Working swiftly and silently, the Mayas disarmed Hooker and the others and took charge of their packs. They examined the weapons with interest, sighting along the barrels of the rifles and expertly swishing the machetes through the air. They went through the clothing of all four, taking the knives from Hooker and Chaco and feeling over the women’s bodies somewhat more than was necessary. Connie kept her eyes averted, while Alita glared at their captors.
From the moment the spear went through Manuel, the Indians spoke not a word. They communicated with each other through grunts and hand signals. They made their orders clear with short, emphatic jabs of the spears they carried.
Chaco, the surviving chiclero, was the first of the group to react. He picked out the Maya who seemed to be in charge and began talking to him in the rapid, stuttering dialect Hooker had first heard him use.
Hooker moved close to Alita. “What’s the little fuck saying?” he asked.
Alita listened for a moment, then translated. “He is telling their leader that he is a friend and admirer of the Mayas and his only purpose in accompanying the gringos on this trip was to see that you did not desecrate any of the ancient holy shrines. He offers now to be of service to his new friends in anything they might desire.”
“I never did like that Indian,” Hooker said.
Two of the Mayas took a cursory look at Manuel, who lay on his back with the spear pointing to the sky. Already the zopilotes circled above. Assured that the big man was dead, they gestured to the leader, who nodded satisfaction. He grunted an order, and two of the Indians sprang forward with lengths of stout hemp twine to bind the wrists of Hooker, Chaco, and the women. The knots were tight, but they left enough slack for reasonable movement of the hands. Buzz was left untied and given his makeshift cane. The Mayas led them back through the brush to the trail. None of the Mayas said anything, but the way they handled the spears made conversation unnecessary.
At one point, Buzz, limping along in front of Hooker, turned to say, “I think I know where we’re going.”
“To the city?” Hooker said. “Iztal?”
“Looks like it.”
They were nudged into silence by the blunt end of a spear carried by one of the Mayas.
Up in front, Chaco continued to plead his case in a whiny voice to the leader of the Mayan party while gesturing as best as he could with his bound hands. Hooker kept his mind busy with thoughts of what he would do to the rotten little traitor if he ever got the chance.
The light was beginning to fail when they reached the wall of the city. It loomed suddenly before them out of the jungle, twelve feet high, made of perfectly fitted ancient stones. It was covered with lichens and vines but seemingly in excellent repair. It curved away from them, vanishing into the jungle growth again within a few feet. They were passed through a heavy wooden gate, which closed solidly behind them.
In seven years spent in Mexico, Hooker had seen his share of ruins — Aztec, Toltec, Mayan. But he never expected to see an ancient city like this in a state of perfect preservation and with people actually living in it.
Behind him, Alita, who had never been particularly religious, crossed herself and muttered a prayer. Connie Braithwaite gazed around wide-eyed.
Buzz turned and muttered, “This is the place. That big stone building over there, the one that looks like a pyramid, is the temple I told you about. They kept me in a hut way off to the right from here.”
In the failing light, Hooker could see all or part of a dozen good-sized buildings of stone and mortar. Along the perimeter of the wall were huts of upright stakes and interwoven palm fronds. Most curious of all was a network of leaves and branches suspended on poles so that it covered the buildings and as much as he could see of the surrounding wall. Hooker recognized it as a fairly sophisticated form of camouflage.
The five captives were herded into a round building with thick stone walls and a single entrance. The top of the doorway was so low that the two men had to stoop to enter. The heads of the women barely cleared. Two spear-carrying Mayas positioned themselves outside the entrance. A third came in with them and took up a station at the doorway.
Buzz sank to the floor with a sigh and began massaging his leg where the artificial foot was strapped on.
“You okay?” Hooker asked.
“Yeah. Just don’t ask me to kick anybody for a while.”
Hooker touched Alita on the arm. He nodded toward their guard. “See if you can talk to this guy. Find out what gives.”
“I’ll try.”
Alita walked over to the guard and spoke rapidly in the Mayan language. She punctuated her conversation with the choppy hand gestures the Mayas used, pointing to herself and to the others to emphasize what she was saying.
The guard listened impassively, giving no sign that he understood. When Alita had finished, he answered in a burst of rapid talk, pointing for Alita to return to the others.
“Well?” Hooker said when she returned to his side.
“He speaks an ancient Mayan tongue that I do not know,” she said. “If he understands what I say, he gives no sign. I tell you one thing; he does not want to be friends.”
“I suspected that.”
Hooker became aware of someone sobbing. He turned to see that Connie had slumped to a sitting position, her back against the rough stone wall, head in her hands. He knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.
Connie seized his wrist. “God, what a dumb, babyish thing to do. Give me a minute and I’ll be all right.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I might even join you.”
She took several deep breaths, wiped her nose, and looked at him. “Thanks, Hooker.” After a moment, she said, “What do you think they’re going to do to us?”
“We’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, try not to think about it.”
“Sure, you can say that. You’re so damn tough. Doesn’t anything bother you?”
“Plenty bothers me. Being where we are right now bothers the hell out of me. But I know the calmer we stay, the better chance we have of getting out of here.”
He watched Connie compose her features and guessed at the effort it cost her.
“Okay, Hooker, I’ll do my damndest to stay calm, but if we ever get back to civilization, I’m going to spend the first day doing nothing but screaming.”
“Then I’ll join you for sure,” he said.
Through the entrance to their building, they watched it grow dark outside. After an hour or so, one of the guards came in with food. Another used a knife to cut the ropes that bound them.
“Oh, boy,” Connie said, massaging her wrists, “tortillas and beans. My favorite.”
“At least they’re feeding us,” Hooker said. “That’s a good sign.”
“I’ll try to look at it that way.”
They all gathered around the single bowl and dug in. Chaco darted in long enough to scoop out a double handful, then retreated to his spot at the feet of the guard. The others ate with an appetite that surprised them.
“Nothing like being tied up and marched through the jungle all day to make you hungry,” Buzz said.
No one laughed.
After they ate, pallets of straw were brought and laid out on the floor. A guard carried in the contents of their packs and dumped them in a pile. A quick look through told Hooker that anything that might have been used as a weapon had been removed.
Under the unblinking watch of their inside guard, the four of them stretched out on the too-short pallets and tried to get some rest. Chaco, determined to disassociate himself from the others, dragged his pallet over as close to the guard as he could.
Under any conditions, it would have been difficult sleeping on the hard ground after the free-swinging hammocks. Hooker imagined all manner of little creatures crawling into his clothes and wondered how the others were doing. At least, he thought, it might help them forget their bigger problems for a while.
Sometime during the night, the rain began. At first, it was just a whisper across the roof of their building, but it soon grew to an uneven drumming as the water spilled through the leaf-covered netting above them. The floor was raised enough so the water did not run in from outside, but the dampness of the air permeated everything. Hooker could not remember a more unpleasant night.
The entrance had lightened to pale gray when two Mayas came in and prodded the captives to their feet. They were lined up against the rear wall; then one of the guards went outside. He returned in several minutes with a wrinkled little Indian dressed in an ornate blue robe trimmed in silver. He wore a spectacular headdress fashioned from the bright blue feathers of the Yucatan jay. His eyes were invisible in the shadows of their deep sockets. He raised an ancient oil lantern and peered into the face of each of the captives.
Buzz spoke to Hooker out of the side of his mouth. “We’re in trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s the priest. The one I saw in the temple carving up the girl.”
One of the guards jabbed Buzz in the ribs, and he shut up.
Chaco moved away from the wall with his hands held before him in a supplicating position. He spoke rapidly to the Mayan priest, his voice quivering with emotion. The old Indian listened impassively, then motioned to the pair who had come in with him. The three of them stepped out through the doorway, the two guards holding a canopy over the head of the priest to protect him from the rain.
“The little snake begs mercy for himself,” Alita said. “He offers to help these people dispose of the rest of us in any way they choose.”
“They put the spear through the wrong chiclero,” Buzz said.
Chaco edged closer to the silent guard at the door.
After a moment, the priest came back in with the two guards flanking him. He pointed a bony finger at Chaco and beckoned him to come. The little man obeyed, and the guards immediately took up positions on either side of him. He flashed one quick smile of triumph back at the people left behind and walked out with the priest and his guards.