Ted had read up on the site. He led the group to a series of steep steps that climbed up the wall. Archeologists surmise that this may have been a defensive measure. Any enemy attacking the city had to climb these steps. A few well-placed archers along the walls would have provided adequate protection.
The top of the wall was at least twenty feet across and twenty-five feet above ground level. The group just stood and looked down on the city in wonder.
“How did they build all of this?” Hope asked. “They didn’t have the wheel and didn’t have metal tools.”
“And think about how old this is,” Ted said. “They were building this city when Christ was alive. As a matter of fact, there are some scholars who think that Quetzalcoatl was Jesus Christ. The stories surrounding them are so similar. A group of Mormons proposed that Jesus visited America after the Resurrection.”
“How come you know so much about this, amigo?” Chris asked.
“Doctor Gonzales gave me a short lecture on Aztec religion.”
They climbed down the steps on the inside of the wall, putting them on the Avenue of the Dead. The broad street was blocked every few hundred feet by a wall across it with the ubiquitous steps.
At one end of the complex the Pyramid of the Moon stood guard. At the other, the temple to Quetzalcoatl loomed over the street, but the Pyramid of the Sun dominated the entire landscape. From up close, Ted couldn’t see the top. He remembered Maria telling him it was the second largest pyramid in the world, after the Great Pyramid at Giza.
As he crossed the wall entering the complex, he marveled at the symmetry of the structure. The pyramid was built in a series of tall steps. The four sides inclined at about a thirty- degree angle to the platform at the top. Tall narrow steps in the center of the front side provided access to the top. About a quarter of the way up, a platform wrapping around the pyramid held the stone altar. This, he surmised, was where the sacrifices were made.
****
“Hurry,” Yves said. “They will be here any time.” He watched as four of his henchmen donned the garb of Aztec priests. They wore black head dresses covered in turquoise stones with long blue feathers protruding like a halo from the back. Each of them had a gold cloth collar over their shoulders and a bright red cape flowing down their backs. They wore short, colorful skirts under leather loin cloths and leather sandals. Their bodies were painted black.
“I know you think this is all foolishness,” Yves said to his priests. “But, believe me. It will produce the desired effect on our guests.”
Yves donned his own head dress, by far the most ornate of the bunch. His was covered in gold medallions, the feathers extending a full three feet from his head. An obsidian knife hung from the leather belt holding up his skirt.
“Come, bring the prisoner.” Yves turned and walked around the platform on the first level of the pyramid.
Two men, armed with M16s, grabbed Guillermo under his shoulders and dragged him after Yves.
Guillermo was drugged to the point where he couldn’t walk on his own. He smiled a silly grin when the gunmen took hold of him. His feet didn’t want to obey his brain.
He was dressed only in a white loin cloth. His entire body was painted blue.
Madame Trufaunt put her headpiece in place; she was dressed similarly to the others. Her headpiece was tall with golden feathers protruding from the top like a clump of swamp grass. She too wore the golden collar over her bare chest. Her small, sagging breasts were painted bright red. Her prosthetic limbs gave an otherworldly look to her garb. She might have been mistaken for being part of a science fiction movie.
The entourage moved around the pyramid. In the front of the structure, facing the great square, a black stone altar sat on the platform that protruded to the west. The gunmen dragged Guillermo to the altar.
Yves gazed down at the parking lot, the buildings appeared tiny. He spied Catrina’s Ford, parked up the road. It looked like a Matchbox car. Far below him, he saw five ant-like figures cautiously making their way toward the pyramid.
What a feeling of power it must have given the ancient priests, to look down at the square below them, filled with tens of thousands of people, while they performed their rituals. They must have felt like gods. He was a god. He had the power of life and death in his hands and soon he would be the angel of death itself.
Chapter 33
Teotihuacán, Mexico
“No sign of Yves yet,” Chris said, stopping to catch his breath. Hope grabbed onto his bicep and put her head against his arm gasping for air.
“That’s good,” Jeff said. “In the Rangers, they taught us to always take the high ground. Let’s beat feet up that pyramid.”
It was easier said than done. The pyramid rose over two hundred and fifty feet from the valley floor. There were at least a thousand steps leading to the top, by the time they’d crossed several walls on the Avenue, they were all winded.
“You have to realize,” Catrina said, “that we’re over a mile high in altitude here. The air’s a lot thinner up here than at home.”
Ted and Hope seemed to feel the effects of the altitude less than the others. Must be our heritage, Ted thought. He’d always had a huge chest and, when he was playing football, he’d had the largest measured lung capacity on the team.
“Look!” Hope pointed to the platform a quarter of the way up the pyramid.
Ted looked up to see a procession coming around the corner in the bright moonlight. In the lead was the head priest, followed by two men in jeans with assault rifles pulling a blue man in a white loincloth. Then came four Aztec priests, their bodies painted black, with white faces and ornate head gear, following behind them at the rear was a priestess.
There was no doubt in Ted’s mind. The priestess had an artificial arm and leg. “Madame Trufaunt,” he spat.
They ran across the courtyard to the bottom of the pyramid.
“Mr. Higuera, Mr. Hardwick,” Yves yelled down. “I’m glad to see you figured out my little charade.”
Ted’s heart was in his throat.
“Let my brother go, you don’t want him. You want me.”
“You are correct, mon ami, I do want you. But for what you have done to me, to us, you must suffer.” Yves gestured to his priests.
They spread-eagled Guillermo over the altar.
“Stop right there,” Jeff shouted. He raised his M16 to the firing position and flicked on the laser sight. A small red dot appeared on Yves chest.
Yves laughed. “You don’t really think that I’m not prepared for you? Carlos,” he screamed.
Two men with M16s came around the corner of the pyramid, guns leveled.
“It looks like we’ve got a Mexican standoff,” Ted shouted. “Why don’t you stand down and no one has to get hurt.”
“You can’t be serious,” Yves shouted. “You watch too much American TV.” He pulled the obsidian knife from his belt. “You don’t really think you can hit me from way down there, do you?”
He had a point, it had to be at least a hundred yards. Jeff was a good shot, but was he that good?
“And besides,” Yves continued. “You will all be dead the minute you pull the trigger. I don’t care if I die. I welcome death. It would be a release for me. You don’t know the pain I live with every day, thanks to you. Go ahead, take your shot, let’s see what happens.”
Jeff kept his sights on Yves. Catrina, with the other M16, turned to face one of the gunmen. The others pulled their handguns.
“That’s pathetic,” Yves yelled down. “You, at least Mrs. Flaherty, know that my men would cut you all down before you had a chance to fire a single shot. Now, let’s stop playing games. Drop your weapons.”
Ted looked at Catrina. She had a helpless look in her eyes. He looked over to Chris.
Their eyes met. That magical thing happened. He was sure he could read Chris’s thoughts.
Not now, amigo. Drop your gun. Let’s see how this plays out.
Ted dropped his .38 to the
ground and the others followed suit.
“Good. Now you are being reasonable.” Yves walked to the edge of the platform. “I want you up here. Come, climb the steps.”
Then Ted heard it again. It started out a low, rumbling sound. “RRRrrrrrrr . . .”
Then the volume increased to a roar. “RRRrrrrrrr . . . OWWWWW.”
****
Foothills of the Rocky Mountains, Montana
El Cuchillo knew horses. Growing up on a rancho in Chihuahua, his papa had three horses that he and his brothers used to herd the scraggly cattle that grazed on the open range.
His men were all familiar with horses too. Mexican men prided themselves on their abilities as horsemen. They would ride the rich gringo, the woman and the girl into the ground. There was no way they could escape.
Leaving the ranch in Peaceful Valley, El Cuchillo picked up the horses tracks. He wasn’t an expert tracker, he couldn’t tell how many horses there were or who was riding them, but any fool could follow the hoof prints in the dirt.
They rode through the day, not stopping for rest. The horses were strong and the riders light, they kept plodding on mile after mile.
The terrain was strange to him and his men. Tall trees surrounded the trail, filtering out the sunshine. Ferns and brush filled the area between the trees. It would be next to impossible to ride off of the trail.
The summer sun provided plenty of warmth by day, but as evening fell, the night grew cold and damp. They were in the mountains, the clear sky gave them an unlimited view of the starry sky, but hijo de Dios, was it cold. El Cuchillo had experienced the cold of a desert night, he had spent many nights camped out in the Sierras, but ojalé, this was miserable.
They rode through the night. The cabrón could not have left the trail. When they hit intersecting trails, El Cuchillo climbed down off of his tired horse and examined the ground for hoof prints with a flashlight. He smiled to himself as he found the fresh trail.
****
“Coffee’s ready,” Candace called over her shoulder.
It had been a cold night. She snuggled up in her sleeping bag, but woke to find a layer of frost covering everything.
Harry had built a fire, then disappeared into the brush to relieve himself. She walked the short distance to a stream for water, then started a pot of coffee.
“God, that smells good,” Harry said, zipping his pants as he came back into the camp.
The aroma of coffee perking and bacon frying reached him in the bushes. “I’m so hungry I could eat the hind end out of a skunk.”
“Well, hold on a few minutes. I’ll have some grub ready in no time, boss.” Candace laughed when she said “boss.”
Kayla sat up in her sleeping bag and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Early, honey,” Candace said. They had awakened with the sun.
“Let’s break camp while Candace cooks breakfast,” Harry said. He got down on his knees to roll his sleeping bag.
God he looks good, Candace thought. She knew that they were in jeopardy and that she shouldn’t be thinking erotic thoughts, but just watching his trim, muscular body turned her on. In his khaki trousers, leather jacket and fedora, he couldn’t have looked more like Harrison Ford if he tried. How did she ever get so lucky?
After a breakfast of bacon and scrambled eggs, they packed the horses and headed back up the trail.
“We should reach the line camp this morning,” Harry said.
Candace had not ridden this deep into the mountains before. She knew that in the summer, cattle were allowed to wander throughout the foot hills and that Harry’s wranglers had a shack somewhere up in the hills.
The trees became sparser as they climbed the slopes, the underbrush thinned out. Big boulders lined their path. The sun made its way up in the sky. When it was directly overhead, Candace looked back on their trail and noticed something.
“Harry, look.” She pointed back down in the valley below them. Five horsemen wound up the path they had just traveled.
“Oh shit,” Harry said and reached for the binoculars in his saddle bags. “Looks like we’ve got company.”
He put the field glasses to his eyes and adjusted them.
“They aren’t from around here. They’re dressed wrong. No Stetson’s. No flannel shirts. And these guys look Hispanic. They have to be Mexicans.”
Candace pulled her horse up next to Harry’s. “What should we do?”
“I’m going to see if I can get Chad on the radio.”
Harry reached back into his saddle bags again and produced the walkie-talkie. “Chad, this is Harry, do you read me?”
There was a protracted period of silence. Harry repeated his call. No answer.
“We must be out of range.” He pulled his phone from a pocket. “No bars. We don’t have a signal up here.”
Candace took the binoculars from Harry. “They’re armed. I can see rifles on each of their saddles.”
“We can’t just sit here and wait for them. C’mon.” Harry turned his horse and spurred it on. “I know where there’s some good cover and a clear field of fire.”
“Field of fire? Harry, you aren’t planning on shooting it out with them are you?”
But her words were lost on him. Harry and Kayla were already galloping up the hill. She looked down the valley at the men again, then turned her horse and followed.
****
It took the better part of an hour to get to Harry’s spot. They pulled the horses to a stop and Harry tethered them to the surrounding trees. Then he pulled the twelve-gauge from its scabbard.
“Get your rifle,” he told Candace.
She pulled the Weatherby from her saddle holster and reached in her saddle bags for ammunition.
Harry had chosen well. They were on a rise, amidst a boulder field, with a clear view of the ground below them. The trail wound through the boulders and brush as it made its way uphill.
Far below them, she saw the first of the riders emerging from the trees.
“Harry . . .” She pointed.
“Christ, I’m not sure what to do.” Harry scratched at the back of his head. “We can’t just start shooting at them. They could just be a hunting party.”
“We can’t let them get close,” Candace said. “Harry, look at their guns,” she handed Harry the binoculars. “Those aren’t hunting rifles.”
Harry put the glasses to his eyes again. “No, they’re assault rifles, but I know guys out here, gun nuts, who use M16s for deer hunting. It’s not fair to the deer, but these guys like to play Rambo.”
Candace felt cold fingers running up and down her spine. Her heart rate sped up. She felt perspiration in her armpits, despite the chill in the air. “You and I both know they’re not here for a picnic. They’re a hunting party alright, and we’re their prey.”
“What if we warn them off with a shot?” Harry asked, thinking aloud. “No, it we warn them, then they’ll just split up, work their way around us. We’d just be telling them where we are.”
“We can’t just shoot them, Harry.” Candace felt panic rising in her throat. “In cold blood.”
“Candy, they’re coming after us. They want Kayla. We have to defend ourselves.”
Kayla threw her arms around Candace. Candace could feel the child’s heart racing.
“Candy, I’m scared.” Tears rolled down Kayla’s cheeks.
“It’s okay, honey, we’ll protect you.” Candace wasn’t as sure as she sounded.
“Harry, we have to stop them.”
“You’re a better shot than I am. Can you do it?”
Candace had never contemplated shooting at a human being before. She never thought she’d be in a position where she had to take someone else’s life. She knew she was a crack shot, but could she do it? Could she actually pull the trigger?
She felt Kayla’s warm arms around her, heard her irregular breathing and sobs.
“Yes.”
She put her rifle on a boulder for stability. Pulling up a
few blades of grass, she tossed them in the air. “Almost no windage,” she said. She wrapped the strap around her elbow.
She estimated that the riders were about a hundred yards away, about the length of a football field. Well within the range of her rifle. She dialed in the distance on her telescopic sight.
She lined up the sight and zoomed in on the lead rider. He was a short, squat man. He was looking back at the man behind him and talking.
She pulled back the bolt on the rifle and chambered a round. “Oh, God, Harry,” she steadied her breathing.
Remember, honey, Dad used to say, Squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it.
She placed the cross hairs on the man’s chest, then thought for a moment. Usually I aim low, because the rifle has a little kick, but at this distance, gravity will cause the bullet to drop. I guess I should just aim dead center.
She adjusted her aim to the man’s heart. Oh, God. Forgive me.
She gently put her finger on the trigger. Slowly she applied pressure. The trigger moved just a fraction of an inch. She squeezed ever so gently.
CRACK!
The rifle fired. For an instant, she watched in horror through her scope. The man’s head whipped around, looking for the source of the sound, then he flew backwards off of his horse.
She quickly chambered another round.
The men scattered. Three jumped from their horses and sought cover. The other one charged ahead.
She put her sights on the riding man, squeezed the trigger and fired.
The shot missed. The man continued riding to close the distance between them.
The other three men fired wildly up the hill. None of the shots even came close.
“Get down.” Harry grabbed Kayla and threw her to the ground.
Candace kept her eyes on the enemy. Funny, how easily they became the enemy. She scanned the boulders below, looking for a target. A man’s head appeared around a rock. She centered the crosshairs on him, as he leaned further out to bring his rifle to bear.
The Mexican Connection: Ted Higuera Series Book 3 Page 25
