David Morrell - Assumed Identity

McIntyre mumbled something.

“What?” Drummond glared. “Damn it, man, speak up. Muttering won’t trick me into thinking my ears are failing me.”

“I didn’t mean to. .”

“Don’t apologize. I hate a whimperer. Maybe that’s why you haven’t achieved your objective. Because you’re not man enough to direct the job.”

“The instructions weren’t as specific as you claim,” Jenna interrupted.

“Oh?” The old man swung toward her. “At least you don’t mutter. But I don’t recall asking you for a comment.”

“If I need to be asked, that would mean I’m not a very good employee, wouldn’t you agree?”

“An excellent answer.” Drummond studied her. “Continue.”

“A vague and possibly flawed translation isn’t what I’d call step-by-step instructions.”

Drummond bristled. “The translation wasn’t flawed. The best experts for the maximum price were hired to decipher the text.”

“But even the experts don’t understand all the Mayan symbols.”

“And you yourself are expert enough to know that?”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten.”

“I forget nothing. ”

“I’m not only a surveyor,” Jenna said. “I’m an archaeological surveyor. My expertise is mapping sites like this one, and I may not be able to translate Mayan symbols, but I know several people who can, and they’re the first to admit that there’s a great deal more to be accomplished in their specialty.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re trying to justify a poor performance. Perhaps I should hire someone else and deduct that person’s fee from yours.”

Panic muted Jenna’s anger. Stop. Keep your opinions to yourself. Don’t antagonize him.

“Work harder,” Drummond said. “Quit making excuses. The translation is as perfect as it can be. And it’s explicit. What we’re looking for is here. But why can’t you find it?”

“Topography doesn’t have much variation in the Yucatan,” Jenna said. “The site described in the text could be anywhere. Plus, the geology in this area isn’t stable. In the thousand years since the landscape was described, earthquakes could have obliterated some of the features we’re searching for.”

Drummond scowled and returned his attention to McIntyre. “I don’t have time for delays. The jungle has to be cleared, but your men haven’t accomplished anywhere near as much as they were supposed to by now. You haven’t kept up with the schedule.”

“The schedule didn’t allow for sabotage,” McIntyre said.

Drummond jerked his head back. “Sabotage?”

“Someone’s been tampering with the bulldozers and the trucks. Dirt in the fuel tanks. Radiator hoses cut. Tires slashed.”

Drummond became livid. “ Why wasn’t I told? ”

“We thought we could handle the problem without troubling you. We fixed the vehicles and posted guards around them,” McIntyre said.

“ And? ”

“Posting guards around the vehicles meant we had to lessen the number of men watching the perimeter of the camp. The next night, a lot of our tools were stolen. Our water supply was contaminated. Our fuel-storage barrels were punctured. That’s why we’ve got barrels stored in here. As an emergency backup. The helicopters have been working double time bringing in spare parts and replacement supplies instead of new equipment.”

“Replacing supplies isn’t the answer!” Drummond snapped. “Find whoever’s causing the damage. What about those supervisors who were in here complaining? Could it be someone who wants to shut down work so he can spend a weekend getting drunk in Merida?”

“We thought of that,” McIntyre said. “No. The men are tired and grumpy, but they’re also eager to finish the job ahead of schedule so they can get their bonus. None of them would do anything to force them to spend more time here.”

“Then who?”

“Natives,” Jenna said. “Maya.”

Drummond looked astonished. “You’re telling me a handful of ignorant Indians are capable of outthinking you and paralyzing the project?”

“There might be more of them than you think. And as for being ignorant, this is their backyard, not ours. They know this territory a lot better than we do.”

“Excuses.”

“I’m sure they’re watching our every move from the jungle,” Jenna said, “and I strongly suspect that this site has religious importance to them, that they’re furious about what we’re doing here.”

“Superstition and nonsense. I’m amazed that you’ve let it interfere with the project.” Drummond scowled. “But you’ve given me an idea. You’re right. This is their backyard.” He turned to the fair-haired, pleasant-faced, well-dressed man who leaned against the closed door. “Raymond, how would you like to go hunting?”

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Drummond.”

“The captain of the guards will see that you’re outfitted properly.” Drummond turned to Jenna. “Where do these natives live? Have you got their village marked on the map you’re preparing?”

“Village?” Jenna said. “I’ve had problems enough mapping the site. We’re surrounded by rain forest. There aren’t any trails. You don’t just go wandering around out there. You’ll get lost or worse. Village? We haven’t seen even one native, let alone a village. ”

“And yet you’re certain they’re responsible?” Drummond turned to his assistant. “Raymond, find them. Stop them.”

“Yes, sir.” Raymond opened the door.

“But Raymond. .”

“Yes, sir?”

“Since this is their backyard, since they know it thoroughly, I want one native able to talk. Bring him to camp for questioning. Maybe he’ll know where to find what we’re looking for.”

As Raymond left the building, a man in a blue pilot’s uniform appeared. He had a red logo-DRUMMOND INDUSTRIES-on his jacket pocket.

“Sir, there’s a call for you on the helicopter radio.” He was slightly out of breath.

“Have it transferred to here. McIntyre, what frequency have you been using?”

McIntyre told the pilot, who hurried away.

Drummond gestured toward the map that Jenna had braced beneath her left arm. “Let me see what you’ve accomplished.”

Jenna spread the map across a table.

“No, no, no,” Drummond said.

“What’s wrong? I was thorough. I double-checked every-”

“That’s exactly the problem. You were thorough. I told you specifically. I wanted a map that would look convincing to the Mexican authorities.” Drummond led her out the door, gesturing toward the commotion of the site, workers clearing trees and stacking equipment.

Assaulted by harsh sunlight after the shadows of the room, Jenna shielded her eyes and directed her attention toward where Drummond pointed. As more and more trees were cut down and dragged away to be burned, as more bushes were plowed free, as what seemed to be hills became ever more distinctly pyramids, temples, and palaces, the legacy of the once-great Mayan empire, her heart pounded.

“Too much depends on this,” Drummond said. “Your map can’t-”

He was suddenly interrupted by a crackly, static-ridden voice on the radio.

“That’s your call coming through,” McIntyre said.

“Is the scrambler functioning?”

McIntyre nodded. “Just flick the switch.”

“Stay here. I won’t be long.”

After Drummond entered the building and shut the door, leaving Jenna and McIntyre outside, Jenna shook her head, frustrated, puzzled, angry. “That son of a bitch.”

“Keep your voice down,” McIntyre said. “He might hear you.”

McIntyre was right, Jenna realized. Even with the noise from the vehicles and the workers, she was close enough to the door that her voice might carry.