One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [37]
“He’s not permanently injured, but he’s going to have a headache. I took everything with him and checked him out of the hotel. Outside of some ratty clothes and a few maps of the biosphere, all he had was a laptop, an American cell phone, and a GPS. He had no return plane tickets.”
The professor tried to move and realized that both his legs and hands were shackled like those of a death row inmate, which he was beginning to believe he had become. He was convinced that he was headed to some dank prison deep within Guatemala, to be held on the charge of murder and antiquities theft.
The man on the phone continued. “No, he didn’t have anyone else with him. He looked like he was about to flee. I didn’t want to try to smuggle him past airport security, so I’m driving back. I’ll be there in about seven hours. I’ll see you then.”
Eight and a half hours later, the professor sat in absolute panic. He was tied naked to a chair with a cloth bag over his head. He could make out light, but nothing else. He felt he had been sitting for at least forty-five minutes but in truth had lost all track of time. He heard a door open and felt a breeze on his naked chest. He made one final attempt to raise whatever dignity he could muster.
“I am an American citizen and a famous archaeologist. The embassy knows I am here, and in fact sponsored my expedition. They will come looking for me, and when they find me, they will punish you.”
The only response he received was two alligator clips clamping onto his nipples. His heart began to hammer in his chest. He thought he was going to piss himself or throw up. A voice with a heavy Spanish accent stated, “You are Professor Cahill, a known antiquities thief and potential murderer. Far from sponsoring your expedition, the American embassy will more than likely sponsor your extradition to Guatemala to stand trial. Spare me your theatrics and you may yet walk out of here. I want to know where the temple is located. I’ve been through your computer and GPS and could find no reference to it. I have very little patience. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you go.”
It finally dawned on the professor that he wasn’t in the hands of anyone remotely associated with the Guatemalan government, and that his overwhelming fears twenty-four hours ago paled in comparison to his present predicament. For all of his eccentricities, at his core the professor was a very intelligent man. In an instant, he computed that the only thing that would keep him alive was the fact that he alone knew where the temple was located. The minute he gave this up, he would be discarded with as much fanfare as a used condom.
As he began to form a plan, a searing jolt of electricity rocked his body, causing him to lock up in a rictus of pain, screaming out his soul. As rapidly as it came, the pain left.
The disembodied voice spoke again. “I can see you’re thinking of ways to lie to me. Trust me, the longer you sit and think, the more I believe what you say is a lie. You have exactly three seconds to start talking, or I’ll flip this switch and leave it on for an hour.”
The professor gasped for air, sweat running freely over his body, his mind racing. He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t know what to say. His heart was palpitating, skipping irregularly.
“Three, two, one . . .”
“Wait. I’m trying to talk. Please . . . Dear God, don’t do it again. I’ll tell you whatever you want. I have two GPSs. I FedExed the one I used in the jungle to my niece in Charleston, South Carolina, from Flores. I don’t have the information here, but I can get it. Please . . . Please . . . Please . . . I want to help you.”
The professor couldn’t believe how ridiculous this sounded. Why on earth would he do that? It made no sense whatsoever, but if he told them the truth, he would simply be made to retrieve the data from his Hotmail account. It was