Chapter Text
September 1981
Tipu, Belize
Tipu station was not an inviting place. A dilapidated jetty crowded with coils of rope, bunches of bananas and boxes of assorted goods led to a path consisting of half mud and half gravel. Two men were headed up the path, soon to disappear into the jungle: one tall and thin in a shabby suit, the other shorter with dark hair wearing a stained work shirt and tightly laced military boots.
“Which way is the temple?” the first man asked. The other pointed to the left.
“Half a kilometer that way. Do you want to see it now, or visit the clinic first?”
Angleton glanced up at the early afternoon sky. “Let’s start with the clinic. I would like to speak with the director first. Did he discuss his experiences with you in any detail?”
The guide shrugged. “Not really. Something clearly has frightened him, I think because he is a rational man who ran into something that he can’t explain with science. He has a great interest in the history of Belize and has been to see the ruins more than once. At first he scoffed at the legends and said there had to be a natural explanation… but after a few visits there his attitude changed. After his last visit a month ago he has not been back, and he will not discuss what happened there. He no longer goes outside at night and he keeps candles and lanterns everywhere in case of a power cut. But the biggest problem for us is that he is no longer running the clinic properly. The people living here are not getting the care they need, and they complained to the health authorities for this district. They must have got through to someone in the capital who was willing to help. When I told him they were sending you, he was very relieved.”
“Our representative in Belpoman didn’t tell me much about you, Mr. Castillo. Other than working at the clinic, what are your connections with the local authorities?”
“My family has always been on good terms with the British officials here, thanks to my mother’s father. He was a solicitor and came from England to work for one of the large export companies here. He found that he liked Belize very well, fell in love with my grandmother and decided to stay, and eventually transferred into government law. On my father’s side I have Garifuna relatives as well as Creole, and I learned about the temple history and legends from them.” Angleton’s guide shrugged. “It has the reputation of being cursed, and the local tradition is to avoid the area as much as possible, even to the point that many won’t speak of it directly. There were many deaths there during a slave uprising more than two hundred years ago.”
Angleton nodded. “And more recently?”
“Our obeah practitioners avoid it. They have warned that those who visit the temple can come back changed. Many of them believe that if someone is frightened enough, he can lose his soul. I myself have not seen any such thing.”
“There’s more than one way for someone to lose their soul,” Angleton mused. Martin Castillo seemed puzzled by his comment, but turned his focus to the clinic entrance as one of the staff was exiting.
“José!” Martin spoke rapidly in Spanish for a few moments, then turned to Angleton: “The Director is in his office. I am sure he will be willing to see you.” Angleton passed him with a brief nod, responding, “Return for me in one hour. I would like to make a brief inspection of the temple today.”
The Director of Tipu clinic did not cut an impressive figure. Slumped behind a rusted metal desk, he looked as though he had not slept in days. As his reddened eyes met Angleton’s, he twitched nervously and muttered “Who are you?”
The Laundry agent glanced at the plaque on the office door. “You are Doctor Wharton, I assume? My name is Angleton. I was referred to you by the Belpoman authorities to assist with your, ah, issue.” Has he taken to drink? he wondered momentarily, but the Director’s attitude improved at these words and he managed to greet his visitor in a professional manner.
“I beg your pardon. The stress is telling on me, but I am indeed glad to see you. Where is your luggage? Would you like to go to your quarters first?”
“Mr. Castillo said he would see to my luggage. I didn’t bring much.” Director Wharton gestured to a chair near the desk and Angleton seated himself as Wharton poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the desk. Noting that the director was trying to control his shaking hands, Angleton took the precaution of waiting for him to set the pitcher down before asking his first question.
“Where would you like to begin? I’d rather like to hear your story in chronological order, if it’s all the same to you.”
“If I can… remember the details of how it started…” Wharton shuddered, but made an attempt to pull himself together. “You must understand that this part of Central America is filled with archeological sites. Not only in Belize, but in Guatemala which borders us, as well as southern Mexico. For every ruin there are probably a dozen legends. Some are partially true, some complete fabrications.” As Wharton warmed to his story, his attitude relaxed. “Mayan history is an interest of mine and I have tried to tour as many temples and settlements as possible. You probably know that Guatemala is still trying to lay claim to southern Belize; there is a border dispute here that goes back over two hundred years. So hearing rumors of lurking figures near the temple, suspicious nighttime activity…” he waved a hand. “I assumed the incidents, if true, were caused by political agents using the temple as a meeting place, possibly exaggerating the legends to encourage people here to avoid it. But I couldn’t help noticing the atmosphere at the site. I ignored it at first, but it – it grows on you. That’s the only way I can describe it. Each time I visited the site I noticed things I had not seen before. The last time I visited, I swear the figures on the walls had changed and were looking directly at me! I started to hear what sounded like voices whispering. And then I began having dreams about the temple, and something pursuing me there. I’m afraid to sleep. The dreams keep getting worse.”
Angleton nodded. “Anything else?”
“It’s starting to happen in the clinic now! Last night I heard a voice though the wall whispering something over and over again. I couldn’t hear what it said, but I thought I would die of fright. I lit every candle I had and finally fell asleep at my desk for a few hours. It’s always worse in the dark…”
Angleton reassured the director with the “I have experience in these matters” speech he had developed for such situations and a promise that he would keep watch that night; then, exiting the office, he proceeded to quietly tour the halls surrounding it. Around the corner he found a locked, unmarked metal door. Having tried the handle he frowned thoughtfully, glanced at his watch and headed to the verandah at the clinic entrance where Martin was waiting.
The staff quarters surrounded the clinic, which was located at the center of Tipu compound. Having taken a few minutes to unpack his luggage and wash up, Angleton proceeded to tour the compound as Martin watched with interest. The buildings, though shabby, had wire covering the windows as well as deadbolts on the doors.
“Do you have good security here?”
“We have to. Medical supplies are at a premium and the Guatemalans sometimes slip across the border to take what they can. Obviously this is not a wealthy area, but the Guatemalans’ situation is close to desperate. Did Dr. Wharton have anything useful to tell you?”
“He spoke of various incidents at the temple site, which I can understand… but he said that last night he also heard sounds like whispering voices while he was in the clinic. Have you experienced anything like that, or has the staff mentioned it to you?”
“As I said earlier, they avoid the temple.” Martin appeared to be evading Angleton’s question. “I have not heard of anything happening here.” They headed for the Mayan site without further conversation.
Angleton could feel a malevolent presence well before they reached the temple complex, which grew stronger as they approached it. The jungle sounds around the pyramid seemed to hush and the stonework carvings shimmered a cold green through his closed eyelids.
“Indeed,” he muttered under his breath, drawing a puzzled look from Martin. In keeping with his role as investigator, Angleton made a point of inspecting the carvings on the temple stairway but avoided making contact with the stonework. He gave a brief nod and then turned back to his guide. “I suppose we will have to go up the stairs,” he added with a sigh.
The Belizean agent, who had been resting in the shade about fifty feet away, hurried forward to direct Angleton. “This side is the best preserved. The others are more dangerous,” he added, beginning to climb. At the top the pyramid flattened into a plaza; as both men paused to catch their breath Angleton began to wander the area, taking careful note of his surroundings. After eyeing the four sides of the plaza he noted that only one of the other three stairways looked to be unsafe, despite Castillo’s warning. A footpath led from the other side of the temple to a crumbling ruin about 300 meters away, partly hidden by tropical vines, with a few remaining stone arches and walls to be seen. Angleton indicated it with a wave of his hand:
“How old is this building? It appears to be Spanish architecture.”
“Yes, a church built by the Franciscan missionaries. There were epidemics of yellow fever and smallpox here; many died over the years.”
“I’d like to examine it, if you don’t mind.”
As his guide turned to go back down the stairs, Angleton felt one of the paving stones shift under his foot. Pulling a silver pen from his pocket, he quickly drew an X in the center of the paving stone before following.
The walk to the church led through an overgrown area which Angleton immediately recognized as a cemetery, if not a mass grave. For a moment he felt a cold breeze from the direction of the Mayan pyramid, but it disappeared almost immediately. He hesitated for a moment, tempted to try an Enochian incantation, but Castillo’s presence restricted his options. He turned away and commented, “I do sense something here. This area should probably be off-limits to the public. I’ll need to discuss this with our attaché in Belpoman when I return.”
“Then shall we get something to eat? I could do with a meal. I haven’t had anything since early this morning.” Angleton agreed, and a few minutes’ walk brought them to a café in the center of the town. Martin chose a table in the furthest corner, waving to the woman at the front.
“That is my cousin Maria; she runs this café and her cooking is the best in town. I can recommend the chicken and rice.”
Taking his cue, Angleton ordered the chicken and a cup of tea. He chatted about his travels as Martin sipped at a beer, and when the chicken was delivered to their table he waited for a moment to let the other man begin eating before starting his questions.
“What is the political situation here? Ten years ago Guatemala was threatening to invade your territory. How much of a threat do you anticipate they will be on an ongoing basis?”
“Enough. They have laid claim to all the land in Belize south of the Sibun river for more than 150 years. Belize was not formally founded by the British but by traders, some say by pirates. Eventually it expanded and the British claimed it as a territory. The Spanish government, having invested money and effort into the process of colonization, were not happy about this. They did negotiate an agreement with the British to take back part of the land, but the settlers, or Baymen as they were called, ignored it and fought back. Mexico laid claim to the northern portion of the country but dropped their claim a century ago. Like everything to do with Central America, the situation is quite complicated.”
“Indeed.” Angleton added some Marie Sharp sauce to his plate, tasted, raised his eyebrows and added more. “Of course taking over that area would give them the advantage of additional access to the Atlantic and your ports. But I understand the British government plans to continue military support to Belize. The UN seems to be on your side as well.”
“And that’s very reassuring, but I just hope it continues. We need to strengthen our border defenses,” Martin commented, almost to himself.
“And that’s why you’re really here, isn’t it?” Angleton responded, lifting his eyes just in time to catch the other man’s change in expression. His tone sharpened. “Don’t lie to me, boy. You were assigned this job. You may work at the clinic, but that isn’t who you work for. Being a spy myself, I know one when I see one.”
Castillo had managed to regain his composure as Angleton spoke. “Do you have any reason to think I’ve lied to you? Because I haven’t.”
“No, you haven’t. But you haven’t told me anything about the situation here I didn’t already know; you watched every move I’ve made today; and you took care to sit with your back to the wall, to make sure you can watch everyone here. Now I want you to tell me what is really going on. I didn’t come to Tipu to get distracted by border politics – ˮ
They were interrupted by the restaurant owner who had come to clear the table, but suddenly gasped and backed away while staring at Angleton. She blurted something to Martin in Spanish while making the sign against the evil eye. Martin began to respond, then changed his mind. Muttering an excuse, he took his cousin by the elbow and led her away from the table; Angleton sighed, leaned back and finished his tea.
“I think we should go,” Martin whispered when he returned. The diners who had overheard the incident were staring at them nervously.
“We do seem to have attracted attention,” Angleton agreed dryly. Noting the darkening sky, he added, “Dr. Wharton will be getting anxious. I think we should return as I promised him I would watch the clinic tonight.”
Once they were outside he added, “I hope I didn’t upset your cousin too much. I take it she is an obeah practitioner in addition to running a restaurant?”
“They say she has the gift. She does not talk about it much, I think she finds it disturbing. She would rather run her business and lead a quiet life.” Castillo eyed Angleton warily. “I’ve never paid much attention to the rumors about the temple; I thought you were using the director’s complaints as an excuse to evaluate security here. You really think there’s some sort of temple curse? You aren’t here because of the border situation or Belize finally achieving independence?”
“My assignment has nothing to do with terrorism, Communist plots or the border conflict. They call me in for different issues, I suppose ‘supernatural’ would be one way to describe them. I don’t believe that is the explanation for everything happening here, but I do have some concerns.” He raised a hand to stop Martin’s questions: “I cannot give you details. Let’s just say that with any luck you will be rid of me in a day or two. The more you cooperate, the sooner I will be gone.” Without breaking stride, Angleton walked calmly into the clinic and stopped outside the door he had examined earlier. “For example. What is in this closet?”
“I can’t tell you that –ˮ Martin began.
“Oh yes you can, boy.” Angleton held up his warrant card and added, “You will tell me now.” Martin’s expression went blank and at Angleton’s further command he held out the key.
The door swung open to reveal a small room containing little more than a table, burdened with a metal case and a set of headphones. The multiple switches and dials labeled “Volume,” “Volts,” “Loudspeaker” and other terms identified it instantly as a radio; Angleton felt a twinge of nostalgia for the technology of forty years ago as he turned to stare at the Belizean agent.
“Boy, I have not seen broadcasting equipment like this in years. It’s military grade. Where did you get it?”
“From the military,” Martin shot back. “Our Yankee friends were quartered here as allies during the war to help with shipping supplies to Britain. They left quite a bit of equipment behind and we’re using it still.”
“To keep tabs on the Guatemalan army, I take it. Well, I’m afraid Dr. Wharton overheard you last night and leaped to the conclusion that the temple spirits have pursued him into the clinic.” Martin snickered at this, but his reaction was cut short when the radio crackled to life. Pulling up a chair, he focused on the mixture of English and other languages coming from the loudspeaker; Angleton edged into the room and shut the door to listen. A faint echo in the background was making it difficult to hear.
Suddenly the echo resolved into words he recognized: He is coming… then it faded away again.
“What is that nonsense?” Castillo muttered. “We’ve been getting more interference with the signal in the past week or two.”
“I take it Enochian is not one of your languages,” Angleton responded.
“Never heard of it.” Castillo, finding it difficult to sharpen the radio’s signal, reached for the headphones lying on the table and put them on.
“Take those off now, boy!” Angleton grabbed for the headphones, but before he could pull them away the other man stiffened and his eyes rolled back. With an effort Angleton pulled Martin from the chair to the floor, snatching off the headphones and muttering a counterinvocation as he did so. A moment later he pulled the power cord, formed a sigil with his free hand and flung his arm out toward the radio, which began emitting smoke and sparks. Next he pulled an amulet from his pocket, laid it on Martin’s forehead and dashed into the hallway.
“Dr. Wharton! Get me a scalpel. Immediately!”