Andean Experience Ch. 05: Caged Animal

An earlier version of this story, called New Wife, Old Lover, Mortal Danger appeared in Loving Wives. It has been withdrawn and replaced with this substantial rewrite for Non-Erotic.

Caged Animal

Marina was getting plenty worried.

It was well past supper hour and Jaguar wasn't home from the National Museum yet. This wasn't like him at all. Usually, they enjoyed drinks together before eating, while they shared events of their day. He didn't often go out with friends after work this past year or so in Lima, and he hadn't mentioned any late meetings he had to attend either.

Worst of all, he wasn't picking up her increasingly frantic phone calls. His cell just rang then went to voicemail. She'd left a string of messages, but Jag hadn't returned them. Marina had texted him too, but he hadn't replied. Dusk was settling in, and she was becoming increasingly worried about her man.

Marina's anxiety began playing awful games with her mind. Lima was a tough city with a large population of desperate poor. Maybe her husband had been accosted by thieves in the parking lot behind the museum? Perhaps he had put up a fight- she knew he would- and now he lay injured on the pavement in the darkening evening?

She forced herself to wait just a little bit longer before she began phoning others to check on Jaguar's whereabouts.

So many things had changed in their lives since that bright morning atop Machu Picchu when the couple pledged to stay together. Until now, their new life had been like an extended honeymoon, filled with affection. However, Marina could see that the price of that love was this all-consuming anxiety for her absent mate.

Later, they would find out that an incident from the past had cast a long shadow over their marital bliss.

After Machu Picchu, the couple had returned to Lima and set up house in Jaguar's little apartment. Their romance had transpired so quickly- a matter of three weeks- that they needed time to plot a path forward. Meanwhile, they basked in the intensity of discovery, rollicking in bed to the point that it collapsed and broke beneath them one evening!

Jaguar contacted his old girlfriend Elena Rodriguez, Head of Special Collections at the National Museum, to see if there might be a place for him there. He was fortunate because the Head of Acquisitions was leaving, so Jaguar competed for the job. Between his doctorate in Peruvian archaeology, his vast Andean travel experience, and Elena's influence, he was hired.

Then came a further stroke of good luck. The National Museum was seeking an English-speaking docent to assist Elena in leading museum tours for non-Hispanics. With Jaguar and Elena's help, she was hired to a part time position. Marina had no idea that she'd be working under the direction of one of her husband's former lovers, one who still kept a candle burning for him.

****

The worrisome day Jaguar when was late coming home had started out so well.

He was a contented man in their new life together in Lima. He had a prestigious career that was interesting and enjoyable, tracking down artifacts which the museum might acquire. There were no more endless tour loops through Peru in his old Mercedes bus. It was parked now in a rented shed near their apartment.

"In case I don't like a desk job," he had said. It would later prove useful.

His real name was Wesley Bruce Arundel, a tag that didn't suit his big stature and strong presence. Jaguar had come to Peru as an American graduate archaeology student and become so immersed in its past cultures that he had stayed on for twenty years. To anyone who knew him, the nickname reflected his reverence for the ancient Chavin culture spirit, and his sleek, tawny-haired frame, sometimes clad in his trademark camo clothing. He looked a bit like a jaguar.

To his wife, the former Marina Rasmussen, he was a Peruvian Indiana Jones. She had come as an American tourist with Andean Experience, and had fallen hard, both for Jaguar and the country's history. Marina was well-educated, tall, and attractive, a worthy match for her new man. She didn't much like the camo clothing anymore, but that was just a minor complaint.

Jaguar was late getting to his office that morning.

"Couldn't you stay for a while, Jag, Marina asked sweetly. "You know I'm a morning person, and I'm in the mood right now. It won't matter if you're a bit late, will it?"

"Seems you're always in the mood, morning or not," he replied, laughing. "Not complaining. I'll phone Louisa and tell her that something has come up quite unexpectedly."

"I hope so. Hurry back."

Soon they were making love again, close together on their new bed. Jaguar was caught up in the moment.

"Jeez! Nobody can do this like you do, baby!" he exclaimed.

"So, you're comparing, are you?" she teased, stopping to give him a mock scolding. "Maybe with some of your many girlfriends along your old tour route, I suppose? I don't even know how many of them I have to compete with!"

Jaguar wisely said nothing, knowing that this was a sore point with his new wife. Instead, he pretended to be too aroused to answer, and pulled her close against him again. Yes, there was quite a bit about his past that she didn't know yet and he was determined that it remain that way.

After a while, Jaguar showered again and set out for the museum. He arrived more than an hour late, and his secretary, Louisa gave him a cheery greeting, accompanied by a knowing smile. "Something coming up," was a regular occurrence with her boss, and she had a pretty good idea of what it was.

Louisa brought Jaguar his black coffee and passed him his mail. As he sipped, he flipped through the envelopes and noted that one item stood out from the others. There were several large brown pieces from other museums and institutions, but one was different. It was a small white envelope soiled and yellowed with age.

Addressed to him personally by someone who knew his nickname, it was hand-printed in a child-like block script. He wondered if a youngster had sent him a fan letter.

JAGWAR

NATIONAL ARKEOLOGY MUSEUM

LIMA PERU

Jaguar examined it, turning it around in his hands before opening it. There was no return address and the stamp was postmarked late the previous week. With the incomplete address and the spelling errors, he was surprised it had reached him at all. Then he torn it open and read the same block print inside on soiled, yellowed paper, like the envelope.

JAGWAR

I HAVE CHAVIN PEACES. MEET AT 458 LA CALLE ESTACION LIMA AT 3 WENSDAY. I WEAR BROWN SHIRT.

J.

There was no name, no signature, nothing very specific except the meeting place and the time. Whoever wrote it was not very educated, but they did know about ancient Peruvian culture. Jaguar read it several times as he finished his morning coffee before it dawned on him that today was Wednesday! Should he go to the proposed rendezvous or was this just some sort of joke?

Anything Chavin had his interest because it had been his focus during his doctoral research many years before. Perhaps this person had some new artifacts? It would be a coup for him during his first month as Head of Acquisitions. Should he tell Elena about it before he left for the address, or just forget about the whole questionable thing? Would there be any harm in going to find out?

Jaguar kept the letter to himself for the rest of the day, not mentioning it to Elena when the two of them had lunch together, as they often did. La Calle Estacion- Station Street- wasn't too far away. He checked his phone and found the address was the railway station itself, about a fifteen-minute walk from the museum. After lunch, he told Louisa that he'd be going out to examine some old material and would be back between 3:00 and 4:00 o'clock.

By 4:00, Jaguar hadn't returned., Nor was he back by 5:00 when Louisa left, or by 6:00 when the museum closed for the day. Louisa had wondered why he didn't come back but she knew that the new husband's hours tended to be erratic at times, sometimes arriving late in the morning or leaving mid-afternoon.

At 7:00, Marina was deeply worried. Why hadn't Jaguar phoned to say that he'd be home late? Why wasn't he answering his phone? Why wasn't he returning her text messages? Had something terrible have happened to him? Marina had no way of knowing that her husband's phone lay in a dumpster near the train station.

She couldn't hold onto her anxiety a minute longer, and called Elena Rodriguez' number in desperation.

"Hi Elena. Sorry to bother you with this but I'm so worried. Jag isn't home yet. Was there a late meeting at the museum? No. Did he say anything about going anywhere after work?"

"Sorry Marina. I didn't see him after lunch, and he said nothing about going out either. Wait a moment.... I saw his car in the museum lot when I left at 6:00. It's usually so dirty that it stands out. But, they were closing and turning off the lights when I left. Strange. I'll give you his secretary Louisa's number at home. Maybe he told her what he had planned for the afternoon?"

Marina's phone call to Louisa was disturbing for both of them. The secretary had wondered why Jaguar didn't return by 4:00. She thought he had just gone home early after viewing some material. They agreed that since his car was still at the museum, he must have walked or taken a cab to his appointment. Now both were upset and there was nothing to do but wait to see if he'd finally phone or show up.

Jaguar wouldn't be calling or arriving home tonight. He had no idea where he was, apart from laying uncomfortably in the trunk of a car hurtling along a paved highway. He was twisted sideways with his hands tied behind his back and his ankles bound. A gag passed between his lips. Feeling a sharp pain in the back of his head, he remembered that he had been struck hard from behind, probably knocked out cold for a while.

He replayed the events leading up to this moment. There was that mysterious letter and when he reached the railway station, a tall man in a brown shirt stood outside the entrance. Jaguar remembered that he held a bag and seemed rather nervous as he swiveled his head about.

"This must be him," Jag had thought. Then the man led him around the corner of the station building into a side walkway. As Jaguar leaned forward to look into the opened bag expecting to see some Chavin artifacts, he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, then the lights went out. An accomplice must have stepped up quietly from behind.

Jaguar had no sense of time or place now. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious, and the trunk was completely dark. His phone was out of reach- actually tossed away by his assailants- so he had no connection with the world outside this black space.

At some point the car stopped and he heard voices, two men speaking Spanish. A different voice came and went, probably another man pumping the gas. Jaguar tried bumping himself against the trunk lid but had little space to move. Meanwhile, one of the men stood close by talking very loudly, probably to disguise any sounds his prisoner might try to make from within. After a few minutes, the car pulled away again, speeding along a smooth, flat road.

After the fill-up, a strong gasoline odor wafted into the trunk, filling Jaguar's nostrils. With the gag tied tightly through the corners of his mouth, it was already difficult to breathe. Now he wondered if he would suffocate from the fumes or the dwindling oxygen supply in his black prison.

Eventually the sound of the tires on the pavement lulled Jaguar to sleep. Suddenly, he was awakened as the car stopped quickly, then made a sharp turn to the right. The road wasn't as smooth as before and it seemed to be angling uphill, rolling him against the back of the car. He reasoned that he had been driven north along the smooth Pan-American Highway and based on the turn right, was moving into the foothills of the Andes Mountains. Then he fell asleep again.

It was already past midnight and Marina was beside herself with worry. She called the police to report her husband missing and they took down the few details she could provide. They told her that they'd alert officers patrolling the area between the museum and the city centre. "Probably just drunk somewhere, sleeping it off," they assured her, but Marina didn't get any rest that night.

After a long time, the road became rougher, and the hostage woke again. How long had he been in the trunk? There was no way of telling. He was finding it hard to breathe and his head throbbed from the blow he had taken. Oxygen levels in the trunk were running low, leaving Jaguar with confused thoughts. He wasn't sure that he'd survive this nightmare.

Just when Jaguar thought he had reached his limit, the car slowed down and began to wind along a very rough road. Then it stopped and he lay waiting, hoping the deck lid would be opened to bring some fresh air. Nothing happened at first, then he heard a sharp female voice speaking Spanish with the two men. She seemed pleased that they had arrived, wherever they were now.

They came around to the back of the car and a key went into a lock. The lid sprang open, and a rush of cold night air filled Jaguar's aching lungs. As he lay gasping, three masked faces stood above him, the tall one wearing a brown shirt- the man from the railway station.

"Get him out! Put him into the wheelbarrow! Take him inside!" the short, plump woman commanded. She was clearly the one in charge here.

Between the three of them they manhandled Jaguar out of the trunk and onto his feet. He immediately noticed that they all reeked of sweat and that their black hair was course and dirty. They dumped him into the wheelbarrow for the last leg of his trip. One man pushed it across some very rough ground, banging Jaguar's pained head against the side.

"Shit! You're killing me. Slow down!" he screamed at them.

"Goddam you, Jaguar. You killed my Gutierrez!" the woman shouted back in anger.

Now Jaguar knew what this was all about.

More than a year ago he had a mysterious passenger join the Andean Experience tour which Marina had taken. Her husband, Wayne Rasmussen, had been badly injured in a fall during the trip and flew back to America. Julio Olivera Gutierrez had replaced him part way through the trip. Unknown to Jaguar, he was a drug kingpin in the underground Shining Path revolutionary movement. He was escaping to Bolivia disguised as one of Jaguar's tourists.

"You killed him, didn't you! Bastard! Set him up at the basilica for murder by cops. You're going to pay for it now!" the shorter of the two men yelled at him.

Back then, Jaguar had learned the real identity of Gutierrez through a police friend in Lima. To protect his passengers from the armed terrorist and drug exporter, Jag had arranged with the police to drop him off at the basilica in Copacabana, just across the Bolivian border. As the tour bus sped away to get out of range, police snipers in the church towers took down the Sendero Luminosa lieutenant in a hail of gunfire, leaving him dead in a pool of blood.

"I want the scum to live!" shouted Gutierrez' woman. "They'll pay a million American dollars to get him back. Money for the revolution."

She was a mean one, clearly consumed by hatred for what he'd done to her man. If he was the jaguar, surely, she was the jackal, a nasty little beast. Though he couldn't see her masked face, she was unkempt, her hair unwashed, and her dirty, broken fingernails grown out like claws. He'd have to be very careful with her. But Jaguar knew he wasn't going to die- at least not tonight.

Then they were transporting him toward some cleft which appeared to be cut into a rock face, but it was too dark to be sure. The wheelbarrow rolled along smoothly now, seemingly on some hard surface, likely too flat to have occurred naturally. Suddenly, Jaguar caught a glimpse of something very familiar. He'd been here many times before!

On each side of the opening in the rock face he spotted a black stone column, with large hewn white stones beyond them. It was the Black and White Portal of the New Temple! He realized that they had brought him to Chavin de Huantar, the ancient religious shrine which was home to his jaguar spirit namesake! Was it a deliberate act or coincidental? He didn't know.

****

Three days passed and no-one had heard anything from Jaguar. His kidnappers weren't yet ready to communicate with authorities for whom they held a deep distrust. After turning up no trace of him in the vicinity of the National Museum, the police had broadened their range to include other parts of the city; however, at this point Jaguar was simply another missing person, with no foul play yet suspected.

There were no leads. Police interviewed his secretary Louisa and combed his office for clues. The yellowed, printed envelope crudely addressed to him and tossed into his waste basket tweaked their interest, but Jaguar had taken the letter itself with him. Police recognized that the envelope and his sudden afternoon meeting that day were probably linked to his disappearance, but there was nothing else.

They sat down with Marina for a very detailed interview to see if his past held any clues. It was then that she remembered that criminal Julio Gutierrez had been on the tour bus about a year ago and was killed when he stepped off in Bolivia. She told investigators that her husband had arranged the drop-off with police, fearing the man might bring harm to his passengers.

At this point Jaguar's disappearance gained some traction with authorities. Now it looked like a revenge killing by the Shining Path, the body dumped in some hidden place. At best, it might be a kidnapping to extort money from his wife. They spared Marina any explanation of the first theory and assured her that they might be able to find him now through contacts in the underworld. They didn't tell her that he might be dead or alive.

At Chavin de Huantar, Jaguar was kept in a metal cage, befitting his nickname, as Gutierrez' woman taunted.

"You're just a caged animal, you bastard! This is all you deserve!" And she spit at him.

He had been transferred into the adjacent Old Temple at the site and kept in a small room on the second level. By his estimation from many tour visits to the place, and earlier work as a grad student, he was in the execution chamber above the huge, carved jaguar-faced god immediately below.

Jaguar knew that the Chavin high priests offered human sacrifice s in this upper room, the mutilated victims' blood draining through a hole in the sloped floor, then down little channels carved into the face of the image below. Would he die in this room too?

He prayed almost hourly to the Chavin jaguar, chanting and begging for his life. Jaguar had done this before with considerable success. It had taken Wayne Rasmussen back to America; it kept his unhappy wife Marina in Peru afterwards; it protected his tourists from ever-dangerous Gutierrez; and, it helped locate his missing passenger in Cusco. He felt confident that the jaguar spirit could help him. It was all he had.

"Dejame vivir".... Let me live.... "Dejame vivir.... Dejame vivir.... Dejame vivir.... Dej...."

The first night was freezing cold up in the Andes and he wore only a sweater, trousers, socks and shoes. He shivered hard, teeth chattering, unable to warm himself. In the morning the tall, brown-shirted man came with a bowl of unidentifiable food and Jaguar complained that he was freezing.

To his surprise, the man seemed mildly sympathetic and promised to return shortly with a blanket. When he did it was a ratty old thing, but Jag sensed a weak link in the kidnapping chain and decided to try to befriend the man.

"Thanks. What should I call you anyway?"

"I'm not giving you my name," he asserted gruffly.