OF SUCH HUNCHES WERE INVESTIGATIVE CAREERS made. Cardenas had made many such in his long years with the Department. It was not, after all, unreasonable to assume that the garrulous Wayne Brummel had discussed his potential refuge with the woman he was living with as well as with the one he had been cogering on the side. What left the Inspector shaking his head was the ironic realization that having grown up speaking English and Spang, he had managed to overlook the possibility that an anglo like Brummel might make use of the language of Cardenas's grandparents.
According to the records, The Mock had been brought up on charges more times than Cardenas cared to count. Most times he had been let go, sometimes on a technicality, usually for lack of hard evidence. According to the law, a wife could not be made to testify against her husband in court. The relevant statutes were less clear where a child was concerned.
Besides which, given their apparent current state of mind, Cardenas was convinced neither Surtsey nor Katla Mockerkin would have to be compelled to give testimony.
Finally learning the whereabouts of the Mockerkin women was no guarantee he would be able to extradite them safely, or even get to see them. As Aurilac the Wise's surly attendant had so succinctly pointed out, Costa Rica was well outside the NFP s jurisdiction. While the USN had dozens of treaties with the Central American Federation, they did not extend to formally allowing law officers of either territory to operate openly within the borders of their neighbor.
Informal incursions, he reflected as he stepped out of the induction tube station beside the hospital, were (as was so often the case when matters of law enforcement were involved) something else entirely.
Hyaki was waiting for him, squeezed uncomfortably into a wheelchair next to the discharge desk, looking less like a contented Buddha and more like a dyspeptic gorilla who had been confined in a small packing case for far too long. He gazed mournfully at the Inspector as the older man approached.
"They won't release me officially until somebody from the Department signs for me," he grumbled. "Times like this I wish I wasn't a bachelor. I feel like a damn registered package sitting off all by its, lonesome at the post office, waiting for someone to come and claim me."
"Does that mean I can have you stamped 'Refused, Return to Sender'?" Cardenas quipped. Hyaki's response was an uncharacteristic vulgarity. The sergeant continued to mumble with annoyance as Cardenas signed off on the necessary forms.
He did kick the wheelchair when he was finally, formally, allowed to vacate it in the drivethrough facing Reception. It was a mild kick, or the chair would not have survived.
"How's the back?" Cardenas inquired sympathetically. He did not have to ask, of course. He knew. But after long, boring days spent in rehab, his friend would need to talk.
Not that Hyaki was an especially voluble individual. The sergeant discoursed only briefly on the numbing delights of hospital downtime before taking up again his interest in the case that had resulted in his enforced vacation. As he yakked, and listened to Cardenas's replies, he frequently shrugged his shoulders or twisted his torso, as if his newly regrown skin was a too-small suit that did not quite fit properly.
"Costa Rica," the big man muttered as the Inspector pulled the cruiser away from the curb. "La Amistad. A funny place for someone with money to run to. You'd think maybe Prague or Petersburg. Not the jungle."
Cardenas swung into mild traffic, leaving quiescent the flashing warning beamers that striped the top of the official vehicle. They were in no hurry. "Evidently, hiding is more important to them than comfort. If you get vaped, it doesn't matter whether it happens while you're lying in a five-star hotel or a parking lot."
Hyaki rubbed one cheek, gently massaging new epidermis. His skin did not crawl, but it did itch. The hospital had provided a spray to minimize the effect. "Amistad, Amistad-seems to me I've run across the name before."
His partner flipped on the cruiser's scanner and ordered it to tune to a soft classics station broadcasting out of London's East End. The soaring melodies of an early symphony by Braga-Santos backgrounded the interior of the vehicle.
"It's the biggest piece of virgin upland rainforest left in the CAF. And of course, Reserva Amistad just means Friendship Reserve. I can't believe I missed on that."
The sergeant smiled. "Too many new words to learn. When you live in a place like Nogales, where the dictionary gets updated daily, it's easy for your cerebro to lose track of the obvious." For emphasis, he tapped the side of his head. The absence of hair, blown off in the explosion that had destroyed the Anderson residence, made him look more than ever like an Asian version of the Enlightened One.
"If they're hiding in the middle of the CAF," he commented, "that takes us out of it."
Cardenas's fingers stroked the steering wheel. "Not necessarily."
His partner looked over in surprise. "You intuiting that, Angel?"
A hint of a smile crossed the Inspector's face, raising slightly the points of his drooping mustache. "You've got some sick leave coming. I have vacation time accumulated. I've discussed it with Pangborn. Seems there are official duties and unofficial duties. And then there's semi-official duties." He looked across at his friend. "You and me, we're going to take a little semi-official trip. I've already stocked up on mosquito antipherms."
Hyaki crossed his arms over his chest and slumped lower in his seat. It left him with his knees blocking his view out the forward glass. "So much for a little post-op rest and relaxation," he griped.
Cardenas ignored the complaint. "You'll like Costa Rica. I understand the beaches are beautiful."
The sergeant looked back at him. His partner was concentrating on dealing with the traffic.
"You said the absent Ms. Mockerkin and her kid were heading for high rainforest. No beaches in the high rainforest."
"I said the beaches are beautiful," Cardenas replied dryly. "I didn't say we were going there."
San Jose's Intel International Airport nestled nervously between green-clad hillsides and active volcanoes, surrounded by industrial fabrication and assembly plants that in many aspects not only mimicked those of the Strip, but supplied components for it. As early as the late twentieth century, the energetic Ticos of Costa Rica had recognized that the future lay not in banana or copra farming, but in hitech and ecotourism, and had structured their country accordingly. Now Costa Rica was the richest member of the CAF, the envy of its neighbors, and a model for successful burgeoning economies in Panama and Belize.
They were passed formally but politely through Customs and Immigration before being asked to step inside an office with heavily opaqued windows. Initial uncertainty gave way to reassurance when they were greeted by Lieutenant Corazon of the CAF police. A short, stocky, hard-bodied blonde in her early forties, she sat them down in front of her desk, proffered cold drinks from an office cooler, and spoke while studying a heads-up whose contents were not visible to her visitors.
"Semi-official visit, is it?" she commented in perfect English, meeting Cardenas's gaze with an unwavering, unblinking stare. Her small stature notwithstanding, he knew he would not want to cross this woman in a fight. "We don't get many of those. I see here that you are trying to find a Namerican woman and her daughter."
Cardenas nodded. "They're running from her husband, as well as from other interested antisoc parties. A lot of money is involved, plus some confidential information that may be in the daughter's possession. We'd very much like to find them and take them home so they can be placed in a secure protection program. Right now we believe that they are panicoed."
"And you're convinced they've panicked their way here?"
"To La Amistad." Cardenas crossed his legs. The interview might be routine, but Lieutenant Corazon definitely was not.
"For a mother and child believed to be panicking, they seem to have done rather well." She smiled challengingly. "They've managed to elude your people, for example."
Cardenas would not be baited. "We didn't know where they were going until long after they had left."
The lieutenant nodded, studied the screen afresh. Then she exhaled softly and instructed it to shut down. Her attention darted between the two visiting federales. "You know what is in La Amistad rainforest? Besides quetzals and sloths and jaguars and ormegas soldados?"
"Lots of rain?" Hyaki speculated offhandedly.
She favored him with a look of disapproval. "La Ciudad Simiano is there. It contains the only authorized habitations. Everything else has been left wild, as decreed by the government, the WWF, the OTS, and all the other vested scientific organizations that have responsibility for preserving the health and biodiversity of the park. If your two ladies are in La Amistad, they are there with the permission of the Simiano administrators." Her tone hardened. "They may not look favorably on a visit from a pair of Namerican federales."
"We'll have a talk with them." Hyaki indicated his friend. "My partner can be very persuasive. He has a way with people."
The engaging smile Corazon bestowed on an unequivocally intrigued Cardenas was belied by her tone. "I can tell that he does," she murmured enticingly. "Unfortunately, once you enter Ciudad Simiano, you will no longer be dealing with people."
Cardenas smiled. "I know."
Hyaki looked confused. "Well, I don't. I've been laid up, and we flew down here in kind of a rush. I'm not a research guru like Angel here. What's this 'Ciudad Simiano,' and why do I have the feeling you think it might present problems for us?"
"It all depends on how the residents perceive you. All I can do is inform the Reserva Director's office that you are on your way. If you are lucky, you will be accorded admittance with no trouble. If not"- she sat back and shrugged-"then even I or my superiors cannot get you in." She proceeded to explain.
The short commuter jump to Ciudad Neily, the nearest town with an airport to the greater Amistad Reserva, was accomplished in quick time and with only a few bumps through the tropical air. Beyond securing the best available vehicle for entering the mountains- a quad fuel cell-powered 4X4 with sleeping and cooking facilities for two-the amiable if dubious Lieutenant Corazon was unable to help them. They were, after all, traveling semi-officially. This meant that while the local police would not interfere with their activities, neither could they step in to render official assistance. This did not bother the two federales. They had come in search of acquiescence rather than help.
The road out of Neily was excellent, but beyond the mountain town of San Vito it changed character rapidly. Past Sabalito it quickly degenerated into a mountain track. At over a million hectares, the expanded Reserva de Biosfera La Amistad was the largest intact expanse of undisturbed rainforest north of South America. Clearly, those responsible for its integrity intended to keep it that way.
Banging eastward, steadily gaining altitude, they found themselves surrounded by green-clad mountains on all sides. To the north, Fabrega, at 3336 meters, overtopped the entire region. Though they could not see it, they did not feel cheated. The terrain that closed in around them did not lack for unsettlingly steep slopes or dramatic cloud-piercing peaks.
They topped off the heavy-duty 4X4's cells at Progresso, the last town before entering the wilderness of the Las Tablas Zone. The Reserva continued over into nearby Panama, but the border was not marked. Despite the altitude, both men were sweating liters. They were used to the dry heat of the Strip, not the sweltering humidity of the jungle.
"Going to see the Simianos?" the attendant at the one-stop inquired in his halting English.
"If we want to enter the Las Tablas Zone, we don't have any choice." Hyaki had marked well the words of the helpful Lieutenant Corazon.
The old man nodded as he shut off the hygen filler and resealed the vehicle's tank. "Loco folk, those Simianos. Keep to themselves. Don't see them much outside the Reserva. Things are better that way, si?"
Cardenas smiled tolerantly. The old man was not afraid of the Simianos; his indifference glowed like a dim bulb. "What do we owe V your "Namericanos!" The attendant muttered to himself as he processed the Inspector's card. "Always testing limits. Always pushing their luck."
He wished them good fortune anyway. After all, they were tourists, and as such, their presence in his small community was to be appreciated. The Ticos had learned the lessons of the late twentieth century well.
Outside Progresso, the road soon degenerated into a damp, gooey mush in which gravel occasionally put in an appearance like candy chips in a pudding. Repeated tropical downpours had sawn gullies in the track like parallel slices in a cake. Behind the wheel of the rented vehicle, Hyaki suffered more than his companion from the continual jolts and bumps, since his fuzz-covered skull barely cleared the roof. As if the way was not difficult enough, it began to rain.
As the road grew steadily more slippery, they soon found themselves measuring progress in terms of one meter slid sideways for every two gained forward. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, giving way to feathery gray-white clouds that swept down from the emerald mountaintops like gathering ghosts. Once, an enormous bird, all white and black feathers, talons and beak, soared directly past the front of the car, screeling sharply as it wheeled out of the oncoming 4X4's path. Even a brief glimpse was enough to show that its wingspan was greater than two meters. A startled Hyaki slammed on the brakes, forcing Cardenas to grab the dash with both hands to keep from being thrown forward. Fortunately, none of the six protective foambags surrounding him inflated.
"Sorry," the sergeant apologized. "It surprised me. I was watching the road and didn't see it coming. What the hell was it, anyway? The damn thing looked like a hang glider."
"Harpy eagle." An attentive Cardenas heard the high-pitched screel again. It was far away now, and fading. "You're not supposed to see it coming."
His partner eyed him uncertainly. "How do you know that's what it was?"
"I watch a lot of nature vits." He nodded at the tattered track that continued to unspool in front of them. "Take it low and slow when it shifts back in gear. We don't want to put too much pressure on the sensors, and we definitely don't want to get stuck here. It's a long, wet walk back to Progresso."
"I know that." Grumbling, Hyaki reached for the shifter to put the vehicle back in drive. There was only one forward gear, of course. The car's onboard box would sense whenever anything lower was required, and allocate power accordingly.
A figure materialized from among the trees off to their left, stumbling downslope. He wore a simple plastic rainshawl striped in local colors. Except for the rainshawl and the hitech walking stick he carried, he might have stepped straight out of a Mayan stela. He was followed by a young woman carrying a babe in arms and two more men who were visibly younger than their predecessor. While these three waited by the side of the road, which under the effects of the intermittent pounding rain had become virtually indistinguishable from its center, the patriarch of the group hobbled toward the idling 4X4, using his walking stick for support. Hyaki lowered his window.
"Your pardon, senores," he said in passable English, "but my family and I were caught out in the weather today." Turning slightly, he gestured up the graded quagmire of a thoroughfare. "Our truck, full of produce from our farm, broke down on the way back from the Reserva. We are very tired, and my daughter-in-law's child is cold and hungry. Could you perhaps give us a ride into the Ciudad? From there we can arrange for the parts necessary to fix our truck."
Cardenas scrutinized the speaker and the waiting supplicants. "Sure, we'll be happy to help." He reached into an inside pocket. "Here's a little something for the nino"
As he drew his gun and pointed it directly at the petitioner's face, Hyaki pressed himself backward as far as the driver's seat would allow and used his left hand to recline it even farther. The eyes of the rain-shawl-bedecked local widened as he stared down the barrel of the tiny but lethal pistol.
"Step back." Most of the time, Cardenas's voice was calm, even soothing. But when he wanted to, he could chill it deep enough to neutralize habanero sauce. "Keep your hands out and up where I can see them. No sudden moves. Fredoso, get us moving."
"Oh yeah," murmured the sergeant tensely. Staying back, he maneuvered his bulk until he could reach the shift controller. The 4X4 started forward, sensors in the wheels and the undercarriage combining their readings to determine that full low gear was in order. The transmission responded accordingly.
As they inched forward and began to roll past the tiny family group, the young woman brought both arms up and to one side and threw the cloth-swaddled babe she was holding straight at the windshield. With a shout, Cardenas shoved open the door on his side and threw himself out. Hyaki did the same on the driver's side, landing hard in the gravel-flecked mud. Detecting the absence of an operating driver, the vehicle immediately shut down its engine and started to slide into park. It never made it.
The bundle that struck the windshield bounced once off the non-conductive transparency before landing on the hood. Containing nothing organic, it promptly delivered itself of a violent electric discharge. The smell of ozone flashed through the damp air as sparks erupted from the hood, roof, sides, back, and underbody of the 4X4. Designed to instantly electrocute any occupants of the car, the packet ended up frying only the electrical system of the vehicle, which promptly caught on fire.
Rolling madly, the Inspector brought his weapon up and around as something hot and superfast sliced a groove in the ground precisely where he had been lying a moment earlier. The young woman who had hurled the packet had flung her rainshawl aside and was in the process of aiming the multibarreled burster in Hyaki's direction just as Cardenas's second shot tore through her right shoulder. Her face contorting, she dropped the burster and grabbed at her upper arm. On the other side of the road, Hyaki had rolled into a ditch and was now firing steadily.
While the senior member of the phony farming quartet provided very unpeasantlike covering fire, the two younger men grabbed their wounded associate and half dragged, half carried her off down the road. One of the sergeant's shots caught the retreating elder in the ribs and forcefully evacuated his chest cavity. As he slammed facedown into the mud, his three retreating colleagues increased their pace. In less than a minute, they had disappeared around the first bend in the road.
A heavy mist began to fall as the two federales warily approached the unmoving body of the man who had asked them for a lift. There was no sign of his three companions. Blood and drizzle swirled together and collected in puddles, to be soaked up by the ever-porous tropical soil.
Hyaki holstered his weapon as he peered back the way they had come. "I don't think the others will be back. What was that all about?"
Kneeling beside the dead man, Cardenas pushed back a sleeve to expose a tattoo lavish with coiling serpents, feathers, and Mayan glyphs. "Sensemaya. Primarily a CAF gang, but they've been known to reconnoiter as far north as Four Corners."
The sergeant ran a big hand from his forehead across his reviving scalp and down the back of his neck. "I've read about them. How'd you know, Angel?"
"That they were Sensemaya?" He straightened, brushing clinging mud from his pants. "I didn't, until just now. What I did know was that they weren't simple farmers, and that they wanted more than a ride." Hyaki nodded perceptively. Better than anyone else, he knew his partner's capabilities.
Cardenas considered the body. "Their postures were all wrong. Stiff instead of submissive. Taut instead of tired from walking. The woman held her 'baby' the wrong way. The two agros with her were tense and apprehensive instead of hopeful." Bending, he picked up the fallen walking stick and turned it over in his hands, studying it with interest.
"Grandpa here had the best teeth and the smoothest hands of any farmer I've ever seen. As for his cane, it's a fine piece of facading, but the dissimulation isn't quite perfect."
Turning, he pointed the upper segment of the walking stick toward the rainforest and ran a finger along a depression embedded in one side. There was a flash of flame, and a good-sized tree, blown in half, toppled noisily into the surrounding jungle. Hyaki contemplated the weapon respectfully.
"What do you think, Angel? Mataros sent out by The Mock to intercept us? Maybe people working with the Inzini, or some other faction?"
Cardenas sounded dubious. "They may not be farmers, but they looked and acted local. According to what I read before we got here, this is still pretty wild country. All kinds of banditos and scaves hide in the mountains and pop out to ambush unwary travelers." He indicated their vehicle, from which smoke continued to pour. The flames had already been dampened by the vehicle's integrated fire-suppressant system. "Probably thought we were tourists, or maybe researchers bound for the Ciudad. Easy marks, little likelihood of any resistance, much less a fight, and loaded down with credit and valuable gear." He shook his head regretfully. "Didn't even have time to flash an ident at them. Not that it would necessarily have changed their minds."
They discussed the veiled features of the lethal walking stick as they cautiously approached their 4X4. Its internal systems had finally succeeded in putting out the fire. In lieu of the preceding flames, black smoke now rose from beneath the vehicle's hood as well as from the interior dash. The bundle that had been thrown by the young woman lay melted and motionless on the hood. Fully discharged, it was now perfectly harmless.
They didn't have to open the hood to surmise what they would encounter beneath, but they did anyway. The scorched wires, slagged chips, and smoldering components that greeted their gaze confirmed what the rising smoke had already told them: that this vehicle would never travel under its own power again. Letting the hood slam shut on its ruined lifters, they moved to inspect the interior. From the fire-blackened center storage console and still-hot glove compartment they extracted respectively, among other items of newly-made rubbish, two lumps of blackened and seared equipment: their respective police spinners. As Cardenas let the now useless lumps fall to the wet ground, Hyaki leaned one massive hand on the composite frame of the ruined vehicle and gazed glumly at the surrounding greenery.
"Now what?"
Slogging around to the back of the 4X4, Cardenas manually dropped the tailgate. "Can't talk, so we walk. We're a lot closer to the entrance to the Reserva and the Ciudad Simiano than we are to Progresso. Besides, I didn't come all this way to go back."
"I didn't come all this way to get filthy dirty and soaked to my new skin, either, but at least it's not cold." Bending over alongside his friend, Hyaki began gathering those meager supplies that had survived the vehicle's brief but intense internal conflagration. Their luggage, containing most of their clothing, gear, and their reserve spinners, resided unharmed back in the room they had rented at the Posada Progresso.
Making a face, Cardenas contemplated the cloud-filled sky. "Wait until tonight. At this altitude, even the jungle gets cold."
"Thanks for apprising me of that fact," Hyaki responded mordantly. "Frankly, I would have been happier dwelling in ignorance."