Part 13
(still Honduras) The couple wandered forth early in the morning. The chief and a few women seemed agitated about something. They gestured and spoke excitedly in their Nauatl dialect. The Americans were encouraged, not forced, to stick around the settlement. Some plans seem to have been made, involving them.
Two young married women — their breasts did not yet droop to their waist — and a girl, in her late teens, brought food and drink. They squatted in waiting, while the Americans ate, and shooed some kids away who came to watch.
(That’s a welcome switch from yesterday. I don’t appreciate them studying Bill so close, however.) Betty took a draught of the coconut drink, "Hey, this is like a milk shake. Try it." She handed him the gourd and he finished it.
The older women were talking to the girl as though they were coaching her what to do. The girl’s breasts wobbled in the man’s face as she approached to touch his genitals. Betty objected out loud, "She can’t do that."
Bill chuckled, "It don’t mean anything. They’re just curious. I have to admit this kid is attractive and stacked like a brick outhouse."
"Don’t know what in the world they could be curious about. Your thing looks exactly like every man in the village. It’s just not quite as dark a shade."
He joked, "Maybe they are interested in making it with a white man." and laughed at Betty for her concern.
It was no joke; the girl began to fondle him. The other women gathered closer, pointing and giving instructions. Bill became nervous about this foreplay and tried to retreat. He shook his head to clear out the cobwebs and make sense of it all.
Betty’s thoughts were becoming incoherent, (What is going on? Everything is so unreal.)
The girl stood astride the male and displayed herself to him. When she began to lower her body onto him, Betty uttered a growl and lunged to cover his stuff with both hands.
"Bill, you are aroused — stop that !" (I forget, what was I doing? Why am I playing with Bill with all these people around?)
Bill grinned like a fool and dived to embrace his wife, missed, and eased to the floor with a smile on his face. He muttered, "I dream of Betty with the . . . light brown . . ." and fell asleep.
A woman helped Betty out of the way so that they could continue their hideous rite of passage for the girl. The Gringa’s vision was blurring, but she recognized the young dark-skinned girl, dripping with hormones, lowering her smooth fertile tummy over the man’s organ of reproduction while another woman forced it to the correct angle for insertion. With a desperate effort, Betty pushed the girl away and fell across her mate, all she could do to occupy her territory. The world became black.
Betty awoke, lying across the man just as she had fallen with her head on his chest. Before stirring, she tried to recollect the circumstances.
Bill squirmed with a yawn and embedded his fingers in her hair. "Good morning, mamma bear. We slept late, the sun is high."
"Morning phooey, I think it’s afternoon. Those women drugged us."
"I wonder what for. I remember they were real curious about me."
Fortuitously for the plot, a band of German anthropologists soon came to town. Their studies included language, social structure, and culture. There were a great many commercially-viable herbal medicines represented, including curare, the famous nerve poison used for hunting and medicinal purposes. This tribe had an unusual wedding custom for both men and women, involving loosing one’s virginity with a person other than the spouse-to-be.
None of the Germans spoke English, but among the retinue was an engineer named Jed Clampet, who is not only fluent in Nauatl but an English speaker of the Blue Ridge Mountain region, "Whoe. . .ee, doggies ! We’uns about two weeks downstream from the nearest settlement in Honduras."
The natives offered no resistance to the captives’ departure with the scientists. In fact, their clothing was produced, the worse for wear and very dirty. The trek to civilization was through a continuous wall of mosquitoes. The leeches were so vigorous and slimy they required pliers for removal. Bill became infected with jungle rot, a fungus growth indistinguishable from gangrene. Betty was inundated by fire ticks, which congregate in soccer ball-sized masses until disturbed by a passing warm-blooded creature. She was unable to purge herself of the blood-sucking spawn and bore some of them for the entire journey.
The adventurers presented themselves at the American embassy in Tegucigalpa three weeks after their abduction. The staff was stupid and slow but powerful. Phone calls were possible, and the couple was able to reach Jorge Popachila in Tampico, Mexico. They decided to sit tight until he could send help.
Bill was angry, "Those crooks, whoever they were, took a month of our lives, besides whatever illegal things they were doing."
Betty felt used and abused herself. "Let’s go after them. Do you remember their boat? That’s a place to start."
"If they used our credit card, that will tell us a little. By the way, I asked Jorge to cancel our Mastercard. We’ll reapply here if we can. I want to start carrying a weapon too."
"And never again lower our guard for guys in suits."
The couple returned to the embassy on two errands, to get operating cash and to arm themselves. An officer argued with them, "But Mister Franklin, you can’t be paid for thirty days." and "A gun purchase will take six months to process." The civil servant had only endorsed their diplomatic status because the Honduras Republic had forced him. Beside that, he had rum on his breath.
Bill wanted very badly to flog the fellow but continued, first, to extract all the cooperation he could. Betty wasn’t so tactful, pointing out, "If we don’t get paid, we won’t work, and your butt isn’t covered against that. Give us our money out of your liquor budget if you have to."
The fellow sobered enough to worry and agree, "Okay, I guess. Mexico City did verify the amount, but I don’t know where we keep the vouchers."
Betty bristled but Bill smiled, "What window, or office, would make payment if such a voucher were at hand?"
"Room 210, the bursar’s office, I think."
Bill might have been bluffing but could surely handle this sot. He took a wooden chair and, with determined force, smashed it over the beautiful mahogany desk. Brandishing a piece of the chair, he gripped the panicked official by the collar. "Take us there."
They were led to the disbursement office where a Honduran woman sat behind a mountain of paper. Bill shook his hostage like a rag doll, and Betty politely requested in Spanish, "Please, lady, do you have forms for cash payment? This gentleman wishes to fill one out for us."
That was hurriedly accomplished, the safe was opened, and $6,000 provided, half in Mexican pesos, half in Honduran lempira. "Go back to your godamn bottle, pinche." Bill pushed the wimp out the door and apologized to the lady, "Very sorry, ma’am, and thank you. I believe we have a receipt to sign."
Betty burst with the relief of success, "We can get a room, and buy some clothes, and . . . and . . ."
"And visit the Honduras Foreign Office." Finding the building took nearly an hour, gaining cooperation was as quick as their introduction and document display. The Americans instantly had firearm permits but wanted to buy a gun.
The Honduran official hinted, "As you know, weapons are illegal to buy or sell. We have a warehouse full of confiscated firearms that can not be sold, but . . ." he rubbed his thumb across his fingertips in the "give me" sign.
Betty recognized first what the deal was, "You got it, friend. Bill, why can’t I carry one too?"
Recalling the favored rig of Señor Leon’s men, Bill selected a holster that clipped inside the waistband, to be worn in the rear. The only requirement for concealment was a loose shirt, not tucked in. The artillery was a large, 45 caliber automatic. He didn’t like automatics, but the slab-sided design lent to concealment.
Betty could not easily conceal a weapon on her person. Because it would be carried in a handbag, the size did not matter so much. She selected a 357 revolver, much like her own at home. "I want to use 38 specials in it so I can handle it better. Do you have ammunition here also?"
Bill was like a kid in a candy store, "Wow, 230-grain hollow point. I’ll need two spare clips." He poked the clips full and dropped one in each hip pocket. "Hey Betty, here is an AR-15 you are familiar with." She grinned and pantomimed the swinging of a ball bat.
The Americans were still dirty and disreputable or the questionable transaction might have cost more. Betty offered the Honduran 400 lempira ($200), which was enough. "Where can we try these out?" They were directed to the police station and an indoor firing range to verify their sight settings.
They contacted Tampico again and tried to call off the aid being sent. But help was already on the way, and the plane schedule was discovered. Clean, wearing fresh clothing, well fed, and rested, the masters of international intrigue awaited their contact.
"Mona said our charge card was used for plane fare from Belize. The figure coincides with one fare to Victoria, Tamaulipas. That’s north of Tampico and near the coast."
Betty followed the line of reasoning, "We know they don’t simply smuggle on board a plane — the boat is for transferring contraband. They sent one person ahead to set something up."
"Probably meet the boat near Victoria. I’m worried about what they plan to use our passports for."
"We will hear when, and where, a fictitious pair of Franklins use our papers for anything. I think we don’t have to worry about that . . . yet. Either the boat or a border crossing by vehicle . . ."
"Next stop for the drugs, Brownsville or Laredo, Texas. If they finish by boat, it could be anywhere, like Galveston or New Orleans."
"They’ve had plenty of time to beat us. Even if they do, we know the boat and several of the men. I want to close them down so bad I could spit."
The couple sat in the small waiting room of the Honduras airfield. They saw everyone who had exited the DC3, and Jorge wasn’t among them. A young woman studied the pair. Except for her business ensemble, she was the archetypal Aztec beauty with flashing eyes, high cheekbones, and Indian nose. Her long hair was caught behind her ears, unlike the bizarre coifs of city dwellers.
She held a clutch in both hands. As she stepped straight toward the Americans, she reached into the small purse. Bill let his hand slide to his belt behind, while Betty reassuringly oriented the grip of her six-gun in her own purse.
"Mister and Missus Franklin? . . . I am Cecília Miranda in your employment. It seems you have already rescued yourselves. I expected starved, dirty refugees." she flashed a charming and humorous smile.
Neither American released contact with his weapon, but Bill acknowledged, "You’re the first Mexican I ever met with a sense of humor. I hope you are real."
The Gringa asked for identification, "Can you identify yourself, Miss Miranda?"
"I’m sorry, it is hard to realize you were abducted here by criminals." She withdrew a letter from Popachila from her purse.
Betty studied the note and handed it to Bill, "I swear, another lawyer."
"Cecília, we aren’t your employers." Bill explained, "We are now only friends."
The girl nodded, "If not for you and Missus Franklin, we would all be unemployed. You are patron and patroness." Back to business, she announced, "Our flight to Veracruz is in six hours. May I buy you lunch?"
Cil, as she liked to be called, had news of the boat that had kidnapped the Americans. It lay at anchor near Tuxpan. "We think it is the right boat. It is as you described but too far to read the registration."
Betty asked if anyone had inquired about use of the Franklin’s stolen papers? "Yes Señora, Jorge is bent on catching the ones who have used you. We guessed that your identity would gain free port of illegal goods. Both our countries and their navies are waiting to arrest you on the spot when you are found."
Bill’s mouth dropped open, "Huh? We are wanted? I guess that gives us the advantage of knowing we’re fugitives and the smugglers don’t."
"It saved time, you call it ‘red tape’, to report the Franklins engaged in criminal activities. As you know, governments are much more zealous to punish the guilty than to protect the innocent. Although you are the subject of an international manhunt, it can be straightened out when the impostors are caught."
"But, but . . ." Betty stammered, "Our papers will be checked at the airport in Mexico."
"They will not, Bety. You will stay aboard the plane in Veracruz, and Inspector Ruiz is in charge of scrutiny in Tampico for today and tomorrow. He is cooperating with us. We have more to worry here in Honduras, where you renewed your passports two days ago. They might be looking for you here at this minute." she produced two fake passports for Susan and Robert Burton. "This is your new identity until the pretenders are arrested."
(I guess that’s what lawyers do.) "Cil, darling girl, what if the bad guys remain at large?"
"Not to worry, we will think of something."