Life Blood Part 30

"Alan, any friend of yours has got to be brave." Steve just stared at him.

Dupre had the kind of empty grin that looked like it'd been rehea.r.s.ed in his high school bathroom mirror. It was thin, kind of forked and dangerous, and this morning its plaster quality undermined any attempts at honesty. Maybe dealing with complaining tourists every day of your life did that to you.

"You called, I came." He was now shifting from foot to foot. "Guess it finally had to happen. What's the phrase? You can run but you can't hide? Surprise us both and pretend you're happy to see me."

Steve looked like he was not entirely prepared for this moment. He used the awkward pause that followed to introduce me. Dupre shook hands like he was fearful of germs, then turned back.

"Jesus, man, I'm still working on the money, honest to G.o.d. But do I get a last cigarette before the firing squad?"

"Hey, Alan, ease up." Steve was deadpan. "Good to see you again. I mean it. Love that Waikiki shirt, by the way. Never knew you had such progressive taste."

"This is actually my incognito attire. For secret missions. It's my objective today to look like some cruise-ship jerk." He glanced around nervously. "So how'm I doing?"

"I'd say your years of training in undercover work have paid off."

I listened, remembering Steve had explained that Alan Dupre's career as a CIA information-gatherer was hampered by his propensity to drink too much tequila and then brag about his occupation, hoping to impress whatever woman he had in his sights at the moment.

"So bring me up to date." Steve was trying to hide his total contempt.

"Why'd you get out of the spook business? Langley couldn't find a 'new mission' for you after the Evil Empire dissolved?"

Dupre's face turned pensive. "Man, you don't get it, do you? Langley's still got plenty on its mind. Nothing has changed. Most people don't realize the U.S. isn't run by the folks they vote for. There's a permanent government that doesn't appear on Larry King, and I was part of it. The Central Intelligence Agency of the U.S. of A. will go on doing exactly what it's always done, guiding events in Third World toilets like this through whatever means are necessary to protect America's strategic concerns. Keeping the world safe for Microsoft and Ronald McDonald." He paused and glanced at me, as though slightly embarra.s.sed. Then he continued. "What I'm saying is, all those Beltway turkeys with the briar pipes and gigabyte computers, sitting around wringing their hands, worried the Company needs a new mission, never really grasped its old mission."

"You're right," Steve said going along with the shtick, the applause lines Dupre had doubtless used in a thousand bars. "I'm getting slow.

What Langley needs nowadays is a new cover story."

"Couldn't have phrased it better." Dupre smiled again too easily.

"They're--"

"Actually," Steve said cutting him off impatiently, all the while gazing up at the gathering dark clouds as though they were a hovering adversary, "the truth of the matter is, we called you to discuss a favor. A small helping hand." He seemed to be searching for a sales point. "For old times' sake."

"For old times' sake?" Dupre appeared to be having trouble with the concept.

"Yeah. All we want is to hear a little talk of the town." He gazed out over the square, Uzi-toting police still strolling by. "You know, local information of the kind that doesn't make the papers."

"Right," I said. "For starters, how could a gringa sort of melt into the Peten rain forest, disappear for months and months, and then end up in a coma?" I'd decided to feel him out before going for the bigger questions.

"People disappear down here all the time, and n.o.body in their right mind goes around inquiring why." Dupre seemed genuinely astonished that anyone would find such a thing unusual. He also was fingering a cigarette pack in his breast pocket, clearly nervous about the quick turn our conversation had taken. "Whatever's your problem in Guatemala, just forget about it. Drink some _cerveza_, take a few snapshots of the picturesque natives, and then move on to a civilized place. This is a land of mystery, lady, and the people who matter like it that way.

There are those here who take their privacy very seriously."

Just like Alex G.o.ddard's Children of Light, I thought. Or Ninos del Mundo, or whatever it's called. It was chilling to hear Alan Dupre backing away so quickly from my question. The guy seemed truly scared under all the bl.u.s.ter. I also observed that his eyes were curiously small, out of proportion to his face. I hadn't noticed it at first.

"Well," I went on, determined to push him, "an old landing card for the person I'm looking for said her destination was a place called Ninos del Mundo, up in the Peten. I a.s.sume that's somewhere in the northern rain forest, right? So I guess what I want to know is, does that name stir up any connections?"

He looked around, then extracted a Gauloise from a blue pack and lit it with a wooden match, flicking the tip with his fingernail. He inhaled, taking his time. "Well, maybe I've heard a little something about a place some people call by that name." He drew again on the cigarette.

"And the story might include a female American _tourista_ or two--about one a year, actually--who've sort of melted into the forest never to be seen more. I'm not exactly sure where it is, though. Or even if what you hear is true. But who cares? Come on, guys, this is Guatemala, for chrissake. s.h.i.t happens. Get a life."

"The emba.s.sy, or the CIA, or anybody ever carry out an inquiry?" I felt my energy rising. "A woman every year or so? I went by Reforma Avenue yesterday and n.o.body there seems to have ever heard of any of this."

"No kidding." He snorted. "Whatever happened that place, our caring emba.s.sy, ain't gonna do zip--don't faint at the news--and there's no way the Company's going to pull their old-time Yankee number, roll in with the beige sungla.s.ses, and yell, 'Okay, you peons, we're here to take names and kick b.u.t.t. What happened to our national?' They've recently acquired a habit of taking local situations at face value.

Makes for a lot better tables at the tony supper clubs in town."

This guy liked to talk, I realized but he had no interest in going beyond glib one-liners. I glanced at Steve, and I could tell he was having the same thoughts.

"Tell you what," Steve said finally, "how about this? Tell us whatever you know about how to find this place, and maybe we can adjust the terms on the money you screwed me out of. I might settle for something less on the dollar and let bygones be bygones."

"Hey, man, you'll get your money. I'm good for it." Dupre sighed and drew on his Gauloise. "It's just that things are a little tight right now, you know." He paused. "Matter of fact, I was hoping you might be able to spare a couple of bills for a week or so. But I guess . . ."

His voice trailed off.

Alan Dupre knew something I needed to know, or might know it. Steve had definitely found the right guy in that regard. But he clearly was cautious to the point of paralysis as he kept furtively glancing around. What was he so fearful of, and what could I do to convince him to help me?

I stood gazing at the dark sky for a long moment, and

then I had an off-the-wall idea, a long shot, the all-or-nothing take you go for when the sun is dying and the unions are looking at overtime.

"You do tourist flights, right?" I started, still working on the idea.

"So how about pretending I'm an eco nut? A lover of the rain forest.

You can tell whoever you're so afraid of that you're taking me up into the wilds to show me jaguars or something. A regular tour. Just cruising around, taking in the sights. Totally innocent. And then if we accidentally scouted a little, maybe we could find the place."

"Jesus, you're serious about this, aren't you?" Dupre nervously crushed out his cigarette, staring at me gla.s.sy-eyed.

"Never been more."

He extracted another Gauloise.

"Okay, a counteroffer, Miss . . ."

"James. Morgan James."

"Right, Miss James. I'm beginning to think you've got no realistic sense of proportion about this part of the world. You--"

"Fools rush in, right?"

"My point precisely. But if Steve here means what he says, well, maybe there's a little room to negotiate. Maybe I could take you on a quick sightseeing trip. And just for laughs I could kind of inadvertently stray over the area I think you might find productive. a.s.suming we can locate it. But here're my terms. I do it and Steverino and me are square. Consider it a twenty-thousand-dollar cruise."

"Fine with me." Steve didn't even blink, and I loved him all over again, right on the spot. Though the truth was, I knew he'd never planned on seeing a penny of the money again anyway.

"And you think this place is Ninos del Mundo?" I was trying not to get my hopes up too much, but still . . .

Dupre lit his new cigarette. "You didn't hear this from me, okay? You heard it from the emba.s.sy or some other d.a.m.ned place. But that's one name for it. Another is 'Jungle Disneyland.' Actually, I think the local name is _Baalum_, the old Maya word for jaguar. But everybody acts like it's a state secret, so all you get are rumors."

"Well, a.s.suming we find it, then how could I get in? I mean actually in." I was squinting at him, feeling my body tense. What was it Lou had said about a word he'd heard when they were taking Sarah? It sounded like "Babylon"? I also thought that was what she'd whispered to me.

Could it be the word was actually Baalum? The gloomy morning skies abruptly flooded with the brilliant white light of hope. I glanced back at Steve, and our eyes locked for a long moment.

"Morgy, for chrissake, what are you saying?" Steve took my hand. "Don't you realize this is Guatemala? Don't even think about it."

"We're just talking now, okay?" I squeezed his hand then looked back at Dupre. "I was just wondering. Once we've found it, could I get a sneak look-see? a.s.suming I wanted to?"

"Well, I'll tell you one thing, Miss Morgan James." Dupre was fingering his new cigarette, oblivious to my reaction. "Give no serious thought to just driving up. The Army'd be all over your b.u.t.t in the time it takes to c.o.c.k an AK-47." He glanced up at the sky again, though now a dense bank of dark clouds had swallowed what remained of the sun. A pre-rain gloom was enveloping the park, which was starting to empty out, the hawkers and loiterers headed home to wait out the weather.

"But if we do find it, then as long as we're there, I might be able to drop you off for a quick glance somehow, say, if we did it around twilight time . . . that is, if that's what you want. But it's ten minutes tops, and that's my final offer. Frankly, I think you'd be ill-advised in the extreme to do it, but . . . in any case, it's got to be a low-profile enterprise all the way. We screw this up and we could easily swell the ranks of the 'disappeared.' "