The Mayan Priest (30 page)

Dale felt good. He had offered a young man a chance to fulfill his dreams and knew he would not be disappointed. He was obviously dedicated, keen and eager and would prove to be a loyal employee. By the time he reached the forefront of the marina, the taxi had not moved. He knew he would see Sean bright and early in three days time.

Dale viewed the yacht club with interest. It was large, noisy and brimming with activity. The boats numbered into the hundreds and ranged from small sailboats to multimillion dollar luxury cruisers.

Preparations were underway for the unloading for those arriving and the departure of many others. Dale looked about in awe, admitting that he had no idea which area to head towards or even what he was looking for. He mentally envisaged Arun’s activities and requirements and determined the needs of his operations. If his conclusions proved correct then Arun was shipping the children in small groups to Campeche some 800 miles from here. He would need a cruiser that had the capacity to carry at least twelve passengers with a top speed of fifty knots. Even then, it would take at least thirteen hours to reach Campeche, but with all of the traffic, moving about the Gulf of Mexico and Bay of Campeche, a small passenger boat would remain largely undetected. The majority of normal cruisers were only capable of fifteen to twenty knots, so he needed something with more substance and speed, but what? The only boats capable of that pace were large modified navy boats or speedboats, none of which would fit the incognito requirements.

He stopped an older gentleman and asked for directions.

‘You’ll need to take this path down to your left and continue on past the restaurants and smaller sailboats. The larger yachts are the next berth over.’

Dale thanked the distinguished-looking man and readily followed his directions before pausing mid step. Years of training and a sixth sense set off an alarm in his head. There was a shadow behind him that did not fit into the landscape! It moved when he moved, ducked when he bent over and stepped sideways as he passed through the gate.

With an air of casualness and cautious movement, Dale wandered towards a large gleaming white boat with numerous glass panels. He knelt down, using the pretence of tying his shoelace, to view the reflection of the scene behind him. Initially there was nothing of note and Dale had to dally a little longer than he would have liked, but just as he had begun to move, a figure darted from behind the fence to an adjacent flagpole.

It was a definitely a man and he was quick. If Dale had blinked, he would have missed him. There was also an unmistakable action to his movement that was instantly recognisable as ex-military or the like.

He was being followed.

Dale quickened his pace as much as he dared. He instinctively knew that the detective was just behind him and it did not take much intelligence to realise that it was one of Arun’s men.

Dale was worried but pushed the details of his pursuer out of his mind to concentrate on his search target. He was looking for a boat capable of high speed that was not a typical cruiser or sailing boat. It would not be brightly colored or signwritten so as to attract any attention and may even be a little time worn as an added diversion. Unfortunately it was like looking for a needle in a haystack until he spotted a hull that he was familiar with. To the layman it looked the same as every other boat, but Dale recognised the altered lines instantly.

Designed in 1986, Dale had been consulted on the boat design which was ultimately destined for the Israeli navy. With a low-profile aluminium hull and false hull bilge to store the diesel fuel, the Shaldag Mk-11 was capable of his estimated top speed of fifty knots. The excellent crew quarters could easily hold ten to fifteen children and the manoeuvrability assisted in escaping any unwanted attention. It was the perfect choice although the price tag of four and a half million dollars did surprise him. Arun Keane clearly had cash to burn with money not an object when it came to protecting his empire. He was evidently wealthy beyond belief, leaving Dale to wonder just how many people were on his payroll.

Dale moved with caution towards the boat, noting that it appeared to be deserted. This would provide him with the perfect opportunity to explore, but just as he stepped onto the gangway, the boat blew up in front of his eyes. He was violently and forcefully swept off his feet and slammed face first onto the concrete path twenty feet away. The noise was deafening and the heat from the flames swept over him with the ferociousness of a lion attacking its prey. The hair on his head and hands totally evaporated and the rubber soles of his shoes softened to a pliable material that was sticky to touch. His woollen slacks and jacket withstood the temperature but were torn to pieces, leaving cuts and bruises all over his extremities.

Dale felt his body to ensure it was in one piece before concluding that he had to move. It would be an additional disaster if he was discovered in the vicinity of the debacle, but the falling debris made his escape difficult.

Dale stifled a scream of agony as he tried to stand, driven onwards only by the desire to relocate to safety before the emergency services arrived at the scene. He could already hear the sirens in the distance, but his body did not respond to the commands of his brain and he was becoming desperate when a pair of strong hands reached for him and dragged him to the nearby grassy mound. Dale sank into the lush grass, savouring the softness as if it was his own bed at home, but he was still unable to see. The blinding flash had created spots of light which temporarily impeded his sight. He would have to wait a couple of minutes for it to clear.

His brain raced at a hundred miles an hour as he tried to determine what had happened, but it was evident that someone clearly wanted to keep their secrets hidden, and it was worth blowing up a multimillion dollar boat to hide. If only he had caught a glimpse of the interior or discovered a clue!

With his vision gaining clarity, Dale eventually opened his eyes and found himself face to face with a grim-looking Sean.

‘It was your lucky day. One foot closer and you would have resembled that boat.’

Dale turned and looked at the scene behind him. Nothing but charred and decimated debris lay floating in the spot that was once occupied by The Shaldag. The boats situated next to The Shaldag, a large catamaran and a tri-level cruiser, looked as if they had been in a war. Their gleaming hulls were blackened beyond recognition and plagued with holes and the decks were littered a good foot high with charred debris. Both were tilting dangerously on the side that had previously faced the doomed boat.

What a waste!

‘Thank you, Sean. I am grateful that you hung around,’ said Dale as he noted that the young man had pulled him behind a supply shed that concealed him from the arriving firefighters.

‘Yes,’ stuttered Dale in appreciation as he viewed the first aid kit and jogging outfit Sean had given him. He also noted that Sean had removed his shoes and started to clean him up. He admitted that it was a rather strange turn of events. One minute he was the knight in shining armour and now Sean had returned the favour.

Bedecked in oversized Nike track pants, shirt, hat and runners, Dale felt both sore and stupid. He had never worn anything other than tailored clothing in his life and here he was looking like a wannabe teenager. Still, he was grateful beyond words.

Thankfully, in the few minutes he had spent recovering, a large crowd had flocked to the scene, providing them with complete anonymity, and they were able to escape unnoticed.

Once clear of potential hazards Dale’s self-control failed and he almost collapsed in pain. His body throbbed and pounded in places he didn’t know existed and his headache rivalled anything he had ever experienced before.

‘Come on. I may be a pimply teenager, but I’m not stupid. You were being followed and it can’t have been a coincidence that the boat blew up right when you were about to step foot onto the deck,’ said Sean as he passed a bottle of water and four Panadeine Forte to Dale.

He swallowed the large dose quickly, not bothering to ask why this young man travelled with a complete emergency kit, clothing and painkillers.

‘You’re right. I’m on a mission but the destruction of the boat was a large setback that my body’s not likely to recover from in a hurry,’ replied Dale, feeling somewhat deflated. This was a major impediment to his plans and he was temporarily at a loss as to what to do next. Deep in thought, Dale almost missed what Sean said next.

Sean beamed from ear to ear as Dale rang Antony Larrami and ran the registration plate through the database. He came up trumps. The vehicle belonged to Michael Brewner, an ex Navy Seal, and was sold to him by a man by the name of Rossler Townsend with an address just outside of Campeche. Dale grinned. He was pleased on two accounts; one by the offer of a helicopter from Antony and two, the added proof that Antony was not on Arun’s payroll.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Even Georgio’s masterful driving skills did not ease the rough half a mile distance between the relative security of the ancient Mayan road and the well-worn tourist route. Without stable footings, the four wheel drive bravely battled the unpredictable landscape but occasionally succumbed to an overgrown tree root and steep hill. Twice they ended up winching themselves to safety and three times they were struck by impervious tree branches. Adam instinctively ducked as a side window was shattered and the front passenger door received a sharp blow that would require more than a panel beater to repair. He also managed to be thrown forward, coming in close contact with the back of Caton’s undesirable bald head.

Even after a few conversations with him and admitting that he did have a charming smile and ready wit, Adam was no closer to liking Caton. There was something about him that did not sit right. For one thing, his bald head was too polished, his eyebrows too plucked and his muscles too toned and it did not stretch the imagination to see him at a gym, honing his persona in front of a mirror. Even the white veneered teeth hinted at a person trying to hide their true character.

Adam gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in fury. He was normally a mild-mannered person, but right at that moment, he would have loved to have punched Caton in his pearly whites. He did not appreciate being made fun of in front of Gillian.

He glanced at her, relieved to notice that she was too busy paying attention to a small animal that had crossed their path to hear a word Caton had said.

‘Okay, guys. This is as far as we can go by vehicle,’ advised Georgio as they pulled up in the vacant car park just outside the entrance complete with ticket box and gate.

‘At least we don’t have to pay,’ laughed Gillian as she gestured to the five dollar entrance fee before walking into the park.

‘I wonder what Kinix would say if he knew this magnificent place had been reduced to a mere tourist attraction,’ muttered Adam as he looked about.

Once again, they were fortunate to discover that the storm had passed and the night stars shone brightly through the remaining wisps of cloud. This was beneficial whilst they meandered through Palenque’s main plaza, but as soon as Gillian led them into the unexcavated western region, the oppressive canopy of lush forest blocked out any possible light.

They turned the torches on.

‘Why are we going this way?’ asked Caton, suddenly quiet as a couple of owls hooted nearby in the trees.

The whole effect was rather eerie. The filtering spread of light wove through the branches and only the rush of water from Palenque’s streams and the rustle of animals could be heard. It did not take much stretch of the imagination for Adam to envisage the thousands of dead souls whose homes he now trespassed through and bring it to life in his mind. What a glorious place this would have once been. The jungle had reclaimed what was once its own and the masterpieces of construction were no more than unrecognisable crumbling ruins.