Well, there's one way to find out. Play their game and beat them.
There's no better way to get inside what's going on.
The first thing I did was call Steve's hotel in Belize City. Of course
he wasn't there, but I left a long message to the effect that I was
taking a "sightseeing" trip up to the Peten with Alan Dupre today
because of unforeseen new circumstances. The reasons were complicated,
but I'd watch out for myself and therefore he shouldn't worry.
That out of the way, I looked around the room. It was a disaster, but I
quickly began cramming things into the small folding backpack I always
took on trips. Then I rang the kitchen and told them to make up a
quadruple egg sandwich (_quatro huevos, por favor_) to go, along with a
large bottle of distilled water.
By the time I got to the reception desk and explained I wasn't actually
checking out for good, Alan Dupre was already waiting outside in his
battered green Jeep, cleaning his scratchy shades and leaning on the
horn.
Let him wait. I wrote out a long note to Steve, on the chance he might
come looking for me. Then with deliberate slowness, I wandered out to
where Alan's Jeep was parked and tossed my backpack behind the seat.
"First things first." I climbed in and handed him the address of Ninos
del Mundo I'd copied onto some hotel stationery. "This is where we've
got to go."
He stared at it a moment, puzzling, and then seemed to figure out where
it was.
"Upscale part of this beautiful oasis." He shifted into gear. "But it's
more or less on the way." He glanced up nervously at the sky. "We just
don't have all day."
Off we headed toward the suburbs, through a ganglia of downtown streets
laced with pizza joints and frying-meat vendors, till we eventually
ended up on a tree-lined avenue that looked as genteel as Oyster Bay.
When we got to the address, I told him to park across the way, and just
sat a moment staring.
The building itself was a windowless compound surrounded by trees and a
high wall of white stucco, with a guardhouse and wide iron gate (not
unusual for Guatemala) protecting a long walkway. The whole thing
looked like a fortress, except the view through the gate was a pastoral
vista of neat flower beds and a pristine lawn. The guardhouse itself
had a dozing teenager, undoubtedly with an Uzi resting across his lap.
"Okay, Alan," I said "time to get with the program. How's your Spanish?"
"Depends on who I'm trying to BS." He shrugged and began cleaning his
sunglasses again.
"Well, why don't you see if you can talk us past that guard."
He stared at the entrance a moment. "Be a waste of our precious time.
Tell you right now, kids like that only answer to one boss, the _jefe_,
the big guy, whoever he is. That's how they retain their employment. A
joint locked down this tight don't give Sunday tours."
"Well, I think he's asleep. So I'm going to be creative and see if
there's a back entrance of some kind. Maybe a service area that'll give
me some idea of what's going on here."
"Do what you want, but make it fast," he said, leaning back in the
seat. "And try not to get shot."
I carefully got out and walked down the empty street a way, then
followed the stucco wall/fence--the building covered an entire city
block--until I came across an alley entrance, with another large iron
gate, padlocked shut.
I peered up the driveway, shrouded in overhanging trees, but there was
nothing in the parking lot except a couple of Army Jeeps. And a black
Land Rover.
Well, Barry Morton really wanted me to see this. But why? Is there a
connection to the place in the Peten? And what are the Army vehicles
all about?
I sighed and made my way back to the street. When I reached the Jeep,
Alan was gone, but then I realized he was over talking to the young
guard, offering him a cigarette. A few moments later he waved good-bye
and casually ambled back.
"Okay." He settled in and hit the ignition. "Here's the official deal.
This place is some kind of hospice for unwed mothers. They also take in
orphans, or so he thinks. According to him, no American women have ever
had anything to do with the place, which is probably why I'd never
heard of it." He glanced at me as we sped off. "You happy now?
Debriefing young Army dudes is a specialty of mine, so I think that's
probably the straight scoop."
"Did you ask if it's connected with something in the Peten?" I was
still hoping. In any case, whatever it was, I was collecting more
pieces of the puzzle.
"Hey, give me a break." He shifted up, gaining speed. "I know when to
push, and this wasn't the precise moment. The kid was itchy enough as
it was. Like, who the fuck are you, gringo, and what are you doing
here? I got all I could get without a cold _cerveza_." He glanced over.
"You ask me, a little gratitude wouldn't be entirely out of place."
"Okay. _Muchas gracias, amigo_. Happy now?"
"Ecstatic."
The Jeep was open and I checked out the sky, which was growing darker
and more threatening by the minute. The promised foul weather still
seemed to be just that, promised but it was definitely on the way. Alan
Dupre must really be scared. Finally I leaned back in the torn plastic
seat and closed my eyes.
Was this Ninos del Mundo the Latin branch of Children of Light? The
place where Alex Goddard's babies came from? Considering the interest
Colonel Ramos had in my movie, the Army Jeeps could be a tip-off. Also,
there seemed to be an even chance that Barry Morton was involved
somehow. But it was all still guesswork. And anyway, this wasn't the
place Sarah had put on her landing card. _That _Ninos del Mundo was
somewhere up north, hidden in the rain forest.
Ready or not, Sar, hang on.