Jungle of Deceit (20 page)

It had almost been easy up to this point−easy to spill it all to Alex’s patient ears. But now memories of the military debriefing in Montenegro plagued him. After the treatment he received, he had vowed to never again voice the story.

“
Mitch.” Alex touched his shoulder. “I understand if this is too personal. I didn’t mean to meddle, but you are in so much pain when you sleep−”

He reached up and covered her hand with his. “No, let me do this.”

It was easier to become the journalist and distance himself, reporting it like a documentary. “Inside that barn were a group of soldiers. American soldiers. They were−they were raping the woman with the long black hair. One of the soldiers had a hold of the little girl. Her eyes were so wide. She stood there and watched it all.” His voice caught. “And then those eyes turned towards me, and she just stared and stared. I didn’t want to break that contact. I wanted her to keep looking at me. Don’t look away. Look at me.” Mitch swallowed hard.

“
I couldn’t do anything. I had no weapons and there were about ten soldiers. They saw me and started after me. I used the only weapon I had and I started shooting pictures, all the while trying to lock the little girl’s eyes.”

His head dropped. “They got me. They destroyed the camera. I was sent to Montenegro to be debriefed−” he smirked, “translation−fired. And I was sent home.”

Beside him, he heard Alex’s trapped air release. “Do you know what happened to them?”

He knew she spoke of the woman and her daughter. “No. But they’re with me. Not every night, but most nights.”

“
Mitch, you probably saved them just by interrupting the act. Do you understand that?”

He nodded, his throat too swollen to speak.

“
They are not
ghosts
that are tormenting you. They are probably alive and well now. And those soldiers−although you were fired and their violence seemingly went undisciplined, I am sure it was addressed by someone internally. That is what they do.”

These were the arguments he tried to convince himself of, but nothing stopped the little girl from staring at him from the shadows. No amount of logic or mental negotiation would deter her.

“
Well, there you have it,” he said.

Alex crawled to the edge of the bed next to him, and laid her palm against his cheek−against the bruise, leaning forward to press her lips onto that injury. Her hand felt warm, her lips felt soft. He ached from both because he knew that distrust still lingered there and he could not assuage it. Mitch shifted into that caress so that his mouth collided with hers, and with his kiss, he conveyed his gratitude for her understanding.

Boom. Boom. Boom
.

“
I’ll get it,” he warned, preparing for an attack. “Stay there.”

From the shadows, Alex watched him with wide eyes.

C
hapter Ten

“
It’s almost three.” Gwen Pastorelli stood in the doorway, her face pinched by nerves. “I would love to let you guys sleep, but we don’t have much time.”

Alex stepped up beside Mitch. She still reeled from the brutality of his tale, but she was staggered by the kiss they had shared. It wasn’t like the others, filled with heat and hunger. It was an exchange of emotions and spoke of a bond−and it terrified her. Despite his admissions in the dark, Mitch had deceived her, and there were too many unanswered questions.

Dark and intense, he stared down at her right now as she said in hoarse voice, “We’ll be right out, Gwen.”

When the door closed, she was left to look up at the daunting man and deal with the overwhelming emotions he inflicted.

“
I see it, Alex.” His voice was husky. “I see the doubt there. Just know this…at all costs, I will protect you.”

“
No.” Alex cast his pledge aside. “I am not the woman from the barn. You can’t save me, Mitch. I am responsible for myself.” She went so far as to tap her chest and then felt that was a bit dramatic so dropped her hand.

“
Yeah, I get it. You are responsible for yourself, responsible for your men. You are responsible for peace in the Middle East and you are responsible for the drop in stocks on Wall Street.”

His frown mirrored her own. A silent face off.

“
If you want responsibility, Alex,” he whispered softly. “Take responsibility for what you’re doing to my insides…my stomach, my chest, my−I don’t know what the hell is going on with them right now, but you’re responsible.”

Alex looked away. She needed to get out of here. She opened the door and hurried down the hall. The skin at the back of her head tingled and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before stepping into the dining room.

When she opened them again, Gwen was standing before her.

“
They supply us with aspirin here−if you have a headache?”

“
No, no. I’m fine. I’m ready to see this place.”

“
Me too.” Mitch said from behind and she could feel the warmth of his body as he drew in close.

Joseph Pastorelli was on the couch, his legs propped up on the beige cushions.

“
Joe.” Gwen went over and tapped him on the shoulder. “We have to go. We have to get ready for tomorrow.”

“
Screw them.” His speech was garbled. “I’m too tired.”

“
You have to go, Joe.” Gwen pleaded.

He waved her off and closed his eyes, mumbling, “I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”

Sensing Gwen’s distress, Alex stepped up and touched her shoulder. “Start us out, Gwen. Your husband will join us shortly, right Joe?”

“
Yeah,” he muttered with his eyes shut.

Visibly relieved with Alex’s offer, Gwen moved to the front door. She opened it and wiggled her nose in disdain. “Don’t you just love that they put our quarters back with the public restrooms.”

The word
public
seemed preposterous.
Public
implied a facility frequented by the external population−not a handful of affluent criminals.

As they stepped out of the alcove, Alex finally had a moment to digest her surroundings. Earlier she had been overwhelmed and a bit lightheaded, but now there was time to scrutinize the magnificent construction. The interior of the temple was a tiered atrium lined with cherry wood balustrades, revealing three levels of glass-encased exhibits. Above the third floor, the ceiling soared into a conical shape that from the outside would have represented the pyramid’s funerary shrine. Mayan pyramids were often foundations for the temple at the top. Irrationally she wished this gutted core was not a subterranean museum, but rather the authentic temple chambers.

“
Do you know anything about how they built this?” she asked Gwen who was moving at a swift pace.

Tempted by each exhibit, Alex struggled to keep up, but she had the attention span of a child unleashed in FAO Schwarz.

To her left, atop an illuminated marble embankment sat a box deftly carved from volcanic stone which she estimated to be well over a 1000 years old. Intrigued, she paused before it, recognizing the symbolic figure of one of the gods of the underworld.

Gwen backtracked to stand beside her.

“
This piece is stolen.” Alex was indignant.

A weary laugh escaped Gwen. “They
all
are.”

“
I mean−I
know
this specific piece. It was looted from a cave near Cancun.”

Mitch stepped up on her other side and reached out to touch it. Alex swatted his hand away. “Don’t!”

“
Ouch.”

“
It dates back to around 250AD.”

“
So do I,” he rubbed his hand. “Some days.”

“
Joe and I don’t have the depth of knowledge that you do,” Gwen said. “I think that we’re only here due to process of elimination. The others tried to leave−and as I said, we haven’t seen them since.”

Alex snapped her fingers. “Logan Campo. Logan Campo from the University of Utah. I attended some post-grad classes with him. He was one of the first archeologists reported missing in this region. When I heard about it, I thought he had been bit by a snake or something.” She looked to Gwen expectantly. “Was he here?”

Gwen nodded. “That was before Joe and I got here, but we heard that he was.” Her eyes revealed disappointment when she glanced back down the alley to find it empty, with no trace of her husband. “I know that more people were abducted than what made it down here. As this was only a monthly gig, the ratio of patrons to exhibitors was too great−sometimes the big man would come out and talk.”

“
The big man?” Mitch looked up. “Solis?”

“
No. This man is an older fellow. I never actually met him, but I gather by the way Miguel acts like a pathetic troll around him, that he’s his boss.”

“
Is this man Latin as well?” Mitch asked. “What does he look like?”

Gwen frowned, but was still distracted with the expectation that her husband would emerge at any moment. “No, not Latin. I’ve only seen him from a distance. Solid white hair. That much I could tell you.”

Alex gasped, and Mitch muttered, “Son of a bitch.” They nodded in unison and said, “Nicholson.”

“
Who is Nicholson?”

“
He is the director of the Museum of Historical Arts and Antiquities in New York,” Alex explained and tried to keep the anger out of her voice. She hated the fact that yet another person she trusted had lied to her. Was she that gullible? “He secured my grant to come down here, and he’s also responsible for Mitch being here.”

Gwen nodded, but it was more like the incoherent motion of a bobble-head doll.

“
Dammit.” Mitch clubbed his fist on a display railing. “Does he attend every one of these soirees?”

“
I think so, but like I said, I don’t always see him. And of course, we’re too busy at the time. It’s like you have to be at five different exhibits simultaneously. If you lose a sale−”

“
My God.” Alex felt heat rise to her cheeks. “What happens if you lose a sale?”

“
Well…” Gwen’s eyes shifted from the vacant alley to meet hers, “−those are the ones that disappear.”

“
Christ.” Mitch opened his fist and swiped his palm over his face. “We have to get out of here.” He looked around and Alex followed the pitch of his head.

Inside this temple pyramid she lost perspective. She couldn’t analyze their options. She needed to get out into the courtyard for a better handle on their predicament. Initially, when she had walked in with Solis she was too stricken to examine the surroundings with anything more than astonishment. Now she was ready to kick into gear and get them out of here.

“
Gwen, are we allowed
outside
the temple? Back out in the courtyard?”

“
Oh yeah, yeah. They know you aren’t going anywhere. And besides, they want you to be familiar with the grounds for the opening ceremonies. There are artifacts outside as well.” Her eyes shifted down the aisle and an impatient sigh escaped her lips before she met Alex’s gaze. “Joe wasn’t always like this, you know.
They
have enabled his drinking. All our supplies are delivered on a weekly basis, and they always throw in a few bottles.”

There was no sense in Alex using the eggshell treatment when Gwen was so upfront on the subject. “I’m surprised they allow it if it will hamper his performance at their gathering.”

“
Honestly−” Gwen gave Mitch a sheepish glance, and Alex felt her heart thump at his supportive smile. “I am the reason we went to Guatemala. I had some courses on Maya geography, and an ancient Maya course, but I never graduated. Joe came along on this trip to share in the adventure, and I think he fancied himself as my protector.”

There was still love in those discouraged eyes, Alex thought. The Pastorellis just needed to get out of this cavernous dungeon and they would be alright.

“
I believe they let Joe drink to keep him…” Gwen’s hand floundered while she searched for a word, “−
docile
while I work.”

“
When we get out of here,” Mitch inserted, “he will be fine, Gwen.”

Gwen smiled with cheerless eyes and nodded to motivate herself. “Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”

The laugh she emitted at her own joke was laced with a dash of madness.

***

Exiting the double doors of the museum, Mitch stepped into what resembled one of those gaudy
theme
casinos. The sound of waterfalls mingled with the symphony of birds and an occasional croak of a frog−but what struck him as lacking was the rustle of palm fronds and the scrape of tree limbs that had tormented him inside the camp tent. Night sounds. Though ventilation entered this facility from air shafts, it was regulated, whereas the jungle quivered under unexpected wind patterns.

Mitch searched the vaulted ceiling. It spanned the distance of at least two football fields and was painted to resemble the sky at dusk. The sphere shape lent itself to remarkable authenticity with the emergence of stars and faux lighting to cast lavender shadows at the far ends of the dome. The walls mimicked the craggy rock texture of a cave, but in spots, the rough injection of tinted concrete could be discerned. From one of the rock faces, a waterfall erupted, pouring down into a lagoon that fissured into a small stream circling the grounds, its bed replete with black and yellow-flecked fish.