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What caught Sam’s eye was Sarah Allersby in handcuffs, being escorted by Commander Rueda to one of the two big military helicopters.
Remi stood, waiting for Sam, at the field. She ran to meet him. “Where are they?”
“One of them rolled over to where the other one was and chewed through his leather shoelace. They got away.”
“I’ll bet it was Ruiz,” Remi said. “He has beautiful teeth.”
“The sergeant says they’ll never get anywhere on foot. On the other hand, I keep remembering that lots of people in this part of the world don’t have shoes. What’s going on?”
“Rueda said that Sarah had photocopies of the four pages of the codex that made up the map in her suitcase, with this site marked. She also had aerial photos of the same four sites we picked out, and a few more. It’s not the codex, but it’s proof that she at least had the original codex long enough to photograph it.”
“She’s under arrest?”
Remi nodded. “She’s on her way to be booked in Guatemala City for possession of stolen property and for damaging this site. I think Rueda wants to arrange something public, to discourage the other people who do this kind of thing.”
“If we want a ride to civilization, we’d better go retrieve our backpacks,” said Sam.
“I did that while you were gone,” she whispered. “I also went back to retrieve our pistols in the woods. I broke them down and put the pieces in the packs. I’ve already put them aboard.”
“Good thinking. Thanks.” Sam looked around him as the soldiers climbed into the helicopters. A half dozen of them remained near the pyramid, setting up a camp of their own, to guard the site. “We’d better get seats in the chopper before they run out of room.”
Remi climbed in, and Sam followed. There were seats of crisscross nylon netting along both walls. They selected a pair, strapped themselves in, and a minute later the engine growled to life and then lifted the big chopper into the air.
Jerry Ruiz looked up at the sky. First one, then another, then the last two helicopters soared overhead. He judged that they were moving southward toward Guatemala City.
“It’s safe to head back to the pyramid now,” Russell said. “Two of those were definitely the big troop carriers.”
“Okay. Let’s go,” said Ruiz. “Keep your eyes open to see where Fargo threw our boots.”
Russell walked for a few feet, then stepped on a sharp stone, hopped on one foot, and landed on a pointed stick in the path. “Ow! Ah!” he said, sat on the path, and stared at the soles of both feet, then got up again and moved ahead gingerly. Russell’s already red and painful face now looked worse. Much of the sandy gravel that Sam Fargo had thrown in it had been stuck to his raw skin and was held there by the Vaseline, and when he’d been hog-tied on the ground, his face had also picked up more dirt, grass, and small sticks.
Ruiz wisely said nothing. There was no need to remind Russell of his face or to warn him that the path was treacherous and studded with sharp stones or that the low brush on both sides had thorns. Russell had already sworn about it six or seven times in the last ten minutes.
Ruiz had trouble walking too. The shovel had left a shallow cut and a large bruise on his leg just above the knee, his right hand hurt, and his breathing was labored because of some damage to a rib or two. Nevertheless, he had managed to roll over to where Russell lay and chew his way through Russell’s leather bonds. It had not been easy, but he’d known that they had to get free or they’d be dragged into the Guatemala City jail and charged with attempted murder. And even if the soldiers didn’t find them, they could easily die out here.
Ruiz had been raised in a remote village in Mexico. He knew that two bleeding, helpless men could hardly go unnoticed by the jaguars that patrolled the jungles at night. He also knew that the worst dangers didn’t always look the worst. Fatal malaria, Chagas’ disease, or dengue fever could come from the bite of a tiny insect. So he had done what was necessary to free them. They’d lain still in the jungle, covered with fallen leaves, while the soldiers came and went. Maybe now all would be well. But he was concerned about Russell, who had gotten a little crazy since he’d been painted blue. He was in a constant state of rage, goaded on by the pain in his face and the pain of his anger.
Ruiz was worried. Poor judgment was a vulnerability. Mistakes one could shrug off in a city would kill a man out in the jungle. Ruiz hobbled off the path and selected two five-foot saplings from a stand of little trees growing where a big one had fallen and broke off the branches to make two walking sticks. “Here. This will help.”
Using their sticks, they moved on in silence for a time. Leaning on the sticks kept them from stepping down too hard on sharp stones and gave them enough balance to avoid some of the worst spots. It took them about an hour to reach the ancient city. While they were still on the edge of the jungle, they could see that the whole site had been evacuated except for a half dozen soldiers, who loitered by the great pyramid’s steps. They had built a small fire and pitched three two-man tents.
Russell stepped toward the open area, but Ruiz held him back. “Wait,” said Ruiz. “They’re soldiers.”
“I can see that.”
“What if they’ve been left here to wait for us?” asked Ruiz.
Russell stopped and thought, but he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.
Ruiz prompted him. “The Fargos must have told the soldiers we tried to kill them.”
Russell said, “All this is beside the point. We’re a hundred miles from anywhere. We don’t have shoes, water, or food. They do.”
“They also have guns. Assault rifles, full auto,” said Ruiz.
“We can wait until they’re asleep, crawl up, and cut their throats.”
“There are six—two in each tent. Even if each of us could kill two men in a tent with a knife we don’t have, the one would yell while the other was being killed. There would still be two in another tent who would hear it and open fire on us.”
