Red Jungle Read Online Free PDF Page A

was unheard of.
    The temple had been full of priceless Mayan antiquities. Mahler had saved them from a group of colonels, who’d planned to clean the temple out as soon as they’d caught wind of his find. He’d gone to the world press, sounded the alarm, and stopped them. The Colonels had been arrested. Mahler’s picture was printed in all the German newspapers, who called him a hero. Stanford University had offered him a teaching job in California, but he’d turned it down.
    Mahler had brought a Dutch girl to the interview. She was a brainy, thin, glasses-wearing, twenty-five year old from a small country town, who seemed to be a bona fide sex addict. “She just vants to suck my dick and smoke weed,” Mahler told Russell matter-of-factly. “You’ve heard of the Red Jaguar?” he asked.
    “No,” Russell said over the music, watching the Dutch girl, braless and fetching, stop to talk to friends at another table.
    “It’s out there. I’m sure of it. It’s not a myth, like some people say,” Mahler told him. “It’s worth a fortune. My father told me about it when I was just a kid. He looked for it, but never found it.”
    Russell glanced at the bemused Dutch girl as she headed back to their table. Someone at the bar had bought her a brandy, and she was holding it in both hands. Her skin was golden from sunning herself at the hotel pool all day.
    “You’d have to give it up to the government,” Russell said. “If you did find any kind of treasure.”
    “Not, not … if you find it on private property,” Mahler told him quickly. He looked Russell in the eye. Russell realized that Mahler stuttered, but controlled the affliction through force of sheer willpower. The German’s face contorted a little with the effort to control his tongue. There was a mean look in Mahler’s eye as he struggled to get the next word out of his mouth. Russell decided, looking at him, that Mahler was probably as arrogant as he was brilliant.
    “Okay, I’m game. What is it then, this Red Jaguar?” Russell said.
    “A… A…great bloody piece of red jade. I mean bloody big. Heroic. You know what that means? Right?” Mahler asked. He took a drink of his wine, the flamenco trio on the bar’s tiny stage playing louder now.
    “Life size. Right?” Russell said, speaking up over the music.
    “Might be bigger,” Mahler said, putting down his glass. “Might be like the stone jaguars at Bakta Halik. Remember? There at the entrance. You’ve been there, haven’t you? Those are eight feet high, man!”
    “Yes. I’ve seen them,” Russell said.
    The Dutch girl came back and sat on Mahler’s lap. In the lamplight, Russell could see her breasts clearly through her sheer cotton blouse.
    “Big,” the German said, ignoring her. “Could be very big. And those are stone. The Red Jaguar, they say, is made of jade . That’s the story, anyway, what the Mayan texts say. Can you imagine what that would be worth to a collector? Or a museum? Millions! Millions, my friend!” The German reached over and hit Russell on the shoulder, managing to keep the girl on his knee.
    “It might be a myth. You know, like El Dorado,” Russell said, trying not to stare at the girl’s tits, not taking him seriously. “Or the Lost Dutchman’s mine.”
    The band stopped.
    “I don’t think so,” Mahler said quickly. He touched the girl’s cheek with the back of his hand and smiled at her, as if he already had sold the thing and had the bank book in his pocket. She got off his knee, but not before grinding a little.
    “Jaguars are frightening,” she said, getting up and moving to her own chair. “I bought a mask in Chi Chi, but I had to give it away. So dark!” She looked around to see if she had any more friends in the bar. She growled, a little drunk. She produced a joint, and they went out onto the street to smoke it.
    “What are you suggesting?” Russell said. Holding the last of the joint, he offered the last hit to Mahler, who shook his