The Codex Page 10

  “That’s good. We’re going to Pito Solo,” said Tom.

  He nodded, yawned, scratched. “Okay. I take you.”

  “We’d like to rent the big boat. The one with the eighteen-horsepower engine.”

  He shook his head. “That stupid boat.”

  “We don’t care if the boat is stupid,” said Tom. “That’s the one we want.”

  “I take you in my boat. That stupid boat belong to army mans.” He held out his hand. “Got candy?”

  Sally removed a bag she had bought earlier, expressly for that purpose.

  The man’s face lit up in a smile. He put a withered hand into it, sorted through the candies, selected five or six, unwrapped them, and put them all in his mouth at once. They formed a great lump in his cheek. “Bueno,” he said in a muffled voice.

  “We’d like to leave tomorrow morning,” Tom said. “How long is the journey?”

  “Three days.”

  “Three days? I thought it was forty or fifty miles.”

  “Water going down. Maybe get stuck. Have to pole. Much wading. Cannot use engine.”

  “Wading?” Tom asked. “What about that toothpick fish?”

  The man looked at him blankly.

  “Don’t worry, Tom,” Sally said, “you can wear tight underwear.”

  “Ah, si! The candiru!” The man laughed. “That favorite gringo story. Candiru. I swim in river every day and I still got my chuc-chic. It working fine!” He swayed his hips licentiously, winking at Sally.

  “Spare me,” said Sally.

  “So this fish is a hoax?” Tom asked.

  “No, it’s real! But you got piss in river first. Candiru smell piss in river, swim up, and chop! If you no piss when you swim, you got no problem!”

  “Anyone else come through here lately? Any gringos, I mean.”

  “Si. We very busy. Last month, white man come with many boxes and Indians from the mountains.”

  “What Indians?” Tom asked excitedly.

  “Naked mountain Indians.” He spat.

  “Where did he get his boats?”

  “He bring many new dugouts from La Ceiba.”

  “And did the boats return?”

  The man smiled, rubbed his fingers together in the universal gesture, and held out his hand. Sally put a five-dollar bill in it.

  “Boats not return. Mans go upriver, never come back.”

  “Anyone else come through?”

  “Si. Then last week Jesus Christ came through with drunken guides from Puerto Lempira.”

  “Jesus Christ?” Sally asked.

  “Yes, Jesus Christ with long hair, beard, robes, and sandals.”

  “That’s got to be Vernon,” said Tom, with a smile. “Was he with anyone else?”

  “Yes. He with St. Peter.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “Any others?”

  “Si. Then come two gringos with twelve soldiers in two dugouts also from La Ceiba.”

  “What did the gringos look like?”

  “One very tall, smoke pipe, angry. Other one shorter with four gold rings.”

  “Philip,” said Tom.

  They quickly made a deal for a boat to Pito Solo, and Tom gave him a ten-dollar advance. “We leave at first light tomorrow.”

  “Bueno! I be ready!”

  As they came back from the river to the cinderblock barracks that passed as the local hotel, they were surprised to see a jeep parked there with an army officer and two soldiers. Nearby a crowd of children, jostling and whispering, waited for something to happen. The landlady stood to one side, her hands clasped, her face pale with fright.

  “I don’t like the look of this,” said Sally.

  The officer stepped forward, a man with a very straight back, a spotless uniform, and little polished boots. He gave a crisp bow. “Do I have the honor of greeting Señor Tom Broadbent and Señorita Sally Colorado? I am Lieutenant Vespán.” He took their hands, one at a time, then stepped back. The wind shifted, and Tom suddenly smelled a mixture of Old Spice, cigars, and rum.

  “What’s the problem?” said Sally.

  The man smiled broadly, exposing a row of silver teeth. “I am devastated to inform you that you are under arrest.”

  17

  Tom stared at the diminutive military officer. A little dog, which had taken a dislike to one of the soldiers, crouched in front of him, baring his teeth and yapping. The officer kicked it away with a dainty boot, and the soldiers laughed.

  “On what charge?” Tom asked.

  “We will discuss that back in San Pedro Sula. Now, if you will please come with me.”

  There was an awkward silence. Sally said, “No.”

  “Señorita, let us not make difficulty.”

  “I’m not creating any difficulties. I’m just not going. You can’t force me.”

  “Sally,” Tom said, “may I point out these men have guns?”

  “Good. Let them shoot me and then explain it to the U.S. government.” She spread her arms out to make a target.

  “Señorita, I pray you.”

  The two soldiers with him shifted nervously.

  “Go ahead, make my day!”

  The officer nodded at his two men, and they set their guns down, briskly stepped forward, and seized Sally. She yelled and struggled.

  Tom took a step forward. “Get your hands off her.”

  The two men hoisted her up and began carrying her, struggling, to the jeep. Tom took a swing at the first man and sent him flying. Sally wrenched free while Tom tackled the other man.

  The next thing Tom knew he was lying on his back, looking up into the hot blue sky. The officer stood over him, red faced and angry. Tom could feel a throbbing sensation at the base of his skull where the man had struck him with the butt of his gun.

  The soldiers pulled him roughly to his feet. Sally had stopped struggling and looked pale.

  “Macho bastards,” she said. “We’re going to report your assault to the American Embassy.”

  The colonel shook his head sadly, as if at the folly of it all. “Now, may we please go peacefully?”

  They allowed themselves to be taken to the jeep. The colonel shoved Tom into the backseat and pushed Sally in next to him. Their backpacks and bags had already been collected from the hotel and were piled in the back. The jeep started down the road to the airstrip. There, a shabby military helicopter was sitting on the grass. A metal panel on the side of the helicopter was off, and a man with a wrench was fiddling with the engine. The jeep came sliding to a stop.

  “What are you doing?” the colonel asked sharply in Spanish.

  “I am sorry, Teniente, but there is a small problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “We need a part.”

  “Can you fly without it?”

  “No, Teniente.”

  “Mary whore of Jesus! How many times does this helicopter have to break down?”

  “Shall I radio for them to send a plane with the part?”

  “By the balls of Joseph! Yes, you deficient, radio for the part!”

  The pilot climbed into the chopper, radioed, and then came out. “It will be coming tomorrow morning, Teniente. That is the earliest.”

  The lieutenant locked them in a wooden shed at the airstrip and put the two soldiers outside to guard them. After the door clapped shut, Tom sat down on an empty fifty-five-gallon drum and held his aching head.

  “How are you feeling?” Sally asked.

  “Like my head is a brass gong that was just rung.”

  “That was a nasty blow he gave you.”

  Tom nodded.

  There was a rattle, and the door was flung open again. The lieutenant stood aside while one of the soldiers tossed in their sleeping bags and a flashlight. “I truly regret the inconvenience.”

  “You’ll truly regret the inconvenience when I report you,” Sally said.

  The lieutenant ignored this. “May I advise you not to do anything foolish. It would be disappointing if someone were shot.”


  Sally said, “You wouldn’t dare shoot us, you tinhorn Nazi.”

  The lieutenant’s teeth glinted silvery yellow in the feeble light. “Accidents have been known to occur, especially to Americans who come to La Mosquitia unprepared for the rigors of the jungle.”

  He backed out of the door, and the soldier slammed it. Tom could hear the muffled voice of the lieutenant telling the soldiers that if they fell asleep or drank on the job he would personally cut their testicles off, dry them, and hang them up as door knockers.

  “Damn Nazis,” said Sally. “Thanks for defending me back there.”

  “Didn’t do much good.”

  “Did he hit you hard?” She looked at his head. “That’s a nasty lump.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Sally sat down next to him. He felt the warmth of her presence. He looked at her and could see her faint profile, just outlined in the semidarkness of the shed. She looked at him. They were so close that he could feel the warmth of her face on his, see the curl of her lip, the faint dimple on her cheek, the scattering of freckles on her nose. She still smelled of peppermint. Without even thinking of what he was doing, he leaned forward, his lips just brushing hers. For a moment there was stillness, and then she sharply pulled away. “That’s not a good idea.”

  What the hell was he thinking? Tom pulled away, angry and humiliated.

  The awkward moment was interrupted by a sudden banging at the door. “Dinner,” cried one of the soldiers. The door opened briefly, letting in light, then slammed shut. He heard the soldier relock the padlock.

  Tom shined the flashlight over and picked up the tray. Dinner consisted of two warm Pepsis, some bean tortillas, and a heap of tepid rice. Neither of them felt like eating. For a moment they sat there in the darkness. The aching in Tom’s head subsided, and as it did he began to get mad. The soldiers had no right. He and Sally had done nothing wrong. He felt that their phony arrest had probably been engineered by the nameless enemy who had killed Barnaby and Fenton. His brothers were in even more danger than he thought.

  “Give me the flashlight.”

  He shined it around. The shed couldn’t have been more shoddily built, just a post-and-beam frame with boards nailed over it and a tin roof. An idea began to take shape—a plan of escape.

  18

  At three o’clock that morning they took their places, Sally by the door and Tom braced at the back wall. He whispered a three-count and they both kicked simultaneously, Sally’s assault on the door masking the sound of Tom’s kick to the boards on the back wall. The combined blows sounded like one, ringing loudly in the confined space. The shabby board popped off, just as Tom hoped.

  Dogs began to bark in the village, and one of the soldiers cursed. “What are you doing?”

  “I have to go to the bathroom!” Sally cried.

  “No, no, you must go in there.”

  Tom whispered the countdown again, one, two, three, kick. Sally gave the door another blow while he kicked out a second board.

  “Stop!” said the soldier.

  “But I have to go, cabrón!”

  “Señorita, I am sorry, but you must take care of it in there. I am under orders not to open the door.”

  One, two, three, kick!

  The third board popped off. The opening was now big enough to squeeze through. The dogs in town were barking hysterically.

  “One more kick and I call the teniente!”

  “But I have to go!”

  “There is nothing I can do.”

  “You soldiers are barbarians.”

  “It is our orders, señorita.”

  “That’s just what Hitler’s soldiers said.”

  “Sally, let’s go,” hissed Tom, gesturing to her in the dark.

  “Hitler was not such a bad man, señorita. He made the trains run on time.”

  “That was Mussolini, you idiot. You two will end up on the gallows, and good riddance.”

  “Sally!” Tom called.

  Sally came back. “Did you hear what those Nazis just said?”

  He pushed her through the hole and handed out their sleeping bags. They ran at a crouch down the jungle track toward the town. The town had no electricity, but the sky was clear and moonlight bathed the empty streets. The dogs were already barking, and they were able to pass through without creating a further alarm. Despite the noise nobody was stirring.

  These people have learned to mind their own business, Tom thought.

  In five minutes they were down by the boats. Tom flashed the light over the army dugout, the one with the eighteen-horse engine. It was in good order, with two large plastic tanks of gasoline, both full. He began untying the prow. Suddenly he heard a voice, speaking low, from the darkness.

  “You no want that boat.”

  It was the man they had hired earlier that day.

  “We sure as hell do,” hissed Tom.

  “Let stupid army mans take that boat. Water going down. At every bend in river they get stuck. You take my boat. You no get stuck. That way you escape.” He leapt like a cat onto the dock and untied a slender dugout with a six-horsepower engine. “Get in.”

  “Are you coming with us?” Sally asked.

  “No. I tell stupid army mans you rob me.” He started unhooking the gas tanks from the army boat and loading them into the back of their dugout canoe. He also gave them the gas tank from the other boat. Tom and Sally climbed in. Tom fished in his pocket and offered the man some money.

  “Not now. If they search me and find money, I get shot.”

  “How can we pay you?” Tom asked.

  “You pay me million dollar later. My name Manuel Waono. I always here.”

  “Wait a minute. A million dollars?”

  “You rich American, you easy pay me million dollar. I, Manuel Waono, save your life. You go now. Fast.”

  “How do we find Pito Solo?”

  “Last village on river.”

  “But how do we know—”

  The Indian wasn’t interested in making any more explanations. He pushed them off with a big bare foot, and the boat slid into the blackness.

  Tom lowered the engine into the water, primed it, choked it, gave it a pull. Instantly it roared into life. In the silence, the sound was high pitched and loud.

  “Go!” said Manuel from shore.

  Tom threw the boat into forward. He turned the throttle as far as it would go, and the tinny engine whined and shuddered. The long wooden canoe began to move through the water. Tom steered while Sally stood in the bow, probing the river ahead with the flashlight.

  Not a minute later, back at the dock, Manuel began shouting in Spanish: “Help! I am robbed! My boat, they stole my boat!”

  “Christ, he didn’t wait long,” Tom muttered.

  Soon a cacophony of excited voices came drifting toward them over the dark river. Then the bright light of a gas lantern came bobbing down the embankment, along with flashlights, illuminating a knot of people gathering on the makeshift dock. There was some angry and confused shouting and then a sudden hush. A voice rang out in English: the voice of Lieutenant Vespán. “Turn around or I order my men to shoot, please!”

  “He’s bullshitting,” said Sally.

  Tom didn’t feel quite so sure.

  “Do not think I am joking!” the teniente shouted.

  “He’ll never shoot,” said Sally.

  “One ... two ...”

  “It’s a crock,” said Sally.

  “Three ...”

  There was a silence.

  “What did I tell you?”

  There was a sudden burst of automatic-weapons fire coming across the water, shockingly loud and close.

  “Shit!” Tom yelled, throwing himself down. As the boat began to yaw, he quickly reached up with one hand and steadied the engine handle.

  Sally was still standing in the prow, unconcerned. “Tom, they’re shooting into the air. They’re not going to risk hitting us. We’re Americans.”

  There was a second bu
rst of gunfire. This time Tom distinctly heard the slap of bullets hitting the water around them. Instantly Sally landed on the floor of the dugout next to him. “Jesus Christ, they are shooting at us!” she cried.

  Tom reached up and shoved the tiller sideways, sending the dugout into a sharp evasive maneuver. There were two more short bursts of gunfire. This time he heard the whine of bullets overhead and to the left, like bees. They were evidently aiming for the sound of the engine, raking the water back and forth with their automatic weapons. And they were most definitely shooting to kill.

  He steered the boat on a zigzag course, trying to throw the shooters off their aim. At each lull, Sally raised her head and shined the light ahead so they could see where they were going. They would be safe, at least for the moment, once they got around the bend in the river.

  There was another burst, and this time several rounds nicked the gunwale, showering them with splinters.

  “Shit!”

  “We will come and get you!” rose up the voice of the lieutenant, fainter now. “We will find you, and then you will be very sorry for the very short remainder of your very miserable lives.”

  Tom counted to twenty and risked another look ahead. Slowly the boat came around the bend, out of the line of fire. Tom steered as close to the wall of vegetation as he dared. As they went around the bend, the lights at the little landing flickered through the leaves and then were gone.

  They had made it.

  There was another halfhearted burst of gunfire. Tom heard a snipping and cracking in the jungle to their left as the bullets were stopped by the trees. The sounds echoed away and the river fell silent.

  Tom helped Sally up. Her face looked white, almost ghostly, in the dim light. He shined the flashlight around. Two walls of trees rose up on either side of the dark river. A single star burned for a moment in a patch of exposed sky, then blinked and flickered through the canopy as they moved. The little engine whined away. For now they were alone on the river. The dark, humid night enfolded them.

  Tom took Sally’s hand. He found it was shaking, and then he realized his own hand was shaking, too. The soldiers had shot at them, trying to kill them. He had seen it a million times in the movies, but to actually be shot at was something else entirely.