The Mayan Priest (8 page)

Tomorrow was the 27th of June 2009 and in his home town of Melbourne, Australia, it was the final school day for term two. He had been required to spend many late nights finishing the midyear reports for his grade six students and thankfully he had only one remaining. He had planned to complete that this morning.

Adam had been a teacher for twelve years and at the age of thirty-two, this was the first time he had taught anyone over the age of seven. In grade six, the average age was eleven and he found that he enjoyed the maturity that came with the older children. He no longer had to console crying kids, help them eat their lunches and combat temper tantrums. Even the fanatical parents who constantly invaded his office to criticise his teaching and ensure the wellbeing of their precious little ones had drastically reduced the frequency of their visits. It made for a pleasant change.

Although teaching afforded him a reasonable wage, it was barely enough to cover those unexpected bills that life threw his way and last week was the bearer of a beauty. He was thrown a huge curve ball when he was pulled over by the police and his vehicle declared unroadworthy. The local mechanic gave him a hefty account of three thousand dollars to repair the 1997 Toyota Corolla, leaving him gasping for breath and feeling like he needed to rob the local bank. Not that he was the sort of person to commit a crime, but he had no idea where to find the finances. Although that wasn’t entirely true. He could approach his parents, but getting money from them was more painful than mowing the lawn.

Ever since they had learnt of his desire to become a primary school teacher, they had rubbished the thought and when his wishes became a reality, he was often belittled. His father had been a successful tennis player and his mother a golf pro. After their careers had finished, they both taught up-and-coming youngsters and referred to their work as ‘an extension of their illustrious professions’. True to their characters, they both charged exorbitant rates for their ‘exclusive’ services and as such often jested at Adam‘s measly pay. Their ridicule at his expense hurt more than he cared to admit, but in the end he concluded that teaching children to read and write was far nobler than their endeavours. He simply learnt to avoid them where possible.

Therefore, when Adam concluded that he could not ask his parents to foot the three thousand dollar bill and he had to find the funds himself, one particular hexagonal shaped disk came to mind. He did not want to sell the paintings because of the enjoyment they provided, but the disk was of no significance to him and the obvious choice. He had pulled it from its box the previous evening and noted the finely crafted hieroglyphs, the gold and jade inner and outer trim and the precision with which it was created. It had to be worth at least three thousand dollars if not more. He proceed to list it on eBay for three thousand five hundred dollars as a ’buy now’ price.

Reaching into his built-in cupboard, Adam grabbed a pair of black slacks, a creased but clean casual green shirt (he hated ironing), a brown jacket and his favourite RM Williams boots before quickly dressing. He hurried to the kitchen, stopping via the spare room to turn on the computer, and made himself a large mug of coffee and a slice of vegemite toast. He detested nothing more than the small cups he received at a restaurant, often finished before he had even begun to enjoy it.

The large hall mirror revealed that there some work required before he would look respectable enough to go to work this morning, but right at this moment he did not really care. He only wanted to know if someone had bought his disk, so he switched on the computer and waited until the familiar red, blue, yellow and green eBay symbol popped up in the top left-hand corner. Adam punched in his username and password, his eyes glued to the screen in expectation, in the hope that he was out of debt, but it was not to be. A big fat ‘0’ shone depressingly in front of him. Not one person had placed a bid.

Adam swallowed his coffee in one large gulp. If it did not go today, he would have to lower himself and pay his parents a visit. He could see it now. The subordinate tone of voice he would have to adopt, the righteous pitch of theirs. Having to confess he chose the wrong profession, hearing about how great theirs are. Pleading for the money, being told they were doing him a great favour.

The thought of it made him ill.

Tossing his cup in anger against the vinyl clad door, he watched it shatter as it bounced onto the brown hall tiles. ‘Shit … shit … shit,’ he cursed in frustration as he jumped up and went to the laundry to collect the old broom and shovel, all the while running each probable scenario on the outcome with his parents.

He did not like any option.

Deep in deliberation, Adam disposed of his mess before proceeding to the bathroom to put in his contact lenses. He had just finished wiping away the resultant tears when he was interrupted by a shuffle at the front door. It was a faint sound that could only be detected with excellent hearing, something which Adam could boast to having. He glanced at his Casio wristwatch, noting that it was still only 6.30 am, much too early for the mail carrier or any visitors. Perhaps it was an animal or the tabby cat from next door that annoyingly chased the native wildlife from his front garden.

Dismissing the sound as nothing of significance, Adam turned back to the mirror and gazed at his reflection. He had olive skin and a dark, thick mop of hair. Unlike his parents who were both sporty and well built, Adam was wiry and thin. His height of five foot eleven also made him smaller than his six foot two father who often jested that he was someone else’s son although old family photos had him as a spitting image of his paternal grandfather.

As a child, Adam had always been called a nerd and he supposed that was the image he still projected. His face was slender and clean-shaven and his slightly hooded hazel eyes were wide set. He had small but well formed lips, a boyish grin and small scar across his cheek from a cricket bat. But despite what he considered to be reasonable charm, he still had trouble finding the perfect woman. Perhaps he was too picky. His thoughts were interrupted again by another noise outside his bedroom window.

Adam’s senses were suddenly on full alert and he was bothered by the fact that his bedroom window only sported a small ledge. There were no trees or other climbing apparatus near it to allow a cat or any other four-legged creature like a possum or mouse access. The logical explanation would have been a large bird, like a crow or a magpie, but the bang had been too loud, so he decided that it was time to investigate.

By nature, Adam was not easily afraid, but he was cautious, so he decided it was best to see what he could discover by peering up under the thermal-lined fabric. Lowering himself onto the floor, Adam slid across until he was positioned to the right of the window with his head just beneath the overhang. It afforded him the perfect spot and initially everything appeared to be in order, but within a couple of seconds a hand came into view. It held a tool that he recognised as a glass cutter, leaving no doubt as to the intruder’s intentions. They were going to break into his home.

Adam crawled out as silently as possible and raced for the phone. He had intended calling the police but was restrained by an unknown hand that had just clamped itself solidly over his mouth. His first reaction was to struggle, but fighting was not his strong point, so he allowed his body to slacken and accept its fate, all the while his heart pounding furiously against his chest. To say he was nervous was an understatement.

‘Shoosh, Adam,’ whispered his attacker, the sound of a calm voice catching him completely by surprise. ‘I’m not here to hurt you, rather to get you out of here before they break into your home.’ His comment coincided with the shatter of glass in his room. ‘But first we must get that jade disk. It’s what they’ve come for.’

Adam turned and found himself gazing into the imploring eyes of a member of the police force. The blond-haired, blue-eyed young man smiled, and the look of genuine kindness convinced Adam to trust him, not that he had much choice in the matter though. He pointed to the drawer in the television cabinet which, when opened, revealed itself to be the proverbial junk drawer. On the top was a shallow blue box the size of a small dinner plate and inside an exquisitely carved disk. Adam nervously scanned the room, grabbing a hessian shopping bag from the nearby couch and throwing the disk inside.

Adam raced after the police officer down the short hallway to the rear door located in the shoe-box size laundry. It was still slightly ajar with no evidence of having been forced. Adam frowned. He wondered how the officer had gotten inside so easily, his query answered when the officer flashed the hair clip he was still holding. When this was over, Adam decided that he would buy an alarm.

At first Adam had expected that his rear yard would be inundated by intruders, but he was surprised to find it empty. The thieves had clearly made the decision to enter down the sideways, which allowed easy access to and from the busy road in which he lived. So many cars drove up and down his street that an extra one would not attract any attention even at 6.45 in the morning.

As he exited the house, Adam heard the squeak of the bedroom door and felt a moment of melancholy and regret. One part of him wished he had stayed to defend his humble abode, considering he knew they would ransack and break what little he owned.

‘No need to worry. I’ve reported the intruders to the local station and they will be here shortly,’ said the officer, grinning as he noted the distressed look on Adam’s face.

Adam was very confused. The officer had reported the ‘break and enter’ before it had occurred. How could he have known that unless he was in with them?

Coming to a sudden halt, Adam was about to turn to the officer when a man garbed in a black ski mask jumped the fence, landing less than six feet from where they were standing.

Adam froze to the spot, his arms and legs stuck to him like glue. Even if he wanted to move, he didn’t think he was capable; he was too scared. The man was pointing a gun directly at him, his demands to hand over the bag going unheard as Adam felt himself drift in and out of a trance-like state. He had never experienced anything like this in his life, and the sudden understanding of how fragile his life was scared the shit out of him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Adam cocked his head slightly to the left and noted that the police officer had managed to slip his hand unnoticed under his jacket. He realised in an instant that if he ducked, the officer would have a direct line of fire to the intruder. Adam dropped to the ground quicker than a lead weight, his actions stunning the intruder momentarily and allowing the officer to fire. The intruder died instantly.

‘Hurry!’ snapped the officer as they fled to the left side of the house and scaled the fence, dropping into the neighbours’ yard as the further shots imbedded themselves into the wood only inches from where they were standing.

Adam raced after the police officer down a concrete path, through a garden bed and into a waiting white Holden VE Commodore before speeding off in excess of 94 miles per hour. He was left with no doubt that the officer was trying to assist him and was not part of the gang as per his initial thoughts.

The officer placed a siren on the roof of his unmarked car, the action distracting the pursuing black Chrysler, which dropped back quickly. It was one thing to chase an unknown person but to pursue the police would bring the full wrath of the force down onto the hunter, who could ill afford the attention.

Adam sank into the black fabric seats in relief as they sped past the beginnings of the early morning peak hour traffic and through the city. His mind was a blur and he felt as if he had been imbued by a full force hurricane. In the last half hour, he had been faced with his own mortality and then the death of another human being. He had seen a bullet penetrate a skull as easy as a knife cutting softened butter and the back of the head splatter like a watermelon all over his plants and garden seat. The final vision of his white iceberg roses and small garden table dripping in blood and brains had made him feel ill and even now his stomach still churned with the memory.

Adam lifted his head and gazed out of the window. They had travelled much further than he had first thought and he started to worry. The city was becoming a speck in the distance and it was very clear that they were not headed to the nearest police station. He started to wonder if his companion was a police officer at all. Perhaps he was another kidnapper after the disk that was quickly becoming a prized object. Adam gazed at the young man’s face, wishing he could read his mind.

‘Where are we going? I have students waiting for me today,’ asked Adam, his words not sounding like his own. He found himself wishing he had given into his reservations and asked his parents for the money.

‘Sorry, Adam. I have my instructions not to tell you anything until I get you to the safety of the headquarters,’ and that was all he said until they pulled into the Point Cook Air Force Base ten minutes later.

The officer drove his car through the front gates and directly to the main command centre where they were met by a group of ten men in official uniforms. His companion exited the vehicle and hurriedly but confidently approached a daunting and hefty middle-aged man who stood at least six foot six. Adam was hesitant; the man looked imposing, but the quest for information overrode his desire to stay in the vehicle, so he climbed out and followed behind.

‘Thank you Karl … good job, and within the specified time too,’ the formidable and evidently authoritative commander said to the police officer before turning his attention to Adam. Adam took a step back, feeling somewhat overwhelmed and inferior by contrast.

‘Welcome Adam. My name is Air Chief Marshall Harris Barnes and I’m about to send you to America on board that plane,’ and with that he gestured to a sleek F-111 only six hundred feet away.

‘Fuck, you’ve got to be joking, Mate!’ exclaimed Adam in disbelief. ‘What for?’ was the only sensible question he could trust himself to ask.