CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

AWAKENING TO CHAOS.

The first thing Niklas heard upon waking up was the sound of retching. Then came the smell of vomit, stale beer, and pungent aftershave.

He opened one eye, then the other, and finally sat up. His body was lying against a cement wall on a concrete floor. The room was large and dimly light, and a sea of bodies lay, sat, and stood before him.

Focusing and rubbing his eyes in the half light, he realized he was in a jail cell full of young men in various stages of recovering from alcohol -the unfortunate spring break partiers. He was in the Cancun drunk tank.

A young man with blond hair, a pimply face, and one black eye stood beside him, leaning into the wall. He looked down at Niklas. "Hey, mister." His voice was soft as a whisper.

Niklas turned and looked up at the lanky youth. He wore a torn and bloodied T-shirt that advertised a beer logo and dirty cargo shorts. He stood on one foot that was wearing a sandal. The other foot, bare, was pressed into the wall.

"Hey, mister," the boy said again. "You must've been at one h.e.l.l of a wedding." He shifted to his other foot and rubbed his stomach under his torn shirt.

Niklas let the words sink in. Wedding, what wedding? Then he realized he was wearing the Mexican beach wedding shirt. "No, no, I just wear this because it's comfortable." He did not have the energy to give a detailed reply. He put his hand to his head, and when he pulled it away, it had dried blood on it. He felt the throbbing pain where the security guard had hit him.

"How'd you get picked up?" The young man asked.

Niklas realized he'd have to give an answer, only to get the lad to stop asking more questions, "A misunderstanding on the beach," He finally ventured. His words came out slowly over a tongue swollen with lack of moisture.

The boy examined his one sandaled foot for a moment and then his torn T-shirt. "Well, I guess the price will be the same for you as for me then."

Niklas looked up the boy, realizing he was still talking. "The price? What price?"

"The price to get out, you know, the price to get out of here." The boy scratched his hairless chest under his shirt and looked as if he had just made a profound remark.

"A price to get free?"

"Oh yeah," the youth responded with conviction. "These Mexicans got it figured. See, they know we foreigners don't want nothing to do with their legal system, so they fix a price on you -somewhere from five hundred to a thousand American dollars. You pay it, or get someone to pay it, and you're free."

"Really," Niklas said, intrigued. He shifted himself more upright against the wall and looked directly at the boy. "How do you know so much about this? You have friends who have experience with this?"

"h.e.l.l no," the young man said with a weak smile, revealing a missing tooth. "I was in here just four days ago. They took five hundred dollars cash and dropped me back on the street." He shrugged his shoulders. "I expect they kept the picture they took of me and will want to double that now." He blew out his breath with a sense of finality. "This is gonna play h.e.l.l on my daddy back in Atlanta."

Niklas felt the young man's pain. He was a parent himself. He wondered how he would feel if his daughter Ansa ever ended up here. A cold shudder went down his spine as he remembered the last phone call he had made to his daughter, just before he was captured by the police. He had told her to trust him.

A noise came from the hallway, and then two jail guards came through the large door. One was thin and tall, his belt looped twice around his body to hold up his pants, the other squat and stout, his pants clinging tightly to his waist. They stood at the entrance of the large jail cell, surveying the crowd. The teenagers, and Niklas, shuffled nervously. Some stood up; some sat up.

The guards came up to Niklas, hauled him to his feet, and escorted him out of the cell. The young men in the jail visibly relaxed, and the one embracing the toilet went back to dry heaving.

Niklas was marched down a long hallway and then up two flights of stairs. As he and the guards pa.s.sed more jail cells, faces peeked out from the confines, some white, some very brown. Hands hung out of some, and some waved a solemn greeting. One made the sign of the cross.

Niklas tried to think of what his price might be. His recently awakened mind tried to formulate a number of excuses or alibis that would release him for five hundred, a thousand, or even a few thousand euros. He had a good limit on his Visa. He wondered if they took Visa.

They arrived at a large, ornate wooden door. A bra.s.s plate with the word Commandant in black lettering hung from it. For the briefest of moments, Niklas thought his chances were good, as he a.s.sumed he was seeing the boss of the prison. The guards knocked, a voice from behind the door yelled a command, and Niklas was ushered inside.

A very small man in a black police uniform populated with gold braid, gold leaf, and gold b.u.t.tons sat at a ma.s.sive desk. The Mexican flag and pictures of various Mexican war heroes cluttered the wall behind him. The small man had perfectly formed features set off by a pencil-thin mustache expertly trimmed to accentuate small and perfect lips. If Mattel made a Mexican police doll, it would look like him.

Niklas was forced into a hard, wooden chair by the two guards, who then positioned themselves at his side. Niklas breathed in slowly, composing himself. He started thinking that perhaps they had not seen anything. He would claim to be an innocent person who had been swept up by the police while walking on the beach. He waited for the commandant to speak before he began his appeal.

The commandant let his eyes flicker over Niklas for a moment, then picked up a piece of paper from the side of his large desk. "Ah, Senor Niklas Okkonen. The commandant had difficulty p.r.o.nouncing his last name, and it came out sounding like "Jokkongon."

Niklas was not worried about the misp.r.o.nunciation of his name -what worried him was the fact that the commandant was reading the name from a Finnish pa.s.sport that was obviously his. The police were in my hotel room, he thought. He wondered what else they had found.

The commandant began slowly in English with a soft Spanish accent. "Senor Jokkongon, my report says you caused much destruction at the hotel. You and your friends by setting the dolphins free have caused much expense to the hotel also. Very expensive these dolphins to train -and now they are out to sea." The commandant finished his statement and looked over the report at Niklas.

Niklas waited a few moments, swallowed hard, then began his well-thought-out appeal. "Commandant, with due respect." He shifted himself a little more upright in his chair. "I am a guest at the hotel. I was walking on the beach when the wall collapsed. I saw the dolphins on the beach in obvious need of help, and I pulled them into the water to save them. I meant no harm to the hotel. I was only trying to save the dolphins from dying." Niklas sat back in his chair, suppressing a grin. It was an excellent speech. He almost believed himself.

The commandant regarded Niklas, put the report down, and tapped his pa.s.sport on the desk. "I see, I see." He pursed his lips in thought and scratched his brow. "You were only a bystander, is this it? This is what you want to say?"

"Yes, only a bystander." A bystander, one who stands by and watches. This interview is going very well.

The commandant flashed a quick smile. "Let me show you something." He picked up an iPad from his desk, turned it on, and flipped the screen around. "This was a Christmas present from my wife -the latest model. Very nice, yes?" He beamed with obvious pride.

Niklas nodded his head. "Yes, yes, it's very nice." He wondered if showing Christmas gifts was customary among Mexicans.

A grainy image came into focus on the screen: Niklas on the sea wall pouring something into holes and ramming it in with a length of rebar. Someone on one of the balconies had seen him and filmed him with a telephoto lens using a low-light setting. He shook his head. He wore a silly smile on his face, the same one he had worn while feeding the laxative to his dog back in Finland. It was a look of quiet and relaxed determination. He was doomed.

The video continued again with the dolphins flowing out of the pool and into the sea and Niklas running to pull them into the water. What the video did not show was the faces of the others with him. There were only two shadows. The edge of the ocean was in darkness.

The commandant said something in Spanish to the guards. They produced a black garbage bag and dumped the contents on the floor -a pair of jeans and T-shirt, the ones from his room, stained with concrete dust and sand. Then an empty bag of Dexpan fell out as they shook the bag again. They emptied another garbage bag containing the used bucket and drill.

The commandant sat back and tapped his small hand on the desk. The start of a smile graced his lips under the perfectly trimmed moustache. He watched Niklas as the full weight of the situation dawned on him. He could see Niklas's pupils dilate, the sure sign of one under stress. The little commandant loved that look of stress in suspects -it sent tingles up his spine.

"Now, Senor Jokkongon, you can see we have much evidence against you. If you tell us about your friends who helped you in this, perhaps we can reduce your sentence in jail. You will see that we here in Mexico are reasonable people." He finished his words with a smile, a raised eyebrow, and a quick brush of his mustache.

Niklas realized just how bad his situation was. Not only was he caught, but they knew he had accomplices. How much do they know, he wondered? He had never played this game of cat and mouse in an interrogation. He had watched similar situations play out in movies and on television. Desperately, his mind clicked over responses, options, until he finally decided there was only one option: denial. He would use it and get a lawyer.

"I did this myself. No one helped me in any way," Niklas finally said. His voice sounded raspy, unused, and unready for the task at hand. He crossed his arms in defiance. He would not implicate Maria, Tepeu, or Elisa. The dolphins were free and so were they.

The commandant listened to Niklas while looking at his fingernails. Examining his need for a manicure, he said, "But we captured your friends, Senor Jokkongon. They are in the other room."

Niklas unfolded his arms and almost jumped out of his chair. "What!"

The commandant flashed a very bright smile, and his eyes became wide with excitement. "Yes, yes, you will want to see them. They are in the other room."

The two guards grabbed Niklas under the shoulders and hoisted him up. The commandant opened the large door, and they all marched into the next room. Niklas realized he was trembling. He was afraid of seeing Maria caught by the police.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

MEETING OF THE COMPAnEROS.

The Commandant opened the door of the room next door, and with a nod to the guards, they ushered Niklas into the room. The room was small with dim lighting, barely fitting the square table and four chairs. Occupying two of the chairs were a man and a woman dressed in orange coveralls, their heads down, and their hands in shackles. Niklas felt his heart sink. A guard turned the lights up, and the two prisoners raised their heads.

"Pekka, Caroline, what are you doing here?" Niklas stood in shock and disbelief. The guards pushed him forward and into a chair.

Pekka stared at Niklas. "They say we are involved in some plot with you ...you must tell them that this is crazy. You must tell them ...Niklas ..." His words trailed off. He looked a mess. His hair was covered in dirt, and his face was scratched. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Caroline could barely contain herself. "My G.o.d, Niklas, what have you gotten us into! This silly prank of yours with the dolphins -please tell them we are not involved in this." Caroline looked worse than Pekka. Her once perfectly coiffed hair was straggly, and her makeup ran down her face, which could not mask the terror she felt.

Niklas was at a loss as to why the two were in prison. The last time he had seen them they were drunk, making out, and wandering the beach. He turned to the commandant. "I don't understand why you have arrested these two."

The commandant could barely hide his pleasure. "These two came out of the water right after you. We think they helped you set the dolphins free. They are your companeros, your friends."

"We were having a swim," Pekka protested.

"Naked," the commandant countered.

Caroline chimed in a shrill falsetto. "Yes, naked! Is it a crime to be naked in your country on the beach? Half the b.l.o.o.d.y students are topless and bottomless in your downtown bars for G.o.d's sake." Caroline collapsed her head back into her hands, rattling her shackles.

Niklas looked from Pekka to Caroline and realized that on returning down the beach from a night club or wherever they had gone to, they had decided on a late night swim, and in run into the water naked. Caroline obviously deciding Pekka would be her next conquest. They must have come rushing out of the water just as Maria and Tepeu shot past them on the Dolphins and the Mexican police arrested them on the beach.

Niklas shook his head at the unfortunate luck of these two; it was almost as bad as his own. He looked at the commandant. "Although I do know these two, they weren't involved."

"Then who was?" the commandant asked. His eyes flickered slightly. His trap had been set.

"No one. I told you I acted alone," Niklas said, attempting to look as honest as possible. He wasn't sure how that should look -it never worked in the movies, but he had to give it a try.

The commandant's gaze moved from Caroline to Pekka and then back to Niklas. "Senor, I have witnesses from the hotel who say a man and a woman were with you on the beach. These two here came out of the sea right behind you. If you say these are not the ones, then tell us who was involved and these two go free." A wide smile followed his words.

Pekka and Caroline shouted in unison, "Yes, yes, Niklas, tell them."

Niklas looked at the two wretches, two people who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He felt sorry for them, but he could not give up Maria and Tepeu. If he did, then Elisa, the lovely, young, fragile Elisa, might be found out as well, and then perhaps the patron, Acan. No, I can't do it.

There was only one avenue open to Niklas now. I'll seek out a lawyer, and perhaps the Finnish consulate. There was one in Merida, the capital of Yucatan. He needed to stall as long as possible. He was not sure where Maria, Tepeu, and Elisa had taken the dolphins, but he needed to give them time.

He was thinking all of this while Caroline and Pekka were shouting, pleading, pounding on the table. Their shackles clattered. He somehow tuned them out; he tuned out everyone, even the commandant. Then he heard it. It was quiet at first, like a small voice in the distance, and then it grew louder -wait.

Wait repeated itself over and over again in his brain. It was as if his thinking process was on pause. Niklas had heard sounds that no one else could hear all his life, but never a voice sounding in his brain. The voice had sharp tones with a repeating chorus. It almost sounded like dolphins.

He forced himself to focus his attention back at the room. He looked calmly at the commandant. "I have nothing to say. If you have no more questions, then I would be happy to return to my cell."

Caroline and Pekka exploded into a fury of words. Pekka swore at Niklas in every slang and nasty word he could dredge from the depths of Finnish. Caroline screeched, wailed, and called him a cad, a cur, and then an a.s.shole, s.h.i.thead, and b.a.s.t.a.r.d. They went on and on, and Niklas shut them out. He was waiting. He was not sure for what, but he felt content to do so.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

MALCOLM OUTLINES THE DILEMMA.

The two guards moved Niklas from the small room to another small room down the hall, where he sat for some time. He hungrily munched the beans and rice wrapped in a tortilla they had given him. He realized it had been some time since he'd last eaten, and he did not know when he would again. He was caught up in events now. Waiting. Waiting for what would befall him next.

Next took a while but he had no sense of time as they had removed his watch, and there was no clock on the wall. He sat looking at four bare walls in various stages of paint-peeling. A musty smell permeated the room. A small fan sat in the corner, rusted and unplugged. There was no outlet. Niklas regarded the irony of the fan for only a moment. He tried to let his mind wander somewhere. It kept coming back to the room.

Then the two guards entered again. They escorted him down another hallway, down some stairs, and past a loading dock that Niklas regarded longingly. It looked like a portal to freedom. They continued on to another small room and opened the door to reveal another small table with two chairs. Occupying the table was Malcolm, dressed in his blazer, blue shirt, and school tie. He looked hot.

Malcolm rose as Niklas walked into the room. "Niklas, old boy, what have you gotten yourself into? I've been with the police and the hotel management all morning, then with the commandant this afternoon. I must say you've gotten yourself into a bit of a spot, old chum."

Niklas was happy to see Malcolm; he was always a person who got things done, solved issues. Perhaps he would reason with the police on his behalf. "I'm sorry, Malcolm, to have dragged you, Caroline, Pekka, and the conference into this." Niklas sat with the two guards on either side of him. He was used to them now, and mentally referred to them as his chaperones.

Malcolm leaned forward, the sweat visible on his forehead. "But Niklas, you do realize the fix you're in, don't you?"

"Fix?"

"Yes, old boy, your situation, your dilemma. The commandant has informed me that the hotel raised a b.l.o.o.d.y stink and wants you charged to the full extent of Mexican law. The State of Quintana Roo wants to brand you an eco-terrorist." Malcolm leaned forward, his eyebrows furrowing. "They want to throw you in prison for a long time."

Niklas shifted slightly in his chair. The thought of prison was bad enough -"long time" attached to "prison" was terrifying. "Ah, yes I see" was all Niklas could manage in reply.

"Now, old boy," Malcolm said, leaning even closer, "if you were to give the commandant the names of your friends, which would allow Caroline and Pekka to go free, the commandant a.s.sured me that the Mexican government would show some leniency."

"Leniency ...they said that?" Niklas rolled the word around in his mind. He knew what the English word meant; he wondered what it meant to him. He knew it meant giving up Maria and Tepeu.

"Yes, my good man." Malcolm spread his hands on the table. "They might shave a few years off your sentence, or better yet, allow you to do your prison term in Finland."

"Finland?" The thought of going from one prison to another to sit out his sentence struck him as absurd.