The Fifth Kingdom

by Caridad Piñeiro

  He walked the grounds, keeping a keen eye on things and checking on the two agents who had nothing to report. It had been a calm night, which brought relief. If their two perps had been involved with Los Leones, Bill suspected that the cartel would have quickly had more thugs in the area to try and complete their plan. From what they knew of Primera Mexica, their capabilities were far more limited than that of the drug cartel. That likely explained why things had been peaceful during the night—only PM was involved in this attack and not the cartel.

  He returned to the apartment, but sensed he would have no choice but to answer to Deanna’s father when he realized Deanna was still not awake.

  Slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair, Bill looked toward the professor and asked, “Can I get you some more coffee?”

  “Por favor,” Gonzalo answered and held up his mug.

  Bill strode over, grabbed the empty mug and said, “Light and sweet?”

  “So you know how my daughter likes her coffee?” Gonzalo said, shooting him a very parental hairy eyeball.

  Bill juggled the mug back and forth in his hands and met the old man’s gaze directly. “I know how she’s feeling right now. Confused. Alone.”

  “It seems to me she wasn’t so alone last night,” Gonzalo challenged, warning evident in his tone.

  “Respectfully, that’s not any of your business.” Before her father could reply, Bill walked back to the kitchen and prepared the coffee. Returned to give Gonzalo the mug, grateful that he didn’t begin the discussion again. Her father just thanked him and returned his attention to the book he had been reading.

  Bill set himself up at the kitchen table, began reviewing the reports that had been sent to him on Hector Lopez. Apparently he was a familiar figure in certain circles in Mexico. Historians and academics regularly called on him for his expert opinion. Antiquities dealers came to him to purchase assorted objects or to have Lopez authenticate the provenance of relics they had acquired. It made perfect sense that Miranda, after possibly discovering something unexpected in the tomb, may have gone to Lopez for assistance in light of his reputation.

  Unfortunately, Miranda and others were likely unaware that Lopez had deep ties to Primera Mexica or if they were aware, may have had some sympathies for the group. Hopefully their approval for the fringe group had ended when PM had become more violent in recent years.

  Since Lopez was a fixture at many social events in Mexico City, Bill hoped it would be relatively easy for them to arrange to meet him and not make it obvious that they had set their sights on him. With some carefully planted information, he hoped that Lopez could provide information that would lead them to Miranda.

  He saved the various reports to his computer and was about to start booking flights and hotel rooms when he hesitated, worried about how Deanna would react to his making the decisions without her. So not a good thing, the hesitation. If it had been anyone else working with him on the assignment, he would have just gone ahead and made the plans because they would be expected to heed his commands.

  But not Deanna. They had reached a different level of understanding last night and he didn’t want to jeopardize it, for both personal and professional reasons.

  A willing Deanna would be much more helpful on the case.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t begin to prepare in other ways.

  Via secure channels, he emailed his CIA contacts and asked them to look for additional background information on Hector Lopez. He also made a list of items he would need to develop the cover he planned on using for Deanna and him and asked for those items to be delivered by midday. Finally, he coordinated with their embassy intelligence attaché in Mexico City and provided them with the fake identity he would be assuming during the visit and requested that the attaché attempt to identify any possible events where they could meet Lopez. It was well past eight and three mugs of coffee later when he logged off.

  Time to get going, he thought, eager to review what he had put into place and finalize any other details for what they would do next. Which meant he had to get Deanna going, but as he rose from the table, the sound of a footfall from down the hall advised him that she was already up.

  Deanna exited the hall and paused, laying a hand on the wall as if she still needed support. Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed, her creamy skin pale. She had opted for faded jeans and a simple black T-shirt and yet the simple clothing didn’t detract from her elegance or sexiness.

  As their gazes connected, she sensed something was happening. “I guess it’s time for us to be on the move.”

  “Only if you’re up for a trip to Mexico.”

  She shot a half glance at her father, but then returned her attention to him. “What do I need to do?”

  The death wails were familiar to Miranda. She’d heard them more than once on some of the digs she’d taken to areas where war, poverty and illness often took people well before their time.

  The vocal evidence of grief was chased by angry shouts. She’d heard those often as well, when the men would gather around the campfire, pumping themselves up in preparation for retribution.

  Against whom? she wondered and feared that she might be the target of that anger.

  Miranda was fluent in Spanish, but between the histrionics and speed of those speaking over each other, she could only make out a few words.

  Enough to know people were dead and that there would be retaliation. But not enough to know anything else.

  Javier shouted down the others into silence.

  The silence was even scarier.

  Miranda rose from the corner of the tiny room and walked to the door. Placing her ear against the thick wood, she struggled to comprehend what Javier was saying, translating his words.

  “…cannot kill her…information…tomb.”

  A good thing for her since he was apparently cautioning the others against venting their grief on her. She wondered why Javier had suddenly become the voice of reason, but was thankful for it. She had been unable to find a way out of the storage room in which they had tossed her after torture had failed to break her. She had searched every corner. Pried at every loose bit of cinder block, but to no avail.

  She was glad she had put together a backup plan because she had feared someone was trying to steal her discovery. Never had she imagined that Primera Mexica would think that there was something within the tomb that they could use to help their cause. Deanna would likely know by now that she was missing and have the journals. Hopefully her daughter would reach out to someone to help her. Maybe she would soon be free.

  The clump of boots coming toward the door made her shift back to the corner where she prepared herself for yet more violence. That was one thing on which she could count: Javier and his colleagues believed that violence was the answer to most everything. They might not kill her, but they would make her pay.

  The rattle of the lock was followed by the door flying inward, rebounding against the far wall.

  Javier tromped in, two of his armed men trailing him. From the dark glares they shot her, she knew trouble was headed her way and braced herself for more trauma. She had barely stopped hurting from the beating she had received days earlier, but she would tolerate whatever they did in the hope of surviving until she was rescued.

  “Two of my men were killed yesterday when they visited your daughter,” Javier advised, his anger contained…for now.

  “My daughter is just a history professor. I don’t think she is capable of killing your men,” Miranda countered, worried about whether Deanna had been injured during the incident.

  “The police report says my men were shot by the police during an attempted mugging of your daughter,” Javier continued and pounded a fist into his palm as he began to pace back and forth in the small space.

  “You don’t believe that?” she asked just to confirm, although it was obvious from his demeanor.

  “My men would have known better than to grab her in front of the police. But e
ven if they had, they were better armed than your average policeman,” he said, continuing to pound and pace.

  “I wouldn’t call New York City cops average,” she countered and paid for it. Javier grabbed her by the throat and drove her against the wall. The rough cinder block grated against her back, scratching her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt.

  Shoving his face close to hers, Javier said, “You warned her somehow. She must have had other protection to be able to kill my men.”

  “I’ve had no contact with anyone,” she rasped barely able to breathe from the pressure he was exerting on her throat.

  He released her by tossing her against the wall once again. Her head rebounded against the cinder block with a loud thud and the impact disoriented her. She splayed her hands on the coarse surface, seeking purchase as the room spun from the blow and her knees slowly crumpled.

  “We will grab her, Miranda. Count on that. Maybe then you’ll be more willing to tell us about the tomb and what’s in it.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer, barging out of the room with the same bluster and violence with which he’d entered.

  Miranda sank down to the cold cement floor, her head still reeling from the impact with the wall. Her body quaking with fear that Javier would make good on this threat and grab Deanna. Miranda could deal with whatever they wanted to do to her, but she knew she would not be able to handle anyone hurting her daughter.

  She’d already done enough of that herself.

  Curling up into a fetal position in the corner, she prayed that Javier was right. That her daughter had found someone to protect her. Someone who could keep her safe from the crazies in this Primera Mexica cell.

  Maybe that person could also help her escape this ongoing nightmare and help her protect the tomb.

  She could not let such a find fall into the hands of the wrong people. Primera Mexico could use it to grab attention for themselves and further their cause. Worse yet, they could sell the relic for big money to a private collector. Enough money to pay for more weapons to spread their violence.

  She would not let that happen.

  Chapter Twelve

  The five-star hotel was situated along Paseo de la Reforma, close to the United States Embassy and near Chapultepec Park. The area was filled with dozens of tourist attractions, luxurious hotels and restaurants in addition to ultramodern office buildings and several other embassies.

  Deanna loved the location. If circumstances had been different, she would have enjoyed a walk through some of her favorite spots in the park. As for the hotel itself, high-end luxury was not what she normally indulged in. A uniformed bellhop opened the door for them as they entered a lobby lined with gleaming marble, furniture with dark polished woods and lush fabrics, and sophisticated artwork. The oak-and-granite check-in desk was discreetly tucked into an alcove along one wall.

  She stood beside Bill as he checked them in, nervously rubbing the gleaming diamond engagement ring on her finger, part of the cover to explain Bill’s presence with her.

  “Your suite has a wonderful Paseo view. Feel free to enjoy the hotel’s many amenities. If you need anything during your stay, please let us know,” the hotel clerk indicated as she handed Bill the folder with the key cards and hotel information.

  “Gracias. My fiancée and I are certain we will enjoy our visit,” Bill said. For good measure, he eased his arm around her waist, drew her close and dropped a kiss along her cheek.

  Playing it up, she laid her right hand with the very large diamond ring on his chest and almost cooed, “We will definitely enjoy our time here.”

  Bill chuckled and guided her to the elevator, the bellman following with their bags, including Deanna’s well-traveled knapsack, which looked incongruous with the other expensive luggage Bill’s people had provided that morning to bolster their roles as a high-powered oil equipment executive and his pampered fiancée. But she never went on any trip without those essentials and she certainly would not leave them behind now. It was very possible they’d have to head into the Mexican countryside based on the vague descriptions in Miranda’s journal regarding the site of the tomb and she wanted to be prepared.

  As the door opened into the suite, Deanna barely contained her gasp at the beauty of the room and the gorgeous views of the Paseo and park.

  Bill wrapped his arms around her waist in a hug. “So glad you like it, mi amor.”

  “Love it, querido,” she replied, reaching up over her shoulder to caress his cheek.

  The bellhop smiled as he took all their bags into the bedroom, but Deanna was suddenly worrying about just how far Bill planned to take their ruse. A moment later, he leaned close and whispered, “Not to worry.”

  She took him at his word. He had been nothing but honest up until now.

  After their bags were settled and the bellboy attended to, Bill returned to the living room of the suite and gestured to the large sectional. “I’ll take the sofa tonight.”

  Even though the immense sofa boasted plump cushions, she couldn’t imagine that with his large frame he’d be comfortable. But she also wanted to delay the discussion for the moment, knowing there were more pressing matters.

  “We can decide on that later.” She laid her purse on the coffee table and walked to the windows, loving the views of the city.

  He came to stand beside her and murmured, “Beautiful.”

  She shot him a look from the corner of her eye and realized he was only half referring to the vista. “Have you been here before?”

  “Only once. My previous assignments were mostly in Europe.”

  “That’s where I had planned on going this summer. I was going to just pack my bags and explore the countryside. Some castles. Whatever came my way,” she said.

  “Maybe you’ll still be able to do that once we’re done here.”

  She was tempted to ask him if he might help her out with some suggestions, or possibly even go with her, but bit her tongue.

  “What time are we expected at the embassy?” she asked instead, glancing at her watch.

  “The intelligence attaché will receive us at four, so we have about two hours to kill. Feel like a walk to stretch out your legs after that airplane ride?”

  “That would be great. It’s Sunday and the vendors are out along the paths in the park. See,” she said and pointed to the gaps in the trees where it was possible to see an assortment of small kiosks and pedestrians as they strolled through the gardens.

  “I just need to get a few things and then we can go.”

  He walked away and she admired his stride, all broad-shouldered and lean-hipped masculine swagger. His jeans molded perfectly to his ass and then his body flared upward in a V to those immense shoulders beneath the looser fabric of his polo shirt. She heard the rasp of a zipper on the bag and some noise as he rummaged through the contents. When he returned to the room, he sported his dark blue Windbreaker and the slight bulge that confirmed he had armed himself.

  The reminder chilled some of her earlier joy in exploring the park.

  “Ready?” he asked, zipping up the jacket halfway.

  “I can see you are,” she said as she turned from him and grabbed her purse.

  With a nonchalant shrug, he replied, “Always be prepared.”

  Deanna had a similar motto, but her idea of preparedness didn’t include deadly force. With a nod, she walked out of the room with Bill behind her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back.

  The pressure of it was light, but unmistakable, a constant reminder that he had her welfare in mind. Comforting, and yet she couldn’t shake the worry that his protection was even necessary. That her mother—Miranda—was responsible for this danger also.

  Purging her mind of those troubling thoughts, she tried to recapture the sense of joyous anticipation from moments earlier.

  As they walked out of the hotel and through the pristine gardens, the bright sunny day abated her mood somewhat. Once on the street, they strolled across the
normally busy Paseo de la Reforma. Today the street was closed and the vehicular traffic had been replaced by pedestrians and bicyclists enjoying a Sunday afternoon.

  They entered Chapultepec Park and began their stroll, winding their way through the paths and the many kiosks and stalls lining the trails in the park. Occasionally they stopped to pick up a few things to munch on, candy-covered nuts and some salty pepitas. They ate the nuts and pumpkin seeds as they ambled along the footpaths and Deanna explained about the history of the park, but also something more important.

  “The National Museum of Anthropology is at the other end of the park. It’s where the Aztec Sun Stone is located.”

  “Maybe we’ll have time to scope it out later,” he indicated as they doubled back to the hotel where they grabbed a cab for the short drive to the embassy, which was also nearby on the boulevard.

  The Marine sentries at the door immediately became alert as they approached, clearly recognizing that Bill might be armed and therefore dangerous. Bill raised his hands. “Let me get my ID.”

  He carefully unzipped his jacket and then with one hand, reached in and withdrew his ID wallet. The Marines immediately relaxed their stances and waved them through the doors of the embassy.

  Inside they were quickly shown to the private office of the intelligence attaché with whom Bill had corresponded via secure email. The man rose from his desk as they entered and walked around to greet them.

  “Dr. Vasquez,” he said and offered his hand, an appreciative smile on his face that Bill didn’t much care for. Especially when the attaché covered Deanna’s hand with his own and held it for a little bit longer than Bill thought necessary.

  “Mr. Rubio,” he said, drawing the man’s attention.

  “Of course, Special Agent Santana,” Rubio said, shaking Bill’s hand and then gesturing to the two chairs before his desk.

  Once he was seated behind his desk again, Rubio shifted around some papers before him until he reached a slightly thicker folder. He flipped through the file for a moment before closing it and handing it over to Bill.