When The Jaguar Sleeps: A jungle adventure (18 page)

Then something stirred within him, increasing his pulse. This time that ruthless man, Brian Steinwall went too far. It was his third attempt at killing him. One too many. Even the slightest thought about this individual triggered deep rage in him. Now it was getting personal.

Was escape the only way to deal with the dangerous gang of robbers? No, he shouldn’t run away from them. He was getting tired of it. There had to be something else he could do. Should he go to the French Embassy and ask for protection? But maybe they had already discovered that in France he had been held in custody on suspicion of pushing his girlfriend, Marie-Claire down the rocky slope. And they wouldn’t trust him anymore and would refuse to help.

And what about the Ecuadorian police?

They wouldn’t be able to act fast enough.

Florent’s pallid face flashed before his eyes. His intense gaze fixed on him seemed to say: ‘See to it that their crimes don’t go unpunished. Remember, you promised it. It’s time to keep your promise.’

Yes, it was true. Staying out of danger was not the only thing he should care about. What about all those crimes committed in the jungle? Chances were slim to none that the police would do something soon, if at all. Would they ever track the gang members down and bring them to justice? This was a country that had a less than one percent conviction rate for major crimes. But he couldn’t let those ruthless men get off scot-free. He couldn’t let them plunder the ruins of all those marvellous treasures and kill more innocent men. It just didn’t feel right. He had to do something, act fast. Yes, he must find Brian Steinwall before he finds him.

The taxi pulled up in front of the entrance to the monastery. Didier approached the heavy wooden door and knocked vigorously, then stepped aside and waited. No one answered. He waited a little longer, then banged a few times again. Still nothing.

He was about to leave, resigned, and at a loss as to where else to go when he heard the screeching of the lock being turned. The door opened slightly and the familiar face of a nun looked cautiously out. She gave him a quick look and let him inside.

S
ince the overnight bus to Cuenca was half empty he could choose his seat and he decided to stay up front near the driver. The long ride was uncomfortable. Even so, Didier somehow managed, to sleep the better part of the journey. But he was immensely glad when he finally made it to his destination and could stretch his legs. After checking into a middle-class hotel, he took a quick shower and changed his clothes. Then he went down to the dining room for a late breakfast. He felt better right away, refreshed and he was ready for action while also perfectly aware he had to stay alert and keep his eyes open. Cuenca was the city where Brian Steinwall lived. Danger might lurk around every corner.

He was not difficult to track down; Brian Steinwall was not a common name here. When he had Googled it a couple of days ago in one of Quito’s Internet cafés, he got several hits. He soon learned that the man owned a real estate agency. Out of curiosity and looking for confirmation he had the right person, he clicked on the agency’s website. The owner’s picture was on the home page. Yes, it was definitely the same man he had seen in the cave in the jungle. He quickly scanned other pages. The agency’s main office was registered in Cuenca. A phone number was given and Didier decided to call it. A pleasant female voice answered on the third ring. He used all his charm and persuasion to make an appointment with the owner. He said he wanted to buy a property but had some special requests and would only talk about them with the owner. The ruse worked.

Then he bought a fake passport and a gun. He needed both. Without the first, he wouldn’t be able to buy the second or check into another hotel. Acquiring the passport had turned out to be easier than he’d imagined. He had easily found someone to contact about it online. Just a day later, he had a new passport and a new name, Dominique Parnell. The hardest part was getting used to it. Buying a gun was a bit more tricky, or rather, more expensive. Although he hoped he wouldn’t need to use it, he decided he couldn’t play such a dangerous game unprotected. Brian Steinwall was a cold-blooded killer who wanted him dead. If it came down to it, Didier wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. Luckily, he knew how to, because his father had taught him to shoot when they went hunting.

The appointment was scheduled for one o’clock. Still plenty of time left to have something to eat and go to a car rental company nearby. He had to be there on time, although he didn’t intend to meet the man. The appointment was just another ruse to get Steinwall there. Didier, well-hidden, was going to watch him from afar, then follow. He wanted to gather enough tangible evidence about Steinwall’s illicit activities, something really incriminating, and also to find out as much as possible about his other associates and what he had done with the stolen treasure, where he kept it. Then he would pass all this information to the police to speed up the investigation and put the gang members in jail.

It had taken him a few days but he had managed to learn quite a lot about Brian. To start with, he found out where he lived. Further, he saw him meet a slender, elegant brunette a few times. Each time, they acted secretly, as if they preferred not to be seen together. One day, he watched Brian talking to a grey-haired, distinguished-looking older man in a café. The way they talked suggested they were business partners. Regretfully, he couldn’t know what kind of business it was that connected them: the real estate or the ancient artefacts. Then, the other day, Brian had gone to visit the older man in his house, bringing two heavy bags with him. The Inca gold stolen from the ancient tombs? Possibly, but there was no way to tell for sure. He wasn’t alone on that occasion. Didier easily recognized the two men who accompanied him. He had seen them earlier in the jungle, heavily armed. He remembered well their names: José and Antonio. They belonged to the grave robbers gang. They had fired at him and Florent. Was it José’s or Antonio’s bullet that had wounded Florent? Instantly, he felt hatred rising within himself, and his entire body tensed. Now there was no doubt in his mind that all four men were in on the theft of the ancient artefacts. And it seemed that more people were involved.

Unnoticed, Didier managed to get a few good shots with his camera of the four men together. The pictures could be useful but not enough. He needed something more solid. He needed to get even closer, to discover where they kept the stolen Inca gold. He was so desperate to find it out that he even considered for a moment hiring somebody to break into Brian’s house and telling him to look for it there. However, he rejected the thought right away. He had to find another way, but should hurry up and come up with something before he ran out of money and time. Soon his passport would be ready and he would have to go back to Quito and leave for France.

It was another overcast morning and at eleven a.m. Didier started to feel tired sitting for hours in his car watching Brian’s house, patiently waiting for him to leave it. So he was very glad when it finally happened. He saw the man heading toward his car, a big black bag in his right hand. Taking some of the stolen treasures to one of his associates? He hoped so. Having first thrown his bag into the back seat, Brian stepped into the car and drove away down the winding paved street leading to a two-lane road. Didier followed behind at a safe distance.

The traffic was heavy and it took them the best part of an hour to cross the city.

Then, at the next intersection Brian turned right, glad to get off the two-lane road with its long unbroken line of cars driving at the same leisurely speed. The street he entered had little traffic and he stepped on the gas pedal; it wasn’t that he was pressed for time, he just enjoyed the feeling of driving fast. However, a few minutes later he had to slow down. The next sharp turn he was supposed to take was approaching; then he took a series of tangled roads. Finally he found himself in a narrow, uneven street that meandered through a slightly undulating, sparsely built-up terrain on the outskirts of the town with a mixture of old and newly-built houses interspersed with large patches of lush greenery. Every now and then a stately one-or two-storey detached house would emerge from behind a handful of trees, the gardens surrounded by high metal fences or brick walls. He slowed down just enough to check once more the slip of paper with the address on it. Yes, the house should be somewhere around here. Driving and looking at house numbers, he failed to notice a tan Ford following some distance behind. It wasn’t always easy to see the numbers of the properties but finally he spotted the one he was looking for. The house was set back some distance from the road. He pulled up at the gate, stopped the car and turned off the engine. He checked his watch. There was still a quarter of an hour before his appointment. He decided, however, to go on in. Maybe the owner of the house could see him right away.

It seemed it was someone very rich, occupying a high position in the country, who was interested in buying his Pre-Columbian artefacts. But first he wanted to see some of the specimens. Brian did not know the name of this potential new client because, as Emilio had repeatedly explained, he wanted to remain incognito. Brian wasn’t even sure if the buyer himself would be here today, or just his middleman. Anyway, it didn’t really matter to him who he spoke to as long as ultimately he gained plenty of money out of the transaction. Emilio had arranged the appointment, assuring Brian it was an opportunity to hit the jackpot, an opportunity he mustn’t miss. One thing Brian would never do was miss out on a chance to make big money.

He got out of the car and headed towards a high metal gate. He’d hardly pressed the bell when the doors swung open automatically. What he saw next was a bit disappointing. At first sight the two-storey house set back behind a few slender palm trees looked old, uncared for, as if no one had lived in it for years. The only proof of someone’s presence was a car parked in front of the house.

Brian approached the steps leading up to the solid wooden front door. He was about to use the brass knocker, shaped like a lion’s head, when the door opened slightly and from behind it peered out the round swarthy face of a middle-aged woman. Her chin-length black hair interwoven with threads of grey was neatly tucked behind her ears with only a few thin strands escaping. She gave him a quick glance, muttering a brief welcome. Then she opened the door a bit wider and stood to one side, patiently waiting for him to enter. She was wearing a black and white dress with a beige wool cardigan. As soon as he had crossed the threshold, she shut the door. Facing the hall with his back towards her, Brian didn’t see her turn the key in the lock.

Brian found himself in a large hall with a terracotta tiled floor. Opposite the front door was a wide staircase surrounded by a high bannister partly made of wrought iron and partly of wood. The arched dark wood stairs led up to the landing on the first floor. The entry hall opened into two adjacent rooms, one on the right and one on the left, and in between a narrow corridor.

‘Tell your boss that Brian Steinwall is here. I’m a little earlier than we agreed, but I’ll wait. Bring me something to drink in the meantime.’

The woman did not respond, but signaled for him to follow her. They entered the room on the right of the corridor. Like the exterior of the house it looked desolate as if it had been unoccupied for years and only lately had someone hastily put in a few random pieces of furniture without any style or design. Against the wall in front of him, Brian saw a mahogany desk with a leather armchair behind it. Nearby were two more leather armchairs with a small mahogany table in between. The windows of the room were closed and completely covered with thick dark curtains. However, the room wasn’t dark but lit by the lamps of a twelve-branch, heavy brass, chandelier.

The woman disappeared, leaving Brian alone. He went over to the chair behind the mahogany desk and sat down, leaning back in a comfortable, relaxed pose. On the desk in front of him he placed his bag containing fine golden Pre-Columbian artefacts taken from the cave in the jungle. Wanting to dazzle the potential client and awaken in him a desire to buy as many objects as possible, Brian had chosen some of the finest pieces. He fumbled in the side pocket of the bag and took out a pack of cigarettes. He flipped it open with his thumbnail, removed one cigarette, put it in his mouth and lit up. Tilting his head back and narrowing his eyes he took a long draw, then slowly let the smoke out, watching it drift in curls into the air.

The house contained no clue to its owner’s identity. Who was this mysterious person Emilio had arranged for him to meet and how much money would he be able to make? He sensed it was going to be a good deal. It seemed that after so many years of searching and making small finds he had finally hit it big.

He was going to have plenty to do in the next few weeks. He needed to go back to the jungle, empty the cave of the remaining treasures and make his men search the whole area for other ruins. They had to hurry and finish their exploration before anyone else appeared on the scene. The hit–men he’d engaged to track down the Frenchman at the hotel in Quito and kill him, had failed. Once more the young man had managed to escape. This was so disappointing. He could still hardly believe it.

The man was becoming a real nuisance.

Didier Poussier.

At the thought of the Frenchman’s name, Brian’s expression hardened, his livid lips pressed closely together, his right hand clenched involuntarily in a fury of suppressed rage, and the fingers of his left hand began to strike some indefinite rhythm on the polished wooden surface of the desk. The name kept swirling in his mind like an annoying bee.

The hit men had still not managed to find out the Frenchman’s whereabouts. He’d ordered them to find him at all costs and kill him without delay. If they screwed up again he would not pay them a cent and would hire some other assassins. There was no shortage of people ready to kill for a fee. It was enough to read the classified ads section of any local newspaper to find them.

Brian had been feeling tired of late, a sign he needed a break. A long one. Apart from searching for and selling ancient artefacts, there was the other side of his business – the real estate market – as well. And it was booming right now. Once he’d cleared the ruins in the jungle of all the valuables, he would take a long vacation.

Hawaii, the Bahamas? He hadn’t yet decided, but wherever it was he needed to swim and laze on the beach.

He looked around the room for an ashtray but there were none. He flicked his cigarette ash directly onto the floor, right next to the chair on which he was sitting.

The housekeeper hadn’t brought him anything to drink. Where was she, anyway? Why did it take her so long to follow his simple orders?

The silence of death appeared to reign within the house, undisturbed by anything. It seemed as if he was the only person there. Starting to get impatient he looked at his watch. It was ten minutes past the time of his meeting. He didn’t like people who did not keep their word or who showed up late for appointments. However, he knew that it was common in this country. But he hated it and never could get used to it.

‘Get a hold of yourself, ten or fifteen minutes is not such a big deal,’ he told himself. ‘You’re not in a hurry, you can wait a bit longer. Especially as it’s going to be worth it.’

Brian threw a cigarette butt on the floor and crushed it vigorously with the heel of his shoe. He leaned back in the leather armchair, running his hand gently through his hair. Trying to relax, he thought about Gabriela, remembering how he had met her at the hotel after talking with Emilio at the café. The old man was a gentle fool and suspected nothing at all. Although, to tell the truth, for a split second Brian had been afraid that he knew about their love affair. It was something in the way he had said that he loved Gabriela very much and what he would do if she was ever unfaithful. But Emilio’s odd behaviour was probably caused by some other worries swirling around in his mind. It had always looked as if nothing really mattered to Emilio except his precious collection. That was the most important thing in his life.