The Death Relic

by Chris Kuzneski

  He stared at her. For some reason there was bitterness in her voice, as if working for the CIA was the ultimate betrayal. ‘I don’t work for them, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘But you’re involved with them? Since when?’

  ‘Since they saved my life at the hotel,’ he explained. ‘I went to my truck to get the document I had told you about. As soon as I left the lobby, I was greeted by Miss Duffy and a few of her colleagues. They told me my life was in danger, and I needed to come with them immediately if I wanted to live. I asked about your safety, but they assured me you would be fine. They said people were after me, not you. They said the less interaction I had with you the better. They also told me a handler would be assigned to you for your protection. So I took them at their word and left the hotel without delay.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Yes. Just like that.’

  She studied his face. He appeared to be telling the truth. ‘Why didn’t you call me? The least you should have done was call me. I was worried sick.’

  ‘I wanted to – I truly did – but they told me the more contact we had, the more dangerous it would be for you. Besides, they assured me that your handler would explain everything.’ Hamilton called out to Tiffany, who was walking a few steps in front of Payne. ‘You promised someone would tell her!’

  Tiffany looked over her shoulder. ‘Oops.’

  Maria shook her head in irritation. She’d had some previous dealings with the CIA, none of them good. From her limited experience, it was an organization filled with liars. ‘Then what?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hamilton asked.

  ‘That was Friday evening. What have you been doing since?’

  ‘Hiding in a tent. Waiting for the threat to be eliminated.’

  ‘Eliminated? As in killed?’

  He shrugged. ‘I asked, but they wouldn’t say.’

  ‘What in the world are you mixed up in?’

  ‘Me? I was about to ask you the exact same thing.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, we’re currently being led through a jungle by two armed men who appear to be friends of yours. I don’t mind answering a question or two about my weekend, but I’d appreciate it if you could return the favour.’

  Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. For the last few minutes she’d been focused on her situation. Meanwhile Hamilton had no idea why a gun was pointed at his back. ‘I am so sorry! I should have explained that a while ago. You must be terrified.’

  ‘I don’t know about terrified, but certainly uncomfortable.’

  ‘After you disappeared, someone trashed my room,’ Maria explained. ‘I was worried for my safety, so I called two friends of mine in America. They were kind enough to come at once.’

  He glanced at her. ‘Your room was trashed? When did that happen?’

  ‘While we were at the bistro. Why?’

  He paused in thought. ‘It just … well, it doesn’t make sense. Why would they do that?’

  She shrugged. ‘We have no idea. That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out for the past two days.’

  ‘And what did you find?’

  ‘A whole lot of nothing.’

  Hamilton turned towards Ulster, who’d been quietly listening to their entire conversation. ‘What about you? What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m tremendously close to David and Jonathon – they’re the two armed men who are holding you hostage. Please don’t hold that against them. They’re actually wonderful chaps.’

  Jones called from behind. ‘Thanks, Petr. Love you, too.’

  Ulster grinned. ‘I’m also an old acquaintance of Maria’s. I’ve known her since her graduate school days, back when she was still an archaeologist-in-training. Actually, I met the three of them on the exact same morning. Funny story: they stole a helicopter in Milan and flew to the Archives unannounced. Just popped in for a friendly introduction and—’

  Payne loudly cleared his throat.

  Ulster got the hint. ‘Anyway, Jonathon phoned me for some background information on the Maya civilization. When I questioned him about specifics, he mentioned your disappearance. Obviously, I wanted to do whatever I could to help, so I hopped on my plane and came at once.’

  ‘Well, thank you,’ Hamilton said. ‘Thanks to all of you. I’m still not a hundred per cent sure how you’re going to help, but thank you nonetheless.’

  58

  Angel Ramirez did two things after he survived the smoke-filled battleground of the Zócalo. He sought medical attention for himself and the kids, and he seized control of Hector’s operation before anyone else in the city could take advantage. But not necessarily in that order.

  His first order of business was putting out a sizable reward for Hector’s killers. He managed to do so without revealing that Hector was dead. He simply said they were thieves who needed to be punished and left it at that. People would find out about Hector’s death soon enough.

  Although he’d seen glimpses of Bro and Chase while he was underneath the SUV, Angel had seen Tiffany the clearest. He had a perfect view of her face and her bright red hair. It was unmistakable in the haze. Despite his anger – or maybe because of it – the image was seared into his brain. He described her in great detail to a street artist, who sketched her over and over until the picture matched Angel’s memory. Afterwards, he took a picture of the sketch and sent it to everyone who worked for, or was connected to, his organization.

  In his message, he called her El Diablo Rojo.

  The Red Devil.

  Unlike the olden days when information took forever to filter across a country, her photo appeared on mobile-phone screens throughout Mexico within minutes. As expected, a feeding frenzy erupted from the Pacific Ocean to the Caribbean Sea. Hungry for money and the promise of advancement, low-level players rushed to the airports, train stations and border towns, hoping to spot Diablo Rojo before she slipped away. But it didn’t stop there. Because of Tiffany’s interest in the medallion, Angel sent out word to the ‘talent’ scouts who worked the archaeological sites – men who searched for potential targets amongst the busloads of tourists who visited the jungle every day – and told them to be on the lookout for collectors. Angel figured if she cared that much about an artefact, she might surface in one of the areas around the sites, possibly hoping to sell the Aztec medallion to the highest bidder.

  Though he hoped for the best, Angel realized the odds of catching her in the immediate future were pretty damn slim. Not because his men weren’t motivated, but because her crew was bound to have an escape plan that was just as good as their plan of attack. And it had been precise, one that anticipated every move that he and Hector had made. Over the years, Angel had been involved in hundreds of kidnappings and had worked with dozens of men, many of whom were ex-military, but the expertise of her crew was on a completely different level.

  There was no doubt they had worked in black ops.

  Nevertheless, within twelve hours of sending out his personal all-points bulletin, his organization was flooded with potential leads. Phone calls, emails and texts came from nearly every state in Mexico and several border countries as well. Of course, most of the leads were fruitless. To earn the reward, Angel required photographic evidence of Diablo Rojo. This resulted in more false sightings than Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster combined. Pictures poured in at such an incredible rate, Angel was afraid his Internet connection would crash. He sat there in his office, with one arm in a sling, clicking on picture after picture after picture.

  A few of the women did resemble his target. One photo was close enough that he called its sender and asked for a few close-ups in better lighting. Unfortunately, when the next batch arrived, it was obvious that the woman was far too old to be the redhead he was looking for. Despite the temporary excitement of that lead, most of the pictures were so far off the mark that Angel started to doubt the collective intellige
nce of his operatives. No less than five pictures were of men, not women. A sixth candidate was so gender-neutral he couldn’t tell what sex it was. Not that it really mattered, since it was abundantly clear that ‘it’ wasn’t his target. After a while it became apparent that most people were taking photos of redheads with the same mindset as a worker buying a lottery ticket. They figured, you can’t win if you don’t play. So they took pictures of everyone and sent them in.

  Angel continued his hunt late into the night. He eventually passed out in his office chair, thanks to a combination of painkillers and exhaustion. Remarkably, he was back at it with the rising sun, awakened by the memory of his fallen friend and his desire for retribution.

  Less than an hour into his morning search, he came across a photograph from a small village in the Yucatán. It wasn’t a fuzzy mobile-phone picture, like so many he had seen in the previous hours, but a series of clear shots of a redhead, taken with a telephoto lens. He recognized her face instantly, like a mother identifying her young. There was no doubt or indecision. He knew it was the woman who had killed his friend. Somehow she had been spotted a time zone away and tracked to a tiny camp ground near the ruins of Chichén Itzá.

  Within seconds, he was on the phone.

  Within minutes, he was rounding up troops.

  Within hours, he was flying across Mexico to get revenge.

  He didn’t care who or what got in his way. The bitch needed to die.

  Led by Payne, who kept a close eye on Tiffany, the group left the jungle path and marched through two zones (the Central Group and the Ossario Group) in the site as if they were on a field trip with guns. Payne and Jones did their best to conceal their weapons, but there was only so much they could do with so many witnesses around. Fortunately, most people were paying attention to the Mayan ruins, not the six foreigners who were about to be attacked.

  They had just re-entered the Great North Platform when Tiffany spotted a man near the entrance who resembled Angel Ramirez. At first, she assumed her mind was playing tricks on her. She was in Chichén Itzá, nearly a thousand miles away from Mexico City. There was no way in hell he could have found her that quickly. Besides, didn’t Angel die at Zócalo? She was pretty damn sure that Church had killed him at the beginning of the shootout. Or did he? Before she had a chance to ask Church, he had been shot himself. In the aftermath, she had assumed that Angel had been killed, either from a bullet to the head or the bomb in the SUV. Now she wasn’t so sure. From a distance, the guy looked like Angel. Same face. Same build. Same mannerisms. And his arm was in an elaborate sling. Not the kind someone would wear for a simple sprain, but the kind someone would wear if he had been shot and lived.

  ‘Oh shit,’ she mumbled to herself. ‘It can’t be.’

  Payne heard her comment. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Can we stop and talk?’

  ‘Of course we can. Would you like some tea?’

  ‘I’m serious,’ she pleaded.

  ‘I’m not. Keep moving.’

  She stopped anyway. ‘Listen, I know you’re not going to believe a word I say—’

  He pushed her forward. ‘Exactly. So why even try?’

  ‘Because we’re walking into a trap.’

  ‘Speaking of traps,’ he said, ‘shut your trap and keep walking.’

  ‘Listen,’ she said urgently as she hid behind him. ‘If I wanted to make a scene, I could do it with ease. All I have to do is start running. Trust me, I’ll scream so loud they’ll hear me in Florida. I know it and you know it. The only reason I’m playing along is because you’re doing everything that we anticipated. Do you really think I would have used Hamilton’s credit card at the petrol station if we didn’t want you here? I stared into the camera on purpose, you know.’

  Payne had figured as much. ‘Go on.’

  ‘See that man in the sling?’

  He looked towards the entrance. ‘Yep.’

  ‘We tried to kill him yesterday. Apparently, it didn’t work. My guess is he won’t be happy about the attempt.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘His name is Angel Ramirez. He’s a dangerous man with a lot of dangerous friends.’

  ‘How dangerous?’

  ‘Let’s just say there’s a reason we left you a boxful of weapons in the Hummer. We didn’t want you to be unprepared in case he slipped past us.’

  ‘Which he did.’

  She shrugged. ‘We’re not perfect.’

  ‘What do you expect me to do about it?’

  ‘That depends. Did you bring the AKs?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘The C-4?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Shit.’

  Jones moved in from the rear. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Payne answered. ‘According to Tiffany, we’re about to be attacked.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘The guy in the sling.’

  Jones looked ahead. ‘No problem. I’ll just shoot him in the other arm.’

  ‘He might have friends.’

  ‘How many?’

  Tiffany answered. ‘More than us.’

  Jones grimaced. ‘I don’t know. I’m on Facebook. I have a lot of friends.’

  She shook her head. ‘Unless they have guns, I don’t think they can help.’

  ‘They might. Do I have time to tweet?’

  Payne ignored him. ‘Does Angel know who we are?’

  ‘Yes,’ she lied.

  ‘All of us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So hiding won’t help?’

  Worried about her safety, she continued to lie. ‘For the short term, maybe. But not for the long term. These are the type of guys who will follow you home. America, Italy, Switzerland – it really doesn’t matter. They won’t stop until we’re dead.’

  Payne stared at her, trying to gauge the truth. Unfortunately, she was a trained CIA agent – someone who lied for a living. There was no way he could detect a lie with any certainty. ‘What do you recommend?’

  ‘That depends. Are you as good as they say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then we can take them.’

  Jones interrupted. ‘What’s this “we” shit? We’re not giving you a gun.’

  ‘Of course you will, if you want to live. You’re severely outnumbered.’

  Jones shook his head. ‘Right now I count one guy in a sling. He may or may not be a bad guy, who may or may not be looking for us. How are we outnumbered?’

  ‘I’m telling you,’ she assured them, ‘guys like this don’t come alone.’

  Payne continued to stare at her, searching her eyes for any signs of truth. He simply couldn’t tell if she was lying or not. ‘Petr, come here.’

  Ulster hustled over. ‘You rang?’

  ‘How well do you know this place?’

  ‘Quite well. Why do you ask?’

  He continued to stare at Tiffany. ‘Where’s a good place to hide?’

  ‘From what?’

  ‘Possible gunmen.’

  Ulster gasped. ‘The jungle, I would think.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t want you leaving this site.’

  ‘Well, in that case, I would say—’

  Payne cut him off. ‘Whisper your answer to DJ. I don’t want the others to hear.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Just do it.’

  Ulster did as he was told. He whispered the answer to Jones.

  ‘DJ, you got it?’

  Jones nodded. ‘I got it.’

  ‘Good.’ Payne pulled out Tiffany’s gun. He handed it to Ulster, who was tempted to object, but the look in Payne’s eye kept him in line. ‘I want you to take Maria to that hiding place. Stay there until one of us comes and gets you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If anyone else comes, shoot them in the face.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘But, what?’

  ‘What about Terrence?’

  Payne shook his head. ‘Sorry. Don’t trust him. He’s i
nvolved in this, but I don’t know how. Until I do, he’s on his own.’

  Maria objected. ‘That’s not fair! Why do you get to decide everything?’

  ‘Because you called me. The moment you did, you put me in charge of your safety. So that’s what I’m doing. Trying to keep you safe.’

  She started to argue. ‘But he’s—’

  Hamilton cut her off. ‘He’s right, Maria. He’s right. I haven’t earned anyone’s trust. Go with Petr. He’ll keep you safe. I’ll be fine with Tiffany.’

  Maria glanced at Jones for support, but he was on Payne’s side.

  ‘Go,’ Jones said. ‘I’ll come get you when this is over.’

  She took a deep breath and nodded. ‘You’d better.’

  59

  Payne found himself in a predicament. He didn’t trust Tiffany, but he believed her story about the man in the sling. Angel Ramirez was there to kill her. She had just enough fear in her eyes to be convincing. Unfortunately, Payne didn’t know what to do about it.

  Had he trusted her story fully – that Angel was a dangerous man with dangerous friends who would systematically hunt them down until they were dead – he would have lured Angel to a private section of the site and put a bullet in his brain. No questions. No guilt. No problem. The crisis would have been over before it had gotten out of hand. But the reality was he didn’t trust her. Not in the way he trusted Jones or Raskin. If one of them had warned him about Angel’s intentions, Payne would have sprung into action immediately, because he trusted them implicitly.

  But he couldn’t kill a man on Tiffany’s word.

  He simply couldn’t. He was more cautious than that.

  What if Angel was there for her, but he had legitimate reasons to be after her? Perhaps he worked for the Mexican government and had been assigned to track her down for crimes she’d committed in Mexico. Or maybe Angel worked for the CIA and had been tasked with stopping an illegal operation she had been running? In that case, Payne’s involvement would not only be reckless, it would potentially make him a traitor in the eyes of America. There was no way he could risk his reputation over a woman he didn’t trust.

  With that in mind, he did the next-best thing.