Survival Course td-82

by Warren Murphy

  Guadalupe's lower lip trembled. She had thought she knew what her answer would be. But she was without a pistol now. And as El Padrino, who was dressed like an Acapulco gigolo, looked at her with feigned indifference, she muttered the word that tasted of bitterness.

  "Plata," she said, adding, "No me mates, por favor."

  The pistol was withdrawn.

  Comandante Embutes said, "Very wise, senorita. Now you will tell us all about the americanos, and their presidente."

  The words tumbled out of Guadalupe's Mazatl's mouth. She told them everything, about the false Vice-President, about the speaking statue. They scoffed at first, but when she produced the videotape, they scoffed no longer.

  El Padrino's video machine played the scene over and over in the plush stateroom of his Lear jet. The cabin was very silent except for muttered curses.

  "Josip Broz Tito, eh?" El Padrino said finally, turning to her. "Tito was a good man. Perhaps we can bargain with him, eh?"

  "He wants only to survive," Guadalupe muttered abjectly. "That is what the gringos have said. To survive. "

  El Padrino stood up. He nodded to Comandante Embutes. He pulled Guadalupe to her feet, checking the cords that bound her hands behind her back.

  El Padrino lifted her chin in his many-ringed hands.

  "We all wish to survive, eh, chica?"

  And Officer Guadalupe Mazatl lowered her head in Aztec shame at his arrogant ladino smile.

  Chapter 26

  Remo parked at the tourist entrance to the ruined necropolis of Teotihuacan. There was a museum ticket booth nearby. The door stood open. It was deserted.

  "Looks like everybody cleared out," Remo said, coming out of the museum. He handed the Master of Sinanju a brochure, saying, "Here's a layout of the place, in case we have to split up."

  They walked between two long buildings into the ruins, coming to the base of an immense flat-sided pyramid that reared up for hundreds of feet so steeply its summit could not be seen. It was like a square wedding cake, each section smaller than the one under it. The broad stairs stopped at frequent open terraces. "Remo, such magnificence!" Chiun squeaked suddenly, his tired eyes brightening to birdlike clarity.

  "It's the Pyramid of the Sun," Remo replied. "And don't get carried away with past glories. The Aztecs are all gone."

  "It looks almost Egyptian. Could these Aztecs have been a colony of Egypt? Only the Pyramid of Cheops rivals this."

  Remo frowned. They were standing on a long straight stone-paved road. Grass grew in the chinks between the cobbles. In fact, it grew along the sides of the dull brown pyramid.

  "Says here we're standing on the Avenue of the Dead," Remo said, reading from his brochure. He gazed down the road. Past a line of flat structures like flat-topped temples, the road ended at the foot of a smaller pyramid that seemed to have been excavated from a hill. The back of the pyramid was still embedded in the hill.

  "And that's the Pyramid of the Moon," Remo added. He looked up. "I didn't expect anything this big. There's an awful lot of ground to cover. What do you think?"

  "I think that we missed a wonderful client in the Aztecs," Chiun said wistfully, scanning his brochure.

  "Forget that stuff," Remo snapped. "We'd better get organized before Gordons gets here." He looked up. "What about the top of this pyramid?"

  The Master of Sinanju shaded his eyes, trying to see the pyramid's top. He could not.

  "Yes," he said. "We will go up this one."

  They started up the tumbledown steps. The stairs became broader as they ascended, until they reached the middle terrace, where they paused to look around and catch their breath.

  "Better watch it, Little Father," Remo warned. "You can't see the steps until you're on top of them. Don't walk off the side."

  The Master of Sinanju stepped to the terrace lip and looked down. It was true. The broken stone steps were so steep one had to walk to the very edge before they became visible. He frowned. The mighty Egyptians had never constructed anything so marvelous.

  The city of Teotihuacan extended for several square miles in every direction. Despite the danger, Remo was impressed by its sad vastness. " I wonder if America will ever reach this stage?" he wondered aloud.

  "Count on it," Chiun said. "Let us continue."

  They trudged up to the topmost terrace, their lungs laboring to extract oxygen from the thin, polluted air. Chiun's breath whistled.

  Above them, the pyramid's apex was accessible by a narrow flight of steps so steep that it was impossible to see their top. They seemed to merge with the brownish sky.

  Remo was looking down toward a distant stone edifice his brochure called the Temple of Quetzalcoad. "I don't see any sign of Tito," he said. "Guess we gotta go to the top."

  They started the final ascent. As they mounted the rubble-strewn steps, a towering stone carving became visible. It stood amid the rocks of the pyramid's uneven summit.

  Remo looked at it without pleasure. "What the hell is this thing?"

  It stood over eight feet in height, and seemed almost four feet wide. It was made of rude stone. It resembled, if anything, an Aztec conception of a robot. The broad head was carved into serpent heads perched nose-to-nose so that its side-mounted orbs looked out with wall-eyed balefulness. It wore a ghoulish double grin. Two other serpent heads formed shoulder epaulets, and instead of hands it sported blunted stone slabs. Its chest was arrayed with human hearts and dismembered hands. A skull served as a kind of belt buckle.

  There was barely enough room on the rubble-strewn top for them and the idol when they joined it on the summit.

  "It is an ugly Aztec goddess," Chiun said, looking around at the panorama of dead Teotihuacan far below. A river meandered nearby, as brown as an earthworn.

  "I think you're right," Remo said, examining the idol. "It's a female. That's a skirt made of snakes. The whole thing is a walking snake pit." He paged through his brochure, trying find the snake goddess's name.

  " I do not see any sign of Tito below," Chiun said, looking west.

  "Ugly monstrosity, isn't it?" Remo muttered, looking at the idol's clawed feet. "Not exactly Egyptian."

  "Its head is two serpents joined at the nose," Chiun noted. "The Egyptian gods had animal heads too. "

  "If this is Egyptian, I'm as Aztec as Guadalupe."

  "Behold," Chiun said suddenly, pointing to a cleared area of dirt where sat an olive helicopter. Comandante Odio's helicopter. Remo saw that the front seats were mangled and mashed.

  Remo looked up. "He's already here," he said grimly. "Damn!"

  "Beware, Remo," Chiun intoned. "He was not in the form of Tito when he journeyed here. He was much larger, much heavier. For both seats are crushed. "

  "Good. That'll make him easier to spot," Remo said. He turned his attention back to the brochure. "Funny," he muttered. "I can't find it."

  "Keep looking," Chiun said, his keen eyes raking the surrounding terrain. "He must be somewhere."

  "Not Tito. This stone thing. According to this, we're standing on the rubble of a temple. No mention of any snake goddess," Remo's voice got smaller. "Uh-oh," he muttered, his gaze lifting to the double serpent head. He eyed its blank scaly face for expression.

  "Little Father," he said softly.

  The Master of Sinanju turned, his eyes quizzical. He saw his pupil's thumb surreptitiously jerking in the direction of the stone snake idol.

  Chiun's eyes went very wide. Then, in a high squeaky voice, he said, " I hope our friend Josip Broz Tito arrives very soon."

  "Yes indeedy," Remo chimed in brightly, edging away from the massive idol. "Be nice if he's early. The plane is waiting to take us back to the U. S., where we'll all be nice and safe."

  "True, true," Chiun rejoined, also stepping away from the idol. "There is no telling what will happen to him if these Mexicans discover he has usurped their precious statue. He will be in very grave danger. They are no doubt pursuing him mightily at this very moment."

  "Hope nothing happens
," Remo added loudly. "I'd sure like to help him out."

  They stopped. The statue simply stood there, immobile, invincible, inert. An Aztec golem.

  "Maybe they already got him," Remo ventured pointedly.

  "Yes, you are undoubtedly correct, Remo," Chiun said. "Let us go. There is nothing we can do for poor Tito now."

  They started down the steps.

  The sudden sound was like breaking rocks. It came from the summit. They turned, their hands lifting defensively, ready for anything.

  The stone idol called Coatlicue roused to life. The kissing serpents parted and pointed down at them, a doubleheaded monstrosity on weaving stone necks. Its arms lifted to show its maimed forearms. And it spoke in a voice like grinding stones.

  "I am here!" he rumbled.

  "You are no longer Tito," Chiun remarked calmly.

  "I can assume whatever shape I desire."

  "We are pleased to meet you again, O statue," Chiun called up. "For we have come to parley."

  The idol stepped forward on its clawed feet. Both heads looked at Remo. "And you?"

  "We're both ready to negotiate," Remo said.

  "Very well. I will surrender your President on two conditions."

  Chiun smiled thinly. "Name them."

  "One. That we are taken to a place of safety."

  "Done," said the Master of Sinanju.

  "Two. That I take the place of one who holds a position of security in the President's government."

  "Tito's dead," Remo called, "and he's not with our government. "

  "I mean the meat machine you call Vice-President of the United States."

  Remo's eyes went wide. Chiun's narrowed.

  "Why would you want that?" Remo wondered sincerely.

  "I understand his duties are undemanding. I understand that he is well-paid, well-protected, and has much leisure time."

  "You understand right," Remo said.

  "These are my conditions. I am prepared to assume the form of the Vice-President at any time. I pledge to serve the office well, asking only to be unmolested for the natural span of my lifetime."

  Remo and Chiun exchanged glances.

  "Couldn't be any worse than the VP we already have," Remo muttered.

  They turned to Coatlicue's wavering stone serpent regard.

  "It's a deal," Remo said, poker-faced. "Now that that's settled, where are you keeping the President?"

  The stone serpent heads opened their dry cold mouths to answer.

  From far below came the sound of car engines and slamming doors. Feet scraped on rocks.

  Remo whirled. Racing across the Avenue of the Dead came Officer Guadalupe Mazatl and a host of men he had never seen. Armed men. One in a blue DFS uniform. He was pulling Guadalupe along.

  "Who are those meat machines?" rumbled the idol who was Mr. Gordons.

  "-Search me," Remo mumbled.

  "Why should I search you?"

  "Just an expression," Remo said quickly. "They're not with us. Honest."

  "Is this a trap?" asked Mr. Gordons in a flinty voice.

  "Of course not," Remo said quickly. "Is it, Chiun?"

  "No, it is not a trap," the Master of Sinanju snapped. "We have nothing to do with these people."

  " I recognize the female meat machine. She accompanied the old one before."

  "But she's not with us anymore," Remo said quickly. "I don't know what's going on."

  The contingent of men came up the steps huffing and puffing.

  A voice called out. Guadalupe's.

  "Remo! Por favor! Help me!" It ended in a fleshy smack and a whimper.

  There was no other way down, so Remo and Chiun simply waited, their eyes shifting between the looming entity on the summit and the approaching gunmen.

  When they were within earshot, Remo called down.

  "That's far enough. What do you want?"

  Guadalupe started to speak. Her eyes focused upon the statue of Coatlicue. "What is that doing here?" she demanded fearfully.

  "I think she means you," Remo told Mr. Gordons.

  "I am here to negotiate for my survival," Gordons rumbled.

  And Guadalupe Mazatl, hearing the stone voice of the Mother of the Sun, screamed.

  She was flung aside. A corpulent man in a silk shirt and rings on his fingers shouted up.

  "I have come to bargain for the life of the U. S. presidente!"

  "Too late," Remo called back. "He's coming with us. "

  "I will double their offer," Jorge Chingar said. "I am El Padrino. I am very wealthy. I can make your every desire come to pass."

  "Stuff it," Remo said. "We already have a deal. Right?"

  Mr. Gordons spoke up. The snake heads peered down. "I am promised the office of the Vice-President. What can you offer me?"

  El Padrino laughed. "They are lying to you, amigo. It is all a trick. They know you are Senor Gordon."

  At that, the stones monster stepped off the summit, its clawed feet cracking the steps.

  "Damn!" Remo said. He threw up his hands. "Okay, you got us. We know you're Gordons. But the deal's still on. We have authorization."

  The idol lurched down, its ungainly arms flung out for balance. The pistoleros of El Padrino clustered about him protectively, their Uzis and Mac 10's trained upward at the advancing colossus.

  "It is too late to bargain," Chiun intoned. "We will have to fight."

  "No!" Remo said anxiously. "We waste Gordons, and we've lost the President."

  "Smith said that the President is better off dead than in the hands of evil ones," Chiun said. "We first of all must ensure our own survival."

  Remo hesitated. "I'd love to debate this, but there's no time," he said. "I'm with you."

  Together they raced up to meet the lumbering monster that was Mr. Gordons.

  "Okay, Gordons," Remo challenged. "We tried to do this your way. Now the gloves are off. We do this our way or it's rock-garden time."

  "You attempted treachery," Gordons said, the dismembered hands on his chest grasping like dying spiders.

  A blunt arm lashed out. Remo ducked. Not fast enough. His reflexes were sluggish. One stone limb connected with a glancing blow. Remo was sent stumbling backward.

  But the blow left Mr. Gordons exposed on that side.

  The Master of Sinanju angled in, one fist out. His blow was solid. It chipped stone. The creature, off-balance, rocked back from the impact.

  It turned, a grinding stone automaton. Both arms raised like pile drivers.

  Landing on the terrace below, Remo recovered quickly. His head hurt. He clambered to his feet, the sight of the upraised arms descending on his teacher galvanizing him to action.

  Then the shooting started.

  Bullets spanked off the pyramid side and steps. Remo whirled away from a stinging bullet track.

  El Padrino's voice lifted.

  "Cease fire," he called. "We are here to negotiate, not battle."

  The upraised stone arms froze. The Master of Sinanju faded back from their menace.

  Mr. Gordons turned his blocky body clumsily. The serpent heads looked down.

  "I will listen to any reasonable offer as long as my survival is not threatened," he said.

  "Senor Gordon, I can assure this," said El Padrino. "I am a very rich man. I own a fine hacienda that is like a fortress. I will see that no one injures you ever. I ask only that the President be handed over to me."

  "Over my dead body," Remo growled.

  A battery of Uzis suddenly pointed in Remo's direction.

  "This can be arranged," El Padrino said simply.

  "I do not want any deaths until the negotiations are finished," Mr. Gordons growled abrasively.

  Remo turned to face him. "The vice-presidency still goes, Gordons. I can deliver."

  "Do not be a fool, Gordon," El Padrino said. "Even if they agree to this preposterous thing, the Vice-President will be out of office in four years, perhaps eight. What guarantees do you have after this?"

  "Is thi
s true?" Gordons asked Remo.

  "Hey, you could become President after that," Remo countered. "A lot of Vice-Presidents become President."

  "This is true?"

  "Sure," Remo said. "It's the American way. Anyone can become President. Right, Chiun?"

  "I know this to be true, insane as it sounds," the Master of Sinanju intoned.

  "You cannot possibly believe this, Senor Gordon," El Padrino cried. "With me, you have a lifetime yob. I have many uses for a yuggernaut such as yourself."

  "I wouldn't take the word of a drug dealer," Remo pointed out. "Especially one with a speech inpediment."

  "Is this true? Are you a criminal?"

  "I am a businessman," El Padrino said smoothly. "In my country, I am more famous than the Vice President. See my fine pistoleros? They would lay down their very lives for El Padrino. And for you, Senor Gordon, if I say this."

  "Prove this. Have one lay down his life for you."

  "Of course," El Padrino said. He nodded to Comandante Embutes, who yanked Guadalupe Mazatl to her feet. He put a gun muzzle to her temple.

  "We will kill this one, hokay?"

  Guadalupe looked up through the disarrayed hair over her face. Her brown eyes leaked tears.

  "Oh, Coatlicue," she pleaded. "Do not let them kill your daughter. I implore you."

  "Do it!" El Padrino ordered.

  "No," said the Master of Sinanju. "There is a better way."

  "What way is that?" asked Mr. Gordons.

  "Ask the woman," Chiun said. "She is about to die. She knows us all. Ask her whom you may trust."

  The serpent heads swept away from the Master of Sinanju to the woman, Guadalupe Mazatl.

  "Tell me," Gordons rumbled.

  "There is only one way you can know the truth," Guadalupe Mazatl said. "And that is by telling them all where the presidente is. Among my people, we have a saying. Caras vemos, corazones no sabemos. It means 'Faces we see, hearts we don't know.'"

  "Should I tear out their hearts?" Mr. Gordons asked.

  "No. It means that only by their actions can you judge them."

  "The woman speaks wisdom," Chiun told Gordons.