But I was heartened as I went on. It was unlikely that any more of them would be coming up the trail and I
lengthened my stride to move faster so that I’d outpace any possible chicleros coming up behind. It was hot and strenuous work and the precious water I had drunk filmed my body in the form of sweat, but I drove myself on and on without relenting and kept up a lulling pace for the next two hours.
Suddenly the trail took a sharp turn to the left, went on a hundred yards, and petered out. I stopped, uncertain of where to go, and suddenly became aware of a man lying on top of a hillock to my right. He was staring at something through field glasses, and as I convulsively brought up the rifle, he half-turned his head and said casually, ‘Es usted, Pedro?’
I moistened my lips, ‘Si!’ I said hoping that was the right answer.
He put the glasses to his eyes again and resumed his contemplation of whatever was on the other side of the hillock. ‘Tiene usted fosforos y cigarrillos?’
I didn’t know what he was saying, but it was obviously a question, so I repeated again, ‘Si!’ and climbed up the hillock boldly until I was standing over him, just a little behind.
‘Gracias,’ he said. ‘Que hora es?’ He put down the glasses and turned to look at me just as I brought the rifle butt down on his head. It hit him just above the right eye and his face creased in sudden pain. I lifted the rifle and slammed it down harder in a sudden passion of anger. This is what would have happened to Harry. The sound that came from him was midway between a wail and a grunt, and he rolled over down the hillock and was still.
I gave him a casual glance and stirred him with my foot. He did not move, so I turned to see what he had been looking at. Spread out below was Uaxuanoc and Camp Three, not a quarter of a mile away across open ground. I looked at it as the Israelites must have looked upon the Promised
Land; tears came to my eyes and I took a few stumbling steps forward and shouted in a hoarse croak at the distant figures strolling about the huts.
I began to run clumsily and found that all the strength seemed to have suddenly drained from my body. I felt ridiculously weak and at the same time, airy and buoyant and very light-headed. I don’t know if the man I had stunned—or killed for all I knew—was the only chiclero overlooking the camp, or whether he had companions. Certainly it would have been a simple matter for a man with a rifle to shoot me in the back as I stumbled towards the huts, but there was no shot.
I saw the big figure of Joe Rudetsky straighten as he turned to look at me and there was a faint shout. Then there was a bit of a blankness and I found myself lying on the ground looking up at Fallon, who wore a concerned expression. He was speaking, but I don’t know what he said because someone was beating a drum in my ear. His head shrank and then ballooned up hugely, and I passed out again.
Water—clean, cold, pure water—is a marvellous substance. I’ve used it sometimes to make those packet soups; you get the dry, powdery stuff out of the packet which looks as unappetizing as the herbs from a witch doctor’s pouch, add water and hey presto!—what were a few dry scrapings turn into luscious green peas and succulent vegetables.
I was very dehydrated after my week in the forest, and I’d lost a lot of weight, but within a few hours I felt remarkably chirpy. Not that I drank a lot of water because Fallon wouldn’t let me and rationed it out in sips, but the sight of that water jug next to my bed with the cold condensation
frosting the outside of the glass did me a world of good because I knew that all I had to do was to stretch my arm and there it was. A lovely feeling! So I was feeling better although, perhaps, like the packet soup I had lost a bit of flavour.
Fallon, of course, wanted to know what had happened in more detail than in the brief incoherent story I told when I stumbled into camp. He pulled up a chair and sat by the edge of the bed. ‘I think you’d better tell me all of it,’ he said.
‘I killed a man,’ I said slowly.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Rider? You mustn’t think of it like that.’
‘No, not Harry.’ I told him what had happened.
As I spoke the expression on his face changed to startled bewilderment, and when I finally wound down he said, ‘So we’re under observation—and Gatt’s out there.’
‘With an army,’ I said. ‘That’s what Pat Harris was trying to tell you—but you wouldn’t listen. Gatt has brought his own men from the States and recruited chicleros to help him in the forest. And the fire in the radio shack wasn’t an accident—nor was the crash of the chopper.’
‘You’re certain it was sabotage?’
‘Harry was,’ I said. ‘And I believe him. I also think the other chopper—the big one at Camp One—was sabotaged. Your jet is stranded in Mexico City, too. We’re isolated here.’
Fallon looked grim. ‘How many men did you see with Gatt?’
‘I didn’t stop to count—but from first to last I must have seen twenty-five. Some of those I might have bumped into more than once, of course, but I’d say that’s a fair reckoning.’ I stretched my hand and laid it against the coolness of the water jug. ‘I can make a fair guess at what they’ll do next.’
‘And what’s your guess?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? They’re going to hi-jack us. Gatt wants the stuff we’ve brought up from the cenote and any other trinkets we may have found. It’s still here, isn’t it?’
Fallon nodded. ‘I should have sent it out before.’ He stood up and looked out of the window. ‘What puzzles me is how you—and Gatt—can be certain of this.’
I was too tired to yell at him but I made an effort. ‘Damn it, I’ve been bringing the stuff out of the water, haven’t I?’
He turned. ‘But Gatt doesn’t know that. How can he know, unless someone told him? We haven’t broadcast it.’
I thought about that, then said softly, ‘I was in the forest for nearly a week after the sabotage and Gatt still hasn’t made a move. He’s out there and he’s ready, so what’s holding him up?’
‘Uncertainty, perhaps,’ suggested Fallon. ‘He can’t really
know
that we’ve found anything valuable—valuable to him, that is.’
‘True. But all he has to do is to walk in here and find a million and a half dollars that’s here for the taking.’
‘More than that,’ said Fallon. ‘Paul made a big find in the Temple of Yum Chac. He wasn’t supposed to start excavating, but he did, and he stumbled across a cache of temple implements. They’re priceless, Jemmy; nothing like this has been found before.’
‘Nothing is priceless to Gatt,’ I said. ‘What would it be worth to him?’
‘As a museum collection you couldn’t put a price on it. But if Gatt split it up and sold the pieces separately, then maybe he could pick up another million and a half.’
I looked at Fallon sourly. ‘And you had the nerve to tell me there wouldn’t be any gold in Uaxuanoc. We know Gatt can recognize the value, and we know he can dispose of it through Gerryson. So what do we do! Just hand it to him when he comes calling with his goons?’
‘In all fairness I think we’d better talk it over with the others,’ said Fallon. ‘Do you feel up to it?’
‘I’m all right,’ I said, and swung my legs out of bed.
It was a gloomy and depressing conference. I told my story and, after a few minutes of unbelieving incomprehension, I managed to ram it down their throats that we were in trouble. Fallon didn’t need convincing, of course, but Paul Halstead was as contrary a bastard as ever. ‘This whole thing sounds very unlikely,’ he said in his damned superior way.
I bristled. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’
Fallon put his hand on my arm warningly. Halstead said, ‘No, but I think you’re exaggerating—and using your imagination.’
I said, ‘Take a walk out into the forest. If you run into a bullet it won’t harm you if it’s imaginary.’
‘I certainly think you could have done more to help poor Rider,’ he said.
I leaned over the table to grab him but he pulled back sharply. ‘That’s enough!’ barked Fallon. ‘Paul, if you haven’t anything constructive to say, keep your mouth shut.’
Katherine Halstead unexpectedly attacked her husband for the first time. ‘Yes—shut up, Paul,’ she said curtly. ‘You make me sick.’ He looked at her in bewildered astonishment. ‘You’re not taking Wheale’s side again?’ he said in a hurt voice.
‘There are no sides—there never have been,’ she said in an icy voice. ‘If anyone uses his imagination, it’s not Jemmy.’ She looked across at me. ‘I’m sorry, Jemmy.’
‘I won’t have you apologizing for me,’ he blazed.
‘I’m not,’ she said in a voice that would cut a diamond. ‘I’m apologizing to Jemmy on my own behalf—for not listening to him earlier. Now just shut up as Professor Fallon says.’
Halstead was so surprised at this attack from an unexpected quarter that he remained silent and somewhat thoughtful. I looked across at Rudetsky. ‘What do you think?’
‘I believe you,’ he said. ‘We had some trouble with those goddamn chicleros back at Camp One. They’re a murderous lot of bastards, and I’m not surprised they took a shot at you.’ He squared his big shoulders and addressed himself to Fallon. ‘But this guy, Gatt, is something else again. We didn’t know about him.’
‘It wasn’t necessary for you to know,’ said Fallon colourlessly.
Rudetsky’s face took on a stubbornness. ‘I reckon it was, Mr Fallon. If Gatt has organized the chicleros it means big trouble. Getting shot at wasn’t in the contract. I don’t like it—and neither do Smitty and Fowler here.’ The other two men nodded seriously.
I said, ‘What are you trying to do, Rudetsky? Start a trade union? It’s a bit late for that. Whether or not Mr Fallon misled you is beside the point. In any case I don’t think he did it deliberately. The point at issue now is what do we do about Gatt?’
Fallon said wearily, ‘There’s only one thing we
can
do. Let him have what he wants.’
Smith and Fowler nodded vigorously, and Rudetsky said, ‘That’s what I think too.’ Katherine Halstead’s lips tightened, while Halstead twisted his head and looked about the table with watchful eyes.
‘Is that a fact?’ I said. ‘We just give Gatt three million dollars, pat him on the head and hope he’ll go away. A fat chance of that happening.’
Rudetsky leaned forward. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I’m sure you’re not as stupid as that, Joe. Gatt is committing a crime—he’s stealing three million dollars of someone else’s property. I don’t know who this stuff legally belongs to, but I’m sure the Mexican Government has a big claim. Do you really think that Gatt will allow anyone to go back to Mexico City to put in an official complaint?’
‘Oh, my God!’ said Fallon as the reality of the situation hit him.
‘You mean—hell knock us off—all of us?’ said Rudetsky in a rising voice.
‘What would you do in his position?’ I asked cynically. ‘Given, of course, that you don’t have too much regard for the sanctity of human life.’
There was a sudden babble of voices, above which rose Rudetsky’s bull-like tones cursing freely. Smith yelled, ‘I’m getting out of here.’
I thumped the table and yelled, ‘Belt up—the lot of you!’ To my surprise they all stopped suddenly and looked towards me. I hadn’t been used to asserting myself and maybe I over-did it—anyway, it worked. I stabbed my finger at Smith. ‘And where the hell do you think you’re going to go? Move ten yards into that forest and they’ve got you cold. You wouldn’t stand a chance.’
Smith’s face went very pale and he swallowed nervously. Fowler said, ‘Jeez; he’s right, Smitty! That’s out.’
There was a sudden strength in Fallon’s voice. ‘This is impossible, Wheale; you’re dragging up bogies. Do you realize what a stink there would be if Gatt went through with this…this mass murder? Do you think that a man can disappear with no questions asked? He’d never go through with it.’
‘No? Who else but us knows that Gatt is here? He’s experienced—he has an organization. I’ll bet he can whistle up a hundred witnesses to prove he’s in Mexico City right now. He’ll make damned sure that there is no one to tie him up with this thing.’
Katherine’s face was pale. ‘But when they find us…find our bodies…they’ll know that…’
‘I’m sorry, Katherine,’ I said. ‘But they won’t find us. You could bury an army in Quintana Roo and the bodies would never be found. We’ll just disappear.’
Halstead said, ‘You’ve put your finger on it, Wheale. Who else but us knows that Gatt is here? And the only reason we know is because of your say-so.
I
haven’t seen him, and neither has anyone else—except you. I think you’re trying to stampede us into something.’
I stared at him. ‘And why the devil should I want to do that?’
He shrugged elaborately. ‘You pushed your way into this expedition right from the start. Also, you’ve been very interested in the cash value of everything we’ve found. I don’t think I have to say much more, do I?’
‘No, you bloody well don’t,’ I snapped. ‘And you’d better not or I’ll ram your teeth down your throat.’ All the others were looking at me in silence, letting me know that this was a charge that had to be answered. ‘If I wanted to stampede you why would I prevent Smith going off? Why would I want to keep us together?’
Rudetsky blew out his breath explosively and looked at Halstead with dislike. ‘Jesus! For a minute this guy had me going. I ought to have known better.’ Halstead stirred uneasily under the implied contempt, and Rudetsky said to me, ‘So what do we do, Mr Wheale?’
I was about to say, ‘Why ask me?’ but one look at Fallon made me change my mind. He was oddly shrunken and stared blindly in front of him, contemplating some interior vision. What he was thinking I don’t know and I’d hate to guess, but it was evident that we couldn’t rely on him for a lead. Halstead couldn’t lead a blind man across a street, while Rudetsky was a good sergeant type, super-efficient when told what to do—but he had to be told. And Smith and Fowler would follow Rudetsky.
I have never been a leader of men because I never particularly wanted to lead anyone anywhere. I was always of the opinion that a man should make his own way and that if he used the brains God gave him, then he didn’t have to
follow in anyone’s footsteps and, by the same token, neither should he expect anyone to follow him. I was a lone wolf, a rampant individualist, and it was because of that, perhaps, I was labelled grey and colourless. I didn’t take the trouble to convert anyone to my point of view, an activity which seems to be a passionate preoccupation with others, and it was put down to lack of anything worthwhile to say—quite wrongly.