell?”

“
Yes, it is, Gerald.”

“
Jeremy?”

“
I’m just going to check on Ozzie. I’ll be right along,
Uncle.”

***

The cat
was sleeping on his bed, which was a nice warm feeling, although he
had no idea of what the cleaning staff thought of it. Probably not
much, he decided.

Hers was
a big, comfortable room. Jeremy had brought in a couple of more
chairs from his own and the doctor’s rooms.

“
So, Melody. What’s this all about.”

“
Doctor, do you remember your lecture to the Explorer’s Club
meeting last November?”

“
Ah, yes, I do.” It was an open meeting, with several notable
speakers and the general public in attendance.

“
Mister Syrmes was there that night. There was no way you would
ever recognize him, because he was heavily bearded. He had
different glasses back then and long hair. He saw the potential
straight away, of course. Luckily, he had references and you took
him on.”

“
Melody, please don’t do this—” Day bit off any further
comment.

He’d
already gone too far, and yet there was nowhere to run.

Uncle
Harry was very calm.

He gave
a discomfited Gerald Day a long look.

“
What are you trying to tell us, Melody.”

“
No.”

“
Shut up, Mister Day. This is all going to come out, Mister
Day.
Gerald.”
She
glared at him. “Think about it, you fool—all that press coverage.
Doctor Fawcett is going to be the man of the day. His description
of the treasure will no doubt ring many bells. That was before you
recovered it, even. Now there will be pictures in the newspapers.
Lots and lots of pictures, Gerald. And anyone around him will be
subject to great scrutiny.”

“
I swear to God, I have no idea of what she’s talking about—”
Face flaming, he was getting up to leave.

“
Shut up and sit down, Mister Day.”

From out
of nowhere, Melody had a gun on him.

Not
quite knowing what was going on, Jeremy also stood. He went to get
between Gerald Day and the door.

Day
slowly sank back into his seat.

“
It was all a set-up, Doctor.”

Day
sighed deeply.

“
Is this true, Gerald?”

He
shrugged, unable to meet the doctor’s eyes. His pistol was empty,
there was nowhere to run—

“
Oh, to hell with it, Gerald. He would have figured it out soon
enough. Did you really think you could stick with the doctor now?
All that gold—it’s stuck in your mind and you can’t get it out of
there, can you?”

Finally
he looked up.

“
I’m sorry, Doctor Fawcett. We had no idea of what Mister
Syrmes was like. Or what he intended to do.”

Melody
ground onwards.

“
Let’s just say he double-crossed us—all of us. I suppose you
could say some of us deserved it. Some of us maybe should have seen
it coming. But it would have inevitably come out, Gerald. Doctor
Fawcett. There never was a Peter O’Dell, millionaire, from Newport,
Rhode Island. There never was a Melody O’Dell, there never was a
William Syrmes—or a Gerald Day. It’s easy enough to see—now, at
last, that we were never going to get away with it.”

Jeremy
stood, transfixed. His uncle’s face was a study. That was one thing
for sure.

“
I see.”

There
was a long silence, and then Uncle Harry said it again.

“
I see.”

Jeremy
cleared his throat.

“
And—and you were all in it?”

“
Mister Smith was genuine. He was also extremely thorough. A
very tough young man. That’s probably why Mister Syrmes shot him. I
don’t even know the bastard’s real name, he came to us and put the
proposal to us. We were, er, working certain clients in London at
the time, but this one sounded special. He had to have the…the
right kind of people.” Her voice broke, realizing perhaps just what
kind of people that meant. “He told us that he needed to get as
many people as possible in the party, the sort of people that he
could count on…”

Criminals—real, proper criminals, just like the kind you read
about in the paper, thought Jeremy. Her and O’Dell were con
artists, is what he thought she was saying—or trying to say it,
anyways. They had pooled their resources, and invested heavily into
an operation that had gone badly wrong.

He and
his uncle were lucky to be alive, on sober reflection. She didn’t
actually say that—

“
Is there more?”

There
was nothing but silence, punctuated by the sound of the birds on
the other side of those billowing curtains…

“
Were you planning to kill us?”

She
shook her head, the tears finally flowing.

Mister
Day cleared his throat.

“
No, sir. We were going to grab the gems, tie you up, and steal
the boat—everything Mister Syrmes did, basically. You would have
eventually gotten out.” His face was bleak. “And she’s right. We
were going to get caught.”

He shook
his head at his own stupidity.

They’d
been thoroughly used.

Uncle
Harry sought out Jeremy.

Heaving
a deep sigh, Uncle Harry asked one final, perhaps rhetorical
question.