A Matter of Trust

10 - Exposure

Vincent sat in the hired jeep in the shade of the hotel portico waiting for Claude to appear. He had contacted Gravestone by coded email in the hotel's complimentary technical room and vociferously complained about Claude.

Gravestone's hasty reply explained that he could care less about Claude's personal behaviour, what was important was Vincent's mission. Vincent had erased the message and cursed aloud.

They had invited the woman over to their table with relative ease and shared their meals and a number of drinks before accompanying her back to her rooms in a three-storey house on a side street near the beach.

Almost immediately, Claude became aggressive and demanding; the woman, an obvious professional, tried to keep the situation under control by teasing and half-hearted compliance.

When Claude struck her and Vincent tried to intervene, they had a brief scuffle ending with Claude producing a nasty looking knife and threatening to dismember Vincent if he didn't bugger off.

Now he sat with his hat brim low and his sun glasses on even though it was in the shade because the morning news had reported the brutal slaying of a well known prostitute in her own room.

The police were looking for a tall, dark complexioned male about six feet tall with longish black hair. Vincent knew immediately who it was and what had happened and his quickly placed phone call to Gravestone had yielded nothing but a reprimand for wasting time instead of finding the girl and the statue.

He looked up as Claude strode through the hotel doors and made for the jeep, arrogantly careless about possible recognition. He tossed his bag in the back, climbed inside and immediately lit up a small cigar.

"What are waiting for?"

The driver looked at Vincent and put the jeep in gear, speeding out of the hotel drive and onto the main street back toward the airport.

A smug looking guard stopped the jeep at the gate and leaned on the door frame sneering at the passengers. He stared at the side of the driver's head until the man produced a handful of bills, then he straightened up and banged on the roof for him to move on.

"What a place," Vincent complained. "Everybody's got their hand out for every little thing."

The driver said nothing, pulling into the parking in front of the terminal and jumping out to help with the bags.

"That's okay José, I got it." Vincent stuffed a fistful of pesos into the man's shirt pocket.

"Thank you, señor... and my name is Enrico."

"Who gives a shit. Here grab those." Claude shoved his suitcase and his carry-on at the young driver and strode off into the terminal.

"Your amigo is not-"

"He's not my amigo and I don't wanna hear about it, okay?" Vincent traipsed after Claude with the driver struggling behind.

Minatitlan was cooking under another high, harsh sun in spite of the weak breeze swirling inland off the Gulf. Vincent was sweat-soaked and miserable, his finger still throbbed and the splint felt hot and tacky by the time they found the driver who had taken Gretta's party to San Lorenzo,

Picking up the weapon had taken so little time that Vincent had nothing left to do but sit, wait and drink. Thomaso Perez looked distinctly unhappy as he pulled up with Claude next to the cantina, where Vincent waited. "This is the peon that took them inland," Claude scoffed cruelly. "He doesn't really want our business but he's gonna take us anyway, isn't that right Beaner?"

Vincent scowled as the driver stared stubbornly ahead, and loaded the bags in the back, joining them and scrunching down for the long drive.

Captain Miguel Gomez had watched the two men with interest as they left the terminal and after checking with the airline people, he ordered his driver to head back to the station; Captain Gomez was going to be busy on the telephone and the radio.

*****

They heard it before they saw it. The distinct sound of water as it roared over a precipice. When they pushed through the ocean of dense ferns into the small clearing, Arnold gasped aloud.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Gretta dropped her pack and walked to the edge of the rock face, laughing as the spray from the falls splashed her legs.

"I thought we would be at the top for some reason," Arnold said. Joining her and looking up to where the thin fall of water seemed to jump from the cliff. "I guess you've seen this before."

"Actually no. I never got to this dig, as a matter of fact, I haven't been back here for some time and never to this spot." She pointed to the forest downstream. "That's probably all new in the last few months."

"How can anyone map the place then?"

"Over here!" The professor's excited voice brought them both running to the base of a massive tree with thick vines choking its base. "Look, a small stone pile with markings!"

Gretta squatted down and brushed the vines aside then using a hanky soaked with water from her canteen, she wiped the accumulated dirt from the stones.

"What do see?" Arnold couldn't make head or tail of anything.

Gretta touched each stone with the tips of her fingers, hesitating and then moving on. When she reached the bottom she sat back on her haunches and scratched her chin.

"It's Uncle William's message all right, I recognize the code key he used. What I don't get is it's just a few symbols and a small arrow, " she pointed to the mark and both men leaned closer.

"Where's the rest of the message?" The professor asked.

"There isn't any. Just the arrow and it points across the falls. That means we have to climb up there once we're across."

"How the heck do you get that from an arrow?"

"The symbols ahead of it. Don't worry, Arny, I'm reading it correctly."

"Then what don't you get? You said--"

"I just thought there would be more. There isn't but up there is where we go."

Arnold looked up to the ridge where the falls began and uttered a muffled oath.

The professor stood and gazed up the height of the falls. "I wonder where the best crossing might be."

They spread out and examined the riverbank for a place to ford, cautious not to lose sight of one another. Arnold spent as much time watching the bush behind him, spooked by the strange sounds and snapping branches.

When he heard Gretta shout he happily ran back upstream to where she and the professor were standing.

"This looks good," she said. "We can use that rock out there to string a safety rope."

"How do we get it there in the first place?"

"I'll wade over with the rope around my waist," she answered brightly. Gretta dropped her pack and tied the rope the professor had readied about her slim waist. She stepped into the swift moving water and yelped at the temperature. "Oooh, cold!"

"Be careful," Arnold blurted, catching the sly smile from the professor. Smile all you want. I don't want to be left out here on my own.