Act IV: Love and Betrayal

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tulum

Through snippets of conversation, Laura was able to piece together some information about her room-mate for the night. Dana and Marcus had been talking intently, ever since the end of the main course. Hannah and Lloyd had gone for a walk along the beach with Felicity and Ethan. Sharon and John Tanner were at another table, sharing an ice-cold jug of beer with Jackie and Darryl Morgan. David sat beside Laura and, as far as she could tell, was fast asleep. Dana had studied Business in Liverpool and had spent a year as an exchange student in the Economics Department at Boston University. She had briefly been married to an American, but the relationship broke down a year after they returned to England. Her first full-time job had been importing fine fabrics from East Asia, a role she acquired thanks to family connections back in Ireland. The post had furthered her love of the exotic so, when a junior management position had arisen within Carlton Travel, she had jumped ship, despite an initial drop in salary.

As Laura continued to eavesdrop, she increasingly felt even more that Dana and she were kindred spirits, although she remained a little intimidated by her formality and vaguely regal bearing. Marcus was obviously listening to her intently. Both seemed to have forgotten Laura and David altogether about halfway through dessert, which had been a glorious mix of tropical fruit, biscuit and ice-cream. As she listened, Laura discovered very little new about Marcus, except that he had worked briefly and unsuccessfully as a junior city trader. She wondered whether there was all that much more to discover: lots of activity, but little reflection, she concluded, somewhat unkindly. Then again she, as much as these two, was just another lifestyle refugee, privileged enough to escape the constraints of a nine to five existence. Looking out from the terrace of their latest hotel onto the most perfect beach and seascape she had ever seen, she at least did not need to rationalise some self-serving explanation.

David began to snore contentedly. Laura smiled to herself. He was probably the most curious individual she had ever met: a fellow lost sheep who had somehow taken only hours to become the centre of their flock. There was something fundamentally decent about David. He had absolutely no sense of his own importance and, although he obviously experienced this as a lack of self-worth, it gave him an aura of humility and honesty that was only heightened by his willingness to joke at his own expense. Laura could imagine David too struggling with the daily grind. He simply would not have the artifice to say the right things to the right people at the right time. Froth and flotsam rise to the surface, as well as the cream. Remembering her father’s words, for the first time they made real sense to her. She wondered whether this same lack of guile accounted for David’s difficulties with women. She also had no doubt that he was far more loved than he would probably ever realise.

Laura decided to go for a walk on the beach, but she would head in the opposite direction to the others. She had found few opportunities in her life to be truly on her own and she did not want to lose this one. As she pushed herself up from the table, Dana briefly looked over to her and winked. It was clear that she was not going to be missed.

Steps led from the high terrace onto a sand-dune. Laura tottered unsteadily from the final step onto the steeply-sloping sand, her hat in one hand and a camera in the other. Slipping onto the beach, she turned to examine their new accommodation. It was one of a number of boutique hotels ranged along the coast, south of Tulum, in an area that had once been a hippy strip. It was now a niche market heaven, offering everything from eco-retreats to creative arts classes and almost every kind of relaxation therapy possible under a tropical sun. Out of curiosity she had examined the prices posted in the lobby. Though occupying only a narrow strip of tropical garden between the pothole-ridden coast road and the back of the dunes, it was the most expensive accommodation in which Laura had ever stayed. Dana had looked over her shoulder and informed her the area made so much money for foreign investors that the State Government of Quintana Roo were doing all the law allowed to declare the properties illegal, in the hope of cashing in themselves.

The main building was little more than a large, stylish beach bungalow. It was fringed by lavish huts which formed the best accommodation option, each with its own patio and jacuzzi. She and Dana were in rather noisy staff quarters, squeezed between a café and the laundry room back down by the highway, but this was still a million miles from childhood visits with bucket and spade to a windswept holiday park in the West Country.

The beach stretched in a gentle arc towards the south, disappearing into a heat haze long before it ended. Through this haze, she reasoned, must be the Sian Kaan Biosphere Reserve, their next destination and the setting for the most intrepid part of the trip. Cesar had told her that the Mayans named it the place where the sky begins and, looking now in that direction, it was not hard to see why. Laura followed a tideline, close to the token waves which slapped aimlessly upon the foreshore. Flashes of silver broke from deeper waters behind each wave, as small fishes dodged bigger ones and headed for the shallows. A pelican flapped lazily past. Laura recognised the bird, but was surprised by the larger than expected size. As she watched, it half-circled back towards her then cartwheeled suddenly into the water. Seconds later it emerged again, shaking spray from its head and gulping down the large prize stored in its gullet. Laura stopped and turned to face the distant horizon. As far as she could see there was only sea and sky. Nothing evoked the deep past more than the ocean. She felt like a child returning to its mother. An ocean was eternal; an ocean felt like home and the beating of the waves upon the sand was as sure and soothing as the beating of a mother’s heart. Laura began to cry.

There was still nobody else on the strand, but Laura was beginning to understand why. It was, she surmised, something after two o’clock in the afternoon and the sunshine was beginning to oppress, particularly as there was, as yet, little breeze. She could see a break in the dunes, flanked by a pair of cottages, so headed for this gap. As she made her way up the beach, two young Mexican children burst from the pathway and sped, laughing, towards the surf.

“Hola crayola, Gringa, Hola Crayola, Gringa” they chanted at Laura, in between breathes and conspiratorial giggles.

The little girl looked back, gauging Laura’s reaction after shooting by. As her elder brother jumped into the spray, she suddenly fell, her face burying itself in the fine white coral dust. Laura ran to assist. The girl pushed herself upwards then hurt herself more by rubbing sand deep into her eyes. She began to cry. In the pocket of her pale khaki shorts Laura found a handkerchief. She offered it to the girl, who swatted it away and cried some more. Her parents had been following on behind, the father carrying a rug and a large water bottle and the mother a picnic basket. The father squatted beside Laura, smiled apologetically, poured water onto his daughter’s upturned face, then used Laura’s handkerchief to wipe it clean.

“Would you like me to wash this for you?” He offered Laura the now grime-ridden rag.

“No, don’t worry, I have clean ones back at my hotel. I just hope your daughter is OK.”

“She is fine. I heard my children being rather disrespectful to you, so I think Gabriela owes you both an apology and a thank you for helping her.” The man looked disapprovingly at his still sniffling daughter. She stared stubbornly back at him then, unexpectedly, jumped to her feet and kissed Laura on the cheek.

“Well, I think that about covers it,” Laura laughed.

The girl beamed at her and both parents chuckled too. Laura was about to walk on when the glamorous looking wife enquired where she was staying.

“El Templo.”

“Yo veo, you must be with the British party?”

Laura nodded, wondering how they knew she was British, before deciding she probably wouldn’t want to know the answer.

“We are staying there too. We saw you, when you arrived this morning. We were in the café, eating pancakes.”

“I had a chocolate one,” the girl announced proudly, in perfect English.

“My favourite,” Laura lied. “Then I hope to see you all at dinner.”

“You know,” the man added, “It is so nice to see Europeans in this area. They are so much politer than the average US tourist. They stereotype us as drug-runners and kidnappers, or as poor, uneducated peasants. They are either afraid and huddle in big groups, or patronise us and throw their money around. You are just a kind, well-brought up young lady. Your parents must be proud.”

Laura was suddenly crestfallen.

“You are being too personal, Roberto. Stop embarrassing the girl.”

“Lo siento. Please enjoy your walk and maybe we will see you later.” He passed the bottle of mineral water to his wife, cast his rug across the floor then ran to join his son in the sea.

“My name is Sofia. Please forgive my husband. He works for a large American multinational in Mexico City. He travels often to the United States and gets frustrated by the way he’s sometimes treated there. This is the first proper holiday we’ve taken since our children were born.”

“My name is Laura. Encantada. Officially I’m a travel company employee, but this area is so beautiful and relaxing I feel more like one of the clients.”

“And what will your group do here, Laura?”

“We shall stay for a few days in the biosphere reserve down the coast. We have special permission to camp there.”

“Then you are very lucky. I think this area is exceptionally beautiful and you can see many things, as they say in the brochures. Do you know the road into the park is closed?

Laura shook her head and noticed, as she did so, that she was beginning to develop a slight heat-induced headache.

“We were told there were three days of unusually heavy rain in this area last week. The road in is not surfaced and it’s full of large potholes, so everyone travels by jeep. Apparently, the flooding was so bad that several sections have been washed away completely. There’s a little fishing village called Punta Allen, at the tip of this peninsula. The locals are travelling along the coast in the tourist boats they usually use to explore the lagoons. Some are walking the broken section then using a special bus service, provided by the National Park Authorities.”

“Do you know how long the road will stay closed?”

“The hotel manager said he expected it to be for at least another week. The recent bad weather caused lots of other flood damage and I don’t think this area is a priority.”

“I’m sure our local guides must know this, but I will check as soon as I get back. I’m glad that I met you, Sofia.”

“De nada. Have a wonderful adventure.”

Back on the broad hotel terrace the conversation had finally turned to work. Marcus suggested he and Dana might consider the map and guidebook that he had left back at a beach hut. David had generously volunteered to share his luxurious quarters, saving Marcus from the rigours of the staff accommodation block. As he was now snoring loudly beside them, on an otherwise empty deck, it seemed reasonable to assume they would not be disturbed. Marcus commented at the lack of guests, but Dana assured him it was a sign everyone was content.

“I’ll need to go back soon and pick up some things for the expedition,” Dana advised, after they had moved the short distance to the hut. They sat outside, watching the seabirds and the tall tussock grasses dance around them in the now steady onshore breeze. Off to their right they could still see David, sprawled awkwardly between two slatted wooden seats.

“Don’t worry, he’s out of the sun and the waiters will look after him.” Marcus was wrestling with his map in the wind, but it refused to sit quietly on the low table between them.

They sipped at cups of coffee. Neither spoke nor bothered with the guidebook, which was now the only thing preventing the map from taking to the air.

Marcus yawned. “Cesar should be back with Carlos and our equipment soon. I expect I’ll be busy helping them sort it all out. I just hope everyone will cope OK, swapping this luxury for paddling and sleeping under canvass.”

“Sleeping under the stars, I hope,” Dana added. “Do you think that insects will be a problem?”

“Hard to tell: Cesar doesn’t think they should be too bad, but there has been a lot of wet weather recently.”

There was a sudden rush of air around the map, which began to drag the guidebook towards the floor. Both Dana and Marcus reached instinctively for it. Their hands touched and, as the breeze subsided, neither felt the urge to withdraw. Dana let her fingers trace over Marcus’ knuckles and down to his wrist. Suddenly wide awake, he felt her fingers tighten as she pulled his hand toward her, and then the moistness of her lips as she kissed it tenderly. She laid the hand down gently but deliberately, upon her right thigh. As she half turned towards him, Marcus let it slip from the edge of her shorts onto soft, cool, yielding flesh. He stretched to caress the inside of the long limb. Dana sighed, almost inaudibly, as her knees fell slowly apart.

Marcus swung from his chair. For a moment he stood uncertainly before her, casting around for any sign that they might be being observed, but all his stress from the previous day was sliding towards abandon. Dana recaptured his gaze as she used her slender fingers to calmly unbutton the top of her blouse. Marcus dropped impatiently to the floor. He grabbed the underside of each inviting thigh, slid his hands upward past the hem of Dana’s shorts and pulled at the lacy edge of her panties. As he kissed his way slowly forward over Dana’s flushed skin, she used her nails to gently explore his scalp. She ran her hands across his cheeks and pulled his head upwards. Her lips met his, as he pressed still closer, then he lifted her into his arms in one smooth, powerful movement. She snuggled into his broad chest, listening to the powerful beat of his heart. Searching for a gap in his check shirt, she bit a button from its binding and licked at the hair-spattered morsel of chest it revealed. Letting one limb fall, she felt along the glass of the patio doors for the handle. She pulled, and Marcus thrust out a foot to force the door open. Embracing the deep shade of the interior, Dana let her buttocks melt into Marcus’ powerful grip. She clenched her deepest muscles and bit at her lower lip.

Marcus laid her gently on the bed and began to remove his shirt. Dana lay back and watched his broad silhouette undressing in the darkness. Unnecessary layers of strain and decorum peeled away and it was only the burning excitement in her loins that prevented her drifting into deep and contented sleep. Then he was upon her, pulling at her underwear with one hand, and gathering a spray of hair from her waterfall of curls in the other. He ripped at her blouse and buried his face in the petite ivory pinnacles within. Dana lingered over the smell of him, tart and male and heavy with must. She could feel him searching in the dark. Thrusting her arms downwards she wriggled from the last vestige of clothing and lay expectant and exposed, acutely aware of her own snatched breathing and of Marcus repeating her name, over and over, as though marking a new, slower passage of time.

She was swimming in a rich, dark, pool of pleasure, weightless and free: a speck of life in a vast sea, serenaded by ancient leviathans. She wondered at the scattered shards of light breaking the surface above her. The broken outline of a strong male face, with predatory amber eyes, gazed down at her then thrust deep into her world. She was being pulled toward the surface, faster and faster. Then she broke free of the blue with a gasp of pain and fulfilment. Marcus collapsed beside her onto the bed, the breath leaving his body as though never to return. Moments later, he was snoring as loudly as David.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ciudad Juaraz

Old Paulo woke from a long, deep sleep. He had spent the previous day in bed, unable to settle, but equally unable to focus on the urgent issues his family faced. Reinvigorated, he was determined to make amends. Only half dressed, he threw open the door to the room and ordered the guard outside to raise Eusabio and arrange for breakfast to be sent up.

Eusabio was not in a good mood and Paulo felt his manner bordered on disrespect. He had been unable to contact anyone in Barrio Fuerte, including his own men, and he had just had an argument with Jorge Garcia. Jorge had previously failed to show up to buy identity card-making materials from Luis. “He told me he pulled out of the meeting because he was being tailed, but then why did he never contact us to apologise? I don’t believe him. He said he was too busy to call and that then he forgot. Who the hell does he think he’s dealing with? I’ve a good mind to go around now and take out the slippery bastard.”

“No, we won’t do that,” Paulo responded, calmly. “Tell Jorge that Don Paulo wants to meet him, and expects him to go through with the deal Luis organised. Everything is still here, so we can do it today. The Garcias are just small-time smugglers, but they need to know we’re still very much in charge, whether they want the gear or not.”

“Where shall we meet them?”

“At the usual safe house in the suburbs - I’ll ring the family. I’m feeling much stronger today. Perhaps I’ll celebrate by clearing the husband’s debt to us. I know he has a growing family now, so the place is no longer ideal. Tell Jorge to park up somewhere a few blocks away. You’ll collect and return him from there.”

Eusabio left without further comment and Don Paulo picked up his cell-phone. A small boy’s voice answered politely, and then shouted for his mother whilst Paulo was in the middle of a laboured, child-friendly greeting.

The lady was blunt: “My husband is not at home.”

Paulo was equally so: “Then ring him and tell him to expect us for a short meeting at 12pm. Tell him also that this will be the last time. If all goes well today then your family’s debt to my family will be repaid.” He could hear the woman stifle a sob. He listened briefly to the children arguing with each other in the background. Then she agreed to do as he asked, thanked him profusely and softly put down the phone.

The sound of two young bickering voices echoed through old Paulo’s memory and transported him back to Rancho Morales. He could see Luis tearing through the grass, with Alfredo tottering on behind. The grasslands wound for miles through patches of forest and clumps of jagged rock towards the deep canyons and high passes of the Sierra Madre. Estella, his soul-mate, loved to ride out from the ranch and sometimes would be gone for many hours. She taught Felipe’s wife Marta how to ride so she could join her, but it was on the few occasions when Paulo could be persuaded to set aside his work that she seemed truly happy. Until Alfredo was born, Luis would go too, sitting proudly in front of Paulo, brandishing a toy gun as he rode. They would spread a blanket somewhere with shade and a view, and linger over their picnic for so long that sometimes they had fallen asleep. Paulo always had other matters on his mind. He would grow restless and press Estella to return. Sometimes they would argue, so Estella got used to riding out on her own. On the last occasion, her horse had stumbled. She had fallen, her ankle trapped in a stirrup, and was dragged to her death across a field of careless boulders.

“I am so sorry, Estella, that I was not there for you.” With this breathless and rasping whisper, Paulo spoke straight to the wound in his heart.

Since her death, Paulo had spent as little time at Rancho Morales as possible and had grown increasingly distant from his two boys. He had witnessed his younger brother, Felipe, slowly taking his place in their lives and in their affections. Sometimes grateful and sometimes resentful, excuses always came readily to hand. He buried the resulting tight ball of emotional confusion deeper and deeper within. Only now, as an old man, did he understand that he had withdrawn because he could not share his pain with his children. He had never really come to terms with it himself. Mafioso would not be Mafioso if they could empathise with pain. Paulo reached for his hat and coat, and prepared to depart. He would spoil the children of the safe house today.

Eusabio was late returning with Jorge, so Paulo busied himself in the back office, helping the young girl with her homework. Her name was Sara, she was in Grade Three and she did not know how to complete her Maths. Both parents had nervously tried to shoo their daughter from the room, but Paulo had strained to pull her onto his knee and asked if she would show him her school books. Proudly, the girl had talked her way through her favourite subjects and why Senora Moreno didn’t need to help her with her spelling any more, before settling upon her current conundrum. Paulo began counting out loud on his crooked fingers: “One, Two, Three, Four, Five...” He looked through the window and out into the yard: perhaps something there might illustrate the task? “Six, Seven, Eight, Nine...” The tall rear door to the back alley was open. Paulo could see a teenage couple beyond it, walking down the narrow lane to the railway. “Ten...” The guards were nowhere to be seen.

Paulo let out an exclamation that was almost a moan, grabbed the edge of the table and pulled with all his might. It toppled towards the pair then threatened to return. Paulo threw his weight onto the girl, so that she, he and the chair crashed to the floor, the table following. As it smashed into the concrete, Paulo was consumed by the pain of a broken elbow. Fighting unconsciousness he cradled the child, his back between her and the thick wooden top. Terrified, she tried to break his grasp, but Paulo concentrated the remaining strength in his good arm and managed to restrain her.

“Don’t worry, Sara. Don’t worry, child. Old Paulo will save you.”

The girl squirmed around, sending another knifing pain through Paulo’s body, as his injured arm flexed unnaturally. Then her eyes met his in sudden comprehension. Paulo forced a half smile through the wall of anticipation that was his face. As he brushed away the curls that had fallen over her brow, the first bullets smashed through the table into Paulo’s crooked back. Sledgehammer blows turned organs to mush. His ears were consumed by whistles and screams. Breath sprang from his body and he knew there would never be another.

He was drifting into sleep, staring at the wisps of cloud suspended in a tranquil sky. He could smell the dry grass, hear the child playing and feel the rhythmic purr of Estella’s breathing beside him. Then a cold shadow stretched across his torso. There was a tickle of stiff whiskers and the drip of blood-soaked saliva. He reached out in panic for Estella’s hand.

“I am so sorry, Estella. I am so sorry, my love.” She stirred and mumbled in her sleep. Paulo felt her face nuzzling into his shoulder. Then there was nothing to feel anymore.

Eusabio stood expressionless in the middle of the yard and lowered the machine gun. Marcelo fidgeted nervously beside him. Shaking to the point of convulsion, the husband pulled open the bullet-ridden back door and reluctantly let them in.

“My child, what have you done to my child?” The wife was now beside her husband, screaming hysterically and clinging desperately to her son. Her wild, hunted eyes flicked between Eusabio, Marcelo and her children.

Eusabio spat impassively at the floor and levered the splinter-strewn table upright. He was surprised at how small the body of his former boss looked. It was as though it had deflated as the blood coursed from it onto the floor. Marcelo put his foot square into the bent back, but there was no response. He knelt down and pulled at an arm. Then he dropped it with a start, took a step backwards and prodded at the body again. Even in death, he had met resistance.

“Sara, speak to me Sara.” The voice teetered on the edge of despair.

Eusabio watched as the husband squirmed around on his knees in a bloody attempt to separate Paulo from his daughter. There was a sharp intake of breath and a new-born baby’s cry. The girl was alive and reaching for her papa.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Tulum

Laura wandered along the narrow sand-swept highway that led back to El Templo, past campsites and bars, restaurants and agencies advertising a range of outdoor activities. Tiny shops drew her attention, so she browsed amongst silk scarfs and hand-crafted jewellery. She bought some items for her flatmate, Katie. She tried on Mayan necklaces of silver, turquoise and lapis lazuli, one of which she knew her mother would have loved. The female attendant held up a mirror and called her a princess. Happiness surged briefly within her, as she let herself imagine she was still only twelve.

Laura was in no hurry to return to being a tour guide trainee, so lingered over a fancy fruit cocktail in a juice bar. She pulled a crumpled newspaper towards her, for want of any more frivolous reading matter. The headlines spoke of the usual range of weather extremes, fuel price rises, crackpot regimes and refugee distress: not at all in tune with her current surroundings.

A group of brash tourists pushed through the double glass doors and loudly debated the effectiveness of the air-conditioning. It was the Morgans and the Tanners.

“Laura, hello, just the person we were looking for. We can’t find Dana or Marcus.”

“Hello, John, how is your afternoon?”

“Very good, very good, but we want to go diving. We went into a centre down the road, recommended in the guide book. They can take us to a local cenote by jeep, at three. We should be back at the hotel by six. Jackie and Darryl want to come along and snorkel. As you know, we’re qualified and insured. At the end of this tour we’ll be exploring the reefs, but this is a great chance to cave dive.”

“I’m not sure it is up to me,” Laura prevaricated.

“We wouldn’t go anywhere where we couldn’t surface or see daylight,” Sharon added.

“What about the children?” Laura addressed the Morgans.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Jackie observed, breezily. “Darryl was chatting to Ethan and Flick at lunch, and they offered to take them fishing from the little marina up the beach. To be honest, Hannah and Lloyd will be enjoying their freedom as much as us.”

Laura was unsure what else to say, so said nothing.

“We’ll see you at six then, for dinner.” John was already striding towards the exit.

Laura sucked at her juice. She watched as they chatted and joked their way back down the road. Her good mood had dissipated. It had been brought home to her again that she didn’t have a clue what she was supposed to be doing. Deciding that she should at least inform Marcus, she headed as briskly as the high humidity would allow in the opposite direction.

Marcus was standing, hands on hips, in the dusty hotel car park, watching a receding taxi. Dana would trouble-shoot, pack and hopefully be back from the main resort in time for a good night’s sleep. Marcus seemed unconcerned at Laura’s information, and unimpressed by her suggestion that future tours might include more structured activity options on rest days.

“The whole point is that people like time to do their own thing. If we treat them like children now, they won’t cooperate when we need them to.” Marcus opened his mouth to deliver an anecdote, realised that he was in danger of sounding overbearing, so steered the conversation elsewhere.

“Cesar is here with his father and all the kit.” He gestured towards the large white van and a trailer carrying a rack of canoes. “They brought along some wood too, so we can have a bonfire on the beach this evening. I’ll go and get Cesar. It’s probably worth taking a couple of the canoes down to the sea. Once the wind drops, this evening would be a good opportunity for people to practise their paddling.”

David appeared on the steps above the car park. Laura suppressed a giggle at the sight of his narrow, ivory legs beneath billowing, multi-coloured shorts. “What have you been up to, David?”

“Relaxing in the hot tub - I woke up with an aching neck and back, but I feel much better now. Anything I can do to help?”

“Well,” Marcus began, “if you really don’t mind, you could give us a hand with these boats. We thought it would be fun to get a couple in the water. I’m sure the children will enjoy them.”

Cesar appeared and followed David down the steps. Between the four of them they soon had the canoes resting just above the high tide mark. At the back of the beach Laura and Marcus busied themselves preparing a fire and a semi-circle of larger logs as seating. Laura spotted Hannah and Felicity racing back through the swash. Lloyd and Ethan followed on a few strides behind, grinning broadly and sporting three magnificent sea bass. Cesar volunteered to gut and prepare them for the barbeque. He disappeared into the kitchens with David, who was keen to see how it was done. Everyone else retired to long, ice-filled drinks under the shade of the low terrace roof.

Carlos had been deep in conversation with the hotel manager. Seeing the others return from the sand, he sauntered down the steps from the main bar area. “Perhaps,” Carlos suggested to Marcus, “now would be a good time to discuss our plans for the next few days?”

“Certainly,” Marcus concurred. “We’re not all present, but I’m happy to fill in the details for the others, later on.

Carlos called over a waiter, who re-arranged the tables and chairs. Laura collected Cesar and David. Once everyone had gathered around, Carlos began.

“The first thing to tell you is that we have a slight change of plan.”

“The coast road is closed further south, due to flooding,” Laura interjected automatically, as the memory of what she had been told by the Mexican couple recaptured her attention. Marcus looked at her in surprise.

“Indeed. That is why we have brought the canoes here. We had intended to drive yesterday down to Puerto Allen and arrange for them to be towed up river to your first campsite, but this is no longer possible. Tomorrow my staff will precede you through the jungle, carrying the boats to the lakeside from another direction.”

Marcus raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t worry. There is a boardwalk trail most of the way, so it is not as difficult as it sounds.”

“So where will we be starting,” Felicity enquired.

“We will travel south of Tulum Town, on the road towards the border with Belize. There, well away from the main tourist sites, is a complex of ruins called Muyil. For hundreds of years, during the Mayan period, it was a great trading city on the edge of the marshes. It was Muyil, not Tulum, which was the main port for the Kingdom of Coba. The Mayans dug a whole series of canals to connect a line of lagoons along the coast. Goods like jade, obsidian, chocolate, honey, salt and chewing gum were carried in each direction. It was once the main hub between the peoples of the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean. Now it is just a home for nature.”

“Do we camp in the jungle?” asked Hannah.

“By a lake, on the other side of the jungle - it is very clean and clear and a good place to swim. You can fish and we have permission to cook on open fires, provided we carry in our own timber. Perhaps I could show everybody the area on the map?” Carlos looked at Marcus, who seemed a little thrown by the request.

“I’m afraid I’m not sure where the map has got to, at the moment.”

“I found it,” David revealed. “It had blown into the dune. You must have left it outside. I’ll go and get it now.”

Marcus was sure David gave him the slightest of knowingly glances, as he hurried away.

There is a moment in the tropics, an hour or so before sunset, when heat no longer piles upon heat and the mood of the day changes. The sea ceases to exhale upon the shore and nature holds its breath. Humidity rises and those still active become listless and lame. Minds empty, conversations labour, and plans are put on hold. Everybody quickly lost interest in the map. Felicity noticed she was nursing a headache, Ethan forgot he intended to shower, and Hannah failed to interest anyone in a game of cards.

Then the mood swings again. The light grows richer and begins to weaken. Colours break free from the beam, objects swell, and shadows creep up on the back of the day. Moisture seeks to return to the ocean and the heavy air settles each wave. The world sits in balance, thoughts find fertile ground, and senses sharpen to hold on to what they reveal. Marcus realised he was in love with Dana, Laura remembered the postcard she must write to her father, and David relived a stolen moment upon a distant shore with Culjinder.

As the air began its slow reverse people were caught, one by one, in the stream. Flick and Ethan headed for sunbeds, one to read, the other to listen to music. Laura sat and wrote by the newly laid bonfire. David, Cesar and Marcus went for a swim. Hannah and Lloyd accosted three local children, including the pair Laura had encountered earlier, and were soon dodging and diving through an improvised game of tag.

By the time the Morgans and the Tanners hailed their return, the beach was awash with shouts and screams, as a roughly formatted international football friendly kicked up the spray and the sand. David volunteered to keep goal for the home team and, wet from a mixture of swim and sweat, stood caked in grit between posts fashioned from the two canoes. Felicity picked up the ball and ran, only to find herself dunked in the sea by a gaggle of young Mexicans. Marcus scooped up both Flick and the ball, throwing the latter to Lloyd, who sped down the beach to score and celebrate loudly. The competition roamed up and down in varying degrees of chaos, until half the players lay exhausted and the sun began its final act of the day.

There is something in a sunset, David mused, as the football slid between his posts, which brings scale to the sky. It’s like sitting in front of an orchestra. As the music flows from section to section, so the sun conducts the ensemble of assorted clouds, group by group. Fire yellows and oranges lick and spread across each horizontal stratum, fading to corn and cream at the farthest extremes. A scarlet crescendo consumes the core. An afterglow of pink and then purple marks the slow diminuendo into night.

David slumped to his knees, gasping for breath, his hands raised in surrender like a Mayan priest appealing for the sun’s safe passage through the underworld. A shower and fresh clothing could wait no longer.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Rochas Blancas to Chihuahua

There was a loud hammering at the door. Then it opened. Gennaro stood, breathless, in the frame.

“Eusabio has betrayed us: your father is dead.”

Luis was too stunned to answer or to think. He reached out blindly for support. Gennaro grasped his arm and led him back inside.

“That bastard!” Gennaro’s neck and cheeks had turned crimson with rage and he almost spat out his words. “It should have been me who looked after Don Paulo, but he would not have it. He told me I’d be bored and that I was needed in the north. He said that you were a businessman, not a fighter, and that your brother was too much of a hothead. Eusabio took it easy with the old man in the sun, biding his time. As soon as Paulo retired, he must have sensed our weakness and awaited his opportunity.”

“How do you know it was him?” Luis could feel himself shaking, and slumped into a seat.

“We’re still not short of allies in Juarez. Your father was going to meet Jorge Garcia. Eusabio tried to kill him before he got to your papa, but Jorge escaped and warned our men. They’ve secured our hotel and are waiting for word from you.” Gennaro emphasised the last word, gazing loyally at his new boss.

Luis used pain to focus his concentration then spoke slowly and carefully. “I know where Eusabio will be now: on his way to Chihuahua. He hasn’t got the manpower to hold out in Juarez. He’s always liked the ranch and he was there recently, on his way to check our crops. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was also making arrangements for a takeover. He’ll make Rancho Morales his base and try to set himself up as a supplier. It’s an easy place to defend, as he knows the lie of the land. It also makes sense because of the airstrip, as he’s a pilot. If anything goes wrong he can use that to escape.”

“So how do we stop him, Luis?”

“You don’t - that part’s up to me. I can’t imagine he’s been able to persuade many of our men to change sides. He doesn’t know them well enough and I doubt he has the money for bribes. Fighting his way past our guards should slow him down. Give me two trucks and half a dozen people. I can be there in three hours. Get everyone else back to Jaurez, as soon as possible. You need to check every factory, every safe house and every family that owes us allegiance. Accept nothing but total loyalty. Kill anyone who betrays us. That will upset the police, but we can deal with them later.”

Gennaro was half out of the room when he turned and looked back at Luis, who sat grimly clinging to the arms of his chair. “You know, Luis, I thought I had lost Don Paulo, but I hear him still in you. You have his strength. When I talk with you it is like talking with your father twenty years ago. Now you have that scar on your face, you even look the part.” He gave Luis an appreciative and slightly sad smile. “When this is over, you will not need me anymore.”

Gennaro’s words echoed beyond his departure. This was not at all Luis’ intended plan. He did not want to be his father. He was not the man that Gennaro now saw. He thought of Alex and of their life together in El Paso. Where was she now? He should call her, but had no idea what to say. Trapped on the wrong side of the border, he didn’t know how to get home.

As Luis drove out of Rochas Blancas an hour later, he watched the figures disappearing behind him on the main street. These were ordinary people doing their best to lead decent lives. Luis wondered what punishment would be extracted by Xterra. Las Contadonas had brought war to their town. Some people might see them as heroes, but that view would change now they had been abandoned. And when the call came for help again, what would he, Luis, decide? Already he knew the answer, but he didn’t want to admit it, even to himself. Doing so would be a step towards accepting that Gennaro’s view of him was true.

The route became more circuitous, the land that bit richer and green, and it was beginning to rain. They would soon be at the turn for the estancia. Luis radioed the other truck, told it to hold back then drove slowly past the junction. Nothing caught his attention. A double line of cypress trees stretched up through recently ploughed fields towards the eucalyptus plantation that shielded the main complex of buildings from view. Luis gestured to his driver to turn around. He called again: they would meet up on the tree-line, but each truck should keep its distance from the other, in case of ambush.

Luis dismounted and marched into the wood. From the furthest corner he had a clear view of the gatehouse, a few hundred yards further down the track. There was a tractor in one of the fields and Luis could make out a familiar farmworker chatting with one of the guards, nearby. This doesn’t make sense, Luis thought to himself. Where else would Eusabio have gone? He turned and hurried back to the others.

“Get your weapons ready.” There was a bustle of activity and the sound of gun chambers filling. Both trucks broke cover together, speeding down the open slope to the checkpoint. Figures turned towards them, but there was no sense of tension or panic. Slowing down as they approached, Luis shouted ahead through an open window.

“Have you seen Eusabio?”

Both guards shook their heads. The farmworker waved and hailed a greeting. Luis walked forward, followed by three others, his right hand automatically fingering the gun in his breast pocket. He needn’t have bothered. A guard beamed at him and shook his other hand vigorously.

“Welcome, Senor Luis. Welcome home. We were not expecting you?”

“Just a passing visit. Who is up at the house?”

“Only the caretaker and his family. We were so sorry to hear about your uncle. How is your father?”

Luis said nothing: he had no idea what to say, or what to think, or how to feel. In all his life he had never felt so alone, or so in need of someone else to explain what was going on. He looked out towards the hill where his mother had died. He remembered the shock of her passing as if it had happened that morning. He could sense the emotional chaos that she had left, like gas churning beneath a marsh. It was beginning to rise and Luis knew he was in danger of losing control. He thought of Alex again, and he thought of his brother. Then he was relieved to feel anger. He addressed the two guards.

“I want you to get in touch with anyone in this area who has ever worked for us. Talk with our farmers too and anyone else who owes us a debt. Offer them money. Get them here and get them armed. In the morning some will stay to guard the ranch and airstrip, and some will come with me back to Juarez. Eusabio has betrayed our family and there are others who may take advantage of his treachery. Gennaro will be waiting.”

“What about Alfredo?”

“He is on his way home. Together we will destroy those who dare oppose us.” Luis leered at his tiny audience. Well aware what he must look like, at that moment he didn’t care: hate and revenge were pain-free.

Once settled at the house, Luis tore at the steak the caretaker’s wife had hastily prepared. In need of distraction, he turned on the giant wall-mounted plasma T.V. Doubt and curiosity drove him to scan the channels for local news. To his surprise, for the first time in several years, his family featured in an in-depth crime report:

“Police confirm that Felipe Contadona, younger brother of Paulo Contadona, long suspected of engineering much of the drugs and narcotics trade through the central border region, has been killed in prison. Officials believe that fighting between rival gangs at the high security jail outside the small border settlement of Rochas Blancas was to blame for his death, although no suspects have been arrested so far. Felipe was convicted of a series of extortion and money laundering offences last year. He was also implicated in the assassination of several prominent citizens over a ten year period prior to his arrest, although charges were later dropped for lack of witness testimony. However, some relatives of the dead believe Felipe was able to do a deal with state officials: giving himself up to police and admitting to lesser charges in order to avoid a murder rap. It is thought that this incident may lead to increased tension on the streets of Ciudad Juarez and elsewhere. Police say they are monitoring the situation. Chihuahua state officials add that there is currently no need to involve Federal forces, although these would be made available, if required.

Unusually, Felipe Contadona’s death has drawn comment from customs officials in the US. They have warned against another period of border instability, claiming that current uncertainty and security fears may harm trade and investor confidence in the region. The US Border Agency are stepping up vehicle checks in and around Juarez and report that they have already made several arrests related to both wanted felons and smuggled goods. Meanwhile cross-border commuters are left in limbo, unsure both for how long they will have to queue and whether they will be safe, once they have done so.”

Luis flicked to a classical music channel. He needed to think and began to pace up and down the room, a thick chunk of bread forgotten in his hand. The news report would have been officially sanctioned by the state government. Almost certainly that meant the family was losing its influence, which in turn meant someone at a high level already knew that not just Felipe, but also Paulo, were dead. The report implied criticism of both police and state officials, suggesting that someone was looking to install a new political regime. It made the family look vulnerable and Luis had no doubt that Paulo’s murder would soon be reported too. They were preparing people for his family’s demise and he wasn’t going to let it happen.

Luis ascended the stairs to his bedroom: it was expansive and luxurious, but had never felt like his own. As he closed the door again and shuffled down the corridor, he was overwhelmed with fatigue. Entering the small room he had once shared with Alfredo, he found both single beds made up. Luis tossed his clothing carelessly to the floor and wrapped himself in a space-themed quilt. Within moments he was sleeping like the child he would like to have been.

Gennaro called the next morning as Luis enjoyed a late and leisurely breakfast. Sunshine streamed in from the rose garden his mother had designed, and played around the crockery and glass-wear. The housekeeper was pouring coffee. The sound of gunfire on the other end of the line was so incongruous that at first it didn’t register.

“Luis, I am at the Catalina. Marcelo called and asked to meet me here. He said he had information about Eusabio. He didn’t turn up, but at least twenty of his men did. They opened up before we even saw them. They’ve shot up the trucks and we’ve lost at least three people. The rest are in good shape, but we may have to fight our way out.”

Luis studied a rose bush. So Marcelo and Barrio Fuerte had shown their hand. As they could suddenly muster so many men south of the border, Xterra must be pulling the strings. Eusabio would be with Marcelo, or possibly trying to do a deal with Xterra. That would explain why he wasn’t at the ranch.

“Gennaro, is there any sign of Eusabio? I think he is with Barrio Fuerte.”

There was a long series of expletives on the other end of the line, followed by a burst from a semi-automatic weapon.

“Gennaro.”

“Si.”

“If you meet him, shoot him in the balls for me, won’t you?”

“It will be a pleasure, Don Luis.”

“Don’t worry about getting your men out,” Luis continued. There’s a cleaner’s cupboard at the far end of the corridor on the third floor. It’s full of enough weaponry to start a small war. You will have to break open the lock.”

Gennaro laughed. “Your father always was prepared for anything. That’s why it took a stinking traitor like Eusabio to get to him. Barrio Fuerte aren’t going to know what’s hit them.”

“And there’s a reason why Papa chose Hotel Catalina as our base. Remember him saying that there always has to be a rear exit? Well there is. Go to room 307 - again you will probably need to break in. If you open the wardrobe doors, you’ll get a nice surprise.”

Gennaro chuckled incongruously over the rattle of bullets. His tone was suddenly detached, also unusually familiar. “Luis, do you remember when I would read stories to Alfredo at the ranch. You’d scoff and say you were too old for bedtime stories, but you’d listen to this one. It was called The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Do you remember, Luis?”

“I remember. You always were a good godfather. My parents chose well.” Luis’ tone was flat, but he managed to resist the urge to tell Gennaro to get a grip. “Alfredo is on his way home. It will be better for both of us when he is here.”

Gennaro mumbled something half audible in agreement.

Luis went back to business. “Take out the panel at the back of the wardrobe. You’ll find a small door. The code on the lock is nearly the same as the room: 0307. Through the door is an old public records office we also own. There are exits onto three different streets.”

“Fantastico. I’ll leave a few men here to keep Barrio Fuerte occupied then the rest of us will attack from the rear.”

“Any sign of the police?”

“Nothing, the street is empty. I haven’t seen a single vehicle. They’ve probably set up a roadblock at a safe distance, as usual. I shall ensure the authorities have plenty of bodies to clean up. They’ll earn their salaries today.”

“Do you want me there?”

Gennaro thought for a moment. “No, please stay where you are. The ranch is our safest base and, if we lose that, we lose the poppy fields.”

“Good luck, old friend.”

“I don’t need luck, just a few bigger weapons.”

Luis made out the first half of a barked instruction, as he touched the screen to end the call. He didn’t want to hear more.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Tulum

The beach was dark. As the fire fell slowly inward, collapsing upon a pile of hot embers, some people were drawn in with it, and others lost interest and went elsewhere. The children had suffered the early smoke just long enough to sample the sea bass. Nobody knew what they had been up to since, but the occasional conspiratorial shush or squeal suggested they were not far away. The Tanners and the Morgans had volunteered to help Carlos move the canoes, after he complained that they had gone unused. Loud voices revealed that they had then headed for the bar. The remaining group was sitting either on logs or perched on the edge of sunbeds, pulled up into the circle. Discarded plates and a scattering of beer cans were pressed into the sand, filling the empty spaces. Cesar was next to Laura. David sat opposite, alongside Ethan. Marcus and Felicity perched none-too-comfortably on pieces of wood. Beyond the splash of fire, moonlight caught each ridge of ocean spray. The breeze had grown stronger, and everyone was leaning close in to the flames to keep warm.

“Hello.” Laura looked up and recognised the silhouettes of the Mexican couple she had met that afternoon.

“Do you mind if we join you? I fear we have been abandoned by our children.”

Laura began the introductions then paused in slight embarrassment, realising she could not remember the husband’s name.

“Roberto, my name is Roberto -pleased to meet you all.”

Marcus leapt into the darkness to retrieve another sunbed.

“Did you have a good swim?” Laura asked politely.

“Yes, but it was too hot for a picnic. Our children really enjoyed the football game earlier.” Roberto looked at David. “They thought you were really funny.”

David smiled politely, but said nothing. Laura picked up the conversation again.

“I met Sofia and Roberto after lunch, when I went for a walk. They’re from Mexico City.”

“Somewhere I’ve always been curious to visit,” Ethan observed.

“You should go,” Roberto replied. “It is really good for tourists now, although perhaps too cold at this time of year. The air is much cleaner than it used to be, and they have tidied up a lot of the historic buildings in El Centro. It is a very pleasant place to walk.”

“Would it be safe for us?” Felicity enquired.

“Always you tourists ask the same question. Mexico is a huge country, but when the media report on organised crime, it is Mexico this... Mexico that. Do you feel safe here?”

“Yes,” Felicity responded, “but, to be honest, I’m not sure how safe I’d feel if I wasn’t with a group.”

“And do you think we would feel any different in Manchester, or in London? Mexico City is like any big city: there are a few places not to go and people whom it is best to avoid, but that is life. In the end, you either stay home or you take a small risk.”

Sofia, his wife, interjected. “We often host business clients from the United States. They are told by their bosses to come, and some of them are quite anxious. Roberto gets frustrated when they will not let him out of their sight. But you are different: you have chosen to be here. So what brings each of you to our country?”

Nobody was prepared for such a big question, but it struck a chord. Some reached for their beers, whilst others stared deeper into the flames. The halo of light shut out the rest of the world, creating a kind of confessional. It can be easier to share a truth with strangers.

“Well,” said Ethan, eventually, “I’m here looking after my baby sister, Felicity,” he half bowed in her direction and hiccupped, “who has had enough of men, but is scared there’ll be too many bugs in the jungle.”

Felicity stared at him quizzically for several seconds, clearly not amused. “Well I,” she announced, “am here because my idiot brother was sacked from his job and doesn’t think that I know.”

Ethan lost his grip on a beer can, catching it again with a splash just before it hit the ground. He was about to respond when David beat him to it.

“I came to Mexico because my girlfriend booked a surprise holiday for me, but I’m really here because I’m hopeless at making decisions for myself and I never got over the only other exotic holiday I’ve ever taken.”

Everybody in the circle leaned still closer and Sofia took the opportunity to put her arm around her husband. There was an expectant pause, but David said no more.

Marcus thought for a moment then decided to speak. “You know, David, Culjinder is not married. I know she’s part of a large family but, according to her, she’s everybody’s favourite Auntie.”

“Who is Culjinder?” Felicity looked befuddled.

David did not hear her speak. His mind was overwhelmed and his body paralysed. Felicity was about to repeat the question when Laura placed a restraining hand gently upon her arm.

“You know,” Laura began, “I thought I was here for adventure, but actually I just needed to get away.” She stole a furtive glance at Marcus, who was still focused on David. “You see, just before I went to university, my father had a stroke. It was tough going for about a year afterwards, but he made a full recovery.” Laura paused and met David’s concerned gaze. “My father and I are especially close because my mother died when I was young. I could talk to him about virtually anything. The trouble is that I no longer can. There’s no connection anymore and he’s always angry with me about something. I feel as though it’s him I’m grieving for, even though he’s doing fine.”

In her typically direct manner, out of the shadows, Dana spoke. She had been standing in the sand behind Marcus for the last few minutes, unseen since her return, and eavesdropping from a distance. “Do you think that your father changed, or was it you?”

Marcus jumped up suddenly and, to everyone’s surprise except David’s, he and Dana embraced. Dana’s question was forgotten by all but Laura herself, as others looked to the couple for some explanation of their new found intimacy.

“Look,” said Dana, “I know this doesn’t look particularly professional, but I think it’s best to be open with you all about Marcus and I. Unfortunately, it also shouldn’t make too much difference, as I can’t accompany you tomorrow. We’ve a late booking from an important business delegation, so I’m needed back at the resort. Still, the most important thing is that I’ve brought everybody’s kit back with me. I can take your dirty laundry away, when I leave again in the morning.”

Marcus looked briefly crestfallen then rallied to distribute the newly arrived luggage with the help of Cesar. Sofia and Roberto wished everybody well with the expedition then went off to look for their children. Felicity and Ethan decided to join the others at the bar. Neither Laura nor David felt like leaving. As soon as they were alone, Laura moved to sit next to him and reached for an unopened can of beer in the sand.

“Wow,” David exclaimed; “too much information!”

“I understand exactly how you’re feeling. It’s funny, isn’t it... we spend half our lives worrying about what people do to us and forget all about the impact we have on them.”

“I know Culjinder remembers me. It was the way she spoke when she called to arrange this holiday: casual, forced, nervous and concerned, all at the same time. I wonder how else she felt, when I didn’t recognise her?”

“She wouldn’t have expected you to, David. Both she and your girlfriend... What is her name?

“Phoebe.”

“They both felt that this was where you needed to be. I would hold on to that, if I were you.”

David reached for Laura’s beer and took a long, slow draught from it himself. “I am enjoying it here. I thought I’d be a lot more stressed. It does feel as though this is what I’m meant to be doing. I’ve spent most of my adult life feeling exactly the opposite.”

“Whereas I, to be honest, am getting more and more confused.” Laura snatched the can from David’s hand and took another swig. “I’m not sure what I’m meant to be doing. Marcus is organising bags, whilst I sit here feeling like a guest, rather than a member of staff, despite sleeping in a dormitory.”

“Laura,” responded David with concern, “you’ve made this trip for me so far. I can’t imagine anyone looking after me better than you’ve done. Every time I’ve made a fool of myself, you’ve helped to turn the situation into something positive.”

“I do enjoy helping people, I admit. Perhaps that’s what I should be doing? Maybe that was the problem with my father?” There was a metallic crack as Laura buried a thumb into the side of the beer can. “I started helping to take care of him, rather than the other way around. He’s a proud man and probably resented that. Of course, at the same time, I was growing up and becoming more independent.”

“With me, it’s the opposite.” David brushed at the sand with a foot. “When people I care for like Phoebe need my support, I’m not there for them. Somehow, I can’t separate my own trivial neuroses from real problems. The ironic thing is that when I do help someone, I enjoy it as much as you do.”

The few remaining sticks of timber made a slow and graceful descent into the coals, as though making their final bow to the audience.

“Shall I get some more wood?”

Laura declined. She was tired. She felt unsettled and the beer was making her feel more than a little light-headed, after so much sunshine. Her eyes had grown sensitive and even the string of white lights draping the hotel veranda now seemed vaguely oppressive.

“Perhaps we should sleep. I also need to sort out what I’m taking with me tomorrow. Good night, David.”

He watched her slim and diminutive figure walk a little unsteadily through the shadows. He listened to a seabird repeating a high-pitched, melancholic call somewhere further along the beach, but he didn’t feel alone. He was back on that other beach, at that other time. Another girl was sitting beside him, whilst he reveled in the intoxication of her scent. He had replayed the scene numerous times, but now it felt different. For the first time, he realised that Culjinder had lived as much of her life in that moment as had he.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ciudad Juarez

The room was packed. The wardrobe had been dismantled and the small blue metal door beyond stood like the entrance to a cavern. Gennaro called out the security code numbers. Silvio punched carefully at the keys. With a gentle click, the door fell ajar. He smiled at Gennaro then withdrew. Silvio’s left arm had been supported by a sling since the battle with Xterra, so he wouldn’t now be the first one through. Two others stepped up, one tightening his grip on the small door-handle, the other on his machine gun. Gennaro took a final look around the room and gestured them forward.

The door issued a shrill creak into the profound darkness beyond. It was like a membrane between dimensions.

“Turn off the lights.” Gennaro listened intently. The sporadic firing behind him in the hotel made it hard to be sure, but no sound emanated from the void. “Can you see anything?”

The two men leaned cautiously into the dark and then shook their heads. Others instinctively began pressing forward.

“OK, let’s go.”

Within seconds the only person remaining in Room 307 was the guard on the door. Inside the old records office, Gennaro could make out several lines of tall metal shelving, here and there supporting discarded boxes, packing crates and files. The air was stale and slightly damp. Light struggled through a dirty skylight window in the roof.

“Spread out and look for a door. Watch your step and try not to knock anything over.” Gennaro crouched low, still only feet from the bedroom. The gunfire now sounded as though it came from a guest’s TV.

“Boss, I’ve found it. I think it’s open.”

Gennaro squeezed cautiously between two rows of shelving, but was thwarted by a mobile ladder. He backed up to try another route, aware that his suit was already coated in a thick layer of dust. He heard the door open and spotted a broken patch of light through several rows of intervening shelves.

“Stop, you idiots; wait for me!” His order came too late.

“We’ve found the way out.”

“Stop,” Silvio echoed, from somewhere ahead of Gennaro.

By the time Gennaro felt his way through the discarded office furniture, everybody else was assembled at the top of a stairwell. A square of glass in the roof provided the only illumination, so the steps descended progressively into darkness.

Silvio was leaning awkwardly over the railing, protecting his bad arm. “Listen, everyone,” he hissed.

The building was eerily silent. Gennaro gestured for an automatic weapon then began to descend. The others followed, at a distance. The bottom of each flight of stairs was marked by a gaudy oil painting of big-eyed children or crusty peasants. Signs picked out different departments. Dust had settled thickly on the floor and nowhere did it seem to have been disturbed. Gennaro stepped out into a large atrium. Narrow shafts of daylight from boarded up windows drew lines across an enquiry desk to one side, and a row of office doors to the other. A corridor led past the stairs to the rear of the building. Double-doors opened onto the street. “We go out the front. I don’t want to be stuck in some back alley.”

Scanning the lobby, the group edged forward. A panel of stained glass squares above the doors had been roughly painted out in black. One of the squares was missing and a line of daylight pointed to a particular spot on the floor. Silvio noticed the footprint first and gestured frantically.

“Get down everybody,” Gennaro screamed, as the first bullets ripped into wood and flesh. He was lying in a pool of blood, but it wasn’t his own. A body danced in front of him, in response to each burrowing shell. He crawled as hard and fast as he could; praying that cover would come before a shell. He smashed into a wall and heaved from shock and pain. Clawing at the ground, he fought with all his strength to keep moving. Everywhere was the sound of automatic weapons; a deep, drilling sound that mined all thought and reason. His hand rounded a corner and he pulled himself into a side corridor. Flat on his belly, he sucked at the dust. It blocked his nose and made him sneeze. His head throbbed and the room span. He opened fire.

The magazine emptied. Casting the gun aside, Gennaro peered intently into the darkness. He had aimed low into the counter opposite, hoping to smash through to those sheltering behind. He could hear someone dragging himself across the floor. A shadow darted along the counter and a handgun responded from somewhere beneath the stairs. Again there was silence and then the creak of old hinges. As Gennaro painfully levered himself up, the air in front of him exploded and his face was bathed in heat and light. He could not see and thought he could not hear, until a second explosion sent him back to the floorboards. There was a sound like the start of summer rain then just the roar in Gennaro’s ears.

He could hear Silvio, he was sure of it. He could hear Silvio sitting on the stairs, laughing. For a moment Gennaro thought that he must have lost his mind. He pushed himself further back down the corridor, just in case, and called through the swirling smoke. Silvio responded.

“Hello, Gennaro. I always knew you were bullet proof.” Silvio laughed again, but his laughter ended in a spluttering cough, as he sucked in acrid fumes.

“Are they dead?”

“They are dead. So is everyone else. You know, I almost forgot about the grenades. I didn’t know what to do with them, so I stuffed four into my sling. I never thought that carrying an injury would prove so useful. You can come out now.”

Gennaro groaned and struggled to his feet. Making his way carefully across the debris and body strewn hallway, he stopped to check one man for a pulse then snatched a pistol from the hand of another. The Reception area had ceased to exist and what had been the front desk was reduced to a shapeless pile, stained with body parts. The window and partition wall to the main office had blown inward. Silvio stood beyond it, kicking at the dead. As the partition cracked under Gennaro’s feet, a noise came from underneath it. He jumped off, sliding on the glass strewn floor beyond. Silvio used his good arm and raised the panel, revealing a young man with a shaven head and a gaudy orange sweater. His nose, cheek and jaw were fractured. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth and one foot had disappeared.

“Please,” the youth stretched out an arm covered in splinters.

Gennaro found a pump-action shotgun amongst the wreckage. He opened and examined the breach, snapped the gun shut then took aim at the remaining foot.

“I will not kill you, if you answer me quickly and truthfully. If not, you’ll be just one more dead body in a shoot-out.” Gennaro waited for his words to sink in. “Where are Marcelo and Eusabio?”

The boy stared at the gun, his face screwed up in pain, then mumbled through broken lips: “They’ve gone after the man who killed my friend, Jose; Marcelo’s brother. I hope that they succeed.”

Gennaro toyed with the trigger as he mulled the words over.

“Where?”

The youth looked surprised. “I don’t know.”

There was truth in the boy’s eyes as he struggled to hold his assailant’s gaze. Gennaro stood up with a sigh. Silvio cursed and dropped the panel casually on the boy’s head. There was a squeal of pain as the pair walked crookedly over it, and back out into the hallway. Gennaro let out a string of whispered expletives as he realised he had lost his mobile. Silvio passed him his, the screen shining brightly in the gloom. For a moment, Gennaro struggled to clear his head. Then he remembered Luis’ number and tapped at the digits.

The conversation was one-sided. It was to-the-point. When Gennaro returned the phone to his friend, he was full of unspoken emotion.

“Whatever happens now, we still go out the front door.”

Silvio nodded gravely then smiled warmly as he passed Gennaro one of the two remaining grenades.

“Help me pull out the pin.”

Gennaro obliged.

“Now?”

Gennaro smiled appreciatively back at his old friend.

“Down!”

Silvio bowled his grenade at the double doors. Once again the darkness was smashed into tiny, iridescent pieces. Gennaro’s ears hurt so badly he wanted to tear at the lobes. Silvio was retching and writhing beside him. Gennaro put an arm around him and raised him, spluttering, to his feet. In front of them a door hung from a hinge at an acute angle, poised to fall. They staggered in tandem into a stream of fresh air, blinking at the dazzling triangles of light. Ducking low, the street slowly resolved before them.

“Shit!” Silvio spat down the steps, but no spittle came, only another cough.

Gennaro stared impassively at the scene. Police in large numbers clutched tightly to their weapons, as they crouched behind car doors, trunks and hoods. They were being hailed through a megaphone, but Gennaro wasn’t interested in what the officers had to stay. He was not going back to prison and neither was his friend. He stared over their heads, over the rooftops of Ciudad Juarez, at the same blue sky he had dreamed and played under as a boy. Fumbling behind his back, his thick fingers struggled to remove the remaining pin. Silvio slumped onto the top step. For a moment Gennaro thought he was cradling his injured arm. Then he saw the concealed pistol.

“Ready, Amigo?”

“Always.”

As Silvio opened fire, Gennaro began to run. The tension in his body released and he felt a sudden surge of well-being. He began to relax his grip upon the grenade. The first bullet hit him, but his body belonged to somebody else. The next three took away his legs, but legs didn’t matter anymore. His massive frame sank unsteadily onto its knees, like the slow collapse of a bull elephant yet to realise it was dead. His head rolled back. He smiled at the sky, greeting another old friend. There was time for one last breath. He savoured the warmth of the sun on his face; and sucked in the world.

A heavy-callibre shell ripped out his shoulder and he span backwards into the dirt. Above him he could see Silvio’s crumpled form, trickles of red migrating slowly down the steps between them. The grenade span crazily a few inches from Gennaro’s face. It looked like a child’s toy.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chihuahua, some moments before

“Luis?”

“Gennaro, call me back - I was in the bath.”

“Luis, I can’t call you back. I need to talk to you now and you must listen carefully.”

“Give me a second then - I’ll find a robe.”

“No, Luis, listen now, please.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything: they knew about the escape route. We were ambushed. Silvio and I made it through, but I doubt by now anyone is left alive in the hotel. If they set an ambush that means they’re softening us up for whatever is outside the building. We’re stuffed, Luis, and I’m tired of running. We’re going outside and that will be that.”

“Gennaro, I can send more people.”

“Even if you can arrange it, they’ll be too late. They probably couldn’t get through to us anyway.”

“Can’t you hide?”

“I don’t hide - that isn’t the man your father taught me to be. I would have died at fifteen without your father. He saved me and gave me forty good years. I’m content with that. To me, he was a great man, Luis, but now he’s gone and Felipe’s gone too.”

“But I still need your help, Gennaro.”

“Do you know, Luis, a minute ago I was staring into the eyes of a man who tried to kill me. He looked so young he could have been my grandchild. My generation has passed on and I shall follow. I’m too tired to fight anymore, Luis. It’s up to you now.”

“What can I do?”

“Save your brother. Save Alfredo. He’s all you have left now. Maybe you two can start again. You could go straight. I know you’ve always wanted that. You try hard, but you’re not a gangster, Luis - you’re better than us.”

“Alfredo?”

“Eusabio and Marcelo are after him, Luis. If they’re not already with you then they must have guessed where he’s going. Eusabio knows Don Paulo’s house much better than Alfredo does, and our people there will follow his orders. You need to contact your brother. You need to get to him before those bastards do.”

“Gennaro...”

“I know, Luis. I have to go now. Please don’t let it all end here.”

Gennaro disconnected. Luis stood stunned in the middle of the bathroom floor, naked and shivering more from shock than from cold. He was angry at both Gennaro and his father. Why had Gennaro given up? Why had his father ever trusted Eusabio? He tried to block out the sense in what Gennaro had just told him. He also knew his father had had little choice but to confide in someone outside the family: neither Luis nor Alfredo would have wanted to work any closer with the old man.

Suddenly the reality of Alfredo’s situation hit Luis. He was scared and he didn’t want to be alone. He thought of the shared bedroom, of long nights as a child after his mother had died, when only the sound of Alfredo’s breathing had kept him sane.

“Alfredo!” He shouted in panic, then fought for control as he realised the housekeeper may have overheard.

He must call, but would his call be intercepted? It didn’t matter: Alfredo must be warned and he must find a way to get to him quickly. Eusabio would have taken their plane to the South, so Chihuahua airport was now Luis’ only option. He swung on his gown, wiped his cell-phone and his face with a towel, and scrolled through to Alfredo’s number.

There was no reply.