Hurricane Gold Page 18

  ‘Two…’

  ‘Wait –’

  ‘Three!’

  It all happened very fast, and James recognised the look on Manny’s face. It was the same startled, disbelieving look he’d had when James had pushed him out of the window in Tres Hermanas.

  One moment he’d been dozing peacefully in the car, the next he was flying out into the night, flapping his arms.

  There was a second’s silence in the car and then James and Precious erupted into screams of triumph and crazy laughter. James stamped on the accelerator. Behind them they could hear distant gunshots, but they were clear. They had done it. Manny the Girl had been left for dust.

  They drove on, chatting excitedly, until James couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and they pulled off the road under some trees. They searched the car, and James stuffed Manny’s stolen banknotes into his pockets. They had been hoping to find some food as well, but all they turned up was some half-rotten fruit and a sack of dry biscuits that had gone soggy. They were too hungry to be fussy, and crammed handfuls of them into their mouths.

  Before going to sleep James studied the map he had taken all those days ago from the Duesenberg. There were very few roads in this region, and their route took them south-west into the Chiapas highlands, a remote, jungly area that stretched all the way down to the border with Guatemala.

  ‘Is it much further to Palenque?’ said Precious.

  ‘I don’t think so, said James. ‘A day at the most.’

  They settled down on the ground, the bright stars twinkling between the black leaves of the overhanging trees, and James was too tired to feel anything at all. Neither hope nor fear nor excitement.

  When he woke it was morning. It was barely light and the day was dawning grey and cold and drizzly. Half an hour later they were back on the road, which began to climb slowly upward into the Chiapas. The sun burnt off the clouds and it became warm and humid in the car.

  They scrounged some petrol in a little settlement, where the village chief was the proud owner of an ancient model T Ford, and drove all morning, on winding back roads that took them deeper and deeper into jungle. It was difficult to follow the map, which was only a rough approximation of this out-of-the-way part of the country. Several times they reached a dead end and had to backtrack and they would have been altogether lost if they hadn’t eventually stumbled across a logging camp where they got directions. In mid-afternoon, to their intense relief, they spotted an old hand-painted sign for Palenque.

  It took them another hour to find the airstrip, half-hidden among the trees. They had almost given up hope when they rounded a bend, the vegetation opened up, and there was a wide bright patch of closely cropped grass under a clear blue sky.

  And sitting out on the strip, tilted to one side, its landing gear broken and the tip of one wing stuck into the ground, was Jack Stone’s plane.

  ‘We’re there,’ said Precious as they drifted to a halt. ‘We made it. I can’t believe it.’

  James said nothing. He was too tense. Yes, they’d made it. But now what?

  There was no sign of Mrs Glass. Had she been and gone? Had she not arrived yet? There didn’t seem to be anyone around, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

  He picked his gun from where he’d left it on the floor, opened the car door and stepped out.

  Off to one side was a long, low hut with a roof of thatched palm leaves. He took a step towards it.

  A bird screeched.

  He sensed movement and froze. There was a sudden loud bang as a bullet punched into the front of the Dodge with a dull clank and a jet of steam hissed out of the punctured radiator.

  James threw himself to the ground as a second shot sent a bullet whistling over his head and off into the trees.

  19

  Palenque

  ‘Stand up and put your hands on your head, señor!’

  James looked up. A lanky Mexican had come out of the hut holding a shotgun.

  ‘Drop your gun and get up!’

  James let go of the pistol and stood.

  ‘This gun is loaded with buckshot, señor,’ said the Mexican. ‘At this range it will cut you in half where you stand. Now put your hands on your head.’

  James did as he was told.

  Two more Mexicans appeared from the bushes. It must have been one of them who had shot at him.

  ‘Who are you?’ said the first Mexican.

  James heard the car door opening behind him and wanted to shout at Precious to stay where she was, but he couldn’t risk it. The man with the shotgun seemed in control, but the other two looked nervous and jumpy.

  ‘Beto!’ Precious called out. ‘It’s Beto, Dad’s co-pilot.’

  The man lowered his shotgun.

  ‘Precious? Is it you?’

  James let out his breath as Precious ran across the grass towards the others.

  He sat down. He wasn’t sure how much more excitement he could stand.

  Later on, inside the hut, while James and Precious had their first proper meal in days, Beto told them what had happened.

  The plane had been badly damaged in the storm, but Stone had managed to land it safely. With the landing gear broken, there was no way of taking off again, though, so they were stranded here until spare parts arrived. Using the plane’s radio, they had eventually made contact with the port authority in Vera Cruz, and a day later they got word via Garcia that Precious, JJ and James were safe and had gone inland to Puente Nuevo. Stone and Charmian had wanted to set off back, but they had no means of transport and were miles from the nearest town. Stone had radioed for help and arranged for a car to drive over from Tabasco to pick them up. But the car never arrived. Nor did the other members of Charmian’s expedition. The storm had changed everything.

  ‘Then we got word from Vera Cruz,’ said Beto. ‘A Japanese man had turned up there with JJ.’

  ‘JJ?’ Precious exclaimed. ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Beto, showing a broad, gap-toothed smile and a shining gold tooth. ‘The message was from the hospital. He had hurt his leg, but he was OK.’

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ said Precious and she burst into tears.

  ‘Your father, he went crazy, though,’ said Beto. ‘He didn’t know what do. In the end he set off on foot with Charmian and the guide, Mendoza. They were hoping to find a car, some way of getting to Vera Cruz.’

  ‘When was this?’ said Precious.

  ‘Two days ago,’ said Beto. ‘I tried to tell them not to go. These are dangerous parts. The roads are not safe, even with Mendoza helping. I couldn’t stop your father, though. He told me to wait here and guard the plane. These other two muchachos work here. Your father said that if anyone tried to take anything from the plane we should shoot them.’

  ‘Has anyone else been here?’ said James. ‘A man and a woman?’

  ‘Nobody has been,’ said Beto. ‘Yours are the first new faces I have seen since we arrived. I am glad you are safe, Precious. Your father will be pleased. Every morning at eight o’clock I warm up the radio. I leave it on only for only a few minutes to save the battery. Maybe tomorrow Señor Stone will make contact.’

  ‘There are others coming,’ said James and he told Beto about Mrs Glass and Strabo. When he had finished Beto looked worried, but he shrugged. As if the matter was out of his hands and in the hands of God.

  ‘When will they get here, do you think?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s only a matter of time,’ said James. ‘We have to get away.’

  ‘I cannot,’ said Beto with a sad smile. ‘I promised Señor Stone I would stay.’

  ‘But what can be so valuable on his plane that you should guard it with your life?’ said James. ‘Surely not Charmian’s supplies?’ Even as he said it, though, he knew the answer.

  After they had eaten he took Precious outside.

  ‘The stolen plans,’ he said, once he was sure that their conversation could not be overheard.

  ‘What about them?’ said Precious.


  ‘They must be on the plane,’ said James. ‘They must have been there all along. It was too risky for your father to take them with him to Vera Cruz.’

  ‘On the plane?’ said Precious. ‘But where? That would be even less safe.’

  ‘What did Mrs Glass say?’ said James. ‘Your father fitted secret compartments. Come on.’

  They climbed into the Tin Goose. Behind the cockpit was a seating area for six passengers and then a storage hold, which was still filled with the boxes and crates for Charmian’s now-abandoned expedition. It was difficult moving about as the plane was on such a tilt, but they clung to the bulkheads and explored as best they could.

  It was Precious who spotted it, underneath one of the boxes: a square metal plate held down by four screws that didn’t match the others on the plane. They shifted the box for a better look and then poked around until they discovered a toolkit strapped to the side of the fuselage near the tail. James took it down and selected a screwdriver.

  The screws came up easily, and when they lifted the panel clear they found several carefully wrapped items, neatly stowed in a hidden storage space.

  There were a couple of small jade statues, some Mayan gold jewellery and a bulging leather pouch, stuffed with papers and bearing the unmistakable insignia of the US Navy.

  Precious sat there on the sloping floor with the papers in her lap. She looked deflated, as if she might start to cry.

  ‘Half of me was hoping not to find anything,’ she said. ‘I wanted to believe that Mrs Glass was lying.’

  ‘No,’ said James. ‘Remember what you said? You could still be right.’

  Precious stared at James. There was a glimmer of hope in her hollow, red-rimmed eyes.

  James gripped her by the shoulders.

  ‘Your father was intending to return them,’ he said firmly, almost believing the lie himself.

  Precious brightened, and became brisk and businesslike. ‘Yes,’ she said, standing up awkwardly. ‘And we’ve got to keep them out of Mrs Glass’s hands until we can get them back to him. It’s up to us now.’

  ‘Do you think Beto knows?’ said James, as they jumped down from the plane.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Precious, ‘but we shouldn’t say anything. The fewer people who know about this the better.’

  ‘The first thing we have to do is get well away from here,’ said James. ‘It’s only a matter of time before Mrs Glass shows up with Strabo.’

  ‘I cannot leave here,’ said Beto when they told him they were leaving. ‘I gave Señor Stone my word.’

  ‘It’s just an airplane,’ said Precious. ‘Nobody can steal it. Wouldn’t my father rather you took us to him than stayed here?’

  ‘Sí, Sí, I am sure,’ said Beto, his face serious. ‘But your car is broken and we will need to walk. It is late now. Soon it will be dark. We must wait until the morning.’

  ‘It’s too dangerous,’ said James. ‘They could turn up at any minute.’

  ‘It will be too dangerous to leave tonight,’ said Beto. ‘And the radio is here. I am sure that Señor Stone will call in the morning. Then I can tell him what we are doing. I can ask him if it is all right to leave the plane.’

  ‘If Mrs Glass arrives before then, she’ll kill us all,’ said Precious.

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Beto, putting his hands to his temples. ‘Let me think.’ He was silent for a long while before coming to a decision.

  ‘This is what we will do,’ he said. ‘You two will go from here to somewhere safe. You will hide. I will stay with the guards. We will be ready if they come. We have our guns. If all goes well, I will speak to Señor Stone on the radio at eight o’clock, then I will come for you, and we will leave together.’

  ‘All right,’ said James, who could see that there was no point in arguing with him.

  ‘But where will we hide?’ said Precious.

  ‘In the jungle,’ said Beto. ‘Go to the city of Palenque. There is a track that runs from behind the hut. It is a half-hour walk, no more. I will give you a flashlight and some food and water. You keep to the path and you will get there, no trouble.’

  Fifteen minutes later James and Precious were walking down a narrow path that had been hacked out of the rainforest, the stolen plans safely tucked inside a leather satchel they had found in the hut.

  The sun was going down, and it was the noisiest time of day. Every animal and insect for miles around seemed to be calling to its friends, so that the air was filled with a tinkling, zizzing, chirruping cacophony.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Precious, slapping away a mosquito. ‘If Palenque’s a city, and it’s only half an hour away, why couldn’t Dad go there for help?’

  ‘Oh, Palenque’s a city, all right,’ said James. ‘But nobody’s lived there for nearly a thousand years. It was built by the Mayans, who abandoned it when the jungle took over. Charmian told me all about it. I was quite jealous when I realised I wouldn’t be coming down here with her. It’s funny how things change. She’s abandoned her expedition and here I am trekking into the unknown.’

  When they arrived at the ruined city it was more amazing than either of them could have imagined. Standing, half-swallowed-up by the jungle, were the remains of many huge buildings – pyramids and temples and palaces – their intricately carved white stonework glowing golden in the dying rays of the sun. Everywhere they turned there was more to look at – chambers, terraces, staircases, mysterious grassy mounds – and, in the centre, on a raised, stepped platform was a crumbling mass of buildings topped by an open-sided, four-tiered tower.

  ‘We should try and get up there,’ said James, pointing. ‘It’ll be safe and will make a good look-out.

  They climbed the steps and at the top were faced with a maze of corridors, courtyards and interlinked halls.

  ‘What do you think this building was?’ said Precious, marvelling at the carvings and glyphs on the walls depicting an ancient, long-vanished civilisation that looked utterly alien.

  ‘Maybe a palace,’ said James. ‘It’s certainly the most important-looking building here.’

  They found their way to the base of the central tower but discovered they could only climb up to the first level.

  ‘Never mind. This’ll do very well,’ said James, scanning the clearing below. The sun had gone down and the sky was darkening rapidly. From up here they could see out over the treetops. Palenque was built on a high ridge and had a commanding view of the countryside for miles around. They were surrounded by a black blanket of vegetation that seemed to go on forever.

  They shared out their food and, to the accompaniment of frogs and crickets, they ate sitting on the hard stone floor. Afterwards, they settled down to try to sleep. They had brought blankets with them from the airstrip but it was desperately uncomfortable and horribly cold, and they lay there looking out at the stars twinkling in the sky and listening to the ceaseless chatter of the wildlife.

  ‘I feel so ashamed,’ said Precious quietly.

  ‘Of your father?’ said James.

  ‘No,’ said Precious. ‘Of myself. My behaviour.’

  ‘You’re doing fine,’ said James. ‘Most people would have given up a long time ago, and not just girls.’

  ‘I’ve found out a lot about myself,’ said Precious. ‘And when I think back to how I used to behave I feel terrible. The way I treated the servants. I learnt it from my mother, I suppose. She never wanted to move to Mexico. She missed America. The fine shops, the restaurants, the people. She hated it here, and I guess she took it out on the servants. I thought that was how you were supposed to behave. I guess I started doing it to try and impress her, and it became a habit. It made me feel important to tell the servants off. I would never do it again. Never. I have seen how kind and brave the Mexicans are. Whenever I close my eyes I see that poor man, Garcia, falling down dead with JJ in his arms.’

  ‘I think about it, too,’ said James. ‘It was horrible.’

  ‘And now Beto,’ said Pr
ecious. ‘He doesn’t have to stay and guard my dad’s plane. He’s loyal, a man of his word.’

  ‘He’s also stubborn,’ said James. ‘And I hope it doesn’t cost him his life.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that,’ said Precious, propping herself up on one elbow. ‘I couldn’t bear for anyone else to be killed.’

  ‘It’s more than likely,’ said James, ‘until we get the papers back to where they belong.’

  ‘We will do it,’ said Precious, lying down again. ‘I know we will.’

  20

  Death in the Jungle

  James slept badly, his sleep was shallow and troubled by unsettling dreams in which he was trying to escape from some dark thing, but kept getting pulled back. Sometimes he dreamt of his own mother. She was sitting reading him a bedtime story, but whenever he looked at her she turned into Mrs Glass.

  He awoke just as the first shafts of sunlight lanced over the treetops and in through the open sides of the tower. He could see squares of pinkish-grey sky framed by the corner supports.

  He groaned. His body always felt worse first thing in the morning. He was aware of every bruise, scrape and cut. His head throbbed. His ribs ached all over. He was cold and damp and more tired than when he’d gone to sleep.

  But he was alive, and with a bit of stretching and light exercise things wouldn’t seem so bad. He forced himself upright and rolled his shoulders, loosening his stiff neck.

  Precious was still sleeping, her head resting on her forearm, her face squashed out of shape. He let her sleep on, and sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the platform watching the new day form itself. It was almost as if he was still dreaming. There was something so unreal about the place. The big, square pyramids topped by fantastically carved buildings, the jungle trying to fight its way back where it had been cleared, the eerie dawn light that made the tops of the structures bright and shining and left the ground dark and murky and lifeless.

  Presently he heard movement behind him and turned to see Precious stirring. She opened her bleary eyes and blinked at him.