The Amazing Mexican Secret - Jeff Brown [4]
Finally, on the third day, Stanley was so tired, he started seeing things.
“I must be back in Egypt,” he mumbled. “I see a pyramid.”
Eduardo grinned. “We are not in Egypt,” he said. “That is a Mayan temple.” He slapped Stanley excitedly on the shoulder. “We are getting close!”
Stanley stared up at the enormous pyramid rising out of the jungle. It was different from the ones in Egypt. It appeared that there was a giant staircase on each side. And all of the steps led to one place: a small, rectangular building on top.
Isabel ran ahead and started up the steps. Esteban and Felipe followed her.
Eduardo slowed his pace to walk alongside Stanley. “This was once a royal city,” he explained. “There were roads, a palace, and aqueducts to carry water. For two thousand years, the Mayan empire stretched from here to Honduras. The Maya were scientists and mathematicians. They made a calendar that is more accurate than ours today. They figured out how long a year is on the planet Venus. Apart from ruins like these, only their descendants remain.”
At the base of the pyramid, Eduardo turned and leaned in close to Stanley. “And La Abuela is one of them.”
“Pardon moi.” A tall man with a thin mustache held out a camera to Stanley. He wore a white shirt that had two rows of buttons down the front. “Would you take my photo?” he said with a smooth French accent. “This is a very special day for moi.”
“Sure,” said Stanley. This was the first tourist other than himself he’d seen the whole trip.
“Say cheese!” Stanley said.
But instead of smiling, the man frowned like a clown. “No, no, no,” he sang. “Cheese is not the ingredient we had in mind.”
Two other men emerged from the jungle—one short and fat, the other bald and muscular. Both wore the same uniform as the first man. Stanley noticed an insignia on the breasts of their white double-buttoned shirts. They looked like chefs. In fact, the bald one was holding what appeared to be a long kitchen knife.
“Spies!” realized Stanley.
Eduardo turned and sprinted up the pyramid toward Isabel, Felipe, and Esteban. The man grabbed Stanley’s arm before Stanley could follow.
“I am not a spy!” the man spat. “I am the great four-star Chef Lillou of Bourgogne! Reynaldo is my sous chef. Patrice, my saucier. We know nothing of spying. We know only cooking!”
“And carving,” said bald Reynaldo ominously, rubbing the blade of his knife with his thumb.
“Why are you standing there?” Chef Lillou barked at his staff. “Get those children!”
As the saucier and the sous chef charged past, Chef Lillou turned Stanley horizontally, tucked him under his arm like a loaf of French bread, and started up the steps after everyone else.
“What is an American flat boy like you doing in this part of the world?” he said, his arm tight around Stanley.
“Just visiting.” Stanley gulped.
The chef snorted. “Is that so? Well, I have been trying to visit La Abuela for nine years,” he said. “Except no one knows where she lives.”
Isabel screamed as, halfway up the pyramid, Patrice the saucier grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her in the air, her legs kicking furiously.
“Nine years away from my restaurant,” Chef Lillou continued. “Nine years in pursuit of perfection. But today, my persistence pays off. Because you and your friends know where La Abuela lives, don’t you? She lives at the top of this pyramid. You led us right to her!”
Someone whistled behind them. Chef Lillou swung around, and Stanley swung with him.
It was Carmen del Junco!
“Bonjour, madame,” Chef Lillou began smoothly.
“I do not think this is your pyramid,” Carmen said calmly. “I do not think this is your country. And I do not think that is your flat boy.” She came toward them.
Chef Lillou gave a signal. The other spies dropped the children they were holding and charged back down the steps toward Carmen.
Carmen did nothing. Nothing, that is, except take one very small step to the left—and then to the right—and then wiggle her hips ever so slightly.
The sous chef and