The Aztec Code

by Stephen Cole

  Just give in to it for now. ‘Well …’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m kind of new in town.’

  ‘I know this great penthouse place,’ said Ramez. ‘Quiet little table by the pool … Real private. Interested?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Tye tried to smile. She kept thinking of how assured and grown-up Ramez had become, outwardly so successful; and yet, there in his eyes, a feeling she couldn’t fathom.

  How much had this ‘inheritance’ Ramez spoke of cost him?

  The distorted scream of an electric guitar woke Jonah as it carried past his doorway. He had fallen asleep on the bed without meaning to. The sun was starting to set. Twenty-four hours had passed since Tye had gone.

  It didn’t take long to place the angry, discordant music. ‘Motti’s back,’ he realised, and got up cautiously. His head felt a little better – but it wouldn’t for much longer if Motti’s overdrive pedal had its way.

  Jonah walked a little unsteadily towards the hangout – the biggest room in a whole wing of the ranch given over to their recreation. Huge, squashy leather sofas and funky plastic furniture vied for floorspace with snooker tables, arcade games, snack machines and even a fully equipped coffee bar. A gigantic HD TV set dominated one wall, with speakers sited on all sides of the cavernous space. In the room beyond was a full-sized heated pool and, beyond that, a garage full of karts and quad bikes. There were even stables. Coldhardt expected his employees to work hard, but invited them to play hard too – so long as it was on his turf and his terms.

  Right now Motti was playing rock god in his private recording studio – built as far from the hangout itself as possible and paid for with his earnings from Coldhardt. Jonah gritted his teeth as an insanely loud and spiky riff burst from the supposedly soundproofed room and threatened to take his ears off. From the noise coming out, Motti wasn’t in the best mood.

  Jonah pushed open the door to the performance room. Motti broke off and looked at him. ‘The neighbours complaining or something?’

  ‘Yeah, in Russia,’ Jonah told him, rubbing his ears.

  ‘You were asleep when I got back from checking the grounds, and I figured you needed the rest.’ He switched off the amp and sat down on it heavily. ‘But, man, I was going crazy brooding on this alone. Needed to blast out some cobwebs.’

  ‘There’s now a thousand homeless spiders in Yugoslavia. What did you find?’

  ‘That I was right about the chopper. I checked the motion sensors on the roof of the main building. They recorded strong, consistent movement just within tolerance – the alarms woulda gone off if the ’copter came any lower or touched down, so I’m guessing it hovered just outside the range of the sensors while your pals climbed down on rope-ladders on to the veranda.’

  ‘How’d you know?’

  ‘Faint boot prints in the mud, they go so far and then stop. It was a slick job, Jonah. These Sixth Sunners are clever sons of bitches.’ He snorted. ‘Maybe that short guy you saw really is a professor.’

  ‘I just wish I knew what they wanted Tye for.’

  ‘Let’s hope it’s not the same thing you want her for.’

  Jonah glared at him. ‘I already told you, nothing happened. It’s not like that.’

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ said Motti. ‘’Cause we’re a team, man. We work together, we chill together, we watch out for each other, but we do not let it get messy. Because if we do, and our judgement gets clouded, then everyone else could wind up screwed as a result.’ His face softened as he blew out a sigh. ‘Anyways, Coldhardt’ll soon be on the case. Con called. Her and the others are gonna get back around three tomorrow morning. There’ll be a debrief in the hub at eight. We’ll get our girl back.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jonah. ‘We’ll get her back.’

  He only wished he really believed it.

  Chapter Seven

  Tye stood at the penthouse balcony, a cool breeze tingling her skin as she stared out over the Santa Fe vista. The lights of the city were like lanterns against the dark, misshapen shadows of the crowding mountains in the moonlight.

  Discreetly she poured what was left of her glass of wine over the foliage far below, tired of her head feeling muddy and wishing she’d eaten less of the take-out duck, served to them in silence by one of the ever-present bodyguards.

  She heard Ramez come up behind her, and closed her eyes as he slipped his arms around her waist. ‘You look amazing,’ he said.

  ‘Do I?’ Tye looked down at the white silk dress she wore. She guessed it was gorgeous – Con would no doubt be in raptures – but really she’d be much happier in her jeans. Unfortunately Ramez hadn’t arranged for her wardrobe to be abducted along with her. She turned in his arms to look up at him. ‘How’d you know my size?’

  ‘Lucky guess.’

  ‘Damn lucky. You sure you chose it for me?’

  ‘I saw it on local TV,’ he insisted. Then he grinned, a macho shadow of the younger Ramez back in his deep-tanned face. ‘I’ve got three other sizes down in my room. Figured that if that one didn’t fit, another one would.’

  Reading his body language, she saw he was telling the truth, and finally allowed herself to relax and smile. Why was she trying so hard to ruin things? Didn’t she mess up stuff for them before by always probing too deeply, pushing things too far?

  ‘Let’s go out,’ she said suddenly. ‘Out into the city.’

  He shrugged. ‘I thought maybe we could stay in.’

  ‘We’ve stayed in all day!’

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll go tell the guys, tell them to get the Merc out front for us –’

  She put a finger to his lips and silenced him. ‘No. Let’s go out on our own.’

  Ramez gently tightened his grip on her waist. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘Of course we can.’ She pushed him playfully away. ‘C’mon, it’ll be cool. I’ll look after you.’ Hitching up the skirt of her dress, she vaulted the balcony rail, landing lithely on the other side. ‘We can drop down to the balcony without your bodyguards knowing, follow the parapet round to the neighbouring penthouse. You said it was empty, right?’

  ‘The guys told me it was –’

  ‘And why should they lie, right?’ Her eyes challenged him to disagree. ‘I can get us inside and we can sneak out together.’

  Ramez shook his head. ‘Not with my leg.’

  ‘I can help you.’ Tye glanced longingly at the city’s bright lights. She needed to get out of this place. ‘Please, Ramez. Your bouncers give me the creeps. You’re their boss, right? Tell them to stay home for once.’

  ‘It doesn’t work that way,’ he protested.

  ‘So how does it work?’

  Ramez’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t answer.

  ‘Then we’re back to sneaking out,’ Tye spoke lightly despite the sudden prickle of sweat on her palms. Setting off along the parapet, she glanced out at the city again. ‘Wait here.’

  ‘C’mon, sugar-girl.’ Ramez’s voice hit an anxious note. ‘Come back!’

  But Tye ignored him, her heart hammering like the questions she couldn’t keep at bay. Just what the hell was it that Ramez had inherited? How did it affect her, and her link to Coldhardt? Trying not to think of the six-storey fall if she slipped, she dropped down for a perfect landing on the lip of the top-floor balcony. She followed it round as far as it would go. The neighbouring balcony stood the other side of a recess maybe a metre-and-a-half wide.

  With barely a second thought she hitched her dress up round her waist and leaped recklessly across the divide, landed on the parapet and grabbed hold of the balcony rail to steady herself. Ramez was right, he’d never have been able to get down this way; she should just go back and stop trying to wreck –

  Lights were on inside the building. She could hear voices, too. So much for the penthouse being deserted. Why would Ramez’s bodyguards lie so blatantly?

  Maybe because someone was staying here that they didn’t want Ramez to know about. With his bad leg, Ramez would never be able to climb d
own to the parapet and see for himself. And since he only went outside with an escort, that would give them plenty of time to switch out the lights, keep up the pretence of emptiness …

  Tye broke off her train of thought and sighed. The penthouse might be a fair way up, but her paranoia had to be scaling even greater heights.

  Even so, she swung herself easily over the balcony rail and padded across to the nearest open window, grateful that the blinds were drawn.

  ‘… the pieces are all in place,’ a man was saying, his voice a low Midwestern drawl. ‘Soon, we’ll have everything we need.’

  Settling in for a game of chess or something. Tye supposed she’d better scram back before she was caught.

  ‘See for yourself, the latest geological surveys confirm it.’ The woman’s voice, prim and British, took Tye’s attention. ‘I am sure that we are on the brink of finding the exact location.’

  ‘And then the prophecy shall finally be fulfilled,’ the man said quietly. Tye strained to hear. ‘We shall be brought face to face with Coatlicue herself.’

  ‘And the power we seek will be ours.’

  So much for chess, Tye decided. Coatlicue was another blast from the past, the Aztec goddess of life, death and rebirth with her skirt of serpents – Tye had known of one smuggling gang who used hollow porcelain statues of Coatlicue to run H between Colombia and Yucatan.

  But to be brought face to face with Coatlicue? What was that supposed to mean?

  She listened for another half-minute or so, but heard nothing. The man and the woman must have gone to another room.

  She heard a click from the French windows further along the balcony.

  Hastily, Tye vaulted the rail again – but the hem of her white dress caught and ripped noisily. Heart quickening, she swiftly leaped the divide, landed neatly on the adjacent parapet, hauled herself over and lay down flat.

  Through the stone balustrade she saw a woman with dark, bobbed hair step outside on to the balcony. Her tall, willowy figure was silhouetted against the starry night as she looked all round.

  ‘No, there’s nothing out here,’ she reported. The moonlight laced her bare neck with silver as she stepped back inside her penthouse to rejoin her companion.

  Quickly, Tye scrambled up and scaled the rough and pitted wall. She dragged herself back on to the roof. Ramez was pacing the balcony. He didn’t seem amused.

  ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, grabbing her arm as she climbed over the rail. ‘Look at the state of you!’

  Tye looked down at her torn and dirty dress. ‘Sorry.’

  Ramez let go of her, shook his head. ‘Why’d you always have to make everything so damned hard?’

  ‘Maybe it’s you who always wants to believe everything’s so damned easy.’ She pointed back the way she had come. ‘Your “deserted” penthouse next door is occupied.’

  He shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘You were told the place was empty. The guys wouldn’t lie, you said.’

  ‘Duh, so maybe someone moved in there in the last coupla weeks. Who cares?’

  ‘There’s a man and a woman there talking about power, and pieces being in place, and Coatlicue and –’

  ‘Would you read my lips, sugar-girl?’ His voice was low, a sneer on his face, hard and tough and God, she loved it when he was like this though it always scared the hell out of her. ‘I – don’t – goddamned – care.’

  ‘Seems like nothing matters to you now,’ she said quietly.

  His voice softened. ‘Nothing ’cept you, sugar-girl.’

  With a weird thrill, Tye saw that he meant it; the words she had always dreamed of hearing from his lips.

  ‘So anyways,’ he went on, the familiar swagger returning to his shoulders, ‘I told you everything’s cool, so why don’t you just stop worrying and –?’

  ‘No.’ Tye shook her head. ‘I used to swallow every word you said because I wanted to believe in you. I wanted to think that maybe together we could crawl out of the gutter and –’

  ‘And now we have!’ He took hold of her hands. ‘OK, so we weren’t smart enough to make it by ourselves, had to be bought out of it – but that’s cool. The important thing was cutting free, right? We both made trades to get everything we really wanted.’

  ‘Everything we really wanted …’ She frowned. ‘And what’s that, Ramez?’

  ‘Duh!’ He looked baffled that she should even ask. ‘Money! Stacks of cash.’ He squeezed her hands. ‘The high life, babe! Or did I miss something?’

  Tye felt a sick feeling in her stomach. ‘Yeah, Ramez,’ she whispered, pulling away. ‘I think maybe you did.’

  For a moment they stared at each other, the silence between them thick and heavy.

  Tye broke off the look and turned back to the horizon. Now the twinkling skyline seemed to mock her – all those hopeful lights so far away, out of reach. She suddenly found herself wondering where Jonah and the others were right now. What were they doing? She swallowed. Was Jonah thinking about her?

  ‘You know what? Fine,’ Ramez said, breaking the silence. ‘You wanna go out? We’ll go out.’ She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, but she heard his impatient sigh. ‘Just get the dress changed, and I’ll tell the guys to take us partying.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘We can go anywhere. Anywhere you like.’

  ‘Great.’

  She heard him leave. A minute or so later, she went to her luxurious bedroom, stripped off the dress, pulled on her old clothes. Wiped her eyes.

  Twenty minutes later one of the bodyguards steered her and Ramez out of the building to where the other waited in the limo. Tye glanced up at the neighbouring penthouse. Its windows were dark, the balustrade before them like a big black grin leering out at the night.

  Chapter Eight

  Jonah sat impatiently in his swivel chair. Con yawned, and Patch sank a little lower in his seat. Motti was slumped over a steaming mug of coffee. It was like being in another world down here, in an underground bunker beneath the ranch – a climate-controlled could-be-anywhere.

  ‘I thought Coldhardt said debrief was at eight a.m. prompt.’ Jonah looked round. ‘Anyone seen him?’ Funny how things change, he thought. Not so long ago, he’d have been terrified, on edge here in the heart of the old man’s world, where the plasma screens on the wall looked down like dark, accusing eyes, and the long marble table felt like a headstone to the touch. He’d have been chewing his nails, scared of screwing up or saying something dumb. But he supposed that once you started coming up against maniacs with guns and crossbolts on a fairly regular basis, a high-tech underground conference room lost some of its power to intimidate. ‘It’s not like Coldhardt to be late.’

  ‘He is going through the stuff we stole from Kabacra,’ said Con proudly. ‘Looking through the client list.’

  Patch sighed. ‘Wish he’d start looking for Tye.’

  Coldhardt emerged from a back room, dressed all in black save for a tiny white rosebud pinned to his lapel, and sat in a high-backed chair at the head of the table. ‘As yet I have had no demands, no threats, nothing from Tye’s kidnappers,’ he announced. ‘But I have received a message from Tye, forwarded from the Stanley Hotel in Livingston.’

  Jonah’s heart lurched. ‘When did they get it?’

  ‘Shortly after Con, Patch and I set off for Kabacra’s.’ Coldhardt produced a small, flat remote, and pressed a button. Suddenly Tye’s voice, hollow and speckled with digital noise, boomed out from hidden monitors.

  ‘Coldhardt, it’s Tye. I’m safe, I’m being well-treated. The attack wasn’t aimed at you; it’s me they were after. It’s kind of complicated to explain, but you don’t need to race to my rescue. I’ll get in touch again soon. Be careful, guys. Bye.’

  ‘She’s all right,’ murmured Patch. He looked totally bewildered.

  ‘That’s it?’ Motti slammed down his coffee. ‘“It’s kind of complicated to explain”?’

  ‘She must have been forced to g
ive that message,’ said Jonah loyally, his insides all bunched up. ‘Why else would she phone the hotel instead of our mobiles?’

  Con shrugged. ‘Perhaps because she didn’t really want to talk to us?’

  Jonah gave her a look. ‘Coldhardt, can we trace where she was calling from?’

  ‘No. The message was already a day old by the time it was forwarded. We have no idea of her location.’ Coldhardt looked at Jonah. ‘Did you find anything on Sixth Sun online?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jonah admitted.

  ‘Then I’m glad that Con and Patch at least have not let me down.’ He tapped a pile of papers on the desk in front of him and smiled thinly. ‘There are some illuminating entries in Kabacra’s client list.’

  Motti set down his espresso cup with bad grace. ‘Like what?’

  ‘For one, a penthouse residence in Santa Fe marked as belonging to Sixth Sun.’ Coldhardt looked at each of them in turn, as if to underline the importance of the words that followed: ‘According to Kabacra’s transaction records, the sword of Cortes was delivered to that address.’

  ‘A drop-off point,’ Con speculated.

  ‘Or their base,’ Patch offered.

  ‘A top-floor apartment doesn’t sound like much of a base,’ said Jonah.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Motti was shaking his head. ‘We bust our asses getting to Guatemala and ripping off a nuclear power plant, and the whole time it’s sitting just about eighty miles down the highway from here?’

  ‘So why kidnap Tye?’ asked Jonah. ‘They must already have had the sword by then, so it can’t be to warn us off. If anything it’s going to make us more likely to come after them.’

  Con shrugged. ‘Maybe they’re using her as bait, and this is some kind of trap.’

  ‘Then why no messages, no demands, no contact at all?’ said Jonah. ‘And why do they even want this sword of Cortes so much in the first place?’

  ‘It’s the sword of their nemesis,’ Coldhardt reminded him, ‘the most notorious conquistador of all.’

  Jonah looked at Coldhardt straight. ‘So why do you want it?’

  He smiled without warmth. ‘Let’s confine ourselves to the first question, shall we? Why would a secret society dedicated to old Aztec tradition wish to acquire the symbol of that people’s absolute defeat?’