The Jaguar (19 page)

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.