interested in marriage although she knew he was and that her decision
to leave England would prevent them from reaching the inevitable
painful break-up.
Hopefully he would remember her with affection and
not bitterness.
She left out details of her new address.
When she arrived at Techtatuan there was a modern car waiting for her
at the tiny airport.
The driver looked as if he would have been too
young to hold a licence in England.
"Dr.
Muldaire?
I am called Paulo.
I have been instructed to take you
to the hospital."
His smile was friendly and his darkly tanned face
looked as if it had been carved from smoothly polished wood.
It was an
unusual face, she thought, and rather beautiful.
His Spanish had a
distinct accent that she realised must be typical of the indigenous
population.
"Don't worry," he added solemnly, as he helped her load her bags into
the boot.
"I am a very safe driver."
She discovered that this was true, although there was very little
competition on the roads.
Most of the other mechanised vehicles were
old, rickety-looking trade vans.
She was surprised by how bright and
clean the town looked.
The buildings were white walled, with vibrant
splashes of colour coming from window boxes and gardens.
Paulo turned
to her and started to make conversation.
"This is a pleasant town.
You'll be happy here."
"Were you born here?"
Jacey asked.
"No, I was born in the village of Mata.
My family has lived there for
generations."
He paused.
"Long before the Spanish came."
"So why did you leave?"
she asked, guessing the answer.
"There's no work in Mata," he said.
"The villages are dying."
"Doesn't the government help?"
she asked.
"The government does not help Indians."
She noted the bitterness in
his voice.
"I came to Techtatuan to earn money for my family."
"And you've been successful?"
she guessed.
He shrugged.
"I have adapted.
I lea mt to read and write, and to drive a car.
I
don't mind speaking Spanish, or using a Spanish name."
She heard his
voice change.
"But I have not forgotten my heritage.
I will never do that."
The car cruised down an avenue of trees and Jacey noticed large posters
pinned to some of the trunks, all depicting the same crudely drawn
portrait: a man with bulging, fanatic's eyes glaring from a gaunt,
bearded face.
His tangled hair was topped by a military-style fatigue
cap.
One word stood out in large print, a word she did not
understand:
LOHAQUIN.
She tapped Paulo on the shoulder.
"Who's the man on the posters?
And what does Lohaquin mean?"
There was a brief pause before Paulo answered.
"You want to make a lot of money?
Find that man and hand him over to
the police."
"He's a criminal?"
Jacey guessed.
Paulo laughed shortly.
"Many would say so.
Lohaquin lives in the rain forest.
It protects
him.
He wants to change things here in Guachtal."
"Lohaquin?"
Jacey repeated.
"That doesn't sound Spanish."
There was another pause.
"It's the old language," Paulo said.
"My language.
Lohaquin means a sort of ghost, but not the ghost of a
dead person.
More like a spirit, a spirit who lives between two
worlds, our world and the invisible world.
It's difficult to
translate."
Interesting, Jacey thought.
A ghostly rebel, with a large reward on
his head?
Someone was obviously taking this 'spirit' very seriously
indeed.
Why didn't Major Fairhaven mention this mysterious character
to me, she wondered.
Clearly the situation out here isn't quite as
simple as he pretended.
She leant back in her seat again.
"Does this Lohaquin have much support?"
Paulo shrugged.
"Who can say?
If anyone supports him, they don't talk to strangers
about it."
Well, Jacey thought, that's put me in my place.
Don't ask the wrong
questions, Dr.
Muldaire, because I won't answer them.
"But no one's claimed the reward?"
she persisted.
"Obviously Lohaquin has friends who protect him."
"The rain forest protects him," the boy said.
"I don't know of anyone who claims to have seen him."
"Someone drew the picture," Jacey observed.
Paulo laughed.
"There are plenty of people with good imaginations.
I have heard that
Lohaquin has green skin like the trees, and that he is seven feet tall.
Also that he is quite small.
Women like to dream that he is very
handsome, and will come to them in the night and make love to them. Who
knows the truth?"
Someone must know, Jacey thought, making a mental note to find out more
about the elusive Loha quin.
The car drove along the side of a high,
white wall and stopped by a pair of ornate but solid-looking iron
gates.
Paulo hooted.
A man in uniform opened the gates, and closed
them as soon as the car had passed through.
"Rather heavy security for a hospital," Jacey commented lightly.
Paulo shrugged.
"There are some very important people here.
They need to be private
and peaceful when they're ill.
Even Generalissimo Hernandez comes
here."
"And Nicolas Schlemann?"
she asked.
"You know Senor Schlemann?"
Paulo's voice was suddenly wary.
"No," she said.
"I've heard of him, that's all.
He's as important as Hernandez, isn't
he?"
"He's very powerful," Paulo agreed after a moment.
He glanced at her.
"No doubt you will meet him in due course."
"Oh, I don't expect I will," Jacey said brightly.
"Why would he want to meet me?"
The car halted outside a large white building.
"Because Senor Schlemann likes beautiful women," Paulo said.
"I'm here as a doctor," Jacey said, 'not as entertainment for Nicolas
Schlemann."
"Senor Schlemann considers all beautiful women are for his
entertainment."
She was surprised at the sudden note of concern in
Paulo's voice.
"You should be careful not to offend him, Dr.
Muldaire.
Senor Schlemann is used to getting his own way."
"I won't offend him if he doesn't offend me," Jacey said curtly.
Nicolas Schlemann was someone she liked less and less.
A jumped-up
bully, she thought, who uses his position to tyranni se women and
anyone else too frightened to fight back.
Paulo still looked worried,
so she smiled brightly.
"Don't worry, Paulo," she reassured him.
On an impulse she kissed her
fingers and tapped the kiss lightly on his cheek.
His skin felt smooth
and warm.
"I can look after myself.
Believe me."
Later that night Jacey lay in bed, recapping on the events of the day,
her mind too active for sleep.
Her room was spacious, air-conditioned
and cool, pleasantly different to what she had been expecting.
The
staff quarters were set apart from the main hospital building and
looked like an expensive apartment block.
She had a living room,
bedroom, bathroom and a small kitchen, plus a balcony crowded with
brightly flowering plants.
A smiling young nurse had previously shown
her the staff canteen (as luxurious as a first-class restaurant), the
gym, a sports hall and a swimming pool.
The hospital's senior doctor, Garcia Sanchez, had officially welcomed
her.
A charming, elderly Spaniard he complimented her on her Spanish.
He told her he was not born in Guachtal, but had lived there for fifty
years.
"It's a fine country with nice people.
You'll enjoy working here, Dr.
Muldaire."
"I'm looking forward to it," she said.
"Perhaps tomorrow someone can explain what my duties are?
I'm anxious
to start work."
Dr.
Sanchez laughed.
"There's no rush.
We have emergencies, of course, but most of our
patients come in for routine check-ups and minor problems.
All we ask
is that you wear your pager when you're in the hospital and carry your
mobile phone when you go out.
I'll get Dr.
Draven to explain how we
do things here.
You'll like him; he's English too.
Until then you
must relax.
Recover from your journey."
What kind of hospital is this, she wondered, as she lay in the