Tom Knox - The Babylon rite

He handed her the keys and she marched off, stalking down the hill to the car. Adam followed, sensing her frustration, trying to think of some encouraging words. But he couldn’t. Maybe this entire escapade was a silly idea. He felt sorry for her; yet he was mute.

They climbed a farm gate, and stepped onto the road. Nina pressed her car keys to unlock the doors. And then a voice pierced the cold.

‘Nina McLintock?’

She swivelled. A middle-aged man in a flat cap was staring at them.

‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’

‘Do forgive me. William Surtees.’ He extended a hand, Nina took it, warily. Adam watched, observant. Always get the details.

The man was well spoken, tweedy, a rich farmer maybe.

‘Sorry, but I knew your father. I recognized the old VW as I was driving by. His car? And you, of course, he used to show me your picture. Such a terrible shame.’

‘Dad knew you?’

‘Absolutely, yes. I’m so terribly sorry. The way…’ The man looked at Nina, then at Adam. ‘It’s no ending for a man. Suicide. But he was so ill, perhaps…’

Nina raised a hand.

‘My dad was ill?’

The man, William Surtees, gazed at her, perplexed. ‘Yes of course, ah, yes, your father was dying.’

TUMP Lab, Zana, north Peru

The stranger’s coarse, shouting voice was baffled by the fireproof glass in the panel. But his malign intentions were apparent.

The gun was now circling Dan’s temple. Teasing. Sensual. Malevolent. Waiting. Hungry. The words came quick and angry. Building to a climax.

What could she do? She couldn’t do nothing; she couldn’t do anything. She was of course unarmed. She couldn’t simply run in.

Dan was talking now. She strained to hear the muffled words, his fearful responses, but it was said in Spanish, and his voice was quiet, and meek — apologetic. And inaudible. Then the gunman came back, urgent and harsh.

Again Dan demurred, cowering, shaking his head. More fierce queries from the aggressor. The gun was pressed to Dan’s throat once again. And now the intruder was smiling, eerily; maybe getting off on Dan’s terror. Or smiling with satisfaction at a job nearly done.

She cringed, hidden behind the door. Waiting for the bang.

But there was no bang.

Jess crept up a few inches closer, and stared, again. The gunman was still there. Taunting. Teasing. Dan was now almost on his knees. Begging for his life.

She could make a phone call, but to whom? Seeking anxiously for her phone, she tried to remember the numbers she’d been told to keep, by Dan when she had first arrived: North Peru is a pretty lawless place, take down these numbers. Police. Hospital. Me. The US embassy…

What had she done with those numbers? Keyed them into her phone? No. She’d never got around to it. They were in her bag, in a notebook, and her notebook was in the lab.

In the lab with the man with the gun, who was about to kill Dan.

The shouts were louder. So loud she could hear them quite clearly.

‘?Dimelo!?Necesito la respuesta!’

Tell me! Give me the answer.

But I do not know

Tell me. Or you will die. Here. Like an old pig.

What can I say? I have never heard of him! Please do not kill me, please do not kill me…

The intruder scowled, and ceased talking. Jess pressed closer to the thick wire-grilled glass. She didn’t care if she was spotted now. Dan’s voice was supplicant, so frightened, so pleading, she wanted to rush out and save him.

The man had the gun calmly aimed at Dan’s head. As for a simple execution. Enough: she could bear it no longer. Summoning all her courage, Jess pushed at the door but even as she did, she heard voices from a different door. Jess paused to see. It was Larry and Jay casually walking into the lab. And then gazing in horror at the tall intruder.

The gunman didn’t waste time. He levelled the gun first at Larry, and then at Jay, wordlessly telling them to back off. They backed off. Then the intruder poised the gun tenderly, this way and that, as if deciding who to shoot first.

Yet he didn’t fire. Why? Halfway through the door, Jess saw what the gunman had already seen.

A crowd of villagers was pushing into the room. Jay and Larry had obviously been recruiting: hiring local men, for the dig, as they often did. They’d found a dozen farmers and fishmeal workers; big, dark-skinned Zana men who were staring right back at the gunman, utterly unafraid.

Now the intruder looked seriously confused. It was a stand-off. The locals gazed at the gunman, daring him, chins uptilted; three of them had drawn machetes, used for cane cutting: the challenge was obvious. You can shoot one of us, maybe two, maybe three — but you can’t kill us all, we will chop you down.

The tension tautened. The fridges buzzed. The Moche pots stared in reproach across the laboratory.

The gunman swore. ‘ Que chingados! Yo matario tu! ’

But he was edging to the door, and the gun was slack in his hand.

The tallest villager lifted the machete. ‘ Tiratu a un poso! ’

The glinting machete was pointing at the exit, inviting the gunman to go.

And he was going. Barging through the dark villagers, the gunman pushed his way to the door, and then he slammed the door open and was away down the steps: sprinting. A few seconds later they heard the noise of his car, screeching away very fast, leaving a cloud of dust which was visible from the tall laboratory windows.

Gone.

Jay and Larry were already at Dan’s side, helping him to his feet, and sitting him on the stool. He asked, limply, for water. Bewildered, and urgent, Jess fetched water from the fridge. As she took the small bottle of Evian from the refrigerated depths, the Moche skulls smiled at her from their yellow foam cushions.

‘Thank you,’ Dan said, gazing deep into Jessica’s eyes. His hand was visibly trembling as he tried to open the little water bottle; but he was shivering so much he couldn’t open the bottle. Jess did it for him; he guzzled the water.

Then someone pushed through the scientists, and poured a liberal measure of the local liquor from a small glass bottle into a plastic cup. Dan looked at it for a moment — and sank the booze.

‘Aguardiente?’ The villager with the bottle nodded, quite shyly.

‘Gracias, amigo,’ Dan said. ‘ Gracias. ’

The villager spoke in a deep Zana voice. You pay us. You feed our children. You are our friends. We are not afraid of guns.

Dan thanked the villagers again, and then some more. But the men just bowed, and turned solemnly; then they moved to the door, and disappeared.

Jessica watched as Dan took another gulp of the liquor; he saw her scrutinizing him.

‘Jess. Guys. Thanks… I’m OK.’

Jay was the first to ask, ‘How the hell did he get in?’

Dan shook his head. ‘The front door. I guess. Just kicked it open?’

‘Who was he? How long had he been here?’

‘Five minutes. Jess was in the washroom, he just marched in and he pinned me to the wall and… started… asking questions.’

Jess had so many questions of her own. But her boss — her boyfriend — was maybe too shocked for an interrogation. She looked at Jay. ‘Do we tell the police?’

Dan shook his head. ‘The police? What can they do? I’ll give them a description, but, eh, how many criminals are there in Peru? Who are they gonna ask? What are they gonna ask? Did you see a tall Peruvian?’

Larry persisted. ‘So who was he? Race, accent?’

Dan shrugged.

‘Peruvian, probably. Mestizo maybe. South American for sure. Maybe a local villain?’

‘A Haquero, perhaps? A graverobber?’

‘Could be.’ Dan sighed, and held the cup in his hand as if it was the Holy Grail, the Eucharist. ‘I just don’t know! He stank a little of this stuff, aguardiente. Not too much. Not a total lush. More professional than that.’