by Paul Knox
“Duck!” Reece yelled to Mario, instinctively grabbing and pushing him down.
Without Reece steering, the Toyota crashed into a tree and came to a dead stop. Two airbags released, sending white powder everywhere, making it hard to breathe. Mario began coughing.
Reece flung open the driver’s side door for air, but didn’t get out. She had her gun ready and waited for a break in their gunshots, now coming from the rear of the Toyota.
When the bullets stopped for a moment Reece popped up, ready to fire, hoping they were reloading.
She was wrong.
Rolando and Derian had exited their Ram and walked closer to the Toyota. As soon as Reece appeared, they fired again, missing her face by mere inches. A bullet shot through the spiderwebbed rear windshield and pierced the driver-side headrest from the back.
She ducked again. Two more gunshots rang out and the sound of hissing air followed. Her back tires had been shot.
“Give me a gun, Señora Reece,” Mario said with a straight face.
Reece contemplated it. There weren’t a lot of options. The Toyota was completely unusable now. They were sitting ducks.
The rain had begun to coat the ground, turning the dirt wet, but not yet becoming mud. The winds were stronger than ever, whipping through the open pickup and clearing the airbag dust. The temperature was dropping.
Reece commanded, “When I say now, I want you to get out and run as fast as you can into the fields. Make it to the forest and don’t look back until it’s absolutely safe. Do you understand?”
“I won’t abandon a woman, Señora Reece. Even one with magic. You will get us out of this. I know it. Now please, give me a gun.”
“Mario, this isn’t a joke…” Reece’s voice trailed. She had run out of time. The brothers were only a few feet away.
17
“LET ME SEE YOUR HANDS, slowly, and get out of the truck,” Rolando called from the behind the cover of the Toyota’s bed, his gun aimed straight for Reece’s open door.
Reece called, “First, the boy leaves safely. Otherwise I’m coming out shooting.”
“Sure, fine, whatever. We’ll let him go—if you give us that necklace.”
Reece felt around her neck. It was still there. Had they glimpsed it during the scuffle in the village?
“What necklace?” she called back.
“You have one last chance to hand over the gold pendant around your neck, before I choke you with it. Give it to me the easy way and we’ll let the kid go.”
Reece didn’t have many options if she wanted to keep Mario safe. She took the necklace off and prepared to fling it over. Maybe they would leave without a firefight.
Then the sound of an approaching vehicle neared. From up ahead, a handsome, black BMW i8 Coupé—the kind with butterfly doors that open up by swiveling vertically—came to an easy stop next to the Dodge Ram. Three men in crisp white or tan slacks with colorful button ups jumped out.
Reece stared in disbelief. If she thought her situation was bad before, it had just gone to hell. Two of the three men each carried submachine guns that looked military. The third man appeared to be the leader.
“It’s time for you two to go,” the leader called in the Castros’ direction.
Derian didn’t waste any time listening. He opened fire on the three newcomers immediately.
“Don’t hit my truck!” Reece heard Rolando screaming to his brother.
The newcomers ducked behind the Ram and Derian stopped firing. Rolando yelled, “Who are you?”
At first there was no answer. Then the unarmed man stood up and calmly stated, “Konstantin.”
“Oh…wow, I didn’t recognize you,” Rolando began in a newly subservient tone. “I apologize for my brother’s haste. I’m sure you understand that no one can be too careful.”
“I see,” Konstantin replied. His two associates stood and moved forward, out from behind the Ram and closer to the Toyota.
“What brings you to El Salvador?” Rolando asked.
“Sandy Cannon.”
Reece could see Rolando smiling from the side mirror. He said, “Perfect. My brother Kai has him prisoner already. I’m sure we can arrange something. But…why are you here now, on this very road?”
“The woman in that Toyota is Sandy’s daughter.”
“That’s Reece Cannon?” Rolando blurted in surprise.
Konstantin nodded. But not in response to Rolando’s question. He nodded to his two associates.
Reece struggled to make sense of what happened next. The two associates opened fire, sending a rapid succession of bullets at the two Castro brothers, sending them sprawling backwards onto the wet dirt.
“It’s time to come out, Reece,” Konstantin said coolly.
Reece pocketed the necklace she had been holding and tucked the handgun into the back of her pants. “Stay down, Mario,” she whispered. “They don’t know you’re here. You can still escape.”
But as Reece slipped out of the pickup, she felt the boy’s hands grab the gun from behind her and pull it out. There was nothing Reece could do about it now; the men were staring at her face.
She glanced over at the two dead men in the road. But it seemed Rolando wasn’t entirely dead. She noticed the rising and falling of his chest.
“Don’t worry, Reece,” Konstantin continued. “I’m not going to kill you. At least, not yet. This only has to be as hard as you make it. Now, let’s go.”
Reece went to them and they roughly patted her down. Satisfied she didn’t have any weapons, the two associates lowered their guns.
“I understand you want Sandy,” Reece began. “I’m sure there’s some kind of deal we could arrange.”
“Probably not,” Konstantin replied. “But I’m willing to hear you out.”
As they prodded Reece forward to the BMW, a shot rang out.
“Let her go, you freakin’ losers!” came the voice of Mario.
Reece swiveled around to see Mario blasting away at them. He emptied all the bullets without hitting anything.
Konstantin started laughing. “Who did you bring for backup, Reece? Sesame Street?” Then he addressed his men. “Go get the kid.”
Mario seemed to freeze up, appearing unsure and scared. Every inch of Reece tensed up.
“Konstantin,” one of the men called as they closed in on Mario. “He has an Atlan tattoo on his arm. It looks like one of the Dresden Codex symbols.”
Konstantin turned to Reece and said, “Of course he does. And a Cannon found him for us. How splendid. Bring him over here.”
An Atlan tattoo? What is the Dresden Codex?
Then Reece noticed Rolando inching over the ground, reaching for his gun, evidently not done with the fight. He was bleeding profusely and on his way to a higher plane—but as of this moment, he was about to take someone with him if he could.
18
ROLANDO snatched up his gun and fired at Konstantin’s associates, hitting one of them directly in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards—right into Reece. Reece grabbed his submachine gun from behind. He struggled for it while the other associate shot at Rolando again, this time making sure that the Castro was stone-cold dead, riddled with bullets.
Reece felt body armor underneath the shirt of the associate she wrestled with. She kicked the back of his knees and his legs gave out, landing him in the dirt. Reece managed to slip the submachine gun off his shoulders—just as he pulled a pistol from his side holster.
She had absolutely no choice but to take the first shot or be killed right then and there. The rat-a-tat of the machine gun laid the man out. She had never fired a submachine gun before and the kick surprised her. Her aim jerked high, right into the man’s skull.
Then she aimed at the other associate and fired, hitting him in the chest area. He went down, his blonde hair flailing in the wind. But he rolled over, scrambling on all fours for cover behind the Toyota. He must’ve also been wearing body armor.
Konstantin dove behind the Ram and t
hen darted for the cover of some nearby trees.
“Mario!” Reece yelled, waving at him to follow her.
She bolted for the only vehicle without bullet holes—the BMW i8. The fob was resting nonchalantly in the cup holder.
After dropping the submachine gun in the back and slamming the butterfly doors closed, she tore off in the sports car.
* * *
Down the road a way, while Reece was still catching her breath and calming her nerves, a fully recovered Mario piped up excitedly. “Dang, this is one nice car! Upgrade! Now we can go superfast!”
“We’re going as fast as we can with all the potholes in the road. Do me a favor, Mario. Turn this thing on.” Reece tossed her phone in his lap.
“Sure.” He powered it on. “Now what?”
“Can you find the app called INSITE?”
“This one?” Mario tapped the screen. “Is that a homing beacon?” he asked.
“How do you know about those?”
“I’ve played video games before, at other kids’ houses in the cities.”
“Can you show me the screen?”
Mario held the phone up, displaying it.
“Thanks.” Pozo de Fuego was making steady progress, but it wasn’t speeding along any faster than typical cargo ships. She’d have a chance to catch it by air—if a helicopter was in fact waiting at the airport.
Reece glanced at Mario and asked, “So what is your tattoo all about?—the Atlan thing.”
“It’s a mark that the chosen descendants of Atl Balam have. My mother had it too. It denotes us as the royal lineage, the ones who protect the secrets of the golden tablets.”
“You’re related to Atl Balam? At least, supposedly?”
“Señora Reece,” Mario said, peering at her with an eleven-year-old’s version of a dignified expression. “That I am.”
19
ALL DUKE COULD SEE out the little airplane window was the vast expanse of the blue ocean. The Gulf of Mexico seemed peaceful and still, which seemed to exist in stark contrast to the pilot’s current announcement.
“It seems that the tropical storm which developed in the Pacific near El Salvador has altered its course,” came the pilot’s voice through the overhead speakers that only emitted a tinny mid-range frequency. “It’s now headed for the mainland and should hit about six hours after we touchdown. And ladies and gentlemen, please be aware, it has been upgraded to a category one hurricane.”
Immediately, nervous chatter erupted around Duke as the passengers all tried to decide how concerned they should be.
“It’s only a category one,” a middle-aged man said.
“Why did we have to go there now?” a young woman complained to her husband.
“Oh my, oh no, I just can’t believe our luck,” two elderly women muttered to each other.
Duke sat next to an extremely large man who promptly ordered a double Jack and Coke. He turned to Duke and shrugged indifferently as if to say we’re all gonna die someday.
About three more hours to go before the flight landed. And Duke’s temporary grasp of control again began to slip.
20
“SO YOU CAME TO SAVE US?” a voice asked in the darkness, moving closer.
The Sandman recognized the woman’s voice. She had been speaking to the others, trying to rally their spirits and keep them hopeful. She seemed to be a natural leader.
“Help is still coming,” the Sandman replied. “And thanks for what you’re doing here. Panic is contagious…but so is an unrelenting spirit. You remind me of someone.”
“Someone you love?” she asked.
The Sandman didn’t answer. He was afraid that if he did, his voice might betray his hardened exterior.
Instead, he answered with a question. “Do you have a father?”
“That seems funny to ask right now. Do you blame him for me being here? Because it’s not his fault. I was out late…just dancing.” The woman’s voice filled with emotion. “And someone put something in my drink. Next thing I knew… Anyway, I’m sure my father is looking for my kidnappers now. He will never stop searching. He is a good man—the best.”
The Sandman imagined how this woman’s father felt. His daughter missing. The chaotic confusion. The sleepless nights. The pervasive sadness that wouldn’t go away and never finding closure. The unknown. His daughter just being…gone.
The Sandman pictured Reece. He brooded over never having been there for his daughter. He had left one day…completely gone from her life. And he felt remorse. So much remorse.
“I don’t blame your father,” he said. “Your father is a much better man than I. What’s your name?”
“Alejandra. And yours?”
“Sandy.”
“In English, that’s like a beach, yes? You must be a nice man.”
Or like the boogeyman.
“Listen, Alejandra, I have a plan. If anyone here can help, it would be you. Are you up for it?”
“Absolutely, Sandy.”
* * *
The side of Sandy’s face pressed up against the shipping container’s double doors. A subtle smell of semi-fresh paint coated the steel. He heard rain from the other side, and by the ocean turbulence he knew that the storm had taken a turn for the worse.
“Get her the bucket, the bucket!” one of the women shouted. Sandy heard the scurrying of others searching in the dark for it, then bringing it to a seasick woman who began to vomit.
Sandy had discerned that Pozo de Fuego had left the port earlier.
He had now been locked inside with the women and girls for more than twenty-four hours. The crewmembers had opened the doors yesterday evening and again this morning, swapping out a plastic tub for them to use as a toilet, and throwing in a few bottles of water.
When they had finally come back and opened the container this morning, Sandy and his fellow captives came alive with the fresh air.
The container seals were watertight, and they had fallen into a state of hypoxia late in the night when the oxygen thinned. They felt that way now, too.
His head spun and he was weakened with thirst. The never-ending rocking and swaying made it hard to stand up straight, and he often stumbled back, retaking his ready position as quickly as possible.
But Sandy wasn’t pressed against the doors to listen to rain. The crewmembers always opened the right door first, so he positioned to the left, every muscle in his body taut.
On this evening he waited—ready to fight his way out.
Finally the voices of men came. Three of them.
“Are you ready, Alejandra?” he whispered.
“I’m ready,” she whispered back.
First came the clicking sound of a key turning a padlock. Then the cluncking sound of the right door’s lever pushed up to the open position.
Before the cold draft from outside blew over Sandy’s skin, he lunged at the door, knocking one of the men backwards and off a ladder, thumping to the deck below.
Another man on a separate ladder began raising a handgun, but Alejandra swiftly stepped forward and threw the nasty contents of the plastic bucket all over him. He recoiled in disgust, barely hanging onto the ladder.
But then an enormous wave crashed against the side of the cargo ship, knocking Sandy and all the women off their feet, tumbling into the wall. Sandy felt the entire vessel tip sideways. The sound of metal being stretched to its limits groaned and creaked. Water rushed over the ship onto the deck and even washed through the floor of their container.
The feculent-covered man outside went down on his ladder and disappeared, possibly overboard.
As the ship righted itself, swinging back the opposite way, the container door swung closed. Sandy rushed to the door but it wouldn’t budge. The opening lever must’ve partially engaged when the door slammed shut.
“Let ’em rot!” he heard one of the men outside yell before hearing the padlock being reengaged.
Once again Sandy had been plunged into darkness so black his eyes couldn’
t adjust. And now he had no idea when the crew would risk opening the doors again. They might wait until there was so little breathable air that anybody inside the container would be listless and useless. Maybe some would even die.
“I’m sorry, Alejandra,” he whispered.
“I still have hope,” she whispered back.
Never had oxygen felt so precious and scarce.
And by the scene which had unfolded outside, Sandy realized that Kai Castro was taking them straight into a hurricane.
21
REECE rolled up to the El Jocotillo airport not knowing what to expect.
“Stay in the car, Mario.”
“Señora Reeeeece,” Mario groaned.
She didn’t answer.
Skidding to a stop in front of a large, gray two-story building with few windows, Reece stepped out of the BMW and into the night rain looking for a parking lot—and the actual airport.
Not far beyond where she stood, there appeared to be a single runway, if you could call it that—just a dirt clearing in a farmer’s field that was quickly turning into a mud pit. And there was not a single plane in sight.
Reece ran her hands over her head and through her wet hair, her heart sinking with every raindrop that splashed on her face.
And then a woman emerged from the building with an umbrella and a small, brown leather crossbody bag slung over her shoulder.
“Reece Cannon?” she called out.
Reece met her halfway. “Did you talk to Shanahan?”
“I don’t know a Shanahan. I was contacted by Kennedy Ross and asked to fly you into this monster weather. My name’s Ambrosia.”
“And you’re a pilot?”
“A damn good one, if I say so myself. My helicopter is right around back. I hear we’re after a ship called Pozo de Fuego?”
