The Fourth Prophecy

by Ernest Dempsey

  Tommy stopped and looked back at his friend with a questioning glance.

  “I’m just saying,” Sean went on, “two dudes creeping around in the dark looks kind of suspicious.”

  “And two dudes out for a casual stroll on the beach doesn’t?”

  “We’re going for a stroll on the beach? I had no idea you were so romantic.”

  “Oh my goodness. It never stops, does it?”

  “It’s a big reason why you love me.”

  “It’s also a reason I want to put a muzzle on you.” Tommy shook his head in frustration. “You might be right, though. Just don’t try to hold my hand.”

  “You’re such a tease,” Sean said as he straightened up.

  The two continued along the path, doing their best to look like a couple of sightseers who didn’t know they weren’t supposed to be there.

  “So, what’s our angle?” Tommy whispered. “You know, if we get caught? Better to ask for forgiveness than permission?”

  “Always.”

  “Think that will translate down here in Mexico?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  The sound of the waves crashing on top of themselves grew louder as they approached the beach. The moon reflected on the rippling water out beyond the shelf where the ocean floor dropped off into the deep abyss below.

  They cut to the left and kept moving. Their heads were on swivels, constantly turning one direction and the other, eyes peering into the darkness to make sure they weren’t being followed—or watched.

  There was no sign of anyone save for a young couple a few hundred yards down the coast. They were wrapped up in each other’s arms, enjoying the warm night air and a little alone time. The two didn’t pay any attention to the two Americans as they found their way over to the underside of the cliffs.

  Tommy stopped at the closest rocky corner and looked back down the beach. The couple was still focused on whatever they were doing, and by now they were so far away that if they made a fuss, Sean and Tommy could get away. Neither of the friends figured that would happen, and so they kept going until they reached the other side of the cliff.

  A quick peek around the corner told them the soldier was no longer at his previous post. The guy was probably gone for the night with no replacement being sent.

  “Keep a lookout,” Tommy said as he raised one foot and crossed the rope barricade.

  Sean continued turning his head from side to side, sweeping the area for any sign of trouble. They were still the only people in the area as far as he could tell.

  Tommy climbed up the short slope, keeping one hand on the rock wall to his left to maintain balance. It took less than twenty seconds for him to reach the opening. Once he was at the threshold, he looked out over the area and then motioned for Sean to come up.

  Sean followed the same line until he arrived at the overhang where Tommy was crouched down, looking inside.

  “Need to keep our lights as low as possible until we’re out of plain sight,” Sean said.

  Tommy gave an understanding nod. “You want to….” He made a side motion with his head toward the dark underbelly of the rocks.

  Sean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. I’ll lead the way.”

  He bent down and shuffled his feet sideways, making sure he didn’t bump his head on the rough ceiling above. He felt the sand give way to hard rock underfoot and continued moving slowly until he couldn’t see the beach or the sea any longer.

  Then he switched on a flashlight he’d taken from his gear bag. The tight beam put a bright circle on the wall ten feet across from him. He pointed it toward the rear of the shallow cave and ran it along the walls and ceiling. A moment later, Tommy joined him and switched on his light.

  The two scanned the rocky surface, panning over it one direction and then the other for any sign of a clue left by Alvarado.

  “See anything?” Tommy asked.

  “Not yet.”

  They continued the search, scouring every inch of the wall until they’d gone around the entire room.

  Tommy put his hands on his hips and let out a frustrated exhale.

  “Any thoughts?” he asked.

  Sean tilted his flashlight up and focused the beam on the ceiling. He moved it toward the back of the cave and stopped after only a few seconds.

  “Got it,” he said.

  Tommy’s demeanor perked up. He cocked his head back and stared at the ceiling. Sean’s light illuminated several symbols carved into the wall and highlighted with a faded black paint.

  “They look just like the ones in the cipher,” Tommy said.

  “Yep. Quick, get your phone and take some pictures. We need to send this back to the kids so they can analyze it and give us the next location.”

  Tommy hurriedly set down his light and fished the phone out of his pocket. He focused on the symbols and snapped several shots before shoving the device back in his pocket.

  Then Tommy continued to stare at the bizarre markings. “You know,” he said, pointing at a familiar shape, “we saw one of those in Alvarado’s journal, too.”

  “It’s a Mayan serpent,” Sean said.

  “I know what it is. You must think I’m some kind of idiot.”

  Sean shrugged and ticked his head to the side. “Your words.”

  “Anyway, I wonder what it’s doing here. Seems a little out of place.”

  “Not sure,” Sean said. “Maybe Alvarado found it and decided it was a good spot to put his clues. Would make sense since we’re trying to find a lost Mayan temple.”

  “I don’t know,” Tommy said. “I feel like maybe it’s deeper than that.”

  He craned his neck and tilted his head to the side to get a closer look at the serpent head. The black eyes were prominent, more so than the rest of the outline. The mouth, too, seemed to be darker than the head surrounding it.

  “The serpent,” a new male voice said from the cave entrance, “was a highly revered beast in Mayan society.”

  Sean spun around, ready to draw his weapon in the blink of an eye, but the stranger warned him and brandished a pistol of his own. “Stop right there, Mr. Wyatt.”

  Sean sighed and slowly lowered his hand. He kept the flashlight shining on the guy in the doorway.

  “Who are you?” Tommy asked, standing just a diagonal step behind his friend.

  “And what is it with you guys calling me Mr. Wyatt? My dad was Mr. Wyatt.”

  The stranger ignored the question.

  “I’m sorry, but you two must not be permitted to go any farther. Too many innocent lives are at stake. Were you to continue your search and succeed in finding the lost temple, humanity would suffer the consequences.”

  Sean raised a questioning eyebrow at the man. He was tall, probably an inch or so taller than Sean, and had a muscular frame, dark tanned skin, and a thick black mustache.

  It was the same guy they’d seen on the beach earlier that day.

  The man kept his weapon aimed at Sean, but his flashlight highlighted both of the Americans. The piercing bright beam caused them both to wince for nearly a minute until their eyes adjusted.

  “What are you talking about?” Tommy asked.

  “You can play stupid all you like, gentlemen, I know you’re trying to find the temple. And I know you have the diary of General Alvarado.” The man’s accent was distinctly Mexican with the G in general pronounced with a heavy H sound.

  “Diary?” Sean asked in his most sincere, clueless tone. “What diary?”

  “Do not take me for a fool, Mr. Wyatt. I know what you and your friend do for a living. I also know why you are here. Now, please, stop wasting my time. The diary, now.” He shook the weapon in his hand to emphasize the urgency of the moment.

  “I’ll have to get it out of my bag over there,” Sean said, pointing to his gear bag on the floor nearby.

  The stranger took a long breath and exhaled through his nostrils. “Move away,” he ordered, motioning
to his left. “You continue to assume I am unintelligent. I know you must keep weapons and many other things in that bag of yours. I will retrieve the diary. Then the two of you will die in this place.”

  “Die?” Tommy said, suddenly sounding afraid. “Why? We’re just a couple of archaeologists searching for a missing piece of history. What did we do wrong?”

  “Move away from the bag,” the stranger said again, his voice rising.

  “Do as he says, Schultzie.”

  “Why?” Tommy protested. “You heard him. He’s going to kill us anyway.”

  “No,” Sean argued. “He’s not going to kill anyone tonight. He knows we’re the good guys. And you’re a good guy, too, aren’t you Mr.—”

  “I protect the location of the temple. If that makes me a good person, so be it. I truly do not care. What I care about is making sure the power that lurks in that unholy place remains hidden for all eternity.”

  “Sounds like you’re one of the good guys to me. I mean, bad guys typically don’t care about the pain and suffering of others. Right, Schultzie?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Although the gun he’s pointing at us doesn’t help your argument.”

  Sean ignored his friend. “I still didn’t catch your name.”

  “I didn’t give it,” the stranger said as he took a step closer to the bag.

  Sean and Tommy inched their way to the right, shuffling carefully to ensure they didn’t accidentally make a sudden move that would startle the intruder and cause him to fire. Even if he missed, in this small space a ricochet would be deadly.

  “Oh, I noticed. Rude, by the way. I mean, what’s the harm? If you’re going to kill us, shouldn’t your victims know the name of their killer? It’s the least you can do.”

  The man stopped just short of the bag and lingered for a second, contemplating Sean’s request.

  “My name is Sandoval.”

  “Is that your last name or your first name? Because I gotta be honest, that sounds more like a last name. If it’s your first name, I’d probably shorten it to something like Sandy.” He turned to Tommy. “Am I right?”

  “Definitely. That has to be his last name.”

  “It is my last name!” the gunman roared. “Now, both of you shut up and stand in the corner.”

  He bent down and picked up the bag, keeping his eyes and the gun in his hand trained on the two Americans as they eased their way to the back of the room.

  “I am sorry,” Sandoval said. “Truly, I am. But you have left me no choice. If it makes any difference, I don’t want to kill you. It is, however, for the good of humanity.”

  Suddenly, a figure stepped from the shadows behind the gunman. He never saw the rifle butt swinging toward him. The hard edge struck Sandoval on the back of the skull. The fleeting thought that ran through his head before he succumbed to unconsciousness was simply acknowledgment of the pain. Then he collapsed to the hard floor, smacking his face against the surface as he landed.

  Sean let out a sigh of relief. “Cut it close much, Greg?” He bent over at his waist and removed Sandoval’s wallet from his back pocket. “He wasn’t lying,” Sean said as he stared at the guy’s ID. “Pablo Sandoval. Gotta admit, kind of an amateur move carrying his real ID around like that.”

  “What did take you so long, Greg?” Tommy asked, ignoring Sean’s wallet investigation. “If you’d waited a second longer, that guy was going to kill us.”

  Greg stepped from the shadows and grinned. He wore a black silk shirt with a gold chain hanging from his neck. His gray slacks completed the outfit, making him look like a drug dealer from the 1980s.

  “You know,” Greg said in his sharp English accent, “you boys could just say thank you. They ever teach you Yanks any manners?”

  “We’re from the South. We learn lots of manners when we’re young. We just don’t use them on riffraff like you,” Sean said. Then his stone expression cracked, and he let out a grin.

  Greg chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  Sean and Tommy crossed the room. Sean picked up the gunman’s weapon and checked the magazine. It was full of hollow points, a deadly round that would have made quick work of him and his friend.

  “Seriously, Greg, thank you,” Sean said as he tucked the sleeping man’s gun in the gear bag. “How you feeling, you know, after that whole affair in France?”

  Greg shrugged and worked his right shoulder back and forth. “I was doing fine until you two showed up on my doorstep a few years ago. I’m lucky that guy shot me where he did. Docs said half an inch in either direction and I’d be dead.”

  “We know all that, Greg.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “We know the whole story. That’s how we knew where to find you down here.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, anyway, glad I could help out a couple of old friends.”

  Greg Pilkington was a British ex-pat. In his former life, he’d been an art collector. To pay for his expensive taste in wall decor, he made a living running a vast smuggling empire. Sean and Tommy never asked what kinds of products he dealt, though they both had their suspicions. During a particularly hairy adventure, Greg had helped his friends escape and hide out until the trouble dissipated. Shortly after, he’d been shot in the chest and nearly died. After everything that went down, he left everything behind and moved to the coast of Mexico where none of his old enemies would bother looking.

  Sandoval groaned, and his head rolled for a moment.

  “What do you guys say we take this little reunion on the road? I’d rather not be around when our friend, Sandy, here wakes up.” Sean looked at the other two with a sense of urgency.

  “Wait,” Greg said. “You’re not going to kill him?”

  Sean glanced down at the unconscious stranger. Then he shook his head. “No. It’s not my style to kill someone while they’re out. And besides, something tells me he’s not a bad guy.”

  Tommy frowned. “Seriously? He was about to kill us, like, gangland execution style.”

  Sean drew a deep breath. “It’s hard to explain. Call it a gut feeling.” He eyed the gunman with curiosity. “Sometimes people aren’t what they seem.”

  Chapter 11

  Washington

  “I need answers, gentlemen. And I need them two days ago.” Emily’s voice boomed through the trees and echoed out over the Potomac.

  Police had blocked off the road during the early morning hours until the majority of first responders were off the scene. When the police realized the vehicle belonged to Congressman Ambrose, they knew the Axis director would have to be notified.

  Emily hadn’t slept much the last few days. The bags under her eyes gave that away. The night before had been like the others. She’d tossed and turned in the hotel room bed, unable to get comfortable.

  She knew she’d sleep better at the White House with the man she loved, but they’d kept things quiet—and out of the public eye—so far. No sense in destroying that now.

  She could wait a little longer until his last term was over.

  They’d discussed his plan after the presidency ended. He’d promised to move to Atlanta where they could start a new life together, still in the public eye but without political intrigue or distractions from the national media.

  For the time being, those beautiful future days seemed an eternity away.

  She stared at the charred husk of the congressman’s SUV as the first rays of daylight peeked over the buildings to the east. Three members of the House had been killed this week. And no one—not a single person—had a clue as to who was responsible.

  “We’re doing the best we can, Director Starks,” one of the forensic detectives said.

  His comment snapped her back to the moment.

  “I know,” she said, running her fingers through a loose strand of brown hair to pin it behind her ear. “But that’s not good enough.”

  The young man looked discouraged—as did the rest of the cops and federal agents hovering around her. A few of them appeared angry, but she didn’t car
e about that. Their fragile egos weren’t her problem. Finding the murderer, however, was.

  “I’m not doing a good enough job, either,” she said. “None of us are. We’re missing something. We have to be. No one pulls off three murders like this without leaving a crumb along the way.”

  “They can if they’re careful,” Smalley chirped. His head bobbed when he spoke, like a toy bird with a spring for a neck.

  “No,” she said. “Eventually, killers like this always screw up.”

  “So, it’s clear we’re dealing with a serial killer situation,” Robards said, jumping into the conversation for the first time. “Right?”

  “All signs point to that,” Smalley agreed.

  “Maybe,” Emily said.

  “Maybe? Come on, Director. It’s a clear cut serial case. Three members of Congress. Three murders. Whoever the killer is, they’re targeting members of the House. No senators have been killed. Tell the president to get all these politicians back to their respective districts until we can figure out who is doing this.”

  It was an extreme measure the detective was suggesting. President Dawkins had already requested the Capitol be shut down for a day. Getting them to take a mandatory leave would be difficult considering the time of the year. They were in the middle of an extremely important session. Immigration bills were at the forefront of their activity, and the fate of millions hinged on those laws. Dawkins had promised to have that issue taken care of in a timely manner. Any delay would cause an uproar. That didn’t include the other big items, such as the student loan situation and the issues with the health care industry.

  “That’s not going to happen,” she said.

  Smalley rolled his shoulders. “Then we should just go home, get some rest, and wait for the next call to come in because I can guarantee you there will be another murder in the next forty-eight hours. And spoiler alert: it’s going to be a member of the House.”

  Her phone started buzzing in her jacket pocket. She reached inside the fold, pulled it out, and looked at the screen. “You’ll need to excuse me. I have to take this.”