“Do you still have a say in the matter?” Juan asked.
“I don’t know. It’s a lot of money, and his data is supposedly far better than anything we currently have for this part of the biosphere reserve. Meetings are going to be held the day after tomorrow for a final decision on the newest offer.” She focused on her father. “In the meantime, we are to be INAH’s eyes on the ground and report back our initial findings tomorrow evening.”
The frustration underlying her tone said plenty. She wasn’t holding out much hope for keeping this site to herself.
Quint watched the flames dance.
Maybe this was good. The jungle seemed to have won the battle with these ruins. It was going to take a lot of machete swinging and careful digging to see what was hidden underneath. Using LIDAR data would save them a shit-ton of sweat and sore muscles.
In the meantime, maybe a change of subject would erase the frown lining her face.
“Bronko knows how to tell a good snake story, but what’s his deal?” Quint kept his volume down so only Angélica and her father could hear him. “Is he some kind of super-ranger for the reserve who bench-presses looters in his spare time?”
She glanced toward the forest, in the direction where Quint had watched Bronko disappear a short time ago after telling everyone he was heading out to perform a perimeter check. “According to what my boss just told me, Bronko used to work for a South American drug cartel.”
Juan sucked air through his teeth. “That would explain his ease with that pistol on his hip.”
“Don’t forget about the AK-47 rifle hanging from his shoulder.” Quint leaned closer to Angélica. “When you saywork for, you probably don’t mean as just a simple drug mule, right?”
He’d read an article a few years ago written by a friend in the business about the narcotics trafficking attempts through Bogotá’s El Dorado International airport. Often victims of extortion by a cartel, these mules risked not only their freedom, but their lives, trying to move drugs out of the country by ingesting packets of the illegal stuff, or inserting drug-filled items into places the sun nevershines.
“He was no mule.”
“A drug runner then?” Juan asked.
She shook her head. “He was a sicario.”
Quint grimaced. “No shit.”
He’d heard plenty over the years about the assassins the drug cartels hired to take out their enemies. Anyone’s name that showed up on a sicario’s to-kill list was pretty much fucked. Nothing short of a miracle could save their ass.
“Well, I’m certainly glad he’s on our side then.” Juan’s gaze hardened. “Wait. Your boss actually hired this hitman to play guard?”
“Bronko comes courtesy of the Mexican version of the FBI. According to my boss, INAH employees require federal protection this far away from civilization. Between the cartels who run drugs through these forests, the illegal loggers and hunters, and the black-market treasure looters, it’s not safe to work out here without armed backup.”
“Are the other two guards ex-cartel members, too?” Quint asked.
They didn’t look as buff or glower as much as Bronko, but both had a confidence that came with years of wandering through the jungle.
“No. Raul is a local who spent some of his childhood growing up on one of theejidosbordering the biosphere reserve. He left his father’s farm to work as a ranger for the reserve about ten years ago. The higher-ups at Calakmul sent him along to help because he’s more familiar with the area than Bronko or KuTu.”
Raul’s farming history would explain his strong arms and shoulders in spite of his thin frame.
“What about KuTu?” Juan looked in the direction of the lanky, slightly older guard who currently stood at the edge of the treeline staring into the shadows under the canopy. “He looks like he is a Maya, but yet not. His face isn’t quite as round, and he’s slightly taller than most we know and work with.”
Angélica grabbed a piece of wood and tossed it into the fire, kicking up a shock of sparks that twirled up through the air. “Raul just told me that the state of Campeche sent KuTu. He’s a junglespecialist with a lot of knowledge about the Maya civilization and the history of this area. Raul said he hasn’t worked with KuTu before, but after spending a couple of days with him clearing this spot, he believes KuTu knows as much about this forest as he does. Maybe more.”
“So, we have federal, state, and local watchdogs here with us.” Juan whistled under his breath. “It’s been years since I’ve worked somewhere dangerous enough to have such high-level help keeping an eye out for trouble.”
“This is a first for me.” Angélica brushed something off Quint’s shoulder. “How are you doing, Parker? Ready to pack up and head home yet?”
Before they’d left Cancun, Angélica had found several different slightly annoying ways to clarify that this site would be even harder to tolerate than the last. She’d even hinted that he might want to pursue a short photo assignment elsewhere while she took this exploratory trip to kick the dirt around and make some initial assessments.
What she didn’t understand was that Quint had done plenty of roughing it in his almost twenty years of being a photojournalist. Freezing cold and sweltering heat came with the job sometimes, but he just preferred more temperate locations, given a choice.
Something buzzed close to his ear.
Fewer bugs would be nice, too.
