The Aztec Code

by Stephen Cole

  ‘They wish to avenge their defeat by possessing the symbol of his victory,’ Con speculated, undeterred. ‘Or to destroy it – kind of a symbolic gesture, yes?’

  ‘Pretty pricey gesture,’ noted Motti.

  ‘Actually, they paid a good deal less for the sword than I would have expected,’ said Coldhardt. ‘The payment was recorded in Kabacra’s accounts along with a second Sixth Sun address across the border in Colorado, headed “Black House”.’

  Jonah frowned. The name seemed familiar from somewhere but he couldn’t place it.

  ‘Then this Black House must be their base,’ Con asserted.

  ‘I’m looking into it,’ said Coldhardt curtly. ‘In the meantime we must investigate that penthouse. There’s a chance the sword has been kept there – perhaps even Tye.’

  Motti raised his eyebrows. ‘So we’re breaking in?’

  ‘You will drive to Santa Fe this afternoon, get the lie of the land,’ said Coldhardt. ‘You, Patch and Con.’

  Patch sighed. ‘If it’s a radiation-free zone, I’m happy.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Jonah. ‘My head’s feeling much better this morning. I can go too.’

  ‘I need you here to finish work on the computer setup.’ Coldhardt looked graver than Jonah had ever seen him. ‘There are things I need you to do. We can’t afford to be exposed now.’

  To Patch’s eye, being in Santa Fe was like falling through a time warp. Everything was built like it was really old, kind of Spanish-looking and muddy. The car parks were done out in red-brown clay, and even the petrol stations were disguised as ancient Native American monuments.

  But the only building that mattered right now was the penthouse.

  They drove into the city in Con’s powder blue Porsche 911. She couldn’t drive, just loved to be seen in it – as did Patch and Motti. But today they sat as quiet as the ride, not getting off for once on all the stares and jealous looks thrown their way as they cruised along the streets.

  Normally, it was Tye who did the driving.

  Patch looked up from his Game Boy and saw some kids their age hanging outside a bar. One boy eyeballed Motti. ‘Hey!’ he called. ‘D’you steal that car?’

  ‘It’s my car,’ Con informed him. ‘And as a matter of fact it’s about the only thing I didn’t steal.’

  Motti razzed away the moment the lights changed and left the kids eating Porsche dust. ‘Gotta spend your money on something,’ he reflected. ‘Gotta enjoy it while it lasts. ’Cause you never know when the high life’s gonna end.’

  ‘Never know when life’s gonna end full stop,’ said Patch gloomily, holding his stomach.

  ‘Throw up over my car and it ends right now,’ Con promised him.

  They stopped near a quiet pizza parlour where Con’s charms and talent got them some useful props – including a delivery van. Then the recce began.

  Motti dressed up as a pizza delivery guy – possibly the grouchiest pizza delivery guy in the whole world – and took a big box up to the penthouse on the top floor. No one had answered his banging on the door, so he’d pretended to call his boss, all the time taking pictures of the locks and alarms and stuff with his phone-camera.

  Patch studied the evidence, worked out which tools he would use, while Motti worked out the best way to bypass the alarms. Con, meanwhile, sat in the back of the van, stuffing her pretty face with decoy pizza all afternoon while she kept watch on the penthouse. The few people who came and went didn’t show at any of its windows. She was fairly sure it had stayed empty. No sign of Tye.

  Finally, once Motti had returned the van around nine that evening, they were ready to move. Patch felt the familiar drill of nerves building in his stomach as they walked along the street.

  ‘Reckon it’s the place next door we gotta worry about,’ Motti told Patch as they pulled up in the Porsche a few blocks away, outside one of the ten billion art galleries crammed into the city. The sun was setting, and the mountains on the horizon glowed with fierce red light. ‘These two huge guys came out from inside just as I’d finished casing. They did not look happy to see me.’

  ‘They were probably in the mood for a Chinese,’ Patch suggested.

  ‘Or perhaps they thought you were lowering the tone of the place, yes?’ Con had changed from jeans and T-shirt into a smart, chic business suit with killer heels. She looked like she owned the whole building.

  ‘I’ll go in through the front way,’ said Con, ‘persuade the man on the door that we have every right to be here, yes?’

  ‘Signal when it’s safe,’ Motti agreed quietly.

  There were security cameras in the communal hallways on each floor, monitored from the main reception. So long as Con’s mesmerism bit worked, the doorman could spy the Moscow State Circus breaking into the penthouse and not bat an eye. That just left the building’s roaming security guard, but Con could take care of him one way or another while Patch and Motti got on with the job in hand.

  ‘You all right, Mot?’ Patch asked quietly. ‘You been kind of quiet lately.’

  He didn’t look round. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Worried about Tye?’

  ‘And about Coldhardt,’ Motti admitted. ‘He ain’t exactly breaking his balls to get her back, is he? This sword’s all he cares about. I’m thinking, what if it was one of us? How much do any of us count with him?’

  Patch frowned. ‘He cares about us! ’Course he does!’

  ‘Sure. It’s all a nice, cosy game of happy families.’

  At that moment, Con re-emerged and stuck her slender thumb up. Nervously, Patch followed Motti into the building to join her. All together they took the lift up to the top floor, where Patch took his lock-pick tools from out of his false eye.

  ‘Do your thing,’ said Con as the lift doors opened on to the penthouse approach. ‘The guard is on the third floor, he’s working his way up. I’ll meet him on the fourth and talk him out of going any further.’

  ‘Got it,’ said Motti, and breezed off to study the door to the penthouse.

  ‘Take care,’ Con told them as the lift doors closed again.

  ‘So what’ve we got?’ Patch asked.

  ‘I’m guessing a sensor in the side of the door. If the door opens, the switch tells the alarm to prime itself. And when that happens we’ve got, what, fifteen seconds tops to stop the alarms going.’ Motti glanced behind him at the door to the penthouse opposite. ‘Maybe less if Bozo and Bozo through there stick their broken noses in.’

  Patch was already working the lock, teasing the tumblers into turning his way. ‘So it’s E-bomb time?’

  ‘Risky, but we ain’t got no choice.’ Motti had taken a small metal drum about the size of his palm from his pocket. It emitted a powerful electro-magnetic pulse; enough high-powered microwaves to completely screw the electrics of anything in the area while leaving everything else intact. Trouble was, you couldn’t really aim an E-bomb – they just went off and took out anything electronic within range. The one in Motti’s hand was a titch, but it could still easily take out the whole top floor – not to mention their mobiles, the bit-buster, all their gadgets …

  Patch got to work on the door’s lock and was rewarded just a few seconds later with a quiet click. His hand closed on the door handle. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Look out, alarm,’ muttered Motti, priming the E-bomb. ‘Got ten gigawatts coming up your ass.’

  Patch threw open the door, and Motti pushed through into the penthouse, activating the device. The alarm didn’t make a sound – but the lights in the hallway clicked off in an instant. Patch checked his digital watch as he followed Motti inside. It was dead.

  ‘Right,’ said Motti softly, ‘let’s hope everyone else in the place thinks it’s just a power cut and waits nice and quietly inside for the juice to turn back on.’ He pulled out a solar-powered torch and was soon pulling paintings off the living-room wall, looking for a hidden safe.

  Patch produced his own torch and started searching the white and minimalist master b
edroom. He had a quick poke around in the slatted wardrobes. ‘Found the safe!’ he hissed. It was large. Easily large enough to hold a sword.

  Motti was beside him in a second. ‘Can you crack it?’

  ‘Dial combination lock with key-change capability,’ Patch muttered. ‘In other words, if you wanna change the combination, you need a special key from the manufacturer. You stick it into that hole in the lock case there, see?’

  ‘And you have the special key, right?’

  ‘Nope.’ Catching the murderous look in Motti’s eyes, Patch moved on swiftly. ‘But I do have a fibreoptic scope. I can stick that into the lock case and read the correct positioning of the wheels on the combination dial that’ll free the bolt.’

  ‘Sounds clever.’

  ‘It’s bloody genius, mate.’

  ‘Get on with it.’

  Patch got out his scope and set to work.

  Jonah rebooted the server in Coldhardt’s data centre. ‘OK. Firewall should be up and running now.’ He glanced over at Coldhardt. ‘If you restart, you should be able to access all your shared files.’

  The old man did not acknowledge him, staring into space with a gaze as blank as the screen in front of him. Jonah’s eyes lingered on the small, unsettling statue upon his desk; it depicted a man in combat with some squat, demonic figure. It was a theme common to many of the artworks Coldhardt put on display, and every variation gave Jonah the same shivers.

  ‘Thank you, Jonah.’ Coldhardt snapped suddenly back into life. ‘A timely announcement. I need to check some aerial maps of the area.’

  ‘What area?’

  ‘Colorado Springs.’ He paused. ‘That Black House address I found mentioned in Kabacra’s records – it cannot be found on any official maps.’

  Jonah frowned as he finished checking the proxy server was up and running – a further protective barrier between Coldhardt’s network and any possible attack from over the Internet. ‘Could it have been a bogus address? Or maybe encoded in some way?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Coldhardt conceded. ‘Once you have hacked into a certain satellite scanner in low orbit over the area and secured us a live feed, we can be certain.’ He fixed Jonah with those unnerving blue eyes. ‘Something’s existence may be denied. But that’s not to say it doesn’t exist.’

  For some reason, Jonah found his eyes drawn to the statue of the man and demon again.

  He blinked. ‘I, uh … I know that in the UK some American military bases aren’t marked on the maps. Could Black House be something like that?’

  ‘Possibly. There’s a good deal hidden in this world from all but the most prying of eyes.’

  ‘Like your treasure vault down in the wine cellar?’ asked Jonah lightly.

  Coldhardt looked at him stonily.

  ‘If you have to kill me ’cause I know too much,’ said Jonah apologetically, ‘I figured I should tell you before I blow my last hours hacking into that low-orbit satellite.’

  ‘I had hoped you would live long enough to outgrow this flippant streak, Jonah. How do you come to know of the vault?’

  ‘Tye found that big hidden door down there. She showed it to me.’

  ‘And you believe I store my treasures behind it?’

  ‘I haven’t told any of the others.’ Jonah shrugged. ‘I just figured you should know that Tye knew about it. Because if Sixth Sun manage to make her talk, well … then they’ll have found out about it too.’ And if that doesn’t get you more fired up about doing something to rescue her, he thought, what the hell will?

  But Coldhardt simply got up from his desk and walked calmly away. ‘Perhaps, for the time being, you’d restrict your curiosity to the spy satellite’s IP address, and the relevant coordinates. I want to know more about this Black House.’

  Subject closed, Jonah surmised. For the time being.

  Tye lay on the bed in her dressing gown, still and quiet in the darkness, listening to Ramez breathe beside her. They’d had the lights down low, soft music playing. Then the lights had suddenly flicked off into blackness, the hi-fi went dead. And yet in the darkness Tye had felt suddenly exposed. It came down to just the two of them, their sweat, Ramez’s hoarse breathing.

  And it was suddenly like it had been four years ago, half-wanting him, but always wary of how far to let his hands wander, of how far to let herself go. ‘Give a boy what he wants and he’s gone tomorrow,’ she’d heard the older girls say. ‘Hold out on him and he’ll be back again and again.’ And Tye had never given him what he wanted and look, here was Ramez back again, only it was pure cotton and silk they were lying on, not the bumpy backseat of some crappy car he’d hotwired, and his fingers were way too –

  ‘Hey.’ She’d squirmed clear of him, panting softly. ‘Who turned out the lights?’

  ‘Power’s out, ’s’all,’ he’d murmured. ‘They’ll turn back on in a sec.’ He started kissing her neck hungrily. ‘And so will you.’

  She’d held herself dead still. ‘Can we slow down?’

  Ramez had reluctantly thumped back down on to his back, his breath coming in deep, rapid pushes. Only now, minutes later, was it starting to slow.

  Tye could feel his frustration. He’d wanted to jump her from the moment she’d woken up in this place; that much was obvious. But she’d never let him go all the way before and that wasn’t about to change now – no matter what he said about wanting to make the most of every moment they had together, and no matter how much he really seemed to mean it. Because she didn’t trust the undercurrents in this situation. They threatened to tow her out with him into some cold, uncharted place. Some place she could wind up lost.

  ‘When d’you think you’ll feel ready?’ Ramez asked bluntly.

  She rolled on to her side. ‘You know, I love it when you act so romantic.’

  ‘How much more romantic can I get?’ he snapped. ‘We went out last night like you wanted. Today I let you lie in, got you breakfast in bed –’

  ‘Made by your bodyguards.’

  ‘– champagne by the bucket load, bracelet of Akoya pearls, watch chick-movies with you, play with your hair … and still you wanna wait?’

  ‘I’m waiting for you to tell me what this is really all about.’ She turned back to face him. ‘I’ve been kidding myself I didn’t need to know. That I should just stay in the moment. But that’s not me, Ramez. I could have run out on you a dozen times these last two days and I damn nearly did …’ Tye stared at him searchingly. ‘But I still care about you. I care way more than I should, but I guess that’s just the way it is.’ She swallowed hard. ‘So for God’s sake, won’t you just come out and tell me whatever the hell it is you did or sold to land your dumb ass in the high life?’

  There was silence for a while, save for their breathing. Then Ramez pulled his lighter from his jeans pocket and grabbed a tealight from the table. Soon an orange glow flickered into the room, casting spectral, hazy shadows over the wall.

  ‘Guess we’ve all got to move on sometime,’ he said at last.

  ‘Where are you moving on to?’

  ‘Maybe shuffling off’s a better way to put it.’ He looked at her, his eyes glistening. ‘Point is, I want you, Tye. That’s all I want now, before I have to go.’

  Damn, his eyes could melt chocolate. ‘And what happens to me then?’ she asked him quietly. ‘I’m just dumped, left behind?’

  He half-smiled, but a tear fell from his left eye. ‘There’s no way I can take you with me, sugar-girl.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ she murmured, as the realisation hit her like a fist. ‘You’re ill, aren’t you?’

  He looked away, his voice soft as the shadows. ‘I guess you could say I haven’t got long.’

  She placed her hand on his bare shoulder, feeling sick. ‘What is it? What’s wrong with you?’

  His smile seemed bitter. ‘We all got to make sacrifices in life, right?’

  Suddenly a loud click from outside the room made Tye jump. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Sounded like the door.’ He
peered into the gloom, then let his head fall back on the pillow. ‘Just one of the guys going out for something.’

  ‘Oh, Ramez, can’t we just get out of here together? If you’re sick I can get you help, Coldhardt can fix you up with the best doctors –’

  ‘You can’t go back to him, Tye,’ Ramez told her, pushing himself up on one elbow. ‘You mustn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’ She stared at him, her head hot and spinning. ‘Jeez, Ramez, would you try making sense for five seconds?’

  He stared back at her, his eyes dark and intense. ‘Here’s something that makes sense,’ he whispered, and pressed his lips against hers.

  And though her heart felt like it was splitting, Tye gave herself up to the kiss.

  Con took the steps to the top floor, leaving the sprawled body of the security guard at the base of the stairwell. Some people were just too stubborn to be mesmerised. She’d tucked a fifty-dollar bill into his pocket to say sorry for the tap on his head – then pulled it back out and given him thirty. It was possible to get too sentimental about things.

  She emerged through the fire door on to the penthouse approach and checked all was quiet. Then she had to duck back out of sight as two large, hulking men emerged and crossed to the window at the end of the landing. They peered out, perhaps looking to see if neighbouring buildings were also out of power.

  With a sinking feeling, Con saw the men exchange glances and walk back down the corridor. She quietly reopened the fire door and peeped round to see where they had gone.

  And then she swore.

  Patch gave a silent cheer as the last of the dials locked into place and the bolt fully retracted. The safe door swung smoothly open.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ snarled Motti. ‘Still no goddamned sword!’

  Patch reached in and pulled out the safe’s only contents. ‘It’s like a book or something!’ The cover was thin wood decorated with turquoise discs. Opening that, he found the ancient pages unfolded concertina-style, a bit like a modern map; but they were made from some sort of animal skin, daubed with weird drawings like those on the Aztec medallion. ‘What the bleedin’ hell is it?’