Chapter 15
All hell broke loose at eight-thirty the next morning. One of the maids ran into the main house screaming at the top of her lungs. The sound of hurried footsteps and more screaming brought Avillo Guzman out of his room pulling on a robe. He ran into Mark in the hall where they exchanged puzzled shrugs and raced downstairs together. Mark had jumped out of bed with the first scream. He pulled on blue denims and a white turtleneck, slipped his sockless feet into some white canvas shoes and ran toward Jane's room. He opened her door, found the maid asleep in the chair and Jane sitting bolt upright in the bed, realized the danger was somewhere else and started back down the hall, where he ran into Guzman.
There was no one downstairs, but through one of the French windows they saw a group of the maids and several gardeners gathered down near the gazebo. Side by side, they ran to the group.
"My God!" Mark said, looking at the mutilated body crumpled on the lawn. It was stripped to the waist, the back covered with long, ugly stripes of congealed blood that could only have come from a whip. More than a dozen deep wounds from what must have been a large knife covered the back. Dried blood was everywhere.
Mark reached down and turned the inert form over on its back. The women gasped and turned away. Mark thought he was going to be sick. He turned his head away and stood up.
"Christ!" he muttered as he forced his throat from coining up into his mouth.
The front of the body was worse than the back. Ugly, red gashes covered the chest and neck, and knife wounds were everywhere. The slacks were ripped open and the man had been castrated, the bloody stump of his penis shoved along with his testicles into his gaping mouth. The face was untouched and Mark immediately recognized the started and anguished features of Dr. Carl Gorman.
Avillo Guzman had seen much violence in his life, but nothing to equal this.
"Where's Paco?" he said in a quiet voice.
"No esta aqui, Senor," one of the maids answered.
"Se fue en el Volkswagen muy temprano," said the man in charge of the garage. "Pense que usted se le mando a la ciudad."
"Well, Mark," Guzman said, "it seems that Paco took the Volkswagen and left early this morning. Why in hell would he do a thing like this?"
Guzman turned to the garage man and issued rapid orders in Spanish. Three of the men left on the run. Even with Mark's limited Spanish he knew that Paco was now the target of an all-out underground manhunt.
"I'll have to get some clothes on and run right down and handle this with the police," Guzman said. "They're extremely touchy about murder, and I want to nip this in the bud before it goes too far. I'm afraid our little conference will have to be put off until this afternoon, Mark. I'd appreciate if it you would see that the body isn't moved until we know what we have to do as far as the police are concerned. You might also look after Miss Horner until I get back."
Without waiting for a reply, Guzman walked rapidly to the house to dress. Mark had one of the gardeners bring a large canvas and they covered the remains of Dr. Gorman. He left instructions that no one was to touch the body and then returned to the house. As he entered, Mark saw Guzman and Consuela rushing out the front door.
"We'll be gone until late, Mark," he called back over his shoulder. "I called and the damned district man is down in Taxco today. We have to drive all the way down there because he's the only man who can keep this quiet."
Mark sat down in the living room and a maid brought him a cup of steaming coffee. His mind was processing thoughts like a computer. He lit a cigarette, ground it out and then lit another. He stood up and, hands in his pockets, paced the living room. Then he stopped and stared out of the window for a moment. Mark spun around and headed for the library. Hurriedly he rolled a sheet of paper in one of the typewriters and let his fingers fly across the keys.
"Dear Senor Guzman...."
Jane awoke with a start at the sound of the first scream. Her mind was a jumble and she was frightened, very frightened. At first the room was strange to her, but then, with horrifying clarity, things began coming back to her. She had trouble sorting her thoughts, but Jane sensed she was in danger.
Mark opened the door to her room, and with one glance at his face Jane could tell he was worried. He slammed the door and the maid jumped from the chair and ran to the window. A moment later she ran to the door and left the room.
Alone, Jane again tried to sort her thoughts, tried to put them in some logical order. What was going on? What was she doing here? Why was she so afraid? She remembered everything at once and the walls of the room seemed to crash in on her. Her vision blurred and things seemed to be spinning through space.
The door burst open and Mark came into the room.
"Jane! Wake up!"
"I thought I was awake," Jane replied.
"Get some clothes on and throw what you can in your bag. We're getting out of here. You have to be ready in five minutes. Can you make it, or do you want me to help you?"
"I don't understand, Mark."
"There's no time for explanations now. I'll do my best to explain on the way to Mexico City. I'm not even sure I know what I'm doing, but I know we have to get out of here."
"I'll make it," Jane said, throwing the covers back and climbing out of bed.
"Good. I'll throw some of my things together and be back for you in a few minutes. Don't leave the room until I get here."
Getting the car had been easy. No one was around the garage, so Mark grabbed some keys off the rack and backed the Chevrolet out. He was certain that one of the maids must have seen them leave, but they wouldn't find that unusual because people had been flying from the house in all directions that morning. He wound the car along the side roads to the old road and then up to the toll road. Once they were on the toll road, Mark pressed the accelerator to the floor. The Chevrolet moved ahead slowly. It was a long, steep climb around many curves before they would level out and head down to Mexico City on the other side of the mountains.
Mark opened the conversation once he had the car rolling along the road.
"Jane, how much do you know about what's been going on?"
"I'm not sure. I think I understand most of it, but my mind is terribly confused."
Mark patiently explained everything to her. Jane interrupted him several times for an explanation of some small point and then nodded her head as the story unfolded before her.
"I had gathered as much," she said when he was finished. "Of course, like you, I couldn't understand why. I suppose it does make sense, though. I'm just not intelligent or sophisticated enough to understand that type of mind.
"Mark, why can't I ruin everything for them by going back and explaining exactly what happened?"
Mark cursed, not at Jane but at a truck driver who changed lanes to pass another truck and caused him to slow down.
"I thought of that, Jane, but it would end up with the same result. In a way, it would be playing into their hands. Everyone would be outraged when they heard your story. It would leak out and help sell more marijuana, and your people would step up their drive. That's exactly what the organization wants. You'd never stop the film from being brought in. If your group refused to view it, the organization would sell it for five dollars a copy all over the country as a stag film. People would recognize you and you'd be ruined."
Jane sighed and slumped down in her seat.
"Do you want to go back, Jane?"
"Yes. No! Oh, Mark, I don't know! I'm so terribly upset and confused I just don't know what I want to do. I'm not the same person I was a few weeks ago. I couldn't go back to the life I had before. To be perfectly honest, I don't think I believe in the cause any more. I don't think I ever really did. Maybe it was just a crutch, like Doctor Gorman said."
Mark heard her sob and begin crying.
"Get a grip on yourself, Jane! You're not in the least responsible for what has happened. You can't blame yourself for anything, and crying and feeling sorry for yourself won't help."
"I am responsible, Mark," she said in a soft voice. "At least partially. I knew what was going on. I just wouldn't admit it to myself. You don't know it, but I was a mixed up girl before I ever came down here. Doctor Gorman helped me look at myself in the mirror, and I didn't like what I saw. Right now I feel like I'm walking a thin, tight rope to keep my sanity. What am I going to do with myself, Mark?"
To take her mind off her own problems, Mark began telling her the story of his life. He explained how he had met Guzman and why he decided to work for the organization. Jane listened quietly.
"This morning I wrote Guzman a long letter explaining that I was leaving and taking you with me. I had made the decision yesterday, but I had nothing firm in mind until after Guzman and Consuela left this morning."
Mark purposely avoided mentioning Dr. Gorman's horrible death because he was afraid it would make Jane lose what little balance she now had.
"Won't they try to catch us?" Jane asked.
"I suppose so," Mark replied, "but with any luck we'll be on a plane out of the country within an hour and a half."
"Where will we go?"
Mark caught the use of the pronoun and smiled. He hadn't realized until that moment how important it was to have Jane with him.
"We'll go where the first plane goes, providing it isn't headed for the States. I have enough money to see us through for a while. Are you sure you want to go with me?"
"If you'll have me," she answered. "I'm all mixed up, Mark, and I'll need some help to find myself. You have to start all over and so do I. Maybe we can help each other. You'll probably have to do all the helping, though."
They were driving down Insurgentes now. Mark turned off to cut across town to the airport and avoid the central section.
"Aren't we going to be in danger wherever we go?" Jane asked.
"I don't think so. Once they know we're out of the country they'll leave us alone. We can't cause them any trouble, and I told Guzman in my letter that we weren't even going to try to."