The Aztec Code
Page 25
For a good half-minute, no one spoke or even looked at each other.
‘That could’ve been me down there,’ Jonah said quietly.
Con bit her lip. ‘What the hell was that noise?’
‘Just interference,’ Patch insisted, pale-faced. ‘Told you, this humidity sods up the circuits.’
‘So it wasn’t the spirit of Coatlicue coming to call,’ said Jonah darkly, ‘feeding on the poison in men – and women – a bit more literally than Traynor thought.’
‘Come off it,’ Motti snorted. ‘That was just air forced out of some vent or something as the foundations fell in on themselves …’
‘Right,’ said Con.
Coldhardt said nothing. The rest of them looked at each other nervously, trying their hardest to be convinced by the explanation.
‘Weird though,’ said Jonah, ‘how just about everything else in that codex prophecy tallied with something real. There was a kind of mechanism in the statue which needed the blade of a conquistador sword to be pushed in, or “wiped clean”, to unlock it. And that showed us the place where the priests had hidden the real treasure.’ He reached in his pocket and threw a handful of gold jewellery down at Coldhardt’s feet. Con instantly stooped to scoop it up for close study. ‘Though I don’t understand how the ground in front of the statue dissolved like that.’
Tye frowned. ‘Solid stone just dissolved?’
‘It wasn’t stone,’ Coldhardt explained. ‘That area with the indentations was a kind of thick, layered paper – designed to look like stone. When perfect sacrifice was made – or rather, when enough blood was spilled at the statue’s feet – it soaked into the paper, weakened it –’
‘And the weight of the gold discs from those dead attendants made it fall away,’ said Jonah, ‘to reveal the treasure.’
‘To those who correctly unravelled the Nahuatl prophecy, yes,’ Coldhardt agreed. ‘As a result, we have a modest haul of booty.’ He retrieved several more pieces of jewellery from inside his shirt, together with two more of the weird Aztec folding books, and handed them over to Con.
‘But the rest of the treasure is still down there,’ Con said sadly.
‘Yeah, soaked with a deadly poison,’ said Jonah. ‘And there could be a fair few phials of it still intact as well.’
‘This whole part of the rainforest is totally screwed,’ Motti remarked. ‘Ain’t gonna be no covering this up.’
Coldhardt nodded. ‘Which is why, now I’m satisfied there’s no one alive down there to mention my name, I shall make an anonymous call to the government explaining one or two home truths about Michael Traynor, his ambitions, some missing plutonium – and about what they can expect to find in that temple.’
Jonah nodded. ‘I guess then at least the authorities will go in prepared.’
‘But what about the treasure?’ said Con, pouting. ‘It’s ours by rights. Now it will end up in some dreary museum or something.’
‘So?’ Patch shrugged. ‘They can clean it up for us. Least it’ll be easier to steal from there.’
Coldhardt waved one of his Aztec books. ‘You never know,’ he said, smiling faintly. ‘One of these codices could put us on to other secret treasure hauls.’
Tye slumped to the ground heavily. ‘Can’t wait.’
Jonah looked at Coldhardt. ‘Planning on tracking down Coatlicue’s presence to another likely spot?’
‘Planning on taking whatever I can get.’ Coldhardt looked reflective, oddly at peace. ‘I asked whatever presence was there in the temple how to wrest life from death – and I was shown riches.’ A slow, roguish smile spread over his craggy features. It made him look a good few years younger. ‘I take that to be a good omen. I’ve been a thief from the start, and it looks like I’ll die one too.’
Patch shuddered. ‘Any more jobs like this one, we probably all will.’
‘Well, we did manage to stop Traynor’s global killing spree,’ said Jonah. ‘That’s kind of wresting life from death, isn’t it?’
‘Gee, geek,’ said Motti, ‘d’you think if we write and tell the President we’ll get a medal?’
Jonah thumped him in the ribs, and Motti shoved him back. But they were both smiling.
Con started to strip off her bangles and necklaces, adding them to her pile of treasures. ‘At least these are worth something.’
Coldhardt considered. ‘In total we may have made a couple of million.’
‘And with Kabacra dead, we can rip off his place in Guatemala properly, yes?’ Her eyes were gleaming.
‘And Traynor too,’ Patch suggested. ‘I mean, his mansion is stacked full of goodies – including that horrible little green statue of yours!’
‘I think we have the makings of a plan.’ Coldhardt straightened up stiffly, pushing his hands through his grey mane of hair. ‘Patch, share your knowledge of the place with Motti. I want the pair of you to come up with a business plan for clearing out Traynor’s place by the time we’ve flown back to New Mexico.’
‘Understood, chief,’ said Motti.
Patch grinned. ‘Gotcha.’
‘Coldhardt,’ Con asked brightly, showing him a thick gold bracelet. ‘May I keep this? It is so pretty.’
He smiled indulgently. ‘Who am I to refuse the secret voice of Coatlicue?’
She blushed, clearly delighted. ‘You heard!’
‘An inspired distraction …’
Tye found herself walking away from the noisy, buzzing little group to a quieter spot in a nearby grove, some place she could think. Yes, they had survived; they had blundered through again somehow. But always haunting the back of her mind was the thought of getting caught. The image of herself in place of Ramez, dragged away by police, screaming for all the wrong things while someone scared watched her from the shadows.
She looked out over the cacao trees in the evening light, their branches weighed down with ripening fruit, as someone came up behind her. For a fleeting, frightened moment she thought it was Ramez. It wasn’t, though. He had gone, she knew. Gone for good.
‘You could really lose yourself in a sunset like that,’ Jonah ventured.
‘That would be cool,’ she murmured.
‘You OK?’
Tye didn’t turn round. Just took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
‘Something’s missing,’ she said at last.
‘What, now he’s gone?’
‘Who?’
‘You know who.’
‘I didn’t mean him.’ She turned to face him, smiled to see how serious he looked. ‘I was actually talking about my bra.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Your bra is missing?’
‘If it’s not on the mud bank, then Patch has got it, the little pervert. Probably sniffing it right now.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll slap him about a bit and get it back. No problem.’
Jonah sighed. ‘I can’t bear the thought of someone going down for a crime they didn’t commit.’ He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out her bundled-up bra.
She snatched it off him and folded her arms selfconsciously. ‘Jonah Wish, I hope you can explain yourself.’
He shrugged, smiled his so-not-innocent smile. ‘Souvenir?’
‘You don’t need one,’ she told him, turning back round to survey the quiet grove, leaning back against him gently, enjoying the last rays of the sun on her face. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Jonah seemed to dwell on this a while. Then he slipped his arms around her waist and planted the softest, lightest kiss on the lump on the back of her head.
‘Neither am I,’ he said.
Also by Stephen Cole
Featuring Jonah Wish
Thieves Like Us
The Wereling trilogy
Wounded
Prey
Resurrection
First published in Great Britain in 2007 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP
This electronic edition published in July 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
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Copyright © Stephen Cole 2007
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 1 4088 3618 7
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