Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-one"Cut the crap." I pulled away, still in shock from seeing Sarah so addled. I wanted more than anything else in the world just to slug him. "Why did you bring her here? Think about your answer. Kidnapping is a serious crime in the States.""I've been very concerned about her." He looked up at the groves of Cebia trees around the square, a quiet glance, as though to inhale the misty morning air. My legal threat had gone right past him—probably because here he was the only law. "But now she's receiving the treatment she needs. I expect she'll be fine before long.""Treatment?" I was caught off guard. Okay, let's start get­ting things straight. "When she was here before, somebody tried to beat her to death. How—?""What happened then was beyond my control." He mo­tioned me to join him as he settled onto the first step of the pyramid sadness in his eyes. We were alone in the square now, and I felt like I'd become his personal prisoner, trapped. "Sarah was . . . is very dear to me. I care for her deeply.""You cared so much for her she ended up in a coma, over on the Mexican border." I didn't sit. Instead I just bored in, hoping to stare him down, but his eyes had grown distant, that little trick he had of alternating between intimacy and remoteness. Again it reminded me of that first morning we'd met, looking out over the bluffs of the Hudson."If you'll let me, I'd like to try and tell you something of the circumstances surrounding that tragedy." He was gazing off in the direction the women had gone. "You see, when Sarah first appeared at Quetzal Manor in New York, she was a very troubled young woman. She declared she was a person of pure spirit and she wanted to have a baby without so much as touching a man, some procedure that would produce a divine child created of cosmic energy."Cosmic energy. I had a flashback, hearing the words, to the time when she'd just turned six and we'd been sent by my mother to the hayloft to track down nests secreted there by rogue chicken hens. When we came across a cache of eggs, she asked if baby chicks came out of them. I assured her they did, and then she asked if human babies came from eggs too. My biology was pretty thin, but I told her I sup­posed they did, sort of, but then the eggs were probably hatched, or something, before babies were born. She thought about that a moment, scrunching up her face, then declared "No!" and bitterly began smashing the eggs. Babies and all living things came from another world, she declared, a spe­cial place we could not see. They came directly from God. . . .That was why she would seek out someone like Alex Goddard. For her, he must have seemed a messenger of the Unseen. Who better to create a child for her? The ironic part was, I'd found him for almost the same reason, seeking a miracle when all else had failed. Were Sarah and I even more alike than I'd realized?"So I began trying to work with her." He was turning back to me. "But then I discovered she'd been born with an abnormality of the uterus. It has a medical name, but suffice to say it's very rare, and afflicts only about one woman in twenty thousand. Even after my diagnosis, though, she re­fused to give up. She was a person of enormous tenacity."God, I thought. Why didn't she come home to us, to Louand me? We loved her. I felt my guilt go out to her all over again."She next declared she wanted to come here toBaalum, to the place of miracles. I told her that, yes, miracles can sometimes transpire here, but only at a great price. We would need to have an agreement and she would have to keep it no matter what.""What do you mean, an agree—?""Truthfully, though," he went on, ignoring me, "I imme­diately regretted the offer, since I realized she was far too unstable for this . . . environment. Finally I forbade her to come, but just before my next scheduled trip she found out and booked herself on the same flight. There was literally nothing I could do to stop her.""She put Ninos del Mundo on her landing card." I was growing sick to my stomach at the rehearsed way he was recounting her story. "That's this place, right?Baalum.""My clinic here is known by that name. The village itself is called Baalum." He was easily meeting my eye, holding his own in our battle of wills. "Sarah was, I have to say, a very impressionable young person. Once here, she forgot all about her purpose for coming. She should have stayed up the hill there"—he was pointing off to the south—"where I could care for her, but instead she moved down here, into the compounds. Then she discovered a hallucinogenic sub­stance they have here, began using it heavily, and I think it tipped her into a form of dementia."So, she was doing drugs, something I'd always secretly feared. Well, maybe she was still having flashbacks of some kind; maybe that explained why she was off in another world when she came out of her coma."What . . . kind of 'hallucinogenic substance'?"He sighed then shrugged and answered. "Here in the rain forest there's an ugly three-pound toad theBufo marinus—you'll see them around, near sunset—that has glands down its back that excrete a milky white poison."I knew about them. They were migrating north now, even into Florida. They were huge and looked like Jabba the Hutt in Star Wars. I hate toads of all varieties, but the thought of those monsters made me shudder."My God, isn't their toxin lethal?" Was Sarah trying to destroy herself? Was that why her mind was so blitzed? "I've heard—""Yes, it can kill you, but it can also—if processed cor­rectly, with fermented honey—give you truly supernatural visions. The classical Maya used it for ceremonial purposes. I'd managed to reconstruct how they prepared it, and—some­thing I now deeply regret—I showed the shamans here how to replicate the procedure. At the time it was just a minor part of my research into traditional pharmacology, but she heard about it and persuaded them to give her a vial. Then more and more."That did sound like Sarah. Always out on the edge, testing new realities. But then I thought a moment about what he'd actually said. Some of the people here in his "place of mir­acles" were doing heavy drugs, and she'd got caught up in it."But why didn't you stop her?" You unfeeling bastard."I tried, believe me. But I'm afraid she was far past lis­tening to me. By then she was learning the Kekchi Maya dialect, becoming totally immersed in their world. She began having episodes of complete non-rationality, and then one day she told the women in her compound she was going over to Palenque, the Maya ruins in Mexico. It's where the classical Maya held their last kingship ceremony. Before anyone re­alized she was serious, she stole one of theircayucos, their mahogany dugout canoes, and headed down the Rio Tigre." His eyes had turned completely dark, the way he used to blank them out. "She just went missing. Everyone here was devastated. We all loved her."I stood there weighing his story. It didn't ring true. I sup­posed she was capable of something that crazy, but would she have actually done it? I didn't think so.Then I remembered something else he'd said."You said you proposed an 'agreement.' What was that about?"He stared at me. "It's nothing that need concern us. Suf­fice to say I kept my part. Anyway, it's over and past now."Why wouldn't he tell me? Did she make some bargain with the Devil?"But regarding Sarah," he went on, "I only just learned she'd been found and brought to New York in a coma. Want­ing to do what I could, I immediately called the hospital and, out of professional courtesy, they told me she'd shown early stages of coming out of it, but she appeared to be halluci­nating. It was exactly what I'd feared. . . ." His voice trailed off. "I hope I did the right thing, but when I learned she'd been released, I arranged for her to be brought back here, where perhaps I can do something for her.""What?""In rare cases, the hallucinogen she took permanently al­ters critical synapses in the brain. I'm fearful she may have abused it to the extent something like that could have oc­curred. No one in the U.S. would have the slightest idea what to do, but I think I may know of an herbal antidote they turned to in ancient times that can repair at least part of the damage. I also knew that getting her back here through nor­mal channels would be impossible.""So you had Colonel Ramos and a bunch of his Guate­malan thugs just break in and take her?" I didn't know which part of the story horrified, and angered, me the most."I have the misfortune to know him reasonably well, andI explained it was very important to me, and he agreed to assist. I honestly didn't know where else to turn. I understand there may have been some violence, for which I apologize, but these people have their own way of doing things." He rose and came over and put his hand on my shoulder. "I hope you'll understand."The son of a bitch was coming on oily and contrite, when he'd just subcontracted an outright kidnapping. I wanted to kill him.Finally I walked away, trying to get a grip on my anger."You know, that bastard also broke into my apartment and stole a reel of a picture I'm shooting." I turned back. "I've also got a strong feeling he's the one who just threatened one of the women I filmed.""Well, if that happened, then let me say welcome to the paranoid harassment of the Guatemalan high command." He sighed against the morning sound of birds chirping all around us. "Unfortunately, I gather they've assumed you're documenting the operations of Children of Light in some way, doing a movie." His eyes drifted off into space, as though seeking a refuge. "You see, my project up here in the Peten is to carry out pharmaceutical research with as few distractions as possible. But in Guatemala City, I have what is, in effect, a hospice for girls in trouble—which is also called Niiios del Mundo, by the way—that's connected with my U.S. adoption service, Children of Light. However, any time Niiios del Mundo takes in an orphaned or abandoned infant and tries to provide it with a loving home through adoption in the States, the government here always threatens to hold up the paperwork if I don't give a bribe, what they call an 'expediting fee.' So if you were to probe too deeply . . . Let me just say it's not something they'd care to see lead off 60 Minutes."It sounded like more BS, but I couldn't prove that. Yet."Well, why don't you just clear that up, and then I'll take Sarah and—""But I've only now initiated her treatment. Surely you want to give it a chance."I looked out at the rain forest. This was the place she'd come to once, and—though I'd never admit it to Alex God­dard—it was the place she'd announced she wanted to return to. But something devastating had happened to her mind here. What should I do?The fact was, I didn't trust Alex Goddard any farther than I could throw him. I had to get Sarah and get us both out of here as soon as possible, though that meant I'd have to neu­tralize him and the Army, and then use my limited American dollars to try to buy our way back to Guatemala City."But come." He turned his gaze toward the south. "Let me show you the thing I'm proudest of here. It's just up there." He was pointing toward a dense section of the rain forest, in the opposite direction from the river and up a steep incline.I couldn't see anything but trees, but then I still had the feeling I'd stepped through the looking glass and found Sarah trapped there. The next thing I knew, we were on an uphill forest trail, headed due south."I think it's time you told me what's going on back there in the village," I said. What was it about this place that had seized such a claim on Sarah's mind?"Baalumis difficult to explain to someone encountering it for the first time." He paused. "Much of it is so—""I think I can handle it.""You have every right to know, but I don't really know where to start.""How about the beginning?" Why was he being so ambiguous?"Very well." He was taking out a pair of gray sunglasses,as though to gain time. "It actually goes back about ten years ago, when I was prospecting for rainforest plants up here in the Peten and accidentally stumbled across this isolated village, which clearly had been here since classical times. I immediately noticed a huge mound of dirt everybody said was haunted by 'the Old Ones,' and I knew right away it had to be a buried pyramid. They're more common down here than you'd think. So I struck a bargain with the village elders and acquired the site. But after I unearthed it and began the restoration, I became inspired with a vision. One day I found myself offering to restore anything else they could find—which eventually included, by the way, a magnificent old steam bath—in exchange for which they would help me by undertaking a grand experiment, a return to their traditional way of life.""So you deliberately closed them off to the modern world?" It told me Alex Goddard could control a Mayan village just as he controlled everything else he touched. It also confirmed he had a weakness for the grandiose gesture. Would a time come when I could exploit that?"I told them that together we would try to recreate the time of their glory, and perhaps in so doing we could also rediscover its long-lost spirit, and wisdom. On the practical side, they would help me by bringing me the rare plants I needed to try and rediscover the lost Native American phar­macologies, and in return I would build them a clinic where families can come for modern pediatric and public-health services. SoBaalumbecame a project we share together. I call it a miracle."That still didn't begin to explain why it felt so eerie. Some­thing else was going on just under the surface. What was he really doing here?Then the path uphill abruptly opened onto a clearing in which sat a large two-story building, its color a dazzling white, most likely plaster over cinder block, with a thatch roof and a wide, ornate mahogany door at the front. The building was nestled in a grove of trees whose vines and tendrils had embraced it so thoroughly, there was no telling how far it extended back into the forest. There also was a parking lot, paved and fed by a well-maintained gravel road leading south.Seeing it, I felt an immediate wave of relief. Even better, the lot itself contained half-a-dozen well-worn pickup trucks, while sunburned Maya men were lounging in the shade of a nearby tree and smoking cigarettes. They were not from Baalum. They wore machine-made clothes and they were speaking Spanish, unlike the men in loincloths down in the village.Yes! That's how I can get us out of here. A few dollars . . .Parked there also was a tan Humvee, the ultimate all-road vehicle, which I assumed belonged to Alex Goddard. Maybe I should just try to steal it.As we passed through the door and into the vestibule of the building, I glimpsed a cluster of Maya women and chil­dren crowded into a brilliantly lit reception area. Goddard smiled and waved at them, and several nodded back, timor­ously and with enormous reverence. They were being at­tended by a dark-eyed, attractive Maya woman in a blue uniform—the name lettered on her blouse was Marcelina— who was holding a tray of vials and hypodermic needles. She was pureindigena, all of five feet tall, with broad cheek­bones and deep-set penetrating eyes. Unlike the other women in the room, however, there was no air of resignation about her. She was full of authority, a palpable inner fire."One of my most successful programs here"—he nodded a greeting to her—"is to provide free vaccinations and gen­eral health resources for the villages in this part of the Peten Department.""I thought USAID already had public-health projects in Guatemala." The sight deeply depressed me. They all looked so poignant, the women with their shabbyhuipilsand lined faces, the children even more disheartening, sad waifs with runny noses and watery eyes.Which confirmed again that they'd come in the pickups parked outside, driven here by the men.I had six hundred cash in dollars. I could just buy one of those worn-out junkers for that.Alex Goddard glanced around, as though reluctant to re­spond in the presence of all the Maya."You saw those 'security guards' down there just now. They're nothing but boys with guns, 'recruits' kidnapped by the government on market day and pressed into the Army. They're all around here. The powers that be in Guatemala City are very threatened by what I'm achieving, so they've got these Army kids hanging around, keeping an eye on me. They also hate the fact I can provide health services better than they can. But to answer your question, most of the AID money gets soaked up by the bureaucracy in Guatemala City, so the people up here have learned to rely on me. The Army, however, despises me and everything I'm doing."What a load of BS. You just admitted you had an inside track with Colonel Alvino Ramos. Anybody can see Children of Light or Ninos del Mundo, or whatever the hell other aliases you use, is thick as thieves with the Guatemalan Armed Forces. Don't insult my intelligence. It just makes me furious.I turned to Marcelina. She'd begun passing out hard-sugar candies to the mesmerized children, showing them how to remove the cellophane before putting them into their mouths. Though she was pure Maya, she looked educated. I instinc­tively liked her. Maybe she could tell me what was really going on here."Do you speak English?""Yes." She was gazing at me with a blend of curiosity and concern. "If—""I've got a procedure scheduled shortly," Goddard inter­jected, urging me on down the tiled hallway. "But I need to take a moment and recharge. Come with me and we can talk some more."Near the end of the hall, we entered a spacious, country-style kitchen. He walked over and opened the refrigerator."Care for a little something to eat?" He looked back, speckled white hair swinging across his shoulders as his ponytail came loose. "I had Marcelina whip up some gazpacho last night and I see there's some left. It's my own secret rec­ipe, special herbs from around here. It's good and good for you.""I'm not hungry." It wasn't true. I was growing ravenous. But I was repressing the feeling because of everything else that was going on. His "village" was holding back its secrets, and now his clinic of "miracles" also felt suspiciously wrong. I'd seen plenty of rural public-health operations in developing countries, and this setup was far too big and fancy. The whole thing didn't begin to compute."As you like." He gave an absent shrug.I looked around and noticed that just off the kitchen was another space, which was, I realized, his private dining room. There was a rustic table in the center that looked like it had been carved from the trunk of a large Cebia tree. I walked in, and moments later he followed carrying a tray with two calabash bowls of gazpacho and some crusty bread."In case you change your mind and decide to join me." He placed a bowl opposite where he was planning to sit. "Like I said, there're unusual herbs around here with flavors you've never dreamed of."He began eating, while behind him I glimpsed Marcelinamoving down the hall, carrying more trays of vaccine and headed out toward the vestibule again. I had to find a way to talk to her.As I settled into the rickety chair that faced my plate, I glanced down and saw a red lumpy mixture with a spray of indefinable green specks across the top like a scattering of jungle stars. No way.When I looked up again, he was swabbing his lips with a white napkin, his penetrating eyes boring in."Now," he said, "it's time we started concentrating on you. Got you going with your program."Chapter Twenty-two"My program?" I stared back at him, feeling a jolt. With my thoughts completely focused on Sarah, the last thing on my mind was my own baby."Now that you're here"—he smiled—"there's no reason we shouldn't proceed. This is, after all, a place of miracles."Right. You let Sarah destroy her mind and now you want me to . . .Don't even think about it."I have to tell you, I'm not overly impressed thus far with your 'program,' " I said. "First I passed out in your clinic, and then my doctor in New York told me those drugs Ramala gave me are highly illegal, and for good reason.""What is 'legal' is more often than not the judgment of medical reactionaries." He dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand. "My work has moved far beyond anything the FDA has ever dreamed of." Then his look turned grave. "I hope you'll give me a chance to try to help you. I've been giving your case a lot of thought since our first examination, about what we should do. But first let me ask you . . . do you have a partner who could come here soon?"Okay, maybe the thing to do was appear to play along for a while, move under his radar, and then get Sarah and split."It's a possibility."He smiled again. "Excellent. If this person can come hereto the clinic for a . . . deposit, then we could put you on a fast-track schedule.""One thing at a time. First I'd like to know exactly what it is you have in mind." Would his "program" include string­ing me out on the toad drug, the way he'd done with Sarah?"Of course." He leaned forward in his chair. "I believe that, given your history, an in-vitro procedure would have the highest chance of success. You undoubtedly know how it works. We remove a number of eggs by aspiration and grade them for maturity and viability, after which we fertilize them to begin embryos growing. Then we pick the most promising for implantation.""In vitro is invasive and dangerous and there's a lot that can go wrong." I genuinely hated the idea."To some extent." He examined his watch for a moment, then looked up. "But let me just say this. Since any repro­ductive therapy, particularly in vitro, is strongly dependent on the factor of timing, I've developed experimental com­pounds down here that can regulate egg maturities very pre­cisely. It minimizes a lot of uncertainties, which is why we're so lucky you're . . ." He paused. "Look, the first thing we need to do is put you on a strict regimen of diet and spiritual discipline, using my system for regulating your Chi, your energy flows. Then, if you respond we can start thinking about the procedure. And should you eventually decide you want to go ahead and you can have your partner come here, we could possibly have everything done in just a few days.""Well, you can forget about me taking any 'experimental compounds.' " How long could I stall him?"Morgan, there's more to this." His look grew pained. "It's awkward to bring it up, but your presence here creates no small difficulty for me. I told you certain people in the military high command have concerns about the film you're making. And then the next thing they know, you show up here. It's just going to heighten their paranoia. But if I can convince them you're here for fertility treatment . . . In any case, it's important that nothing you, or I, do is at odds with that presumption. I hope it's true, but even if you chose to forgo it, I still need to put you on my normal regimen. You understand."That's baloney. Somebody had me brought toBaalum. Whoever did it knows full well why I'm here. The problem is, I still don't know what they really want."Well, you can say I've come to take Sarah home," I told him. "That seems reason enough.""The other story is simpler to explain." He took a last bite of gazpacho, then rested his pewter spoon on the table. "Take my word for it.""And what if I don't choose to go along with this cha­rade?""We would both be in jeopardy. They're entirely capable of . . . things I'd rather not have to elaborate on."I sat there, feeling a chill envelop the room. How was I going to get out of this place?"By the way, a while ago Sarah mentioned something about a 'ceremony.' What's that—?""It's a special time here." His gaze shifted to the ceiling. "In fact, it's supposed to take place in three days, but the Army has informed me it has to be two days from now. That's the day they rotate the troops here, so there'll be double strength.""But why do they need—""Things can get a bit frenzied." He smiled, though he seemed to be embarrassed. "However, the people will love the fact you're here to share it with them."Did he say "frenzied"? My mind immediately flashed on the Aztec rituals of ripping out beating hearts. But the Maya didn't go to that extreme, at least so far as I knew. Once again, though, I had the feeling I was only hearing what he wanted me to know, not the whole truth. It felt like a chess game where I didn't know the location of all the pieces or how they could move."Tell you what." He was getting up, turning toward the hall. "Why don't you let me show you around the clinic? In fact, I'm scheduled to perform an in vitro this morning for a childless couple here. You're free to see it. Perhaps that could help you make your own decision.""Well . . . do you have a phone? I need to make some calls." Would he let me call out? That would be a first test of what his intentions were. It was all getting so insidious. I had Sarah to worry about, and the Army, and now some kind of "ceremony" that he'd managed to stay cannily vague about. I only knew I wanted the whole world to know where I was."Of course," he said. "You're welcome to use my office." He was pointing down the hall. "It's right this way."Yes! Maybe I'm not completely his prisoner yet. I still have privileges. But I'd damned well better use them while I can.I walked out and felt a breeze, and then I studied the far end of the hallway, at the opposite end from the entrance, and noticed huge slatted windows. As we walked in their direction, I realized there was a stairway on one side, at the end of the hall, leading up to the second story of the building."What's up there?""Hygenic nursery rooms." He glanced at the stairs. "Un­like U.S. practice, new mothers here aren't sent home after a day or two. Women and their newborns are encouraged to stay here at the clinic for at least a week. It's actually very much a part of their tradition, a period of bonding. You're welcome to visit with them later if you like."I intended to. In fact, I found myself looking around and trying to memorize everything about the place. A two-story building, a marble stair, a nursery upstairs, downstairs rooms along either side of the hallway (what was in them?), and an office I was about to see. Could the clinic be locked down? What were the escape routes? How closely was the Army watching? The time would come, I was sure, when I'd need every scrap of intelligence I could collect.When we reached the end of the hall, the fresh cool wind still blowing against my face, he stopped in front of a large, ornate wooden door with a brass knob in the very center. There was no sign of a lock, just a sense of great gravity about its purpose."The phone's in here." He pushed the door and it slowly swung inward on hinges that must have required ball bear­ings.It was indeed an office, dimly lighted by the moving screen-savers of two computers, each on a separate desk. He flicked on the overhead lights and I noticed that one com­puter was hooked to a fax machine, the other to a separate printer. An impressive assembly of data-management tech­nology for out here in the rain forest.Then I focused on the central desk, on which sat an open, briefcase-looking box containing a mini-console labeled Magellan World Phone. A small satellite dish was bolted down next to it."It uplinks to the Inmarsat Series 3 geostationary satel­lites." He indicated the dish. "But it works like a regular phone. The international codes all apply." Then he turned to leave. "I should be ready for the procedure in a few min­utes."I picked up the handset and flicked it on. Three green diodes flashed, then two yellow ones, after which a white light came on and I heard a continuous hum, a dial tone.Hooray. But was his satellite phone tapped? Why would he let me just call out? Was this a feint in our game of cat-and-mouse, just to lull me into believing everything here was safe and benign? Remembering Sarah's drug experience, I already knew that couldn't be true. For now, though, I had to get an SOS out while I had the chance.I'd long since memorized the number of Steve's hotel in Belize City, and if I could reach him, he could go the em­bassy in Guatemala City and . . . I wasn't sure what. I still hoped to get out of here on my own, but if that failed . . . maybe some of those sturdy Marines . . .When I dialed the Belize number, however, the phone just rang and rang.Come on. Somebody please pick up.Then they did. Thank goodness. But when I asked for Steve—"So sorry, mon," came the proud Caribbean voice, "but Mr. Abrams check out Monday. Early in the morning.""Right, I know that. But he came back last night, didn't he?""No, mon. He say he be coming back, to hold his room, but—""He didn't come back?" I felt my palms go icy. Who was going to know where Sarah and I were? "What do you mean?""He not coming back here, mon." The man paused and mumbled something to another clerk, then came back on. "Nobody seen him since. You want leave a message, that's okay. But I don't know when—""No." I didn't know what to say. The implication was only gradually sinking in. "No message. Thanks anyway. I'll try back later.""Any time, mon. No problem."I hung up, trying to stay calm. Steve, where are you?Okay, I told myself, you don't actually know something's wrong. It could be anything. Still, it was very worrying. Steve, my one and only . . .I was staring at the phone, wondering what my next move should be. Whatever else, I've got to try to reach Lou, tell him I've found Sarah. But then what? He certainly wasn't going to be any help in getting us out. If he blundered his way down here, there was a real chance he'd misread the delicacy of the situation and end up getting us all "disappeared" by the Army. But still, I had to tell him about her.I picked up the handset again, keyed in the U.S. country code, and tried the number for his place in Soho. He'd said he was going to be released from St. Vincent's today, so maybe he was home by now.The familiar ring jangled half a dozen times and then . . ."Crenshaw residence." It was the Irish tones of Mrs. Reilly, Sarah's day nurse. Hallelujah. I guessed she was there now taking care of Lou."Uh, this is Morgan James. Mr. Crenshaw's niece. Remember? I came by. Is he home yet? I need to talk to him.""He's resting, dear. I was just about to go out and get some things, milk and soup and the like.""So . . . dare I ask? How is he?""He's weak, but I think he's going to be fine. If people will just let him be.""Look, I hate to bother him, but it's really an emergency. I'm calling from Guatemala.""Oh. I truly don't know if he's awake, dear. He was nap­ping a while ago.""Could you . . . could you go and see? Please. And take the phone?""Just a minute." She sounded reluctant, but I could hear her movements as she shuffled across the loft. I listened, wondering how long Alex Goddard was going to be away, and then a moment later . . ."Yeah." There was a rustle as Lou got a grip on his cord­less. "Morgan, is that you? Where the hell are you now?"It took me a second to even find my voice, I was so thrilled to hear him. He sounded just like always."Hey, how's it going, champ?" I said. Come on, Lou. Get well. Fight."I started having these migraines, but they gave me some medicine—""Listen." I cut him off, and immediately felt guilty I'd been so impatient. "I'm up in northern Guatemala and I've found Sarah.""Oh, my God." That was followed by a long silence, prob­ably an emotional meltdown. "Is she all right?"What was I going to say? That she'd been brainwashed or worse by Alex Goddard? That we were both in his clutches, cut off from the world, and in deep, deep trouble?"She's able to stand," I said.I don't remember what white lies I eventually managed to tell him. I think it was something like, "She's being treated for a post-coma syndrome by a medical specialist. I've found out that when she was in Guatemala before, she was given some very bad drugs, and someone here who knows about them is trying to reverse some of the damage.""Alex Goddard, right?" There was no BS-ing Lou for very long. "That bastard.""Lou, I'm going to get her out of here and back home as soon as possible. Everything's going to be all right. Don't worry. It's really too complicated to try and explain over the phone.""Yeah, well, I'm coming. Soon as I'm up. I'm gonna take that son of a bitch by the—""Don't. Don't you go anywhere. I'm handling it, okay?"I heard him grunt, whether from pain or frustration I couldn't be sure. "Lou, listen, I'm going to try and phone you every day. If I miss a day, then you should call the embassy down here. Tell them you're FBI. That might get their attention. The place where I am, where Sarah is, is named Baalum. It's a . . . kind of village. In the northern Peten Department. I don't know if the U.S. has any clout up here, but that's where they should come looking."I got him to write it down, and then eased him off the line as gently as I could and hung up. I would have loved for him to be here, but I wanted to try to get Sarah out by stealth if I could. And stealth was scarcely Lou's style.My calls were one for two, and there still wasn't anybody to help me. The time had come to try David. I was having the glimmerings of a new strategy.It was lunchtime in New York, but on Wednesdays he usu­ally just had a sandwich at his desk. Maybe I could catch him."Hello," declared the British female voice he'd put on his machine, hoping it would sound like he had a classy secre­tary. "You've reached the office of David Roth, president of Applecore Productions. We're sorry Mr. Roth is not available at this time to—""David," I barked into the phone. "If you're there, pick up. This is Morgan. I've got to talk to you."While the announcement kept running, noises erupted out­side in the hall, voices and a clicking sound, as though some­thing was being rolled along the tile floor. Shit. Was Alex Goddard about to walk in? My mouth went dry. Come on, David, I know you're there, hiding—Variety with a tuna salad on rye, extra pickle. Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray soda."David damnit, pick up." I said it quieter this time, but I could feel my heart pounding. "This is an emergency.""Morgy, don't!" He yelled as I heard the receiver beinglifted. "Jesus, I just walked in from the deli. Listen, thank God it's you. Drop whatever the hell you're not doing and get your butt in here. Jerry Reiner called, you know, the Orion distribution deal—and he wants a rough cut ofBaby Loveyesterday so he can pitch it to the suits on the fifth floor. We could be staring at financial success here. I hope you can handle the vulgarity of that.""David, you're not going to believe where I am," I began, working out my game plan as I went along, trying to sound cool and control my racing pulse. "I'm in northern Guate­mala, at a place that would make a terrific feature. It's like a Maya theme park, deep in the rain forest. But it's real. I want you to contact the embassy and get them to grease the way for my crew to come here. This is too good to pass up." I thought about the costs and then added, "At least one cam­era and sound."One sure way to get Sarah out was to blow the place open to the world."What's . . . where are you again?"I gave him a glowing trailer of the Williamsburg-like qualities of Baalum—a beautiful, exciting recreation of times gone by that out-Disneyed Disney. The cable channels would be bidding for the footage."Hey, look, all things in time." He wasn't buying. "I'm talking an actual deal here. You know, money? Fuck the jun­gle wonderland. You've got exactly one more day down there on the Tarzan set, or wherever the hell it is, and then I'm gonna start finishing final cut on this damned picture myself. Don't make me have to do that, Morgy. This is not a drill. Nicky Russo came by again yesterday. He's fully prepared to call our note and impound your original negative. It's here, under lock and key, but we've got to get this project in the can and sold.""You touch a frame of my movie and I won't be responsible for my actions." God, he was missing my SOS. "David do one thing for me, please. I can't tell you how important it is. I haven't explained everything. This situation is . . . It's very threatening. I need you to at least call the embassy down here and see if they'll send somebody. The Army's all over the place and—"A loud noise intervened followed by complete, absolute silence. The diodes on the panel all began flashing yellow."Shit!" Had Alex Goddard been listening in and decided to cut me off before I could get word to the embassy?I slammed the box and went for the usual maneuver: I cut the connection and tried again, but nothing. Again, and still nothing.My hands were trembling. I'd just lost contact with the outside world. I was completely isolated in the middle of nowhere.How convenient. Alex Goddard let me tell a couple of people I was physically okay, and then he blocked the line.I exhaled settled into the padded chair next to the com­puters, and tried to think. David, David why wouldn't you listen? He was so excited he'd completely ignored my dis­tress signal. Nobody was going to come and help me get out of here.I gazed around the room, wondering what to do next. Was there another phone, a radio, a box of flares, for godsake?That was when I spotted the outlines of another door— why hadn't I noticed it sooner?—this one steel, there on the left. Alex Goddard might walk in any second now, but I had to try to learn everything I could as fast as I could. What was going on besides what was going on?Alert for any new sounds from outside, I quickly went over and tried the knob.It was locked tight.Figured. Now I really wanted to know what was in there.When I glanced around the office, I noticed a ring of keys on the desk. Could he have forgotten them?More important, would I blow everything if he caught me snooping? In spite of his attempt at a cool veneer, he might go ballistic.I made a snap decision. Take the chance and give them a try.My hands were so moist I had trouble holding the slippery keys, but finally I managed to shove in the first one. It went in, but nothing would turn.Come on. I managed to wiggle the next one in, my hand trembling now, but again the knob wouldn't budge. Footsteps outside marched up to the door and I stopped breathing, but then they moved on.Hurry. I was rapidly losing hope when the fifth one slipped in and the knob turned. Yes!Taking a deep breath and working on a story in case Alex Goddard walked in, I clicked the lock and eased the door inward just enough to look inside.Hello, what's this? The space was a fully equipped medical research lab. The lights were off, but like the office, it was illuminated by the glow of several CRT screens stationed above a long lab bench. There also was a large machine, probably a gas chromatograph, with its own screen, flanked by rows of test tubes. Finally, there was a large electronic microscope complete with video screen.One non-medical thing stood out, though: There in the mid­dle of the workbench was a two-foot-high bronze Dancing Shiva presiding over whatever was going on. It was breath-takingly beautiful.So . . . what was The Lord of the Dance giving his bless­ing to? Time to try and find out.Now clanking noises were filtering in from out in the hall, along with the pounding of heavy boots, and my pulse jumped again. Was the Army coming to drag me away?Just go in. Do it.The CRT screens were attached to black metal containers, their doors closed, that all were connected to a power supply, doubtless to maintain some temperature. It looked like God­dard was incubating something in a carefully controlled en­vironment. The whole arrangement was very carefully organized and laid out.Finally I noticed a row of large steel jugs, six in all, near the back and covered with a sheet of black plastic, thin like a wrap. What could they be? Some kind of special gas for use in the lab?Voices in Spanish drifted in from the hallway. A woman and a man were arguing about something.Okay, get out of here. Come back and check this out when nobody's around.I stepped back into the office, clicked off the thumb latch on the door so it wouldn't lock, and closed it. I realized I was pouring sweat.What next? Well, see if the phone's working again and try calling the Camino Real and see if Steve's come back there for some reason, maybe a change in plans. It would be a long shot, but still . . .My hand was shaking as I opened up the phone case. Thank God, the diodes were all quiet. Maybe . . .The steel door I'd closed only moments before swung open and Alex Goddard walked through. Did he realize I'd left it unlocked? How did he get in there? Was there another door?He'd changed clothes and was wearing a pale blue surgical gown. I shut the phone case, as though just finishing with it. Could he tell I'd turned myself into a nervous wreck? I tried to smile and look normal, but my shirt was soaking."Ah, I see you're finished," he said, not seeming to notice."Good. As I said, I've got an in-vitro procedure scheduled now for one of the couples here in the village. You're wel­come to observe. It might help you decide what you want to do in your own case." He was moving across the room. "You can watch on the closed circuit."He reached up and snapped on a monitor bolted to the wall in the corner."Oh, just one small word of forewarning." He was turning back. "Down here I've made certain . . . cosmetic changes in the procedure to keep patients' anxiety levels as low as possible. It wouldn't be appropriate in your case, but . . . well, you'll see."Before I had time to wonder what he meant, he disap­peared back through the steel door with a reassuring smile.

"Cut the crap." I pulled away, still in shock from seeing Sarah so addled. I wanted more than anything else in the world just to slug him. "Why did you bring her here? Think about your answer. Kidnapping is a serious crime in the States."

"I've been very concerned about her." He looked up at the groves of Cebia trees around the square, a quiet glance, as though to inhale the misty morning air. My legal threat had gone right past him—probably because here he was the only law. "But now she's receiving the treatment she needs. I expect she'll be fine before long."

"Treatment?" I was caught off guard. Okay, let's start get­ting things straight. "When she was here before, somebody tried to beat her to death. How—?"

"What happened then was beyond my control." He mo­tioned me to join him as he settled onto the first step of the pyramid sadness in his eyes. We were alone in the square now, and I felt like I'd become his personal prisoner, trapped. "Sarah was . . . is very dear to me. I care for her deeply."

"You cared so much for her she ended up in a coma, over on the Mexican border." I didn't sit. Instead I just bored in, hoping to stare him down, but his eyes had grown distant, that little trick he had of alternating between intimacy and remoteness. Again it reminded me of that first morning we'd met, looking out over the bluffs of the Hudson.

"If you'll let me, I'd like to try and tell you something of the circumstances surrounding that tragedy." He was gazing off in the direction the women had gone. "You see, when Sarah first appeared at Quetzal Manor in New York, she was a very troubled young woman. She declared she was a person of pure spirit and she wanted to have a baby without so much as touching a man, some procedure that would produce a divine child created of cosmic energy."

Cosmic energy. I had a flashback, hearing the words, to the time when she'd just turned six and we'd been sent by my mother to the hayloft to track down nests secreted there by rogue chicken hens. When we came across a cache of eggs, she asked if baby chicks came out of them. I assured her they did, and then she asked if human babies came from eggs too. My biology was pretty thin, but I told her I sup­posed they did, sort of, but then the eggs were probably hatched, or something, before babies were born. She thought about that a moment, scrunching up her face, then declared "No!" and bitterly began smashing the eggs. Babies and all living things came from another world, she declared, a spe­cial place we could not see. They came directly from God. . . .

That was why she would seek out someone like Alex Goddard. For her, he must have seemed a messenger of the Unseen. Who better to create a child for her? The ironic part was, I'd found him for almost the same reason, seeking a miracle when all else had failed. Were Sarah and I even more alike than I'd realized?

"So I began trying to work with her." He was turning back to me. "But then I discovered she'd been born with an abnormality of the uterus. It has a medical name, but suffice to say it's very rare, and afflicts only about one woman in twenty thousand. Even after my diagnosis, though, she re­fused to give up. She was a person of enormous tenacity."

God, I thought. Why didn't she come home to us, to Lou

and me? We loved her. I felt my guilt go out to her all over again.

"She next declared she wanted to come here toBaalum, to the place of miracles. I told her that, yes, miracles can sometimes transpire here, but only at a great price. We would need to have an agreement and she would have to keep it no matter what."

"What do you mean, an agree—?"

"Truthfully, though," he went on, ignoring me, "I imme­diately regretted the offer, since I realized she was far too unstable for this . . . environment. Finally I forbade her to come, but just before my next scheduled trip she found out and booked herself on the same flight. There was literally nothing I could do to stop her."

"She put Ninos del Mundo on her landing card." I was growing sick to my stomach at the rehearsed way he was recounting her story. "That's this place, right?Baalum."

"My clinic here is known by that name. The village itself is called Baalum." He was easily meeting my eye, holding his own in our battle of wills. "Sarah was, I have to say, a very impressionable young person. Once here, she forgot all about her purpose for coming. She should have stayed up the hill there"—he was pointing off to the south—"where I could care for her, but instead she moved down here, into the compounds. Then she discovered a hallucinogenic sub­stance they have here, began using it heavily, and I think it tipped her into a form of dementia."

So, she was doing drugs, something I'd always secretly feared. Well, maybe she was still having flashbacks of some kind; maybe that explained why she was off in another world when she came out of her coma.

"What . . . kind of 'hallucinogenic substance'?"

He sighed then shrugged and answered. "Here in the rain forest there's an ugly three-pound toad theBufo marinus—you'll see them around, near sunset—that has glands down its back that excrete a milky white poison."

I knew about them. They were migrating north now, even into Florida. They were huge and looked like Jabba the Hutt in Star Wars. I hate toads of all varieties, but the thought of those monsters made me shudder.

"My God, isn't their toxin lethal?" Was Sarah trying to destroy herself? Was that why her mind was so blitzed? "I've heard—"

"Yes, it can kill you, but it can also—if processed cor­rectly, with fermented honey—give you truly supernatural visions. The classical Maya used it for ceremonial purposes. I'd managed to reconstruct how they prepared it, and—some­thing I now deeply regret—I showed the shamans here how to replicate the procedure. At the time it was just a minor part of my research into traditional pharmacology, but she heard about it and persuaded them to give her a vial. Then more and more."

That did sound like Sarah. Always out on the edge, testing new realities. But then I thought a moment about what he'd actually said. Some of the people here in his "place of mir­acles" were doing heavy drugs, and she'd got caught up in it.

"But why didn't you stop her?" You unfeeling bastard.

"I tried, believe me. But I'm afraid she was far past lis­tening to me. By then she was learning the Kekchi Maya dialect, becoming totally immersed in their world. She began having episodes of complete non-rationality, and then one day she told the women in her compound she was going over to Palenque, the Maya ruins in Mexico. It's where the classical Maya held their last kingship ceremony. Before anyone re­alized she was serious, she stole one of theircayucos, their mahogany dugout canoes, and headed down the Rio Tigre." His eyes had turned completely dark, the way he used to blank them out. "She just went missing. Everyone here was devastated. We all loved her."

I stood there weighing his story. It didn't ring true. I sup­posed she was capable of something that crazy, but would she have actually done it? I didn't think so.

Then I remembered something else he'd said.

"You said you proposed an 'agreement.' What was that about?"

He stared at me. "It's nothing that need concern us. Suf­fice to say I kept my part. Anyway, it's over and past now."

Why wouldn't he tell me? Did she make some bargain with the Devil?

"But regarding Sarah," he went on, "I only just learned she'd been found and brought to New York in a coma. Want­ing to do what I could, I immediately called the hospital and, out of professional courtesy, they told me she'd shown early stages of coming out of it, but she appeared to be halluci­nating. It was exactly what I'd feared. . . ." His voice trailed off. "I hope I did the right thing, but when I learned she'd been released, I arranged for her to be brought back here, where perhaps I can do something for her."

"What?"

"In rare cases, the hallucinogen she took permanently al­ters critical synapses in the brain. I'm fearful she may have abused it to the extent something like that could have oc­curred. No one in the U.S. would have the slightest idea what to do, but I think I may know of an herbal antidote they turned to in ancient times that can repair at least part of the damage. I also knew that getting her back here through nor­mal channels would be impossible."

"So you had Colonel Ramos and a bunch of his Guate­malan thugs just break in and take her?" I didn't know which part of the story horrified, and angered, me the most.

"I have the misfortune to know him reasonably well, and

I explained it was very important to me, and he agreed to assist. I honestly didn't know where else to turn. I understand there may have been some violence, for which I apologize, but these people have their own way of doing things." He rose and came over and put his hand on my shoulder. "I hope you'll understand."

The son of a bitch was coming on oily and contrite, when he'd just subcontracted an outright kidnapping. I wanted to kill him.

Finally I walked away, trying to get a grip on my anger.

"You know, that bastard also broke into my apartment and stole a reel of a picture I'm shooting." I turned back. "I've also got a strong feeling he's the one who just threatened one of the women I filmed."

"Well, if that happened, then let me say welcome to the paranoid harassment of the Guatemalan high command." He sighed against the morning sound of birds chirping all around us. "Unfortunately, I gather they've assumed you're documenting the operations of Children of Light in some way, doing a movie." His eyes drifted off into space, as though seeking a refuge. "You see, my project up here in the Peten is to carry out pharmaceutical research with as few distractions as possible. But in Guatemala City, I have what is, in effect, a hospice for girls in trouble—which is also called Niiios del Mundo, by the way—that's connected with my U.S. adoption service, Children of Light. However, any time Niiios del Mundo takes in an orphaned or abandoned infant and tries to provide it with a loving home through adoption in the States, the government here always threatens to hold up the paperwork if I don't give a bribe, what they call an 'expediting fee.' So if you were to probe too deeply . . . Let me just say it's not something they'd care to see lead off 60 Minutes."

It sounded like more BS, but I couldn't prove that. Yet.

"Well, why don't you just clear that up, and then I'll take Sarah and—"

"But I've only now initiated her treatment. Surely you want to give it a chance."

I looked out at the rain forest. This was the place she'd come to once, and—though I'd never admit it to Alex God­dard—it was the place she'd announced she wanted to return to. But something devastating had happened to her mind here. What should I do?

The fact was, I didn't trust Alex Goddard any farther than I could throw him. I had to get Sarah and get us both out of here as soon as possible, though that meant I'd have to neu­tralize him and the Army, and then use my limited American dollars to try to buy our way back to Guatemala City.

"But come." He turned his gaze toward the south. "Let me show you the thing I'm proudest of here. It's just up there." He was pointing toward a dense section of the rain forest, in the opposite direction from the river and up a steep incline.

I couldn't see anything but trees, but then I still had the feeling I'd stepped through the looking glass and found Sarah trapped there. The next thing I knew, we were on an uphill forest trail, headed due south.

"I think it's time you told me what's going on back there in the village," I said. What was it about this place that had seized such a claim on Sarah's mind?

"Baalumis difficult to explain to someone encountering it for the first time." He paused. "Much of it is so—"

"I think I can handle it."

"You have every right to know, but I don't really know where to start."

"How about the beginning?" Why was he being so ambiguous?

"Very well." He was taking out a pair of gray sunglasses,

as though to gain time. "It actually goes back about ten years ago, when I was prospecting for rainforest plants up here in the Peten and accidentally stumbled across this isolated village, which clearly had been here since classical times. I immediately noticed a huge mound of dirt everybody said was haunted by 'the Old Ones,' and I knew right away it had to be a buried pyramid. They're more common down here than you'd think. So I struck a bargain with the village elders and acquired the site. But after I unearthed it and began the restoration, I became inspired with a vision. One day I found myself offering to restore anything else they could find—which eventually included, by the way, a magnificent old steam bath—in exchange for which they would help me by undertaking a grand experiment, a return to their traditional way of life."

"So you deliberately closed them off to the modern world?" It told me Alex Goddard could control a Mayan village just as he controlled everything else he touched. It also confirmed he had a weakness for the grandiose gesture. Would a time come when I could exploit that?

"I told them that together we would try to recreate the time of their glory, and perhaps in so doing we could also rediscover its long-lost spirit, and wisdom. On the practical side, they would help me by bringing me the rare plants I needed to try and rediscover the lost Native American phar­macologies, and in return I would build them a clinic where families can come for modern pediatric and public-health services. SoBaalumbecame a project we share together. I call it a miracle."

That still didn't begin to explain why it felt so eerie. Some­thing else was going on just under the surface. What was he really doing here?

Then the path uphill abruptly opened onto a clearing in which sat a large two-story building, its color a dazzling white, most likely plaster over cinder block, with a thatch roof and a wide, ornate mahogany door at the front. The building was nestled in a grove of trees whose vines and tendrils had embraced it so thoroughly, there was no telling how far it extended back into the forest. There also was a parking lot, paved and fed by a well-maintained gravel road leading south.

Seeing it, I felt an immediate wave of relief. Even better, the lot itself contained half-a-dozen well-worn pickup trucks, while sunburned Maya men were lounging in the shade of a nearby tree and smoking cigarettes. They were not from Baalum. They wore machine-made clothes and they were speaking Spanish, unlike the men in loincloths down in the village.

Yes! That's how I can get us out of here. A few dollars . . .

Parked there also was a tan Humvee, the ultimate all-road vehicle, which I assumed belonged to Alex Goddard. Maybe I should just try to steal it.

As we passed through the door and into the vestibule of the building, I glimpsed a cluster of Maya women and chil­dren crowded into a brilliantly lit reception area. Goddard smiled and waved at them, and several nodded back, timor­ously and with enormous reverence. They were being at­tended by a dark-eyed, attractive Maya woman in a blue uniform—the name lettered on her blouse was Marcelina— who was holding a tray of vials and hypodermic needles. She was pureindigena, all of five feet tall, with broad cheek­bones and deep-set penetrating eyes. Unlike the other women in the room, however, there was no air of resignation about her. She was full of authority, a palpable inner fire.

"One of my most successful programs here"—he nodded a greeting to her—"is to provide free vaccinations and gen­eral health resources for the villages in this part of the Peten Department."

"I thought USAID already had public-health projects in Guatemala." The sight deeply depressed me. They all looked so poignant, the women with their shabbyhuipilsand lined faces, the children even more disheartening, sad waifs with runny noses and watery eyes.

Which confirmed again that they'd come in the pickups parked outside, driven here by the men.

I had six hundred cash in dollars. I could just buy one of those worn-out junkers for that.

Alex Goddard glanced around, as though reluctant to re­spond in the presence of all the Maya.

"You saw those 'security guards' down there just now. They're nothing but boys with guns, 'recruits' kidnapped by the government on market day and pressed into the Army. They're all around here. The powers that be in Guatemala City are very threatened by what I'm achieving, so they've got these Army kids hanging around, keeping an eye on me. They also hate the fact I can provide health services better than they can. But to answer your question, most of the AID money gets soaked up by the bureaucracy in Guatemala City, so the people up here have learned to rely on me. The Army, however, despises me and everything I'm doing."

What a load of BS. You just admitted you had an inside track with Colonel Alvino Ramos. Anybody can see Children of Light or Ninos del Mundo, or whatever the hell other aliases you use, is thick as thieves with the Guatemalan Armed Forces. Don't insult my intelligence. It just makes me furious.

I turned to Marcelina. She'd begun passing out hard-sugar candies to the mesmerized children, showing them how to remove the cellophane before putting them into their mouths. Though she was pure Maya, she looked educated. I instinc­tively liked her. Maybe she could tell me what was really going on here.

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes." She was gazing at me with a blend of curiosity and concern. "If—"

"I've got a procedure scheduled shortly," Goddard inter­jected, urging me on down the tiled hallway. "But I need to take a moment and recharge. Come with me and we can talk some more."

Near the end of the hall, we entered a spacious, country-style kitchen. He walked over and opened the refrigerator.

"Care for a little something to eat?" He looked back, speckled white hair swinging across his shoulders as his ponytail came loose. "I had Marcelina whip up some gazpacho last night and I see there's some left. It's my own secret rec­ipe, special herbs from around here. It's good and good for you."

"I'm not hungry." It wasn't true. I was growing ravenous. But I was repressing the feeling because of everything else that was going on. His "village" was holding back its secrets, and now his clinic of "miracles" also felt suspiciously wrong. I'd seen plenty of rural public-health operations in developing countries, and this setup was far too big and fancy. The whole thing didn't begin to compute.

"As you like." He gave an absent shrug.

I looked around and noticed that just off the kitchen was another space, which was, I realized, his private dining room. There was a rustic table in the center that looked like it had been carved from the trunk of a large Cebia tree. I walked in, and moments later he followed carrying a tray with two calabash bowls of gazpacho and some crusty bread.

"In case you change your mind and decide to join me." He placed a bowl opposite where he was planning to sit. "Like I said, there're unusual herbs around here with flavors you've never dreamed of."

He began eating, while behind him I glimpsed Marcelina

moving down the hall, carrying more trays of vaccine and headed out toward the vestibule again. I had to find a way to talk to her.

As I settled into the rickety chair that faced my plate, I glanced down and saw a red lumpy mixture with a spray of indefinable green specks across the top like a scattering of jungle stars. No way.

When I looked up again, he was swabbing his lips with a white napkin, his penetrating eyes boring in.

"Now," he said, "it's time we started concentrating on you. Got you going with your program."

"My program?" I stared back at him, feeling a jolt. With my thoughts completely focused on Sarah, the last thing on my mind was my own baby.

"Now that you're here"—he smiled—"there's no reason we shouldn't proceed. This is, after all, a place of miracles."

Right. You let Sarah destroy her mind and now you want me to . . .

Don't even think about it.

"I have to tell you, I'm not overly impressed thus far with your 'program,' " I said. "First I passed out in your clinic, and then my doctor in New York told me those drugs Ramala gave me are highly illegal, and for good reason."

"What is 'legal' is more often than not the judgment of medical reactionaries." He dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand. "My work has moved far beyond anything the FDA has ever dreamed of." Then his look turned grave. "I hope you'll give me a chance to try to help you. I've been giving your case a lot of thought since our first examination, about what we should do. But first let me ask you . . . do you have a partner who could come here soon?"

Okay, maybe the thing to do was appear to play along for a while, move under his radar, and then get Sarah and split.

"It's a possibility."

He smiled again. "Excellent. If this person can come here

to the clinic for a . . . deposit, then we could put you on a fast-track schedule."

"One thing at a time. First I'd like to know exactly what it is you have in mind." Would his "program" include string­ing me out on the toad drug, the way he'd done with Sarah?

"Of course." He leaned forward in his chair. "I believe that, given your history, an in-vitro procedure would have the highest chance of success. You undoubtedly know how it works. We remove a number of eggs by aspiration and grade them for maturity and viability, after which we fertilize them to begin embryos growing. Then we pick the most promising for implantation."

"In vitro is invasive and dangerous and there's a lot that can go wrong." I genuinely hated the idea.

"To some extent." He examined his watch for a moment, then looked up. "But let me just say this. Since any repro­ductive therapy, particularly in vitro, is strongly dependent on the factor of timing, I've developed experimental com­pounds down here that can regulate egg maturities very pre­cisely. It minimizes a lot of uncertainties, which is why we're so lucky you're . . ." He paused. "Look, the first thing we need to do is put you on a strict regimen of diet and spiritual discipline, using my system for regulating your Chi, your energy flows. Then, if you respond we can start thinking about the procedure. And should you eventually decide you want to go ahead and you can have your partner come here, we could possibly have everything done in just a few days."

"Well, you can forget about me taking any 'experimental compounds.' " How long could I stall him?

"Morgan, there's more to this." His look grew pained. "It's awkward to bring it up, but your presence here creates no small difficulty for me. I told you certain people in the military high command have concerns about the film you're making. And then the next thing they know, you show up here. It's just going to heighten their paranoia. But if I can convince them you're here for fertility treatment . . . In any case, it's important that nothing you, or I, do is at odds with that presumption. I hope it's true, but even if you chose to forgo it, I still need to put you on my normal regimen. You understand."

That's baloney. Somebody had me brought toBaalum. Whoever did it knows full well why I'm here. The problem is, I still don't know what they really want.

"Well, you can say I've come to take Sarah home," I told him. "That seems reason enough."

"The other story is simpler to explain." He took a last bite of gazpacho, then rested his pewter spoon on the table. "Take my word for it."

"And what if I don't choose to go along with this cha­rade?"

"We would both be in jeopardy. They're entirely capable of . . . things I'd rather not have to elaborate on."

I sat there, feeling a chill envelop the room. How was I going to get out of this place?

"By the way, a while ago Sarah mentioned something about a 'ceremony.' What's that—?"

"It's a special time here." His gaze shifted to the ceiling. "In fact, it's supposed to take place in three days, but the Army has informed me it has to be two days from now. That's the day they rotate the troops here, so there'll be double strength."

"But why do they need—"

"Things can get a bit frenzied." He smiled, though he seemed to be embarrassed. "However, the people will love the fact you're here to share it with them."

Did he say "frenzied"? My mind immediately flashed on the Aztec rituals of ripping out beating hearts. But the Maya didn't go to that extreme, at least so far as I knew. Once again, though, I had the feeling I was only hearing what he wanted me to know, not the whole truth. It felt like a chess game where I didn't know the location of all the pieces or how they could move.

"Tell you what." He was getting up, turning toward the hall. "Why don't you let me show you around the clinic? In fact, I'm scheduled to perform an in vitro this morning for a childless couple here. You're free to see it. Perhaps that could help you make your own decision."

"Well . . . do you have a phone? I need to make some calls." Would he let me call out? That would be a first test of what his intentions were. It was all getting so insidious. I had Sarah to worry about, and the Army, and now some kind of "ceremony" that he'd managed to stay cannily vague about. I only knew I wanted the whole world to know where I was.

"Of course," he said. "You're welcome to use my office." He was pointing down the hall. "It's right this way."

Yes! Maybe I'm not completely his prisoner yet. I still have privileges. But I'd damned well better use them while I can.

I walked out and felt a breeze, and then I studied the far end of the hallway, at the opposite end from the entrance, and noticed huge slatted windows. As we walked in their direction, I realized there was a stairway on one side, at the end of the hall, leading up to the second story of the building.

"What's up there?"

"Hygenic nursery rooms." He glanced at the stairs. "Un­like U.S. practice, new mothers here aren't sent home after a day or two. Women and their newborns are encouraged to stay here at the clinic for at least a week. It's actually very much a part of their tradition, a period of bonding. You're welcome to visit with them later if you like."

I intended to. In fact, I found myself looking around and trying to memorize everything about the place. A two-story building, a marble stair, a nursery upstairs, downstairs rooms along either side of the hallway (what was in them?), and an office I was about to see. Could the clinic be locked down? What were the escape routes? How closely was the Army watching? The time would come, I was sure, when I'd need every scrap of intelligence I could collect.

When we reached the end of the hall, the fresh cool wind still blowing against my face, he stopped in front of a large, ornate wooden door with a brass knob in the very center. There was no sign of a lock, just a sense of great gravity about its purpose.

"The phone's in here." He pushed the door and it slowly swung inward on hinges that must have required ball bear­ings.

It was indeed an office, dimly lighted by the moving screen-savers of two computers, each on a separate desk. He flicked on the overhead lights and I noticed that one com­puter was hooked to a fax machine, the other to a separate printer. An impressive assembly of data-management tech­nology for out here in the rain forest.

Then I focused on the central desk, on which sat an open, briefcase-looking box containing a mini-console labeled Magellan World Phone. A small satellite dish was bolted down next to it.

"It uplinks to the Inmarsat Series 3 geostationary satel­lites." He indicated the dish. "But it works like a regular phone. The international codes all apply." Then he turned to leave. "I should be ready for the procedure in a few min­utes."

I picked up the handset and flicked it on. Three green diodes flashed, then two yellow ones, after which a white light came on and I heard a continuous hum, a dial tone.

Hooray. But was his satellite phone tapped? Why would he let me just call out? Was this a feint in our game of cat-and-mouse, just to lull me into believing everything here was safe and benign? Remembering Sarah's drug experience, I already knew that couldn't be true. For now, though, I had to get an SOS out while I had the chance.

I'd long since memorized the number of Steve's hotel in Belize City, and if I could reach him, he could go the em­bassy in Guatemala City and . . . I wasn't sure what. I still hoped to get out of here on my own, but if that failed . . . maybe some of those sturdy Marines . . .

When I dialed the Belize number, however, the phone just rang and rang.

Come on. Somebody please pick up.

Then they did. Thank goodness. But when I asked for Steve—

"So sorry, mon," came the proud Caribbean voice, "but Mr. Abrams check out Monday. Early in the morning."

"Right, I know that. But he came back last night, didn't he?"

"No, mon. He say he be coming back, to hold his room, but—"

"He didn't come back?" I felt my palms go icy. Who was going to know where Sarah and I were? "What do you mean?"

"He not coming back here, mon." The man paused and mumbled something to another clerk, then came back on. "Nobody seen him since. You want leave a message, that's okay. But I don't know when—"

"No." I didn't know what to say. The implication was only gradually sinking in. "No message. Thanks anyway. I'll try back later."

"Any time, mon. No problem."

I hung up, trying to stay calm. Steve, where are you?

Okay, I told myself, you don't actually know something's wrong. It could be anything. Still, it was very worrying. Steve, my one and only . . .

I was staring at the phone, wondering what my next move should be. Whatever else, I've got to try to reach Lou, tell him I've found Sarah. But then what? He certainly wasn't going to be any help in getting us out. If he blundered his way down here, there was a real chance he'd misread the delicacy of the situation and end up getting us all "disappeared" by the Army. But still, I had to tell him about her.

I picked up the handset again, keyed in the U.S. country code, and tried the number for his place in Soho. He'd said he was going to be released from St. Vincent's today, so maybe he was home by now.

The familiar ring jangled half a dozen times and then . . .

"Crenshaw residence." It was the Irish tones of Mrs. Reilly, Sarah's day nurse. Hallelujah. I guessed she was there now taking care of Lou.

"Uh, this is Morgan James. Mr. Crenshaw's niece. Remember? I came by. Is he home yet? I need to talk to him."

"He's resting, dear. I was just about to go out and get some things, milk and soup and the like."

"So . . . dare I ask? How is he?"

"He's weak, but I think he's going to be fine. If people will just let him be."

"Look, I hate to bother him, but it's really an emergency. I'm calling from Guatemala."

"Oh. I truly don't know if he's awake, dear. He was nap­ping a while ago."

"Could you . . . could you go and see? Please. And take the phone?"

"Just a minute." She sounded reluctant, but I could hear her movements as she shuffled across the loft. I listened, wondering how long Alex Goddard was going to be away, and then a moment later . . .

"Yeah." There was a rustle as Lou got a grip on his cord­less. "Morgan, is that you? Where the hell are you now?"

It took me a second to even find my voice, I was so thrilled to hear him. He sounded just like always.

"Hey, how's it going, champ?" I said. Come on, Lou. Get well. Fight.

"I started having these migraines, but they gave me some medicine—"

"Listen." I cut him off, and immediately felt guilty I'd been so impatient. "I'm up in northern Guatemala and I've found Sarah."

"Oh, my God." That was followed by a long silence, prob­ably an emotional meltdown. "Is she all right?"

What was I going to say? That she'd been brainwashed or worse by Alex Goddard? That we were both in his clutches, cut off from the world, and in deep, deep trouble?

"She's able to stand," I said.

I don't remember what white lies I eventually managed to tell him. I think it was something like, "She's being treated for a post-coma syndrome by a medical specialist. I've found out that when she was in Guatemala before, she was given some very bad drugs, and someone here who knows about them is trying to reverse some of the damage."

"Alex Goddard, right?" There was no BS-ing Lou for very long. "That bastard."

"Lou, I'm going to get her out of here and back home as soon as possible. Everything's going to be all right. Don't worry. It's really too complicated to try and explain over the phone."

"Yeah, well, I'm coming. Soon as I'm up. I'm gonna take that son of a bitch by the—"

"Don't. Don't you go anywhere. I'm handling it, okay?"

I heard him grunt, whether from pain or frustration I couldn't be sure. "Lou, listen, I'm going to try and phone you every day. If I miss a day, then you should call the embassy down here. Tell them you're FBI. That might get their attention. The place where I am, where Sarah is, is named Baalum. It's a . . . kind of village. In the northern Peten Department. I don't know if the U.S. has any clout up here, but that's where they should come looking."

I got him to write it down, and then eased him off the line as gently as I could and hung up. I would have loved for him to be here, but I wanted to try to get Sarah out by stealth if I could. And stealth was scarcely Lou's style.

My calls were one for two, and there still wasn't anybody to help me. The time had come to try David. I was having the glimmerings of a new strategy.

It was lunchtime in New York, but on Wednesdays he usu­ally just had a sandwich at his desk. Maybe I could catch him.

"Hello," declared the British female voice he'd put on his machine, hoping it would sound like he had a classy secre­tary. "You've reached the office of David Roth, president of Applecore Productions. We're sorry Mr. Roth is not available at this time to—"

"David," I barked into the phone. "If you're there, pick up. This is Morgan. I've got to talk to you."

While the announcement kept running, noises erupted out­side in the hall, voices and a clicking sound, as though some­thing was being rolled along the tile floor. Shit. Was Alex Goddard about to walk in? My mouth went dry. Come on, David, I know you're there, hiding—Variety with a tuna salad on rye, extra pickle. Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray soda.

"David damnit, pick up." I said it quieter this time, but I could feel my heart pounding. "This is an emergency."

"Morgy, don't!" He yelled as I heard the receiver being

lifted. "Jesus, I just walked in from the deli. Listen, thank God it's you. Drop whatever the hell you're not doing and get your butt in here. Jerry Reiner called, you know, the Orion distribution deal—and he wants a rough cut ofBaby Loveyesterday so he can pitch it to the suits on the fifth floor. We could be staring at financial success here. I hope you can handle the vulgarity of that."

"David, you're not going to believe where I am," I began, working out my game plan as I went along, trying to sound cool and control my racing pulse. "I'm in northern Guate­mala, at a place that would make a terrific feature. It's like a Maya theme park, deep in the rain forest. But it's real. I want you to contact the embassy and get them to grease the way for my crew to come here. This is too good to pass up." I thought about the costs and then added, "At least one cam­era and sound."

One sure way to get Sarah out was to blow the place open to the world.

"What's . . . where are you again?"

I gave him a glowing trailer of the Williamsburg-like qualities of Baalum—a beautiful, exciting recreation of times gone by that out-Disneyed Disney. The cable channels would be bidding for the footage.

"Hey, look, all things in time." He wasn't buying. "I'm talking an actual deal here. You know, money? Fuck the jun­gle wonderland. You've got exactly one more day down there on the Tarzan set, or wherever the hell it is, and then I'm gonna start finishing final cut on this damned picture myself. Don't make me have to do that, Morgy. This is not a drill. Nicky Russo came by again yesterday. He's fully prepared to call our note and impound your original negative. It's here, under lock and key, but we've got to get this project in the can and sold."

"You touch a frame of my movie and I won't be responsible for my actions." God, he was missing my SOS. "David do one thing for me, please. I can't tell you how important it is. I haven't explained everything. This situation is . . . It's very threatening. I need you to at least call the embassy down here and see if they'll send somebody. The Army's all over the place and—"

A loud noise intervened followed by complete, absolute silence. The diodes on the panel all began flashing yellow.

"Shit!" Had Alex Goddard been listening in and decided to cut me off before I could get word to the embassy?

I slammed the box and went for the usual maneuver: I cut the connection and tried again, but nothing. Again, and still nothing.

My hands were trembling. I'd just lost contact with the outside world. I was completely isolated in the middle of nowhere.

How convenient. Alex Goddard let me tell a couple of people I was physically okay, and then he blocked the line.

I exhaled settled into the padded chair next to the com­puters, and tried to think. David, David why wouldn't you listen? He was so excited he'd completely ignored my dis­tress signal. Nobody was going to come and help me get out of here.

I gazed around the room, wondering what to do next. Was there another phone, a radio, a box of flares, for godsake?

That was when I spotted the outlines of another door— why hadn't I noticed it sooner?—this one steel, there on the left. Alex Goddard might walk in any second now, but I had to try to learn everything I could as fast as I could. What was going on besides what was going on?

Alert for any new sounds from outside, I quickly went over and tried the knob.

It was locked tight.

Figured. Now I really wanted to know what was in there.

When I glanced around the office, I noticed a ring of keys on the desk. Could he have forgotten them?

More important, would I blow everything if he caught me snooping? In spite of his attempt at a cool veneer, he might go ballistic.

I made a snap decision. Take the chance and give them a try.

My hands were so moist I had trouble holding the slippery keys, but finally I managed to shove in the first one. It went in, but nothing would turn.

Come on. I managed to wiggle the next one in, my hand trembling now, but again the knob wouldn't budge. Footsteps outside marched up to the door and I stopped breathing, but then they moved on.

Hurry. I was rapidly losing hope when the fifth one slipped in and the knob turned. Yes!

Taking a deep breath and working on a story in case Alex Goddard walked in, I clicked the lock and eased the door inward just enough to look inside.

Hello, what's this? The space was a fully equipped medical research lab. The lights were off, but like the office, it was illuminated by the glow of several CRT screens stationed above a long lab bench. There also was a large machine, probably a gas chromatograph, with its own screen, flanked by rows of test tubes. Finally, there was a large electronic microscope complete with video screen.

One non-medical thing stood out, though: There in the mid­dle of the workbench was a two-foot-high bronze Dancing Shiva presiding over whatever was going on. It was breath-takingly beautiful.

So . . . what was The Lord of the Dance giving his bless­ing to? Time to try and find out.

Now clanking noises were filtering in from out in the hall, along with the pounding of heavy boots, and my pulse jumped again. Was the Army coming to drag me away?

Just go in. Do it.

The CRT screens were attached to black metal containers, their doors closed, that all were connected to a power supply, doubtless to maintain some temperature. It looked like God­dard was incubating something in a carefully controlled en­vironment. The whole arrangement was very carefully organized and laid out.

Finally I noticed a row of large steel jugs, six in all, near the back and covered with a sheet of black plastic, thin like a wrap. What could they be? Some kind of special gas for use in the lab?

Voices in Spanish drifted in from the hallway. A woman and a man were arguing about something.

Okay, get out of here. Come back and check this out when nobody's around.

I stepped back into the office, clicked off the thumb latch on the door so it wouldn't lock, and closed it. I realized I was pouring sweat.

What next? Well, see if the phone's working again and try calling the Camino Real and see if Steve's come back there for some reason, maybe a change in plans. It would be a long shot, but still . . .

My hand was shaking as I opened up the phone case. Thank God, the diodes were all quiet. Maybe . . .

The steel door I'd closed only moments before swung open and Alex Goddard walked through. Did he realize I'd left it unlocked? How did he get in there? Was there another door?

He'd changed clothes and was wearing a pale blue surgical gown. I shut the phone case, as though just finishing with it. Could he tell I'd turned myself into a nervous wreck? I tried to smile and look normal, but my shirt was soaking.

"Ah, I see you're finished," he said, not seeming to notice.

"Good. As I said, I've got an in-vitro procedure scheduled now for one of the couples here in the village. You're wel­come to observe. It might help you decide what you want to do in your own case." He was moving across the room. "You can watch on the closed circuit."

He reached up and snapped on a monitor bolted to the wall in the corner.

"Oh, just one small word of forewarning." He was turning back. "Down here I've made certain . . . cosmetic changes in the procedure to keep patients' anxiety levels as low as possible. It wouldn't be appropriate in your case, but . . . well, you'll see."

Before I had time to wonder what he meant, he disap­peared back through the steel door with a reassuring smile.

Back to IndexNext