The Death Relic

by Chris Kuzneski

  Jones, who rarely shared his feelings with anyone, squirmed in his seat. Normally, he would crack a joke to avoid a serious conversation, but he sensed that simply wouldn’t cut it. He knew he was dealing with someone in a fragile state and the wrong response would only make things worse. So he opted to talk about his past. ‘Not any more. But I used to feel that way all the time.’

  ‘Really? What changed?’

  ‘Just about everything.’

  She looked at him, waiting for details. ‘Like what?’

  He took a deep breath. This was going to get messy. ‘You and me, we come from completely different backgrounds – different countries, different families, different lifestyles – but we ended up in the same place because we let something beat us down. Unlike you, I had all the love and support I could get at home. My parents were great. They worked hard to make sure I had everything I needed, but they always had time for me, whether it was to help me with my homework or to smack my ass with a wooden spoon when I was bad. And let me tell you, I was a handful at times. Even worse than I am now.’

  She smiled when she pictured him as a child.

  ‘For me, problems were non-existent at home. They started the moment I walked out the door and tried to fit in with my classmates. In my hometown, white faces were the norm. In a town of three thousand people, there were less than fifty minorities. Not black people, mind you, minorities. It was so bad that I used to keep track of them in a notebook.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘I’ve always been a numbers guy, so I used to find solace in charts and graphs. At any one time, I could tell you exactly how many blacks, Asians, or Hispanics there were in my town and where they lived. I actually learned about Venn diagrams when the Chang family moved down the street. They were Chinese Jews, which forced me to change my entire system.’

  She laughed despite her confusion. ‘Why did you track minorities?’

  ‘Why? Because I was looking for allies. If the shit ever hit the fan, I wanted to know where I should run to first. I figured the Jacksons were more likely to help me than Billy Bob’s parents. By the way, that’s the name of a real kid. The bastard kicked my ass. Twice.’

  ‘Did that happen a lot?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fights.’

  He shrugged. ‘I was smart, skinny and black. I was a walking kick-me sign.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ she said sympathetically.

  ‘Really? I thought I told you I was black.’

  She smiled. ‘Nope. Never came up.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it came up quite a bit for me. Believe it or not, the physical beatings were easier to handle than the mental ones. Most of the time it wasn’t blatant. I didn’t grow up in the deep south or the 1800s. It’s not like people called me nigger to my face – at least not very often. I’m talking about small things, the things that make a person feel bad about themselves. Snide remarks, backhanded compliments, jokes that went a little too far. My teenage years were pretty rough. I felt like I was alone in the world, and no matter what I did or how hard I tried, I would always be looked down upon by society. I was a person without self-esteem.’

  She nodded in understanding. She felt the same way after years of abuse from her father. Not physical abuse, but mental. Whether it was his comments about her intelligence, his insults about her looks or weight, or his general disregard for women, she learned to hate herself at an early age. Her mother tried to comfort her and tell her everything would be all right, but when she died there was no one left to protect Maria. By then, she’d already been shipped off to boarding school, where she fought long and hard to turn her life around.

  Eventually, she learned to use the hatred she had felt for her father as fuel for revenge. She scratched and clawed and beat all the odds to become a rising star in the field of archaeology. Unfortunately, what should have been her crowning achievement – the discovery of the Catacombs of Orvieto and all of the secrets hidden within – was marred by the death of her father. Instead of having the chance to rub it in his face, she found herself linked to the crimes he had committed before his murder. Crimes against the Vatican itself.

  Even in death, her father made her suffer.

  ‘What did you do to change?’ she asked.

  He glanced at her. ‘Well, I was tired of being an outcast in my hometown, so I joined the one team in the world where they treat everybody the same.’

  ‘Which team is that?’

  ‘The military,’ he said with a smile. ‘Of course, everybody is treated like shit in the military, but that’s a lot better than being the only one who’s treated like shit.’

  ‘Misery loves company.’

  He nodded. ‘Before long, I was getting more respect at the academy than I had in high school – probably because I’d toughened up over the years. Other cadets in my class struggled with the abuse. They weren’t used to the insults or the cruelty. For me, it felt like home. I figured there was only so much they could do to me. They could scream and rant and get in my face, but they weren’t allowed to kick my ass like Billy Bob. If they did, their ass was grass, not mine. That fact alone gave me inner peace. So did my performance at SERE. That’s when I knew I had found my calling.’

  ‘What’s SERE?’ she asked.

  ‘It used to be a training programme at the academy. It stands for Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape. I’m not allowed to talk about the specifics, but let’s just say it was so difficult that the academy was forced to shut it down because it was too damn hard. During my first year, I heard all kinds of horror stories about it from the upperclassmen. They made it sound like a concentration camp, as if only the lucky ones survived. I figured a skinny sucker like myself would be broken within hours, but somehow I thrived. By the end of the programme, I was so damn confident I felt like I could take on the world. Ironically, the thing that was supposed to break me made me stronger. Ever since then, I haven’t looked back.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I’m having trouble with that.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘The past,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t know how to let go of it. That’s something I never learned how to do. Sometimes I let it consume me.’

  He nodded. ‘I know.’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘Of course I know. I’ve known since I met you in Milan. But guess what? That’s not necessarily a bad thing for an archaeologist. You should be worried about the past.’

  She smiled. ‘That’s a very good point.’

  ‘Besides, the past made you into the person you are today, so it can’t be all bad. Now all you have to do is figure out how to use it to your advantage. You need to find a new direction to channel your passion. If you like, I’d be happy to make a suggestion.’

  ‘Is that so?’ she said, laughing. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  He grinned. ‘Let’s go back to the hotel and research the Maya.’

  46

  The Italian Consulate was less than five miles from the Fiesta Americana hotel. Payne, who had driven the lead vehicle on their journey back to Cancún, circled the block twice before giving Jones permission to pull down the street behind him. Unlike the Italian Embassy in Mexico City, which was housed in a stone building that resembled a fortress, the local consulate was contained in a small suite that looked like a condo.

  No sentries. Or guard dogs. Or snipers on the roof.

  Just a plaque by the door and a flag inside.

  In a past life, it could have been a dentist’s office.

  A small man, wearing a sports coat and dress pants, sat on the front stoop. His hair was grey and his smile was wide. Designer sunglasses covered his eyes. He had been on his way to a cocktail party at a local hotel when he had received an urgent call from his boss. An Italian VIP had lost her passport and needed a replacement. He was ordered to report to the consulate at once. Normally, he would have argued with his boss. He would have said that he was too busy and had other plans. But all of that changed when the boss men
tioned the VIP’s name.

  It was Maria Pelati.

  Daughter of Benito Pelati.

  Suddenly, he was more than happy to help.

  Giuseppe leapt to his feet when the two vehicles stopped in front of the consulate. He spotted Maria in the passenger seat of the SUV and rushed to open her door. But Payne was a little too fast. He hustled from the H2 and intercepted Giuseppe before he reached the sidewalk.

  Payne ordered him to stop. ‘Whoa! Slow down! What’s the hurry?’

  Giuseppe took off his sunglasses and stared at the mountain of a man. ‘I am sorry. My name is Giuseppe Amato. I am here to assist Miss Pelati.’

  Payne corrected him. ‘Actually, I’m here to assist her.’

  ‘Yes, of course. My apologies.’

  Payne tried not to smile. He could tell the guy wasn’t a threat. He simply wanted to make a point. ‘Let me see your identification.’

  Giuseppe slowly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his ID. It identified him as an employee of the consulate. ‘I was phoned by my boss, who was phoned by his boss, who was phoned by Petr Ulster. I am to help her with her passport.’

  Payne stared at him. ‘I think you’re missing one or two bosses in there.’

  Giuseppe shrugged. ‘That is entirely possible.’

  ‘And why were you waiting outside?’

  ‘I am anxious to meet Miss Pelati. There is so much I would like to ask her.’

  ‘Really? About what?’

  ‘Her father!’ Giuseppe exclaimed. ‘Where I come from, Benito Pelati is considered a hero. He did so much to preserve the history of my homeland, so much to preserve our culture. I remember hearing him speak at a function in Venice. He had such passion, such fire. It was like watching an emperor at the Colosseum. We gave him a standing ovation!’

  Payne was quite familiar with Benito Pelati and his stellar reputation. As Italy’s Minister of Antiquities, Benito had accomplished many wonderful feats during his decades of service. He had spent years preaching to the masses about the importance of history, fighting to protect the treasures of Ancient Rome. After a while, his name became synonymous with the effort, and was known by young and old alike. To many, he was viewed as a saviour. But like many politicians, the private man was quite different to his public persona. Having dealt with him first hand, Payne knew Benito to be a cruel, power-hungry bastard. Nearly everything he had done had been for his own personal gain rather than for the welfare of his Church or country.

  Naturally, none of this came out at the time of his death. The Vatican – familiar with the effects of a scandal – felt some things were best kept secret. The Parliament quickly agreed and sealed his records. It made for an interesting dichotomy. While the media praised Benito’s achievements, cardinals and senators secretly celebrated his demise. Millions held vigils and wept in the streets while his peers rejoiced in private. Meanwhile, Maria had done everything she could to avoid the spotlight. Her surviving brother, Dante, had handled the press while she slipped out of the country unnoticed. She spent the days following Benito’s death in seclusion at the Ulster Archives before heading back to England to finish her education.

  In many ways, she had been running ever since.

  ‘Listen,’ Payne said to Giuseppe in a decisive tone, ‘I can understand your curiosity. I really can. I know how much Benito meant to Italy, and I can tell that you’re genuinely excited to talk about his exploits. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to insist that you don’t mention his name. The topic is far too painful for her to discuss.’

  Giuseppe lowered his head in shame. ‘Yes, of course, how selfish of me. I mourned the loss of a patriot. She mourned the loss of her father. Her grief must be unbearable.’

  Payne nodded but said nothing.

  ‘Tell me,’ Giuseppe whispered, ‘what can I talk about?’

  Payne wanted to say, it beats the hell out of me, but he caught himself before it slipped out. Instead, he decided to focus on something positive. Something that might help them in the long run. ‘How long have you lived here?’

  ‘Almost four years.’

  ‘And you’re a fan of history?’

  ‘Yes, very much so. Benito taught—’ He quickly covered his mouth, as if he had just cursed in front of a nun. ‘I mean, I learned to appreciate history back in Italy. I have been to all of the local sites and museums.’

  ‘Then talk about that. She loves local history.’

  Giuseppe nodded. ‘Then that’s what I will do. Thank you very much.’

  By this time, Jones was standing next to Maria’s door, waiting for the all-clear signal. He sensed that Giuseppe posed no threat but he wanted to put him through his paces for Maria’s benefit. Not to impress her, but to ensure she felt threatened. Sometimes fear was necessary to gain control. The sooner she started to view herself as a potential target, the sooner she would start following orders. At least that was the goal. In the long run, her compliance would benefit everyone.

  Payne signalled to Jones, who helped her out of the SUV. After a brief introduction, the four of them headed inside the consulate, where Maria and Giuseppe started her paperwork. Meanwhile, Payne asked if he could use the fax machine to send the Mercado document to Petr Ulster, who wanted to read it on his flight to Mexico. Giuseppe showed him where it was and how to use it – the buttons were labelled in Italian – then returned to Maria.

  Jones watched with amusement. ‘I’ve never seen you do this before. Normally you make your secretary do everything.’

  Payne scoffed at the notion. ‘My secretary doesn’t do office work, and you know it. I hired her for her tits.’

  Most people would have viewed his comment as sexist, but Jones knew the truth about his secretary. She was an eighty-two-year-old firecracker, who’d started working for Payne Industries long before Payne was even born. That included thirty years as his grandfather’s secretary. Not as his assistant, but as his secretary. Even though she knew more about the company than Payne, she still insisted on being called a secretary, because that was her job title when she was originally hired and she didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. Known for her foul mouth and quick wit, she had a saltier sense of humour than most comedians.

  Jones laughed loudly. ‘I’m going to tell her you said that.’

  Payne smiled. ‘I hope you do. I like to keep her sharp.’

  Jones watched intently as Payne fed the document through the machine. Several seconds passed before a confirmation notice appeared on the screen. As soon as it did, Payne deleted the document from the system’s memory and erased the number he had sent it to. No sense in taking any chances.

  ‘So,’ Payne said, ‘did you need something? You’re kind of creeping me out.’

  ‘Actually, I wanted to thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For what you said to Giuseppe. I had a long talk with Maria about her issues on the way here. The last thing she needed was to answer a bunch of questions about Benito.’

  ‘I didn’t do it for her. I did it for me. I’m sick of her yapping.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, you didn’t. You did it for her. And I appreciate it.’

  Payne stared at him. ‘You’ve been thanking me a lot on this trip. I didn’t think we did that. You know, the whole “thank you” thing. Are you dying or something?’

  ‘Nope, not dying. Just trying to keep the peace.’

  ‘No, you’re trying to get a piece. Big difference.’

  Jones laughed. ‘Either way, I appreciate it.’

  Payne smiled and pointed at Jones’s crotch. ‘You’re welcome.’

  47

  Maria finished the paperwork for her new passport in less than twenty minutes. She thanked Giuseppe for his time before Payne and Jones asked him for a huge favour. They were looking for a place to store Hamilton’s Hummer and its delicate cargo, and asked if the consulate had a warehouse they could use. As luck would have it, the consulate included a private garage attached to the back of
the building. Not only would it keep the vehicle off the street, the garage was technically Italian soil, which meant they didn’t have to worry about Mexican authorities catching them with Mayan artefacts or a crate full of rifles and explosives.

  Payne drove the vehicle around the back, parked it in Giuseppe’s personal spot, then grabbed everything they needed for a night at the Fiesta Americana. Maria still wasn’t thrilled about putting herself in danger in order to flush out the men who had trashed her room, but Payne and Jones were so confident of their decision that she decided to go along without complaint.

  Jones, who had started his day in Pittsburgh, showered as soon as they reached the suite. When he emerged, he felt like a brand-new person. Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, he raided the minibar for caffeine and candy, even though they still had plenty of snacks left over from lunch. He had spent the whole day looking for Terrence Hamilton. He figured the least Hamilton could do was buy him a Coke and some Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

  That’s if the guy was still alive.

  Meanwhile, Payne took his turn in the guest bathroom. As a hotel aficionado, he paid close attention to the small details in the suite: the marble floor, the jetted tubs, the Italian towels and bathrobes. All the little things that made a guest feel like royalty. Some people were surprised that he cared about such comforts, especially those who knew about his military career. But he told them it was because of his military career that he cared about such things. After years of sleeping in the desert and the jungle, he vowed to see the world from a different perspective on his next go round. It was one of the few guilty pleasures he had.

  Like many people, Payne did some of his best thinking in the shower. It was his time to block out the world. Time he could spend alone with his thoughts. He ran through the last twenty-four hours in his mind, searching for irregularities. Years of experience had taught him the value of this. Little was gained by focusing on the norm. It was the anomalies – the things that went against the grain – that tended to define a situation.