The Jaguar Mask
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Set in the heart of the American jungle and featuring Declan Carberry, the not-so handsome hero of Day of Wrath, this page-turner oozes excitement, exotica and Formula One suspense. Archaeologist Leo is on a dig. But this is no ordinary assignment. He's deep in the heart of the Mexican jungle uncovering another centuries-old Mayan city. Like a surgeon performing a most-intricate operation, Leo and his team skilfully remove each crumb of earth with the utmost precision. In France, Declan Carberry is busy trying to solve a string of ritual serial murders. Horrific in the extreme, the questions are who and why? Declan needs to move fast, for time is running out. Delving into the history of the Conquistadors and the Maya of South America, this vertiginous tale of snaring and netting, old rituals and modern codes, blood-letting and immortality is Easterman at his dizzying best.
in a season. He didn't mind about the fish: they weren't the reason he sat in a wet boat on a lake while the rain sluiced down from a sky that had been in the Atlantic only an hour earlier. The reason he sought such refuge was all around him now. That wasn't all. In a long career, he had known himself grow unsettled perhaps a dozen times. Some murders remained caught in the eye and frozen in the mind because they deviated in some explicit and shocking way from the ordinary run of such
stairway, hand in hand with her newly-acquired American boyfriend, Leroy Lamont. She turned as he came to the foot of the stairs and smiled at him. That smile, he thought, as others had thought before him, wondering how he might burn it from his memory when they packed up here and he went home to a cold and frosty England. Bill Jessop came shuffling out from behind the corner of the little temple next to which they were all standing. Leo sometimes wondered how Bill, with his outsize
His photograph and fingerprints wereon a yellow and black notice I sent out early on. The strangest thingsand the oddest people find their way on to police computers. A fewyears ago there was a killing in Guatemala, in a little village calledEl Remate, just on the shores of Lake Peten Itza."Arlaten put down his fork. "Not a million miles from southernMexico.""You French catch on quick. At the time this killing occurred, therewas a Catholic mission from Belgium about a mile down the road, andwhen
the police took fingerprints, they took those belonging to thepriests as well. They weren't really suspects, but what the hell, itprobably made somebody feel industrious. And it put a set offingerprints and a photograph on the Guatemalan police computer, andhence into Interpol files."The man is Father Justus de Harduwijn. I've double-checked with hisrecords in Belgium, and this is him all right. He'd been in Guatemalarecently, but disappeared about two months ago in the course of a trekinto the
political influence of his brother-in-law, and it didn't seem right to capitulate the moment Concepta was in her grave. But he'd been persuaded all the same, in part by a visit from some senior Interpol officials, and in part by his own desperation to get away from Ireland. Most of his work had been little more than an extension of his Irish anti-terrorist activities, tracing gunmen and bombers in and out of the webs they had spun across Europe and into the world at large. In the past few