Chapter 55. Riddles
Island of Boyuca. Bay of Honduras.
After consulting for a moment, the group decided that the bridge leading to the snakes appeared to be the best option. Charlie Winston had assured the group that copperheads, like most snakes, usually did not attack humans unless directly provoked. And although their bite was poisonous, Winston advised that there were hardly any reported human deaths from copperheads. The bite of a copperhead would, at most, cause a lot of pain, but it probably wouldn’t kill you. This did not seem to mollify the group, especially Bolinda, who was deathly afraid of snakes. Winston assured them, however, that if they could just walk around the snakes, they could probably avoid getting bitten. John Morse, although he trusted his friend Charlie, felt like they needed more information. He suggested that they should study the riddle, because it obviously held clues to crossing the bridge.
John Morse repeated the riddle for the rope bridge. “‘Beware the bright colored one with the deadly bite, the creation of Tohil. He has tongues but cannot taste. He can be savior or destroyer.’ Charlie, do snakes have a sense of taste?”
“No, they don’t,” said Winston. “Believe it or not, they use their tongues for smell and touch, but not taste.”
“OK, well that fits,” said Morse. “But it says this thing has tongues, plural. Snakes have only one tongue, so that doesn’t seem to fit.”
“Well,” said Charlie, “the copperhead, like many snakes, has a forked tongue, so you could consider that two tongues.” Morse did not seem convinced.
“Who is Tohil?” asked Morse to Ka’-an.
“Tohil is the K’iche’ sun god. He is carried across the sky in the mouth of Q’uq’umatz, the Mayan feathered serpent god who helped create all of humanity. Q’uq’umatz is similar to the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl. Some say Tohil and Q’uq’umatz are the same god.”
“OK, well, if Tohil is a feathered serpent god, then his ‘creation’ would probably be a snake, so that fits, I guess,” said Morse. “But how is a snake a savior or a destroyer?”
“I think I can answer that,” said Winston. “Snakes are a vital part of the balance of nature. Without snakes, we would be overrun with mice, rodents and insects, which are harmful to crops. Snakes also serve as a food source for animals like hawks and eagles and owls. And believe it or not, snakes can also help with human ailments. There’s a very interesting story about that.”
There was a pause. No one really wanted to hear this story. “I guess we are going to hear this interesting story?” asked Zach sarcastically.
“Well, if you really want to know,” said Winston. “The snake is called the Chinese water snake, or enhydris chinensis, that secretes an oil which can treat joint pain. In the 1860s, Chinese laborers were brought in to help construct the First Transcontinental Railroad. They brought with them their traditional herbs and medicinal treatments, including the oil from the Chinese water snake. Competing medicinal salesmen at the time, intent on selling their own products as cures, ridiculed the home remedies of the Chinese as quackery, when in fact they were not. And that is how, ironically, we get the term ‘snake oil salesman,’ meaning a person who is selling something of dubious legitimacy. So I guess that is how a snake could be a savior. It can cure human illness.”
“And a snake can kill you,” said Zach. “So I suppose a snake can also be a destroyer.”
Morse considered this. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right to me. I think we are missing something.”
Bolinda was afraid of snakes, but she figured she had a better chance with a snake than with a panther or a soldier. She went over to the rope bridge and pulled on the chest-high rope handrails. They seemed fairly solid. She bent down on her knees and yanked on the ropes which formed the floor of the rope bridge. They didn’t fall apart. It would probably hold her weight, she thought. As she began to stand up, she crinkled her nose. What was that? Something smelled bad. It wasn’t overpowering, just a slight malodorous scent in the air. She couldn’t put her finger on it, or rather, her nose on it.
“I think I am going to give it a shot,” said Bolinda. “Pete, if you could secure me with the rope, that would help. Then, if this whole thing falls apart, or if the snakes come after me, you can yank me back to safety.” Pete looked at Bolinda. She was tall, but she probably didn’t weigh that much. It was a pretty sensible idea. Pete got out his climbing rope and secured a harness around Bolinda. Then Pete secured the line back to a sturdy tree at the top of the cliff. Pete held the rope and wedged himself behind a large rock, giving himself leverage if he had to grab onto Bolinda in an emergency.
Bolinda, fastened in the harness around her waist, slowly started to walk across the rope bridge. The bridge was swaying in the wind, which made the passage difficult. She took the trip very slowly, one foot at a time. She was about half way across the bridge when that smell hit her again. What was that? She had a flashback to pumping gas into her BMW at the Shell station back in Los Angeles. Yes, that was it. Kind of a gas or oil smell. But why would there be an oil smell? She looked down at her hands, which she had been using to steady herself on the rope handrails. There was a clear, oily film on her hands.
Back on the cliff, John Morse was still thinking about the riddle. He was convinced that the riddle did not mean a snake. What had multiple tongues, he wondered? He could not think of an animal with multiple tongues. What else has a tongue? A shoe has a tongue. Maybe the word “tongues” was a metaphor of some kind. Like tongue twisters. Or speaking in tongues. Languages, that was another word for tongues, could that be it? What else was there? Tongues of fire, or something? Wait a minute, he thought. Fire. Fire was bright colored. Fire had a sharp bite. Fire could be a savior for a man in the dark, or a man walking in a freezing cold forest, or a man who needed a fire to cook food. It could also be a destroyer. What about Tohil? Tohil was the sun god, Ka’-an had said.
“Ka’-an,” said Morse. “Was Tohil also the fire deity?”
“Deity?” asked Ka’-an.
“God. Was he a fire god?”
“Yes,” said Ka’-an.
Morse pondered. That could only mean….Just then, there was a whistling sound, and Morse turned in time to see three flaming arrows, shot from somewhere beneath the bridge. Each arrow stuck into a different part of the rope bridge. Bolinda, seeing the oil on her hands, panicked, realizing what was happening.
“Bring me back! They are going to burn the bridge!”
With that, ten more flaming arrows shot upwards from somewhere below them, striking the rope bridge. The fire on the arrows stuck in the bridge, igniting the oil rubbed on the ropes. Within moments, there was a wall of flame blocking her passage back to Pete, and a fire rising on the other side, preventing her passage to the far side. Within the next thirty seconds, she would either be burned to death or jettisoned into the chasm when the bridge was destroyed.
“Jump!” yelled Pete. “I’ll catch you when you swing off!”
“I can’t!” screamed Bolinda.
“You have to jump! The bridge will burn you alive in seconds!”
Bolinda looked and the fire started to slither its way like a snake across the floor of the rope bridge towards her. There was no other choice. “You better catch me, Pete!”
“I got you!” said Pete. “Jump!”
Bolinda dove off the bridge, on the far side away from the bridge made of vines. She dropped immediately, and she screamed as she started to go down. Pete held on with all his might. The other men pitched in, grabbing the rope. Pete and the other men started pulling back on the rope, as Bolinda swung precariously back and forth over the chasm. The big concern now was that the rope was in the flames. If the rope burned through, that would be it for Bolinda.
“Quick!” yelled Pete. “The rope is on fire! We have to get her up fast!”
The men gave a heave-ho on the count of three, and then pulled again in unison every three seconds. The flame continued to scorch the sturdy climbing rope, singing it black. Step by step they yanked back, and Bolinda started the climb back to the top of the cliff. As she was about three feet from the top, several cords of the climbing rope, scorched from the fire, unwound and snapped, causing a ripping sound. As Bolinda looked up in horror, fearing a plunge to the depths below, an arm came over the top of the cliff and grabbed her forearm just as the rope snapped. It was Skip Drame. Bolinda screamed.
“Don’t let go!” Skip yelled. “I’ve got you!” With the help of the other men holding onto Skip, he was able to pull her over the top to safety. As she rested in the dirt at the top of the cliff, she saw the entire rope bridge fall apart in a ball of fire.
“The bright colored thing with a sharp bite and many tongues was Fire,” said Morse, smiling, obviously pleased with himself for solving the riddle, albeit a little too late.
Bolinda looked at Morse, put out. “It might have been nice to know that before I was almost burned alive!” Morse suppressed a laugh. The group looked across the chasm. The snakes seemed oblivious to anything on the other side. The white panthers and the armed soldiers were still there.
“Well, I guess we chose the wrong bridge,” said Morse.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” said Drame.
“Our only problem now,” said Pete, “is that we only have half a rope, and the remnant we have is pretty singed. I don’t know how strong it will be.”
“What if there was a way to get those panthers to cross over to our side?” suggested Morse. “That way, if there is something wrong with the bridge, we don’t get killed trying to cross. If the panthers make it safely across, then presumably we could cross, too. And if we lure the panthers to our side, then we can cross and then we will have no opposition on the other side.”
“I think you’re forgetting something,” said Charlie. “Assuming we can lure them over here, how do you plan on defending yourself from hungry panthers?”
“Food.”
“Food?” asked Charlie.
“Yes, we get some kind of food, lure them over with it, and then throw the food back toward the cave with the Scorpion. When they go for the food, we dash for the bridge.”
“What if the panthers decide we are better food?”
“Well, we have to get some kind of food that the panthers will not be able to resist. I have not figured that part out yet,” said Morse.
Pete thought about that for a moment, and he remembered the animals in the old man’s basket. He walked back over to the old man with Ka’-an, and, after a moment, came back with the dead armadillo and rats. Pete was not sure if a panther would like armadillos or rats, but it was worth a try. Taking out a small bandana from his backpack, he wrapped up the dead animals in the bandana, and then tied the bandana to the end of his rope.
“Yes, that could work,” said Morse.
Pete stepped on the edge of the first bridge, the wooden one. As he did so, he heard more voices coming from the telephone shells. He could not make out the words, but it sounded like a warning. He tentatively started to walk across the wooden bridge, one hand on the railing and one hand on the bandana full of bait. As he got near the middle of the bridge, he heard a creaking sound. He decided he had gone far enough. He threw the bandana in a high arc, where it landed on the ledge on the other side. The white panthers noticed immediately. Smelling the meat, they moved toward the bandana for an inspection. Quickly, Pete, standing mid-span, pulled back on the rope, and the bandana landed on the end of the bridge. The three big cats went after the bandana and Pete pulled back again, bringing the bandana further back towards himself on the bridge. Pete started to edge back to his own side of the bridge, bringing the bandana towards him. The white panthers quickly leaped onto the bridge. Heading straight towards Pete. Within seconds, it became clear that the lead panther was now more interested in attacking Pete. It growled loudly. Pete, deciding to abort the plan, turned to run back to his friends.
“Look out! Here they come!”
The lead panther sprinted. In three large bounds, it had almost made it to the half-way mark on the bridge. As it took its last bound into the air and landed on the bridge, only a few feet behind Pete, the bridge crumbled and cracked beneath the panther’s feet. The panther scrambled to hold on, but the bridge flooring collapsed, and the panther went flying into the chasm below. The second two panthers paused, unsure of what to do. They walked near the edge of where the bridge had collapsed, and there was another creaking and splitting sound, and the flooring beneath the second two panthers collapsed, sending them into the chasm. Pete turned to look, and was initially pleased, but then realized that the whole bridge was collapsing. He dashed as fast as he could back the way he came, with the bridge collapsing in pieces behind him. He made one final leap to safety. His friends helped dust him off, and, like Bolinda, Pete was happy that he had narrowly escaped death. There was still a five foot remnant of the bridge left. John Morse cautiously leaned over the edge and cracked off a piece of the wooden bridge in his hand. As he inspected the wood closely, a smile broadened across his face, and he held up the wooden fragment triumphantly.
“The great white eater!” he proclaimed.
“John, what are you talking about?” asked Winston.
“Look at this piece of wood. It’s covered in termites. Termites are also known as white ants. That’s the great white eater. And termites have the ability to bring down a large tree. They bring down giants due to their voracious appetite. The voices were telling us to beware of the bridge, because it was infested with termites!” John Morse was very pleased with himself, but Pete and Bolinda did not appear amused or impressed.
“You know, John,” said Pete. “It would be nice if you could solve these riddles before we risk our lives.”
“Quite right,” said Morse. “Quite right, indeed. Very sorry. I think I have it now. Each time, we were led to believe that the thing to watch out for was the danger lurking on the other side of the bridge. With the rope bridge, we were led to believe the danger was snakes, and we overlooked the danger of the bridge being destroyed by fire. The second time we were led to believe that the great white eater was the panther, when it was really the termites on the bridge. Therefore, the second bridge, the one made out of vines, must be the same. The real danger is not those soldiers with gold teeth on the other side. The real danger is something on the bridge itself. The final bridge riddle is: ‘Beware the Queen’s angry sons, who guard the gold in the labyrinth where no man walks.’ Whatever that danger is, it is on the bridge itself.”
“OK, but what is the labyrinth where no man walks?” asked Zach. “And if the ‘Queen’s angry sons’ are not those guys with the spears, then who are they?”
“I’m not quite sure,” said Morse. “But I think the labyrinth is the key. What on that vine bridge looks like a maze or a labyrinth?” They all looked over the cliff at the bridge. They saw vines and flowers but nothing that looked like a maze. Morse felt badly about solving the riddles too late before.
“I will volunteer to take the last bridge, because I think I will know it when I see it.”
“OK,” said Pete, “We can secure you with the rope, but it will only take you about half way across the bridge. At that point, you will have to come back. We cannot risk losing you into the chasm.”
“That sounds agreeable,” said Morse.
“Dad, are you sure?” asked Zach.
“Yes, Zach, I’ll be fine.”
“John,” said Pete, “take my Bowie knife. If the natives over there get restless, at least you will have something to defend yourself.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Morse.
“John, I insist,” said Pete, tucking the blade into his friend’s waistband.
“OK,” said Morse. He put on the harness, fastened himself to the rope, and started to walk precariously across the vine bridge. Surprisingly the vine bridge was fairly sturdy, and seemed to hold his weight. As he started to cross, he noticed that the natives on the opposite side looked agitated, as if they couldn’t wait for a fight. They began chanting and hooting at Morse from across the chasm.
Morse stopped on the bridge for a moment and closed his eyes, ignoring the natives, and trying to focus on the riddle, “the labyrinth where no man walks.” As he concentrated, he thought momentarily of the old man. What had he said? The certain man will cross, but the doubtful man will live. So far, they had proceeded across the bridge confidently, and they had been punished each time. What would a doubtful man do? Morse wondered. He thought for a moment. A doubtful man would get half way across the bridge and then turn around, uncertain that his path was correct. The doubtful man…. Morse opened his eyes, and turned around again towards his friends. As he did so, he looked at the cliff wall beneath where his friends were standing. Just twenty feet below where his friends were standing, there were rungs of a ladder embedded into the rock, heading down the face of the cliff! Morse tracked the path of the rungs with his eyes down to a cave opening about 150 feet down. Interesting. It was plain as day if you were facing the wrong way on the bridge. Only the doubtful man would see the bridge—the fourth bridge from the Mayan folk legend (!)—heading down the face of the cliff to the cave.
Morse was ecstatic. “I’ve got it!” he yelled back to his friends, pointing at the face of the cliff. “The fourth bridge!” He took three stops back when his right foot went straight through the flooring of the vine bridge and into the top of a beehive, which was attached to the bottom of the bridge. Morse was wedged at his chest, halfway above the bridge and halfway below it. A swarm of bees came buzzing angrily out of the hive and descended on Morse. At that moment, the natives on the far side began throwing spears. Morse had not noticed before, but there were dozens of beehives nestled into the sidewalls of the vine bridge. The natives were not aiming at Morse. They were aiming for the hives. Within seconds, the natives had skewered the beehives with their spears, causing the sky to blacken with swarms of the angry insects. As the bees descended on Morse, he quickly realized the solution to the riddle was bees. All the drones and worker bees were, of course, the angry sons of the queen bee. And they guarded the gold—honey—in the beehive, which is the labyrinth where no man walks.
Morse’s face and arms were covered in a swarm of stinging bees. His right leg, stuck in the beehive, was black because it was covered with so many bees. His friends tried to pull the rope, but he was wedged. There was only one way out. Using Pete’s Bowie knife, Morse, with his eyes shut, sawed the vines just past him on the bridge, cutting the bridge in two. It was hard work, made more difficult due to the swarms of bees attacking him, but he soon had sawed through the last vine, causing Morse’s half of the bridge to go swinging in mid-air back towards the cliff wall. Morse hit the cliff wall hard, smashing his shoulder, but the impact with the wall also caused the beehive on his foot to fall off. The impact also loosened the vines around his waist. Still fighting the last of the swarming insects, Morse pulled himself out of the entangling vines and held onto the rope for dear life.
“Pull me up!” he yelled. His friends again cooperated and within moments, Morse was pulled up over the side. Zach ran to his father.
“Dad! Are you OK?”
Morse’s entire face, neck and arms were covered in blisters and bee stings. His right leg, however, looked really bad. It was red and blue and swollen to twice its size.
“I don’t feel so good,” he said, lying down.
“I’ve got something for that,” said Pete. Pete pulled out some baby aspirin from his pack. “I’ve got a bad ticker. My ex-wife always made me bring these in case I was having a heart attack. Hand me your canteen.” Zach handed him a canteen of water. Pete took out a number of the baby aspirins and spread them over John Morse’s face, arms, and leg. He added some water, and ground the aspirins into the water, making a paste on Morse’s skin.
“A wet aspirin tablet works as an anti-inflammatory. John, you’re not allergic to bee stings, are you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good. Well, you’re going to be in some pain for a while, but if you take it easy, you’ll be OK. Now what were you saying about a fourth bridge?”
“Just beneath us, about twenty feet down on our side of the cliff, are a series of stair step rungs that lead down to a cave. That’s the fourth bridge from the Mayan legend. The old man told us that the doubtful man would survive, so I figured a doubting man would turn around and come back the way he came. When I turned around, I saw the fourth bridge and the cave below.”
The group turned to look at the old man, but he had vanished in the commotion.
“Where did he go?” asked Zach.
“I don’t know, maybe he headed back the way we came,” said Pete. The men helped Morse up, and he limped a little because his right foot was still swollen and painful.
“Hey Dad,” said Zach. “I think I know what the labyrinth where no man walks is.” He smiled at his father, and the rest of the group laughed. Morse now knew what it felt like to wish that cleverness had come sooner. The rope appeared to be long enough to lower someone to the first rung of the cliff wall. There was only one problem. If all of them wanted to go down the cliff, they were going to have to leave the rope behind. They all agreed that was a necessary evil. Pete tied the rope securely around a tree near the top of the cliff. Then the group slowly descended down the rungs of the cliff bridge, until they came to the mouth of a cave 150 feet below.
As the last man, Mountain Man Pete, lowered himself to the bottom, the group re-lit their torches and their flashlight and entered the cave. Just inside the cave opening, there was a tall narrow opening, almost like a crack in the rock, which allowed them passage. They had to turn sideways, and edge to the right, sidestep by sidestep, to proceed. After all seven had inched their way into the narrow corridor and had traveled about fifty feet, there was a loud grinding noise, like stone being moved on stone. Bolinda, who was the last to enter the narrow passage, looked back to her left.
“Um, guys, they just sealed off the passage behind us.”
Zach, who was the first one to enter the passage, was not that troubled by the news. They had no plans to go back the way they came anyway. Zach continued to snake his way along the tall corridor, sidestepping to the right. It was slow going. After about ten minutes, Zach stopped suddenly. He looked to his right, which was the passage ahead. There was a wall of rock. They were at a dead end.
“Um, guys….” said Zach.
Outside Natal Stadium, Brazil. 10:00 p.m. Brazil time; 9:00 p.m. EST.
Agent Jimmy Pond was dressed as a sanitation worker. He wore rubber gloves, duct taped to his wrists, and rubber boots, duct taped to his ankles. The other sanitation workers wondered why he was wearing a hospital mask, but they figured he was just a wimp who didn’t like the smell of trash. Pond carried a large plastic trash bag, inside which was hidden a biohazard containment bag. For the last hour, he had been collecting every bottle and liquid container he could find in or near the stadium. Inside the bag were several of the water sprayers which had been sold by the terrorist brothers earlier that morning. When he had collected a large number of samples, Pond secured the bags and then drove them to Augusto Severo International Airport in Natal, where he met an Air Force pilot from Tyndall Air Force Base in Panama City, Florida. The pilot would take the bags in his F-15 Eagle back to the CDC in Atlanta. Traveling at 1,875 miles per hour, it would take the pilot a little over two hours to get back to Atlanta with the samples.
12:00 midnight in Natal. 11:00 p.m. EST.
On the other side of the City, Detective Manuel Rosario was pounding on the door of the man in charge of stadium vendor licenses.
“Police, open up!” he yelled.
A few minutes later, the license inspector opened the door in his pajamas, confused as to the meaning of the interruption.
“What is this?” he demanded.
“Roberto Diaz?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have access to the records relating to vendor licenses at the stadium here at your house?”
“No, those are kept at the office.”
“Then get your shoes. We need you to come with us immediately!”
“What’s this all about?”
“We will tell you on the way. It is most urgent. Get your shoes. And bring your keys to the office.”
As they drove in Rosario’s police car, Diaz was irritated. He was a public official. Who was this detective to roust him out of his sleep at this hour?
“Detective, I am sorry. But the office is now closed. I am going to need to know more before I just open up the office for you, unless you have a court order.”
“Mr. Diaz, we have reason to believe there may have been a terrorist attack this morning at the stadium, involving poisoned water bottles. We need to know who was selling those bottles.”
“Detective, I assure you, we go through rigorous background checks when we issue those vendor licenses. I highly doubt that any of our licensees is a terrorist.”
“Mr. Diaz, I appreciate your position. Needless to say, if there is a possibility of terrorism, we need to check it out immediately, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Well, I guess so. This is just highly unusual.”
Rosario thought of a few choice words to say to this imbecile but decided that discretion was a better choice. When the Detective’s car pulled in front of the license office, the inspector led him up the stairs and unlocked the door. Within a few minutes, the license official had powered up one of the computer work stations, and typed in a search for the vendor license holders.
“What are we looking for?” asked the official.
“Start by printing me a complete list of everyone who has a vendor license.”
“That’s over two hundred individuals and companies.”
“That’s okay. Just do it.”
The official put in a search command and then printed out the list for the Detective. Rosario scanned the list. None of the names of the individuals and companies jumped out as being unusual.
“These companies on here—is there a way to figure out who owns each of those companies?”
“Well, I am sure there is some way to do it. We do not have that in our database. But each company has to have a designated representative, and they have to list all the employees who will be selling. We have the names and pictures of all of the representatives and employees of each company in our system. But that would be a pretty big list, probably close to two thousand people.”
“OK, can you put that all on a flashdrive for me?”
“Sure, do you have a drive?”
Rosario handed him a small plastic drive. After a few minutes, the official had downloaded all of the names and photos onto the drive.
“What about the photos of the representatives of each company? That should be a manageable list. Can you print that off?”
“Sure.” The official ran another search and printed off a list of each company’s representatives. There were 182 companies on the list. He focused on the photos only, because he figured that whoever applied for the license was probably using a fake name. As he got near the end of the list, he saw a familiar face. It was Davy Branco.
“This guy here, he’s with a company called Vortex, Inc. Can you pull that up?”
“Here you go.”
The screen showed Davy Branco, with an alias. There were five employees listed. Send the complete file on Vortex to me in an e-mail.” He gave the official his card. “My e-mail address is on here.” Rosario looked at the screen for more information.
“Does it state what they were selling?”
The license official hit another search button and a screen came up showing a photo of the water bottle with the soccer ball lid and fan on the top.
He quickly called Agent Fils in Washington, D.C. who answered on one ring.
“Agent Fils.”
“Agent, this is Detective Rosario in Brazil. I think we may have something here. The License Office gave a vendor’s license to a company called Vortex, Inc. The representative of the company is under an alias, but I have the photo. It is definitely Davy Branco. That’s the guy who kidnapped my daughter. Give me your e-mail address, and I will send you the f