THE INSURGENCE of
CHAN SANTA CRUZ
BOOK SIX:
THE FIRST of the BOOKS of CHANGE
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
The
same meal of tortillas, beans and meat which so enticed the prisoners remained
untouched in General Bravo's office where the Commander and a few associates
remained under guard, as much for their own protection as to prevent the
General's escape. The senior officers of Santa Cruz were, for the most part,
submissive creatures... moons who gave no light of their own but reflected the
will of Bravo so faithfully that Rivera had judged them of no use to his plans.
There was not a Huerta among them, not even a Blanquet.
But
rank is not always a certain mark of abilities - proof of this was that, of the
four men most dangerous to Manuel Rivera remaining at large in or near Santa
Cruz... one, Boleaga, held the insignificant rank of
a Corporal, and two others, El Chacol and Miguel Chankik, bore no rank at all. For this reason, no order was
given preventing Boleaga from entering the General's
office unarmed and, when the guards were looking in another direction, Bravo
had leaned towards the Corporal, whispered for him to remove the contents of a
certain dead tree on the outskirts of the city and have them brought to Akbal.
Where,
of course, resided the fourth of the dangerous men, Major Macias.
Bravo
knew well that Rivera must have him sent to Vigia
Chico but, also, that Madero's emissary would not be expecting trouble on the
way. "The fool!" the old General thought, to have perceived such
absence of hostilities on the part of the Maya and mistaken it for peace. Once
Rivera had taken command, and Bravo and Chankik had
met with the sublevado chiefs, Mexico would realize
what a fragile thing peace could be. Yes, and if the diversion of resources
weakened Madero's position, so much the better.
Entirely
forgotten, among these speculations, was the General's order to Boleaga to seek out and kill the old brujo
as a retaliation for Consuela's witchery.
If the
foolish decision of the runt to put his own man at the head of the territory
led to his own fall, Bravo continued to reason, it was no more than he
deserved.
Of the
forgotten men, now, Chankik had already disappeared.
His destination was the monte... in the caves and
swamps and ruins where the sublevados hid; he would
bring to them word of their time of uprising. Boleaga
charged the Jackal, whose expression had been unusually sharp, even alert since
his execution of Bravo's orders, with the transport of what he referred to as the
important papers and orders retrieved from a tin box in the old tree overland
to Peto, then Merida, finally to Felix Diaz in
Veracruz. To carry these, El Chacol produced Bravo's
saddlebags, the same, Boleaga realized with no little
horror, that had contained Consuela's heart. They were
even still greasy and the smell was intolerable. "Why, my Cabo, no thief
will dare look inside and think anything of value is contained in this,"
the Jackal reasoned with an almost Jesuitical logic.
"The
General's trust is making a man of this beast," the Cabo worried,
rummaging through the contents of the box, in case anything immediately useful
was contained within, for he did not need men and their ambitions so much as
instruments who would carry his orders out without question... or without even
curiosity. "So many pesos!" he sighed, aloud.
"These?"
inquired the Jackal, lifting a sheaf of papers from Bravo's plunder.
"Certificates
of deposit, to accounts in British banks," Boleaga
replied, sifting through the papers. "American, also, even German... he
must have made arrangements with the chicle buyers or arms sellers. Perhaps a
million pesos, cabron, but nothing of use to
us!" he warned El Chacol, "they are payable
to the Territory and may only be redeemed by the Governor of Quintana Roo, upon production of these other certificates of
identification, specifying the old man... unless he signs them over to Madero's
parrot during what should be a short term of succession."
"Bravo
is beyond redemption," the Jackal answered... waxing philosophical for
perhaps the only time in his short, violent life.
"When
the dwarf is removed, in Mexico, the General will find a way to return, as
Governor, even for only a few days... long enough to cash in the certificates.
Do as he says and there should be a reward waiting for you in Veracruz or,
perhaps, Havana," the Cabo ordered as the certificates were wrapped in
deerskin and returned to the bloody saddlebags. In this way, the Jackal was
distracted from Boleaga's intent to appropriate the
gold that the General had hoarded... over seventy pounds of it. Gold pesos and
pounds, dollars and deutschmarks, francs and a dozen other currencies, besides,
and even gold without denomination in bars, nuggets and dust... with an
aggregate value approaching one hundred thousand pesos.
Whatever
oath Bravo had sworn to Diaz, then Madero, he had taken no oath to honor
their paper money. There were only a few, sad Porfirian
pesos among the treasure, which Boleaga allowed the
brisk wind as had followed rain to waft away to the monte
and, perhaps, some poor chiclero who would be
disappointed when no merchant would take such dinero muerto.
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