"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 to Baalum. 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 of Baby Love yesterday 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.
The monitor's picture was in color, but the predominant hue was brown. Where was this? The OR had to be somewhere in the clinic, but still . . .
The space looked flawlessly sterile, obviously an operating theater, but it was certainly like none other on earth. The walls were not white or pale blue; they had the shade of stone and were decorated with Maya picture writing and bas-reliefs. It was as though a sacred chapel had been converted into a surgery. I guessed this was what he meant by "cosmetic changes." A door was visible on the right side of the screen, and moments later Alex Goddard strode through, coming in from the hallway.
So, it must be right next door. God, the place looked ancient and haunted.
I watched as he walked over to a basin and scrubbed his hands, then donned a white surgical mask. Next he flipped various switches on the walls. Finally he put on a second mask that glistened like some green crystalline material.
What was that for? Then it hit me. A "jade" mask . . .
That was something Sarah had mentioned in her ramblings. So she must have seen this too. Which meant. . . not everything she described was just some drug-induced hallucination. The mask part was very real. . . .
Now Marcelina was rolling a steel operating table, bearing a dark-haired Maya woman, through the doorway. The patient looked like all the others down in Baalum, except that she had a strange expression on her face. She appeared to be tense and very afraid, as her eyes kept darting around the room, then to the "jade" mask Alex Goddard was wearing— most likely papier-mache covered with shiny green granules.
When she was in position, he walked to the corner and flipped another switch, whereupon there started the deep droning of a chant, probably from speakers in the walls, that sounded like Kekchi Maya.
He bent over her and said something in the same language, after which Marcelina placed a rubber mask over her nose and mouth. Her eyes still frightened, the patient uttered a few words, perhaps a final prayer, then inhaled deeply. As her eyelids fluttered, he turned and opened what appeared to be some kind of stone tableau, covered by its own bas-relief. It was, I finally realized, merely painted fiberglass—that was what the whole room was—and inside were CRT monitors designed to display various vital life functions. As Marcelina helped him, he began attaching sensors to the patient's body.
When the woman's eyes had fully closed, he removed his green mask and tossed it into a box.
It's all fake. The room, everything. Just like Baalum. But now he's got Sarah's mind caught in his thrall. I've got to make her understand nothing here is real.
Marcelina was carefully watching the screens, her apprehension obvious as she fiddled uncertainly with the knobs.
"Oxygen steady." Her voice was small and uneasy. "EKG stable."
He immediately stripped away the sheet that had been covering the patient. Beneath it was an open-sided gown colored in brilliant stripes of red and blue. He pulled it back with absent precision, then turned to Marcelina.
"Shave her and scrub her."
With the woman now under sedation, Marcelina put on her own surgical garb: She pulled a blue plastic cap over her hair, then secured a white OR mask over her face. While she was finishing the preparations, he turned and walked to the far side of the room, where he abruptly seemed to disappear through the wall.
What . . . There must be a panel there, a camouflaged door.
He was gone for a moment, then reappeared carrying a long metal tube that looked to be emitting white vapor. He next opened yet another ersatz stone cabinet to reveal a microscope with a CRT screen above it. He took out three glass ampules from the tube—frozen embryos, undoubtedly—and placed them in a container. When he switched on the microscope, its CRT screen showed him whatever he needed to know. Interesting. In surgery, he was coldly efficient, no "human touch." Here he was the "scientist" Alex Goddard.
Next, Marcelina activated an ultrasound scanner and began running the wand over the woman's stomach. The screen above the table showed her uterus and her Fallopian tubes with flickering clarity.
He'd been readying the embryos, and now he walked over and carefully inserted a needle into the woman's abdomen— ouch—his eyes on the ultrasound scan, which indicated the precise location of the needle's tip.
I watched as the screen showed the needle on its way to its destination, a thin, hard line amidst the pulsing gray mass of her uterus. Seconds later all three embryos had been implanted with such flawless precision it was scary.
Did I want to undergo this deeply invasive procedure at the hands of Alex Goddard? The very thought left a dull ache in my stomach.
While Marcelina bandaged her and began preparing her for return to wherever she'd been, he turned off the systems, then closed their "stone" cabinets.
I thought back to some of the "hallucinations" Sarah had poured out. She'd mentioned the green mask, and she'd also relived some sinister event that seemed to her like disappearing down a long white tunnel. Was that her own anesthesia? Did he perform an in vitro on her too?
I jumped as I heard the "bump, thump, bump" sound of the operating table being rolled out of the OR and back down the hall. For some reason I thought of the sound of fate knocking on the door, like death coming to take Don Giovanni. Did Alex Goddard have plans to take me, only with drugs and medical sleight of hand? It wasn't going to happen.
I switched off the monitor and turned to stare at the computers. Why were they here in this "place of miracles"? What did they hold? Maybe that was where I should be. . . .
That was the moment when the heavy office door swung open and Marcelina appeared.
"Your room is ready now." Her English was heavily accented but sure. "He sent me to show you. And I can wash any of your things if you like."
My room? Whoa! Since when had I checked in?
"Marcelina, we need to talk. What happened to Sarah the last time she was here? Was she operated on like that woman just now?"
I also planned to ask her about all the bizarre trappings surrounding the procedure. Why was the woman so sucked in by his phony Mardi Gras mysticism? Had Sarah fallen for it too?
"Sara was one of the special ones. You are surely blessed too. You resemble her a lot." She looked at me, affection in her dark eyes, then turned and headed out the door. "But come, let me take you up."
Of course I resembled her; she was my cousin. But so what? I didn't like the odd way she'd said it. And what about my question?
Watching her walk away, clearly nervous, I realized this was the moment I'd been dreading—when I had to make a decision about how far to play along with Alex Goddard. Steve couldn't be reached, yet, but I still might be able to handle the situation on my own. The first thing to do was to get down to Sarah and talk some sense into her. Then I had to arrange for a way to get us both out.
So . . . probably the best way to accomplish that was to go along with my own medical charade for a few more hours, to give me time to scout the scene and come up with a plan. A room would be a base to operate from.
Still, I was feeling plenty of trepidation as we ascended the marble steps to the second floor, which had a long, carpeted hallway with doors along each side. Then, when we started down the hall, I caught the sound of a baby crying.
"What's this floor for?" I remembered Alex Goddard had claimed it was to provide a postpartum bonding period, but I wanted to confirm that with my own eyes.
"This is the recovery ward and nursery. Here, let me show you." She paused and pushed open the door nearest us. I looked in to see a Mayan woman resting on a high hospital bed and wearing a white shift, with an ornate wicker cradle, wide and deep, next to her.
Marcelina smiled and said something to her that sounded like an apology for the intrusion. The room was lit only by candles, but I did make out how oddly the woman stared at me, as though she was seeing a spirit. Why was that? Because I was a gringa here in the middle of the forest? But it seemed something more.
"The birth of a child is a sacred thing for us." Marcelina was discreetly closing the door again. "When a woman carries a child she will take walks to the milpas, to the river, to the orchards, just so her little one can be in its world. Then, after her baby is born, our tradition holds that she should be alone with it for a week and a day. So their life's breath can become one."
I could sense her heart was deeply entwined with the people here at Baalum.
"Marcelina, how long have—?"
"Well, what do you think?" said a voice. I looked around to see Alex Goddard coming up the stairs behind us. And my anger welled up again. Everything about him was just too . . . manipulating.
He'd changed back to his black sweatshirt and jeans and was carrying a tray. The costume event was over. In an instant Marcelina slipped quietly around him and headed back down the stairs, almost like a rabbit startled by a fox. He smiled and moved past me.
"All those trappings just now, the fake green mask." I decided to challenge him head-on. Start forcing him to show his hand. "What's—?"
"Merely a little harmless theater." He looked back. "The forest Maya like to think they're being ministered to by a shaman." Then he indicated I should follow him. "By the way, in case you do get hungry, I brought you something you can have in your room if you like. Then you can make yourself at home and rest a bit."
Hold on. I was being given the illusion of freedom, but in reality I was nothing more than his prisoner.
"That room next to your office. The steel door. What's in—?"
"That's the heart of Baalum." Pride in his voice. "The real reason I'm here."
"You mean drug research?"
He nodded. "Did you know the Central American rain forest easily contains a hundred thousand plant species? Over half of all pharmaceutical drugs are derived from plants, yet less than one percent of those here have been tested for pharmacological potential. Still, the old shamans and midwives all know of herbs they claim can cure everything from menstrual cramps to cancer." He smiled. "They also know which ones have powerful contraceptive properties, which is particularly helpful in my primary study, fertility and fetal viability. I take the specimens they bring and perform a rough screening in the lab to determine if they're actually pharmacologically active. If they do test positive, I then examine their effect on the blastocyst, the early form of embryonic cell formed just after fertilization, to see whether they affect cell division and viability and . . . the miscarriage rate here is very low, so some of these plants . . ." His voice trailed off as he pushed open the door of a suite at the end of the hall. It had a stone floor, a simple bed, and through the slatted windows the light of midday filtered through, along with the birdcalls of the rain forest. Any other time and place, I'd have felt like I was staying at a rustic nature retreat.
But this wasn't some other time and place. And what about Steve? Where was he? Maybe he was somewhere worse. Thinking about him, I was startled to hear myself say . . .
"Incidentally, I found out the man I've been trying to have a baby with didn't show up at his hotel in Belize last night. He was driving there from Guatemala City. I'm very worried. I keep hearing about how people get 'disappeared' in this country. He's—"
"Could his name be Steve Abrams?" Goddard turned back, still holding the tray.
It was a moment that stopped my heart. For a second I wasn't even able to speak.
"How . . . did you know?" I finally managed to say. "I never mentioned—"
"That's the name they gave me. I received a call this morning from Guatemala City. From Colonel Ramos's office, in fact. As you might suppose, he's well aware you're here, and he said you were seen dining night before last at a downtown restaurant with a man by that name. They think he's in the country because of you, and they're trying to locate him."
I felt the life go entirely out of me. My God what was going on? Steve was now the subject of a manhunt in a police state. Did he even know?
"I told them you were here for purely medical reasons." He sighed with frustration. "And that they were being irrationally paranoid but . . ."
"So they don't actually know where he is, right?" I was still trying to breathe.
"As of this morning. If they did they wouldn't have called up here." He walked over and set the tray down on a rustic table next to the bed. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. He's committed no crime. They just want to make sure you realize your presence has not gone unnoticed."
Dear God. What had I dragged Steve into? If they found him, what would they do? I could only pray he was deft enough to elude them. If anybody could . . .
Then I looked at the tray. An empty syringe was there. Also, there was a large bowl containing some kind of soup. I was finally growing ravenous, but still . . .
"What's this for?" I indicated the syringe.
"I just need to take a little blood for some tests. Don't worry, it won't hurt a bit."
Hold on. How far do I have to play along to stay in his chess game?
Then I glanced down again at the tray. "And what's in that bowl?"
"Right now diet is crucial, so I've had Marcelina prepare you a healthy broth of soy extract and buckwheat and rainforest herbs that—"
"What kind of rainforest herbs exactly?" I was starving, but no way in hell—