“Antonio is dead, Russell. I saw him. . . . She begged me to take her away. She’s killed him, and she’s terrified. She begged me to take her home to your mother’s plantation. I didn’t know what to do. She said you were here at the hotel, that Antonio told her.

“I’ve taken the children,” she said again. “They can’t grow up with Carlos. I won’t have it. I want to be with you. I can’t stand it anymore.”

What she’d said seemed crazy, and he wasn’t sure she hadn’t gone mad. He slapped her. It was involuntary; all the tension of waiting for nothing made him do it.

“You’re lying.” He held her by the shoulders and shook her. “I just spoke to him. You lying bitch.” Her face was red where he’d slapped her.

“No. He’s dead.”

“Why are you lying?” He let her go.

“I’m not.” She was holding her face.

“I’ll call him right now. You’ll be sorry you did this,” he said. “Did they put you up to it?” He went to the couch, picked up his cell phone and dialed Antonio’s cell number. He got the voice mail message.

She hadn’t moved.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not lying. He’s dead. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

“You are lying and I don’t know why, but I can’t forgive you. Not for lying to me about this. They sent you, didn’t they? Carlos. You’re working for them now. Is that it?”

She shook her head. He closed his phone. He had a horrible desire to hit her again, but stopped himself.

“I came because I love you. Please don’t hit me again. I’ve left Carlos. I wrote him a note. He’s going to know about us when he gets home. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Any of it. I want to be your wife. I want you to take me and the children away from here.”

“If you’re lying . . . I’ll. . . .” He reached for the pistol he’d shoved into the couch pillows, pulled it out and walked towards her. She didn’t move.

“You told Carlos. That you’ve left him?” She shook her head yes. “Are you working for them? Is that why you’re lying about Antonio?”

“No! Stop it. You’re scaring me, Russell. I’ve got the children downstairs, for God’s sake! We have to go now. We have to leave. We can be in Mexico before the announcement. Antonio’s dead, and I’m not lying about that. Why in God’s name would I lie to you?

“Are you listening to me? We don’t have much time. Carlos will be President in a few hours. I’ll never get the children away from him then.” He was standing there staring at her, the gun in his hand. “He’ll never let me leave with the children once he’s been named President. You know that.”

He saw suddenly that she wasn’t lying.

“Why did she do it?” he said. “Why?”

“Russell, I don’t know why. But we have to go. Now. We can take Olga with us if you like. You know what they’ll do to her if they arrest her. She’s an old woman. I couldn’t leave her there. She was pathetic, just sitting in the kitchen staring

at the wall.”

“I can’t go with you. Not now,” he said. “It’s too late.”

“What do you mean? It’s two hours to Mexico. He won’t notice I’ve gone until late tonight.”

“I have to kill Blanco. Now. In a few minutes.”

“What?”

“I have to. You don’t understand. If Blanco makes that announcement, Carlos will be President,” he said.

“What difference does it make who’s President? We have to go now. It’s our only chance to take the children. Please. Russell, I’m begging you.”

“Don’t, because I can’t. Not now. You don’t understand. It doesn’t matter about Antonio. There’ll be someone else… anyone but Carlos,” he said.

“I won’t let you do it. They’ll kill you,” she said. She took her cell phone out of her coat pocket and began to dial. “I’ll tell Carlos what you’re planning.”

He grabbed her phone away from her and threw it across the room, against the door of the bathroom, smashing it. She collapsed in a heap on the floor, and was crying. He bent over and lifted her up. “I want you and the children to go to the hotel Lago in Puerto Barrios. Register under the name of Molly Jones. Take the children, and take Olga. I’ll meet you there in three days. Do you understand?”

“But they’ll kill you.”

“Maybe. You’ll know soon enough if they do,” he said. “If they do, you can take the children to Honduras from there. There’s a British consulate office in Tegucigalpa. They’ll help you get to England.”

“You promise me you’ll come?” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll come in three days. But Carlos will have to die now, too. I can get close to him. I’ll have a chance.” He looked at her. “Can you live with that? If I make it, they’ll have to grow up with the man that killed their father.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “As long as you come to Barrios in three days.” She threw her arms around him. “I don’t care about Carlos, just come to Barrios. Please.”

•••

“I’ve got the Jaguar. Here,” Russell said. He’d dialed the general’s cell phone. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the Camino Real,” Carlos said. “I thought you said Mahler had it.”

“He did. He’s brought it out. It’s at Tres Rios. We’ll sell it to you for two hundred thousand dollars cash. . . . In an hour.”

“Wait a minute, I can’t speak here,” Carlos said. Russell heard the sound of voices, and he guessed that the general was in the café downstairs. “Why so cheap?” Carlos asked finally.

“Because we can’t sell it, and you can. You’ll be President. It shouldn’t be a problem, should it? You can sell it back to the state, right?”

“You’re very clever. All right, I’ll get the money,” Carlos said.

“I want you to fly me to Tres Rios in your helicopter. You can have the whole thing, the plantation and the Jaguar. You will be back in time for the ceremony. By the way—congratulations, Mr. President.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby in—” Russell glanced at his watch “—in half an hour.”

“Fine. Is it big? The Jaguar?” Carlos asked.

“It’s huge. You’ll see,” Russell said.

Exactly ten minutes later he managed to shoot President Blanco dead as Blanco was riding up the escalator. His body guards did nothing; the Americans had paid them off and told them not to interfere. Russell had simply stepped on the escalator and ridden right past the smiling Blanco, who thought he recognized the kid from somewhere.

THIRTY-THREE

Sitting above the jungle canopy on a hill, the temple’s stone face was hit by the last of the slanting afternoon sunlight. It was both frightening and beautiful. And, Russell thought, there was something clearly defiant about the way it sat alone facing the river, forever a silent epitaph of empire. Was it the start of a Mayan city? Or was it something else? Finding no one at the camp site, he made his way along the track towards the site. Was it only the last moments of a defeated culture? he wondered. Had the temple been only a hiding place, as it was for him now? Had Mayan soldiers huddled here with their wives and children, praying to their Gods, waiting for a last great battle?

It started to rain as he trotted up the track past discarded boxes of equipment. A cloud blocked the sun and the jungle darkened the finishes duller. Further along, he found Mahler’s horse lying dead at the foot of the temple. Its saddle had been torn off and lay nearby. High above, at the top of the site, he could see Mahler sitting by the entrance, waving to him excitedly.

Unable to walk, Mahler had crawled out when he heard the jeep cross the river. It must have hurt him to crawl, Russell thought, because he looked like he was in a lot of pain.

“How did you get here?” Mahler asked him. He was sitting in the dirt, a kerosene lamp at his side. Filthy and gaunt, he had wound a piece of torn rain slicker over his injured leg.