The Aztec Code

by Stephen Cole

  Quickly Patch tore one away. Either end of the strip was hooked so it hung snugly from the chrome runners. It would make a pretty good pick and would be strong enough to poke out the key so he could –

  ‘Dummy,’ he muttered. Why make life hard for himself? He crossed to the door, listened hard to check no one was waiting outside, then folded the vandalised card wallet flat and slid it partway under the door. With the metal strip, he poked about until the key was indeed nudged clear; it fell from the lock and landed on the card. Then he slid the card back under the door towards him, and the key came with it.

  Patch smiled and squeezed the key tight in his hand. As tricks went it was olden but golden.

  The key turned smoothly, and the door opened without a sound. Patch slid the photo up his top, closed the door and locked it behind him. Hopefully no one would call in to offer him a bog-break or whatever. At least, not till he was miles from here.

  He paused in the roomy corridor. There was a window at the far end, he could maybe open it and slip outside. But what about Tye and Jonah? He couldn’t leave them behind. If all three of them escaped they could call Coldhardt, tell him all they’d discovered, hide out some place until they were picked up …

  Tye had been taken upstairs. Patch decided he’d try to find her first.

  Cautiously, his heart banging away, he crept through the house. There was no one about. Maybe everyone was still sat inside that creepy room. Maybe they were all dancing about naked and painting each other funny colours, or practising their sacrifice moves.

  Patch ran up the stairs, one hand pressing against the photo through his top, grateful that the deep pile carpet muffled his footfalls. After a minute or two spent checking various doors, he found a locked room. The key was in the lock. He turned it quietly and peered inside.

  Bang on. There was Tye, lying asleep on a leather couch. That Ramez bloke was here too, crashed out on the floor beside a table loaded with grub – roast chicken, burgers, crisps and champagne. Patch eyed it hungrily, realised he was starving. But first things first.

  ‘Tye?’ he whispered, and gently touched the side of her face. ‘Tye, it’s me, Patch. Wake up, yeah? You’re never gonna guess what I’ve found out …’

  She didn’t stir. Something was wrong. He crossed to where Ramez lay and nudged him none-too-gently with his foot. But Ramez didn’t react either. Returning to Tye, he used his thumb to open one of her eyelids. Her pupil was barely more than a pinprick.

  Patch looked over at the table piled high with booze and grub and swore. ‘Drugged.’ He stared round the room, trying not to panic. How could he get her out of here now?

  The simple answer was – he couldn’t.

  ‘I’ll be back. I’ll get help,’ he told Tye softly, taking her hand. ‘If you stick with Ramez you’ll be safe. They need him, don’t they – and he needs you.’ He squeezed her fingers. ‘We all need you, Tye. We really do.’

  Suddenly Patch started at a distant round of applause drifting from downstairs. Sounded like the meeting was about ready to break up – which meant it was time for him to break out. He’d be no help to anyone if he got himself caught again. Wielding his improvised picks, he blew Tye a kiss and slipped from the room, looking for a back way out of this dump.

  It was shaping up to be a really top night, Jonah decided. First I get beaten to a pulp, then I find out Sixth Sun’s whacko plan, and now I’m off to dump a dead body in the great American wilderness.

  There were times when he looked back on his months in the Young Offenders Institution and felt homesick.

  Xavier was driving the limo along Highway 24. Still not trusted, Jonah was locked in the back with only Kabacra’s corpse for company. The dealer had been wrapped up in black plastic bin liners. Jonah tried not to look at the swaddled figure, glistening in the orange light from the streetlamps that spilled in through the tinted windows.

  He leaned forward and banged on the partition between front and back. Xavier slid open a small window. ‘What is it now?’

  ‘We’re just passing Manitou Springs, right?’ he said casually.

  ‘You can read the signs,’ Xavier retorted.

  ‘We’re heading west though, right? Where are we making for?’

  ‘What’s it matter to you?’

  ‘Guess it doesn’t.’ Apart from the fact I’m desperately trying to get any clues as to where I am across to Motti and Con, who might still be listening in to this conversation. ‘And it sure as hell don’t matter to Kabacra. Doesn’t it worry you that Honor had him killed, just like that?’

  ‘He was trying to betray us. Wanted to get his hands on the goddess’s treasure.’

  ‘That’s all Honor told you?’ He supposed the mike’s ‘ears’ were a lot more sensitive than its wearer’s. ‘How much do you even know about her, anyway?’

  ‘Just shut your mouth,’ Xavier growled.

  Just open your eyes! he wanted to yell. Where will you be dropping Traynor’s poison? How many people are you going to kill just because your crazy leader tells you to? But he couldn’t give away what he’d found out. That could get him killed right now.

  ‘All right, we’re nearly there,’ Xavier announced. ‘Waldo Canyon. Plenty of side trails we can dump a body. No one’ll find him for weeks. Months, maybe.’

  Jonah sighed. ‘I don’t suppose anyone will be calling the cops when he doesn’t come home tonight.’

  ‘Just like no one will be calling them if you go missing either,’ said Xavier menacingly as he took the exit road from the highway. ‘Am I right?’

  Jonah didn’t reply.

  ‘So no tricks. You try and run, I’ll cripple you. Got it?’

  ‘Loud and clear,’ Jonah muttered. ‘What’s your day job, Xavier? I mean, what do you do when you’re not running about in a black mask or burying murder victims?’

  ‘I’m studying for a masters in Mesoamerican languages.’

  ‘Bit of a weird fit, isn’t it?’

  ‘You could never understand,’ Xavier sneered. ‘We’re only doing what we must. We are the chosen ones whose coming the old priests foretold.’

  ‘Right. ’Course you are.’ Jonah rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘So, Waldo Canyon, car park six, west side. A limo’s not going to stand out here at all in the middle of the night, is it?’

  ‘No one’s gonna come looking,’ Xavier told him flatly.

  He parked the car and Jonah got out. The moon was bright and clear, but its silvery light only seemed to make the tree-busy landscape more sinister. The night was cold, but not as cold as the thick black plastic shrouding Kabacra. Already rigor mortis was setting in, his limbs were getting harder to shift. While Xavier took a couple of shovels from the trunk, Jonah found himself having to carry the body over his shoulder, unaided.

  Shining a powerful torch, Xavier soon headed off the main track and pushed through bushes and bracken over uneven ground. Jonah stumbled often, almost dropping the body several times. After fifteen minutes he grew so hot and tired that he started to drag the body behind him, desensitised to the horror of the situation now, just wanting to get this over and done with. All he could think of was how many corpses there’d be when the chemical agents were released into water supplies around the world. And why – just so Traynor could show off to his imaginary friend in the temple?

  It was all so insane, obscene, and here he was, caught up at the heart of it. What if he just ran, tried to reach a phone and call Coldhardt? Yeah, and get totally lost and probably die of exposure while Sixth Sun got on with their plans for mass murder – good one. No, if he proved himself, tagged along tomorrow, maybe he’d find the opportunity to do something about –

  ‘Hold it,’ Xavier announced suddenly behind him, switching off the torch. ‘I think I heard something.’

  Jonah dumped Kabacra’s body and strained to listen. But he couldn’t hear anything beyond the rattle of branches in the wind and his own ragged breathing. The sound of the highway had droned distantly in the first part of th
e hike, but now it felt like they were in the middle of nowhere.

  Then the sound of a snapping twig cracked out like a pistol shot.

  ‘Someone’s there,’ Xavier warned in a low voice. He threw down the shovel and pulled a gun from his pocket.

  ‘Probably an animal,’ Jonah suggested, a bone-hard fear forming in his chest. Please, no more killing.

  But even as he spoke a sudden, explosive rustling sounded close by, like someone had just kicked a pile of leaves.

  ‘Come out!’ Xavier flicked on the torch, shining it into the undergrowth ahead of him. ‘Whoever’s there, come out now.’

  ‘OK.’

  Jonah started. The deep, gruff voice had come from behind Xavier – and was quickly followed by the clang of metal hitting something hard. With a fleshy thump, Xavier was suddenly on the floor, poleaxed. In the light of the fallen torch, Jonah could see the trickle of blood seeping down from the man’s hairline – and a dark figure crouch over his body.

  ‘Geek, is this the guy who trashed your ass in New Mexico?’ Motti wondered. ‘He’s, like, a total pussy. One whack of the shovel and he’s down.’

  ‘Mot!’ Jonah rushed forwards and grabbed him in a hug. ‘You found me.’

  ‘We were able to pick up the radio mike’s signal,’ Con said, emerging now from the undergrowth behind him. ‘And we received your helpful directions.’

  ‘Yeah, geek, how obvious did you feel like being? How this guy never rumbled you …’ But while Motti’s frown was disapproving, he clapped Jonah on the back warmly. ‘Nice bruise, man. Between us we got a real good collection.’ Then he checked on Xavier. ‘His ain’t bad either.’

  ‘Is he OK?’

  ‘Sleeping like a baby. Probably gonna cry like one too when he wakes up with the mother of all headaches.’

  Jonah smiled at Con, reaching for her hand. ‘How long have you been listening in on that mike?’

  ‘We got everything till you left Traynor’s place,’ she said, and kissed his fingers. ‘Then we lost you.’

  ‘We’ve been driving around for hours,’ Motti went on. ‘Managed to pick you up again when you were on the highway.’

  Con looked pointedly at Motti. ‘Good thing I made you stop for that filet-o-fish outside Manitou, yes?’

  ‘So what the hell were you doing out here, man?’ asked Motti, looking warily at the black plastic bundle on the ground. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘One very dead arms dealer,’ said Jonah. ‘Guys, there is some serious stuff kicking off round here and we are way out of our depth. We’ve got to get Coldhardt on the case right now.’

  ‘We ain’t spoken to him yet,’ Motti admitted. ‘Figured if he knew that tomorrow was the big day he might drag us back before we could get to you and the others.’

  ‘What is it, Jonah?’ Con wondered. ‘You look scared.’

  ‘Terrified more like.’ He picked up the discarded torch. ‘I’ll explain on the way back to the car.’ He started off through the bracken – then stopped again. ‘Uh … which way is the way back?’

  ‘Jonah Wish, last action hero,’ said Motti drily, setting off after Con, who was already sauntering elegantly along a narrow track through the overgrown wilderness. ‘Get spilling those guts, geek – and let’s move.’

  So Jonah told them his story. The cold and claustrophobic woods around them did nothing to ease the mood of fear and unease.

  ‘You think this Honor chick was on the level?’ Motti wondered as they reached the main track at last.

  ‘She’s a power-mad bitch,’ Jonah told him.

  ‘She doesn’t sound so bad,’ said Con. ‘I could probably learn a trick or two from her.’

  ‘Yeah, she makes you seem totally warm and cuddly. I know Kabacra was no saint, but to poison him just like that –’

  ‘He got what he deserved,’ said Con flatly. ‘As for the rest of this business, I say we keep out of it.’

  ‘And stick to bottled water,’ quipped Motti darkly.

  Jonah stared at them. ‘But we’re the only ones who stand even the slightest chance of stopping this from happening!’

  ‘We are thieves, yes?’ Con reminded him. ‘Not dogooders.’

  ‘We’re people.’ Jonah looked at Motti. ‘What do you think we should do?’

  Motti shrugged as he strode along. ‘Maybe Con’s right. Sounds like one for the cops, man.’

  ‘What do we do?’ said Jonah. ‘Call them up and tell them to stake out a temple hidden somewhere in Mexico on the offchance they run into these maniacs? And what about Tye and Patch? How do we get them –?’

  Suddenly, Motti stopped mid-stride, yanked his buzzing cell phone from his trouser pocket and flipped up the receiver. ‘Lousy coverage out here. Someone called. I gotta message.’

  ‘Coldhardt?’ Con wondered.

  Jonah saw Motti’s eyes widen as he listened. ‘Jeez, it’s Patch! Calling from a payphone.’

  Jonah gripped his arm. ‘What’s he say?’

  ‘Dunno, it’s all garbled. He was panting so damned hard it was more like a phonesex chatline.’ Motti was already working the backlit buttons. ‘C’mon, gimme the last number registered. You better not have shifted your skinny ass from there, cyclops, or I’ll whup it.’

  Jonah waited tensely as Motti called back the payphone on speaker. Someone picked up almost immediately. ‘Motti, that you?’

  ‘Patch!’ Con cheered.

  ‘Is Tye with you?’ Jonah said at the same time.

  Motti shushed them both. ‘Patch, where are you, man?’

  ‘I dunno. Hiding somewhere off Highway 24. I’ve been running for ever.’

  ‘We can trace the number of the call box,’ Con pointed out practically.

  ‘OK, man, we’re coming to get you,’ said Motti, stumbling off again down the track. Jonah and Con followed him, picking up the pace. ‘Where’s Tye?’

  ‘Well out of it. Her and Ramez have been drugged. Guess Traynor wanted to make sure they didn’t try nothing ahead of the big day.’ Suddenly they heard the roar of a car passing by – then silence.

  ‘Patch?’ said Motti urgently, tapping his phone. ‘You there?’

  ‘I’m scared to death,’ he said quietly. ‘Come and get me out of here, will ya? If they find out I’ve got away, they might not be bothered about bringing me back alive. And you ain’t gonna believe what I’ve got to show you. Pictures of that temple and … something amazing.’

  ‘Just tell us, OK? We ain’t in the mood for games.’

  ‘You know the hidden symbol thing on the statue – the egg with the four trees?’

  ‘What about it?’ Con asked, ducking under a low-hanging branch.

  ‘It’s not an egg. It’s a bloody great big rock.’

  Jonah and Con stared at each other. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve got a photo of it, from one of Sixth Sun’s geography surveys,’ Patch insisted. ‘There’s only three trees, but there’s the stump of another, it’s fallen down. And this rock is enormous, like a giant rugby ball. It’s the place in the pictogram!’

  ‘But the other pictograms had encrypted meanings,’ protested Jonah, his mind wrestling with the revelation. ‘They had to be translated.’

  ‘But the hidden pictogram needed translating too, right?’ Motti pointed out. ‘All those little lines had to be visually translated, rearranged to make the picture.’

  ‘And I’m sure the other two pictures give clues to combined words in Nahuatl,’ said Con. ‘Secretly cacao.’

  ‘Then those trees in the hidden pictogram must represent cacao trees,’ Jonah breathed. ‘And the big rock marks the secret spot where the temple is hidden.’

  ‘There’s letters and numbers on the back of the photo,’ Patch informed them. ‘Might be another code.’

  ‘More likely a map reference,’ said Motti. He stopped still and stared in disbelief at Jonah and Con. ‘We found the temple. Jeez, guys – we found the goddamned temple!’

  ‘Oi!’ Patch complained, his voice sounding tinny
and small over the phone’s speakers. ‘Come and find me, you sods!’

  ‘We’ll phone again when we get there,’ said Jonah, leading the way now along the track. ‘And once we’ve picked him up and seen what he’s got, we must get through to Coldhardt.’

  ‘And get our heads round some kind of plan,’ Motti agreed, switching off his cell phone.

  ‘Before the earth shakes the sun from the sky and Coatlicue feasts on the poison in men,’ said Con, rubbing at something on her wrist. ‘And before I get any more scratches from this stupid bracken – yes?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jonah, Motti, Con and Patch were back in the motel room outside Florissant, gathered round the laptop. Jonah rubbed his eyes and glanced out the window. The dawn was dropping hints it might break soon: slivers of grey scratched the darkness and birds began to sing with sickening cheer.

  A digitised image of Coldhardt sat looking out at them from a window on the monitor. Once they’d grabbed Patch and got the hell away they’d come straight back here to talk to the boss man. Patch was holding up his photo of the Mexican landscape to the webcam like a trophy, so Coldhardt could see the resemblance for himself. Taken in conjunction with Con’s straightforward translation of the other two symbols, Jonah was definitely convinced.

  ‘Thank you, Patch,’ Coldhardt said quietly. ‘On several Aztec depictions of the Earth’s creation, the cacao tree is shown in a key position. It makes sense that the priests and their architects would bury their temple in soil rich in the roots of cacao – a goddess once gorged with human blood would instead be nurtured with the blood of the earth.’

  ‘“Cacao secretly”,’ Con murmured, looking pleased with herself.

  ‘And what about these pix of the temple?’ said Patch, holding up some crumpled photocopies. ‘Look, this statue’s like yours.’

  ‘A much larger effigy of Coatlicue, I should think,’ ventured Coldhardt. ‘Presumably the focus for the temple rituals.’

  ‘What are those circles round her feet?’ Con wondered.

  ‘I don’t know.’ The gleam in the old man’s eyes was clear even over a webcam. ‘Perhaps we’ll have more of an idea when we see them with our own eyes – inside the temple.’