When I got back to the Camino Real, the time was early afternoon and the bed was freshly made, with all signs and scents of my and Steve's torrid reunion long gone. I tried to push aside thoughts of how much I was already missing him and focus on what I was getting myself into. I must admit I was having serious qualms about going up to the Peten, the part of Guatemala where Sarah had been left for dead, with my brand-new tour director, the flaky Alan Dupre. I'd never been in a helicopter before, much less one flying over a stormy rain forest. On the other hand, if that was where they'd taken Sarah, the sooner I got there, the better.
Sitting there in the room, I found myself feeling right at home: Everything about it was so familiar to an expert on budget travel like me. Off-brand carpet the color of decaying vegetation, the usual two double beds (one totally unused, except as a suitcase shelf), the TV suspended over the dresser and bolted to the wall. Funny, but it was the first time I'd noticed half the things in the room.
Okay, I told myself, the thing to do first is call St. Vincent's and check on Lou. Also, I wanted to tell him what was happening. I just hoped he wouldn't launch into a lecture about the recklessness of what I was planning. I needed support, not male advice.
I got the desk to give me the local AT amp;T contact number, then rang right through to St. Vincent's. The next thing I knew, they were calling his room.
"Hi. How's the patient?"
"Morgan, what the hell are you up to? I've been trying to reach you. I finally called David and he said you'd left a message; something about Central America. Why the hell-?"
"I was trying to explain that to you Sunday night, but you were pretty far gone."
"Well, I ain't that far gone now, so I'm telling you to-"
"By the way," I interrupted, hoping to change the subject, "how're you feeling?"
"I guess I'll live. They let me get up and go to the bathroom now. They're saying I can probably go home tomorrow."
"That's encouraging." Thank God he was going to be okay.
"I also had a talk with Gerry, downtown. He believes Sarah was kidnapped, even if New York's Finest don't, so that means the FBI has jurisdiction. We're gonna get some action. They're trying to get a photo of that colonel, so maybe I can ID the bastard. But the consulate's giving us a lot of shit about it."
"Well, I'm tracking something down here. Between the two of us, I think we'll find her."
"So, what the hell are you doing?"
I told him about finding the name of a destination on Sarah's old landing card, and about meeting a guy who was going to take me there as soon as the weather cleared.
"And you think she could be there now?" He didn't sound hopeful.
"There're reasons to check it out." I didn't want to elaborate. "Maybe we'll get lucky."
I was attempting to say as little as possible, fearing the phone was tapped. In that spirit, I decided to get off the line as quickly as possible.
"Lou, you get lots of rest, and I'll try and call you tomorrow."
With a final warning to watch out for myself, he took down my hotel number and hung up. Truthfully, he was sounding pretty tired and weak, not nearly his old self.
Well, he had a right to be. But at least there were no complications.
My next call was going to be to David Roth, to check in on things at Applecore, but first I wanted to order up some huevos rancheros, get some breakfast protein. I was becoming energized by the prospect of progress, and being that way always makes me ravenous. It's probably a primal female response that has a Latin name.
I checked out the number for room service, and was literally reaching for the black phone when it rang of its own accord. Startled I picked up the receiver, wondering who had my number.
"Hello." It was a man's voice that sounded vaguely familiar. "Thought I'd check in and see how things are going with your search."
"Hi," I answered back after a pause, trying to place his intonation.
"Oh, sorry. Barry Morton. Remember me? Fortress America. You came by the office yesterday."
"How…?" Why was he calling me? "How did you get this-?"
"You must have accidentally put the wrong hotel on your landing card as your address in Guatemala City." He hesitated a second then said "But I had my secretary call around and… well, it happens all the time."
"I see." It did have the ring of logic. And I had put down a different hotel. A safety measure. "Do you always take this much… interest in your fellow citizens?"
"Only when they come to see me personally." He chuckled. "So how's it going?"
"Well, thanks for calling," I said. "Everything's moving along."
"Good, good." There was another pause, then, "Incidentally, you having any luck finding that Ninos del Mundo place you were looking for?"
I hesitated, wondering why he would ask and also unsure what to say.
"Not yet," I volunteered. My God, it finally dawned on me. The guy was tracking me. He wanted to know what I knew. "You come up with anything at your end?"
"I've been busy, a string of meetings, but I still think you might want to check out the phone book." It was the second time he'd made the suggestion. He was practically ordering me to do it. Why? "You never know. I'm afraid that's about the best I can do."
"Maybe I will," I said. "I've been a little busy too."
The phone call was feeling stranger and stranger. He was sending me to see something, probably in hopes it would make me go away. It was actually more unnerving than if he'd done nothing at all.
"Well, in any case, I hope you have a good visit," he declared diplomatically. Another pause. "Planning to be here long?"
"I'm not sure yet." Why did he want to know that?
"I see. Whatever happens, I hope you find what you're looking for. Best of luck."
He hung up, leaving me with the feeling he already knew the answer to every question he'd asked. The guys at the airport, and now the embassy-I was the best-known tourist in the country.
Okay, maybe I should just play along and see what happens. In any case, I'd just lost my appetite for fried eggs with hot sauce, but I had a definite interest in the phone book.
And there they were. Ninos del Mundo. Complete with an address, way out the Boulevar R. Aguilar Batres.
Well, why not see where it leads you? Sarah's card said the place was in the Peten, but who knows?
I got up off the bed and went into the bathroom for a shampoo and shower. Despite the fact that Barry Morton wanted me to see this Ninos del Mundo place, whatever it was, I didn't want to show up looking and smelling like some bedraggled tourist. I'd wear my tailored blue suit, which, along with the dark blue heels, ought to make me look adequately businesslike.
The shower was wonderful, purging away the soot of the park, and I was wrapping my hair in a large beige towel when the phone jangled again. I tucked in the edge to secure it and walked over. Maybe it was Lou ringing back.
No such luck. The caller was none other than my brand-new partner Alan Dupre. I was not thrilled to hear his voice. Was he about to get cold feet and back out?
"Morgan, listen," he said, not wasting time on niceties, "there's been a small change of plans. I've-"
"Alan, don't do this to me." You shit. "You agreed- "
"No, why I'm calling is, we've got to go ahead and go up today, storm or no, God help us. You happy now?"
What? After that neurotic song-and-dance he'd just given me in the park? I should have been overjoyed, but something about the whole thing immediately felt synthetic. I paused a long moment, trying to think the situation through. What was going on?
The answer to that was clear as day. I was being set up. Somebody wanted me out of town, and they'd just found a way.
Or was I being paranoid again? Had the weather cleared? I reached over and pushed aside a curtain. Nope, it looked as threatening as ever.
No question. This was definitely a setup.
On the other hand why not use whoever had put him up to this? This told me for sure I was on the trail of Sarah, and the sooner I got going, the better. Aside from calling New York and then checking out the local Ninos del Mundo that Barry Morton wanted me to see so badly, I had no other pressing plans…
"Alan, I thought you declared no 'effing' way were you going to go today," I said testing him. "Why the sudden revision in scheduling?"
"Yeah, well, something heavy's come up for tomorrow. I'm afraid it's gotta be now or forget it for at least a week."
Unrefined bullshit. But somebody knew how badly I wanted to go.
"Look, there's something I need to check out first. I just learned about a place here in town I want to at least see. It's also called Ninos del Mundo."
"No shit." He paused. "Okay, we'll talk about it. Get the address and maybe we can cruise by if there's time. Thing is, we don't have all that much leeway here."
"One last question." I thought I'd give him a final shot at the truth. "Just tell me honestly why it has to be today. The real story."
"Like I said everything's changed." He wasn't budging. "So if we're doing this, I've got to pick you up now and get us on our merry way."
He was too cheerful by half, which definitely told me he was lying.
"All right, but I really need to make at least one phone call first." I wanted Steve to know where I was. "And if I walk out of here with a bag, I've got to let the desk know I'm not skipping on the bill."
"Forget the phone call. No time. Do it after we get back. Just be out front in exactly nineteen minutes. This is not a dry run. The train is leaving. I'm outta here now."
There was a click and he was gone.
I sat there a moment staring at the floor. What was I getting into?
Well, there's one way to find out. Play their game and beat them. There's no better way to get inside what's going on.
The first thing I did was call Steve's hotel in Belize City. Of course he wasn't there, but I left a long message to the effect that I was taking a "sightseeing" trip up to the Peten with Alan Dupre today because of unforeseen new circumstances. The reasons were complicated, but I'd watch out for myself and therefore he shouldn't worry.
That out of the way, I looked around the room. It was a disaster, but I quickly began cramming things into the small folding backpack I always took on trips. Then I rang the kitchen and told them to make up a quadruple egg sandwich (quatro huevos, por favor) to go, along with a large bottle of distilled water.
By the time I got to the reception desk and explained I wasn't actually checking out for good, Alan Dupre was already waiting outside in his battered green Jeep, cleaning his scratchy shades and leaning on the horn.
Let him wait. I wrote out a long note to Steve, on the chance he might come looking for me. Then with deliberate slowness, I wandered out to where Alan's Jeep was parked and tossed my backpack behind the seat.
"First things first." I climbed in and handed him the address of Ninos del Mundo I'd copied onto some hotel stationery. "This is where we've got to go."
He stared at it a moment, puzzling, and then seemed to figure out where it was.
"Upscale part of this beautiful oasis." He shifted into gear. "But it's more or less on the way." He glanced up nervously at the sky. "We just don't have all day."
Off we headed toward the suburbs, through a ganglia of downtown streets laced with pizza joints and frying-meat vendors, till we eventually ended up on a tree-lined avenue that looked as genteel as Oyster Bay. When we got to the address, I told him to park across the way, and just sat a moment staring.
The building itself was a windowless compound surrounded by trees and a high wall of white stucco, with a guardhouse and wide iron gate (not unusual for Guatemala) protecting a long walkway. The whole thing looked like a fortress, except the view through the gate was a pastoral vista of neat flower beds and a pristine lawn. The guardhouse itself had a dozing teenager, undoubtedly with an Uzi resting across his lap.
"Okay, Alan," I said "time to get with the program. How's your Spanish?"
"Depends on who I'm trying to BS." He shrugged and began cleaning his sunglasses again.
"Well, why don't you see if you can talk us past that guard."
He stared at the entrance a moment. "Be a waste of our precious time. Tell you right now, kids like that only answer to one boss, the jefe, the big guy, whoever he is. That's how they retain their employment. A joint locked down this tight don't give Sunday tours."
"Well, I think he's asleep. So I'm going to be creative and see if there's a back entrance of some kind. Maybe a service area that'll give me some idea of what's going on here."
"Do what you want, but make it fast," he said, leaning back in the seat. "And try not to get shot."
I carefully got out and walked down the empty street a way, then followed the stucco wall/fence-the building covered an entire city block-until I came across an alley entrance, with another large iron gate, padlocked shut.
I peered up the driveway, shrouded in overhanging trees, but there was nothing in the parking lot except a couple of Army Jeeps. And a black Land Rover.
Well, Barry Morton really wanted me to see this. But why? Is there a connection to the place in the Peten? And what are the Army vehicles all about?
I sighed and made my way back to the street. When I reached the Jeep, Alan was gone, but then I realized he was over talking to the young guard, offering him a cigarette. A few moments later he waved good-bye and casually ambled back.
"Okay." He settled in and hit the ignition. "Here's the official deal. This place is some kind of hospice for unwed mothers. They also take in orphans, or so he thinks. According to him, no American women have ever had anything to do with the place, which is probably why I'd never heard of it." He glanced at me as we sped off. "You happy now? Debriefing young Army dudes is a specialty of mine, so I think that's probably the straight scoop."
"Did you ask if it's connected with something in the Peten?" I was still hoping. In any case, whatever it was, I was collecting more pieces of the puzzle.
"Hey, give me a break." He shifted up, gaining speed. "I know when to push, and this wasn't the precise moment. The kid was itchy enough as it was. Like, who the fuck are you, gringo, and what are you doing here? I got all I could get without a cold cerveza." He glanced over. "You ask me, a little gratitude wouldn't be entirely out of place."
"Okay. Muchas gracias, amigo. Happy now?"
"Ecstatic."
The Jeep was open and I checked out the sky, which was growing darker and more threatening by the minute. The promised foul weather still seemed to be just that, promised but it was definitely on the way. Alan Dupre must really be scared. Finally I leaned back in the torn plastic seat and closed my eyes.
Was this Ninos del Mundo the Latin branch of Children of Light? The place where Alex Goddard's babies came from? Considering the interest Colonel Ramos had in my movie, the Army Jeeps could be a tip-off. Also, there seemed to be an even chance that Barry Morton was involved somehow. But it was all still guesswork. And anyway, this wasn't the place Sarah had put on her landing card. That Ninos del Mundo was somewhere up north, hidden in the rain forest.
Ready or not, Sar, hang on.