The Death Relic

by Chris Kuzneski

  Maria laughed at the absurdity of the situation. All this time, she had thought Ernesto was hitting on her. Instead, he was simply playing matchmaker for Ernesto, Jr. ‘You’re right. Your son is very handsome. But I need more than good looks. Is he smart, too?’

  Ernesto groaned. ‘Not really, but he is strong like bull. When he takes off shirt, all the girls swoon. He spends lots of time at the beach.’

  ‘As tempting as he sounds, I’m looking for someone with intelligence.’

  ‘Really?’ He quickly pulled out a second photo, this one of a young woman with a flower in her hair. ‘My daughter is very pretty and very smart. Maybe you like her more?’

  Maria laughed louder. This was getting more absurd by the minute. ‘Sorry, that won’t work for me, either. Besides, I’m going back to Europe in a few days. No time for romance.’

  Ernesto shrugged and tucked the photos back into his pocket. ‘Oh well, a father must try.’

  A bittersweet smile crossed Maria’s lips. ‘You’re right. A father should try to help his kids. You’re a good man, Ernesto. Your children are lucky to have someone like you.’

  He thanked her for the compliment, then grabbed the handle of her carry-on. ‘We’d better get moving. We still have to deal with your baggage.’

  She smiled at the irony of his statement. ‘Don’t I know it.’

  3

  The Fiesta Americana Grand Coral Beach is a luxury resort on the north end of Cancún’s hotel district. With sweeping views of Isla Mujeres and the Caribbean Sea, it’s annually recognized as one of the best hotels in Latin America.

  From the backseat of Ernesto’s car, Maria stared in awe at the white beaches and turquoise waters that line Boulevard Kukulcan, a causeway that juts away from the peninsula into the Caribbean. During her flight, she had assumed the colour of the water was an optical illusion because she had never seen that shade of blue in a natural setting. But now that she was on the ground, she knew that wasn’t the case. The water was that colour, and it was calling to her. Suddenly, the thought of shopping lost its appeal. All she wanted to do was go to the beach and soak in the surf while her troubles drifted away.

  Ernesto studied her reaction in the rear-view mirror. ‘I can tell from your silence, this is your first time in Cancún.’

  She nodded but refused to take her eyes off the beach. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘You are – how you say? – hypnotized by beauty. I see it all the time when guests come from far away. They talk, talk, talk like parrots, until they see the water. Then they no speak until we get to hotel.’ He laughed at the behaviour. ‘This colour is new to you, no?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘This entire road was built on top of the second largest coral reef in the world. It stretches from Cancún all the way to Belize.’

  ‘How far is that?’

  ‘Over two hundred and fifty miles. Up here in Cancún, the water is very shallow – no more than a few feet deep near shore. That is why the colour is so blue. The sun shines on ocean floor.’

  ‘Whatever the reason, it’s beautiful.’

  His chest puffed with pride. ‘Mexico is very different than most people think. Mexico is land of beauty, not violence. It is not like cowboy movie of Wild West.’ He paused, then corrected himself. ‘Actually, I take that back. Central Mexico is still like movie of Wild West. It is so bad even I, Ernesto Fernando Rodriguez, will not go there without a tank. But this part of Mexico – the Mayan Riviera – is very safe for tourists.’

  ‘That’s good to know.’

  ‘You stay by hotel, you will be safe. I promise.’

  Palm trees and tropical flowers lined the stone driveway that led them to the entrance of the Fiesta Americana, a massive resort that stretched for more than a city block and dwarfed every structure in the vicinity. Consisting of two twelve-storey buildings that were connected by a central lobby and atrium, the outside of the hotel had been painted terracotta, an earthy brown colour that contrasted sharply with the blue sky above and the turquoise waters of the sea.

  ‘Are you in a hurry?’ Ernesto asked.

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Not really. Why?’

  ‘I would like to introduce you to the staff. They will make your stay very pleasant.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘Keep in mind, I don’t do this for everyone, only special guests.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I qualify as special, but—’

  ‘Of course you are special! You will marry my son.’

  Before she could argue, he stopped the car underneath the covered entryway and honked his horn several times. Long, pronounced beeps that echoed throughout the resort. Within seconds, porters and valets arrived en masse, surrounding his car like a pack of wolves. But they weren’t there for tips. They were there to watch the show.

  Grinning like a child, Ernesto hopped out of the driver’s seat and was greeted by a boisterous cheer. He milked the moment for as long as he could, blowing kisses to the crowd and speaking to everyone in rapid Spanish. Maria, who was fluent in the language, wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, and then it happened. A mariachi band appeared out of nowhere. Five musicians, all dressed in silver-studded charro outfits, with wide-brimmed hats, and all ready to perform. The trumpet started first, followed by the guitar, two violins and the Mexican guitarrón. As they played, Ernesto snapped his fingers to the beat and danced his way to Maria’s side of the car, while everyone clapped their hands and sang the song in unison. It was like a scene from a movie.

  Maria soaked it all up – the laughter, the teasing, the camaraderie – and tried to remember the last time she’d had this much fun with a group of her friends. Had it been months? Or years? She honestly couldn’t remember. Then again, she didn’t have many friends. A couple from school and a few from work, but none who lived in Italy. And when it came to dating, she put the ‘nun’ in none because she hadn’t slept with a man in a very long time.

  The thought was depressing, yet hardly surprising.

  She knew her priorities were out of whack.

  Over the past decade, the only thing she had cared about was work, and that single-mindedness had taken its toll on her personal life. So much so, she didn’t have one. Ultimately, that was the main reason she’d jumped at the chance to come to Cancún on a working vacation. She’d figured it might shake things up in her life. Might lead her on to a new way of living, where having fun was just as important as having a career.

  And if that didn’t happen, at least she could work on her tan.

  Grinning from ear to ear, Ernesto opened her door with a flourish. He extended his hand and helped her out of the car. ‘Welcome to the Fiesta Americana, your home away from home in beautiful Cancún, Mexico. As you know, I am Ernesto, and these are my friends!’

  He turned and faced the crowd. ‘Amigos, this is Maria.’

  They shouted in unison. ‘Hola, Maria!’

  ‘Hola!’ she shouted back, energized by the scene.

  ‘Maria will be staying here through the weekend,’ he explained in Spanish. ‘If you see her, I want you to give her extra-special treatment. She might marry my son!’

  Maria gasped. ‘Wait! What?’

  Over the next few minutes, she tried to set the record straight, but to no avail. The staff was too festive and the music too loud to dispute Ernesto’s claim. After a while, she stopped arguing her case and started having fun instead. Before long, she was dancing with Ernesto and his friends in the middle of the driveway, her troubles a distant memory.

  To her, this trip couldn’t have come at a better time.

  A week without stress was exactly what she needed.

  Sitting in a nearby van, they watched the scene unfold in front of the hotel. They had been following Maria since the airport and would continue to watch her until she left Mexico.

  That is, if they let her leave Mexico.

  After all, she was the key to everything.


  4

  Ambridge, Pennsylvania

  (16 miles northwest of Pittsburgh)

  Dressed in black, the men looked like shadows as they crept through the forgotten tunnel system underneath the city of Ambridge.

  Built more than a century ago, the tunnels had been part of the local sewer system until World War I, when the property was sold to a wealthy industrialist who cleared the land and built a large manufacturing complex on the north shore of the Ohio River. According to the purchase agreement, the industrialist had vowed to fill in the old tunnels at his expense and build new sewer lines that would meet government standards. But when it came to it, he decided it was a waste of money. Instead of filling in the tunnels like he’d promised, he sealed both ends and lied about it to the city inspectors.

  Decades later, when Payne Industries acquired the property, the former owner failed to mention that the tunnels had never been filled in. So they sat there, dormant, until they were recently discovered by a demolition crew tasked with clearing the old steel mill and blast furnace to make way for a new manufacturing centre that would house the Research and Development division of Payne Industries.

  This type of demolition was fairly common in Pittsburgh. In recent years the city had undergone an amazing metamorphosis, one that had transformed it from an urban nightmare into one of the most scenic cities in America. First, the steel industry relocated, leaving plenty of land for new parks and businesses. Then Pittsburgh’s three rivers – the Allegheny, the Monongahela, and the Ohio – were dredged, making them suitable for recreational use and riverfront entertainment. Buildings received facelifts. Bridges received paint jobs. And the air was suddenly clean. Long gone were the days when the city had to turn on its streetlights in the middle of the afternoon so people could see through the smog. The city’s transformation was so complete that Rand McNally, Forbes and The Economist all recently named Pittsburgh as America’s Most Livable City.

  But below the surface it was a different story.

  More than 20 feet under ground, the tunnels resembled old Pittsburgh – a dark, desolate place that smelled like a sewer, or something worse.

  ‘This place is awesome,’ whispered David Jones without a hint of sarcasm. Using next-generation night-vision glasses that resembled swimming goggles, he stared at the century-old architecture, marvelling at the intricate pattern of the bricks. The diameter of the tunnel was nearly 7 feet wide, and it seemed to go on forever. ‘Too bad you’re tearing it down.’

  Annoyed by the comment, Jonathon Payne glanced over his shoulder. ‘I never said I was tearing it down. This is a piece of history. They don’t make tunnels like this any more. If it’s structurally sound, I want to keep it.’

  Jones stared at the ankle-deep water on the tunnel floor. It was littered with bricks and mortar that had fallen from the roof, caused by leakage and decades of neglect. In his mind, there was no way in hell it was going to pass inspection. ‘Like I said, too bad you’re tearing it down.’

  Payne ignored his best friend and continued forward.

  To the outside world, the two of them didn’t appear to have much in common, but that had more to do with their looks than anything else. Payne, the CEO of Payne Industries, was a hulking 6 foot 4, muscles stacked upon muscles, his white skin littered with scars from bullets and blades. He had the look of an ex-athlete who had lived his life to the full, but was forced to retire too soon. Raised by his paternal grandfather, a self-made millionaire who went from mill worker to mill owner in less than thirty years, Payne had shunned the family business for a career in the military. But when his grandfather passed away and left him a controlling interest in Payne Industries, he felt obliged to return home and run the company.

  Unfortunately, he’d been craving his old life ever since.

  Jones, too, was an adrenaline junkie, but he looked more like an office clerk than an officer. Known for his brain rather than his brawn, he possessed the wiry build of a track star, someone who could run a marathon without breaking a sweat but wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. Although his mocha skin and soft facial features made him look delicate, Jones was lethal on the battlefield, having completed the same military training as Payne.

  The two of them used to lead the MANIACs, an elite Special Forces unit composed of top soldiers from the Marines, Army, Navy, Intelligence, Air Force and Coast Guard. They were specialists in every aspect of surveillance, reconnaissance and combat. Classified above top secret, the MANIACs were essentially ghosts. And when it came to military operations that were strictly ‘off the record’, the MANIACs were the best of the best.

  Even though Payne and Jones had retired in their mid-thirties, they were still deadly. At the Pentagon’s request, the duo was still actively involved with the Special Forces programme. Officially, they were nothing more than advisors – trusted experts who gave their opinions on training, weapons and tactics – but over the past few years they’d been placed in the field on more than one occasion.

  And they had loved every minute.

  To stay sharp, the duo conducted field exercises on a regular basis. Sometimes to knock off their rust, and other times to test young trainees in advanced warfare. On this particular night, they were trying out a new piece of technology that had been developed by Payne Industries. Known as the ‘puke light’, the LED incapacitator is a nonlethal weapon that resembles a flashlight. The original device, which was designed by Intelligent Optical Systems (IOS), emits a bright, rapid, well-focused series of different-coloured, random pulses. Before the human eyes can focus on one frequency, another frequency comes on, causing intracranial pressure. This results in cluster headaches, nausea, vomiting, disorientation and visual impairment of the target. At least, that was the intended effect. Unfortunately, some test subjects were completely unaffected by the light, which meant the design needed to be tweaked before it could be trusted.

  Based on years of combat experience, Payne and Jones recommended the addition of an auditory element to the device, something loud enough to disturb the fluid in the inner ear of their target without compromising their own equilibrium. They felt the combination of light and sound would produce the desired effect, leaving their opponent as defenceless as the victim of a stun grenade.

  Of course, the only way to know for sure was to test it out. To that end, Payne contacted the Army ROTC commander at the University of Pittsburgh, an old friend named Gregg Peterson, and requested the five best cadets from the Three Rivers Battalion. Young, athletic men with lots of potential. Then he armed them with paintball guns and flashlights and dumped them at the other end of the tunnel system. Their lone goal was to shoot the unarmed Payne and Jones before the duo could disarm them. If the cadets succeeded, Payne Industries would pay their tuition for the entire semester. If they failed, they would still be helping their country by testing a military prototype that would soon be used in close combat.

  Not that they thought they’d fail.

  The cadets were so confident they’d wipe out Payne and Jones that they were already planning a victory celebration back on campus. After all, how could two old guys take them out?

  They would find out soon enough.

  Thanks to his hi-tech goggles, Payne saw the cadets long before he was in range of their flashlights or guns. Hustling to his left, he ducked behind a drainage pipe that smelled like old diapers. Meanwhile, Jones darted to his right, positioning himself next to a support beam that was ravaged with rust. In a narrow tunnel, both men knew they would be easy targets if the LED incapacitator didn’t work, yet they weren’t the least bit worried about failure. As Jones waited in the darkness, he had to stifle a yawn.

  ‘So,’ he whispered to Payne, ‘where do you want to eat? How about that new place at Station Square?’

  ‘Be quiet! They’re coming.’

  ‘I know they’re coming. That means this will be over soon and we can get something to eat. Don’t ask me why, but I’m craving Chinese.’

  ‘Don’t mess with me
, Jonesy. This is important.’

  Jones winced at the nickname. It was one he couldn’t stand. ‘Why did you call me that?’

  ‘You know how I feel about talking.’

  ‘You hate it during a mission.’

  ‘That’s right, Jonesy.’

  Jones growled in the darkness. ‘Fine! I’ll shut up. But once we’re done here, we’re getting Chinese – and you’re paying for it!’

  Payne grinned in victory. He had already promised to buy dinner in exchange for Jones’s time and expertise, so the agreement didn’t cost him anything extra. Furthermore, the deal assured his friend’s full cooperation for the next few minutes. Not that he was actually concerned. Jones had a history of goofing around until the last possible second, but Payne knew that when it was time for business, Jones would flip a mental switch and kick some serious ass.

  And that time was now.

  Shaped like a flashlight with an oversized head, the LED incapacitator had a maximum range of thirty feet. Positioned on both sides of the tunnel, Payne and Jones waited in the darkness until all of the cadets were within striking distance, then the duo turned on their devices. What happened next was like something out of a science fiction movie. A rapid burst of bright, flashing lights blinded the cadets with a series of coloured pulses, while a high-pitched squeal filled the tunnel with a torturous sound that didn’t bother Payne or Jones because they were behind it. The five targets instantly dropped their rifles and fell to their knees as they tried to cover their eyes and ears at the same time. When that didn’t work, things got progressively worse.

  The second cadet was the first one to get sick. It started with nausea, then quickly turned to projectile vomiting that coated the back of the lead cadet. After that, it looked like a frat party gone wrong. One college student after another, puking up whatever they’d eaten in the past six hours: spaghetti, Doritos and little bits of burger. Payne felt so bad for them that he turned off his device after only ten seconds of use and told Jones to do the same.