“So you want Jed, too.” Ross Ed was hardly surprised.
“A dead alien. A real dead alien.” The man wagged a finger at them. “These are possibilities that are new to me, and require careful consideration.”
“Just so you should know where we all stand,” the Texan told him, “I wouldn’t give him up to the U.S. Army, I didn’t give him up to the rebels, and I won’t give him up to you.”
“Please, please.” De la Vega assumed a hurt expression. “So much hostile.” He looked at Caroline. “Is he always like this?”
“He’s just being protective. Based on what he’s told me about the things that have happened to him and on what I’ve seen for myself, he has reason to be.”
“So. Now then, you are from Texas,” he told Ross, “and you”—he studied Caroline intently—“I’m not so sure. Ohio?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. Nebraska.”
“I have never been to Nebraska, but I have a feeling I would not do much business there.”
They crossed a small bridge fashioned of logs bound together with strips of vine. Caroline picked her way carefully while Ross Ed, accustomed to working atop oil rigs, sauntered across effortlessly.
“What is your business?” Caroline inquired. “Oil exploration, gold mining, logging, cattle ranching?”
“None of those things. We are too far south for oil, there is no gold in this part of the Yucatán, and this is a protected region as far as logging and ranching are concerned.” He straightened proudly. “I am a dedicated environmentalist, as you will see.
“I am a simple, small farmer who believes in preserving the rain forest.”
“And what is it that you farm?” Ross asked him.
“Only native produce. Hemp, mostly. For rope, of course.” He smiled sadly. “Is it my fault that instead of using it to make nets and things, misguided people choose to burn it and inhale the smoke? Except for your president, of course.”
Wonderful, Ross reflected. They’d gone from being chased by the armies of two countries to being held by Indian rebels to being bought by a local drug lord. It was almost enough to make one wish for the cool assurance of the Culakhan. At least they operated according to a Code.
“You’re a dope dealer.”
De la Vega raised a hand. ‘but, mi compadre. A businessman, if you please. I sell only what my customers want. If norteamericanos want to smoke my produce instead of braid it, who am I to argue with them? I do admit that the laws I choose to pledge allegiance to are those of supply and demand.”
Following in their host’s agile footsteps, Ross Ed hopped lithely across a foot-wide stream of army ants. “So where does that leave us?”
“Please, not here. It is too hot. We will talk more when we reach my hacienda. It is just ahead, just there.” He raised an arm.
Ross stared. “Ahead where? I don’t see anything but more jungle.”
De la Vega was pleased. “I subscribe to the aesthetic of natural landscaping. You will see.”
The armed guard who emerged from the fake tree didn’t salute but simply nodded at his boss, who waved graciously in passing. A gate fashioned of logs decorated with moss, fungi, and epiphytes opened to admit them to a luxuriously landscaped courtyard, all of which would have appeared perfectly natural to any airborne observer.
The moss-encrusted stone wall gave way to a complex of interconnected pavilions, each roofed with its own camouflage netting. Several of the structures had rainforest trees growing through their roofs. Dirt and gravel surrendered to exquisite marquetry and tile work.
“No carpeting here, I’m afraid.” de la Vega explained. ‘be insects would have it for breakfast. Ah, here we are.”
After passing through a spacious open den cooled by concealed air-conditioning units, they reached a glass doorway which admitted them to the pool area. Shaded by its own camouflaged canopy, it appeared to have been tiled in mother-of-pearl. At the far end a landscaped artificial waterfall mimicked those in the surrounding jungle. A second green-swathed wall of river rock defined the enclosure.
Their host directed them to several high-backed planter’s chairs fashioned from imported rattan. A white-suited servant appeared briefly, vanished, and returned moments later with a tray of iced drinks. Despite his misgivings, Ross Ed gulped the contents of two glasses before finally taking it slower with a third. Caroline matched him drink for drink.
The unwalled side of the enclosure opened on an elaborate aviary alive with rainforest denizens, from sloths to quetzls. An expensive stereo system pumped Vivaldi through a network of hidden speakers. It was all very civilized and homespun, provided one ignored the guards and their automatic weapons.
Caroline could no longer contain her feelings. “This place is amazing!” She toyed with the little paper parasol which shaded her drink. “You have everything here.”
“Well, not quite everything,” confessed de la Vega modestly, “but I do have access to many modern conveniences.”
Ross Ed’s reaction was understated. “You must be one hell of a farmer.”
Their host pursed his lips. “My interests are extensive. Everyone wants what I have, you see. My contacts with the rebels, the police, and the local government ensure my safety, even from Colombians. I do well enough and my wants are simple.” He gestured with his glass.
“Well, I don’t know about your other visitors, but I’m impressed,” Caroline admitted. So was Ross Ed, if less effusively.
De la Vega leaned forward slightly. “And I am impressed by the attention you have attracted. Tell me truly now what it is that I have bought. What is a dead alien worth?”
“To tell you truly, I haven’t the faintest idea.” Ross had removed his backpack and set it down next to his chair. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because he isn’t for sale. I don’t know what you think you ‘bought’ from those rebels, but it wasn’t me, or Caroline, or Jed.”
“I see. I do not wish to appear the inconsiderate host, but I did spend a considerable sum to rescue you from your situation.”
“We weren’t in any danger,” Ross Ed shot back.
“You think not? Do you think the army’s long-range weapons can distinguish between a rebel indio and a visiting Texan? You cannot debate politics with an incoming rocket, and artillery shells are terribly egalitarian.
“But I wish for us to be friends. After you have bathed and rested we will talk more. I am sure we can resolve our differences and come to an understanding.”
Further conversation was cut off by a yelp from the far side of the pool, this apparently being the preagreed upon signal for All Hell to Break Loose.
The two guards instantly sprang into action, the staccato chatter of their automatic weapons threatening to drown out everything else. Alarms were going off all over the compound.
