by Adam Hiatt
“Tell me, Mr. Smith, why were the Aztecs obsequious to the Spanish invaders?” he asked abruptly. The question caught Jaxon off guard.
“Well, Dr. Langford,” Jaxon began, clearing his throat. “The ruler of the territory, Moctezuma II, psychologically fell apart. Basically, he couldn’t cope with some historical forces.”
“Those forces being?”
“Those forces being legendary and probably fictitious garble passed down through generations.”
“An interesting assertion. Elaborate on that statement, please,” Langford encouraged, suddenly looking amused.
“Well.” Jaxon said. “According to surviving written records, in the year 1517 Moctezuma’s vassal agents hastily informed him that Cortez had landed on the Yucatan Peninsula near Veracruz. Of course he did not know it was Cortez. The story followed that some natives related that a group of men arrived riding the waves of the sea on what looked like floating towers and small mountains. The news caused some concern, but it was nothing compared to the emergence of a series of strange phenomena,” he explained.
“Thunder and lightning damaged one of the sacred temples; a strange bird was allegedly found with a mirror in its head, in which the chief ruler looked and saw countless warriors advancing on the Aztecs; a comet appeared in the form of a flaming ear of corn, bleeding fire from the sky. The emperor interpreted these as evil portents, putting him at the point of anxiety and meltdown.
“But not until the spring of 1519 did Moctezuma fully break down. In that year a courier entered Tenochtitlan bearing a painting of Cortez seen along the Yucatan shores. The man was white, bearded, and had a cross on his chest. The mentally weak emperor jumped to conclusions and panicked, and from that point it was only a matter of time before the empire was conquered.”
Langford raised one finger to stop Jaxon. “Correct so far, Mr. Smith. However, you failed to discuss the significance of the date?”
“I was just about to mention that. The year of Moctezuma’s meltdown, 1519, was the Aztec year known as Ce Acatl, meaning, ‘One Reed,’ or, in other words, the year of his birth.”
“Whose birth?” Langford interjected energetically.
“Ce Acatl Topiltzin, of course. Now his story is nothing short of fantastic, lending credibility to my theory that had Moctezuma II simply disregarded that foolish Aztec lore he probably would have easily defeated the Spanish and ruled the remainder of his days.”
“Tell me about Ce Acatl Topiltzin, everything you know,” Langford demanded. Jaxon shifted his weight from his left foot to his right, shamelessly embellishing his anguish. Langford sat motionless awaiting his reply. Reluctantly, Jaxon continued with the narrative.
“Ce Acatl Topiltzin’s story began with the emergence of the Tolteca-Chichimeca, known as the Toltecs, from the central valley. Around the first half of the tenth century they supposedly left the northern territory known as Zacatecas and swept into the central valley. A bellicose savage called Mixcoatl, whom many historians considered to have been the Mexican Genghis Khan, led them. These people quickly subjugated all that stood to oppose them and conquered the territory. In A.D. 947, Mixcoatl’s brother assassinated him and seized supreme leadership.
“Mixcoatl’s wife, who was pregnant at the time, fled into exile where she died giving birth to a son, whom she named Ce Acatl Topiltzin before passing away. The orphaned boy became a devotee of the ancient deity Quetzalcoatl, known as the feathered serpent god. The boy eventually became a high priest in the cult, taking upon himself the sacred name of the deity that he worshiped, becoming Topiltzin-Quetzalcoatl.”
Langford had his fingers interlocked, slowly rocking back and forth with his eyes closed, as if he were watching the story unfold before him.
“To make a long story short,” Jaxon resumed, “Topiltzin-Quetzalcoatl avenged his father’s death by killing his uncle and making himself lord of the Toltecs.” He explained that Topiltzin moved the capital to the frontier; founding the city of Tula. There he performed many mighty miracles in the eyes of his followers. He showed them how to plant corn, grow cotton, and harvest cacao. He taught them how to write, how to build great structures, and how to measure time. These mythical achievements compelled his subjects to venerate him as if he himself were the great god Quetzalcoatl.
“But not all was harmonious in Tula,” said Jaxon. “The followers of the Toltec ancestral god, known as Tezcatlipoca, viewed the exaltation of the foreign god Quetzalcoatl as heresy. The two cult followings were completely dissimilar. For example, where Quetzalcoatl was gratified by modest sacrifices of birds, snakes, and butterflies, Tezcatlipoca commanded human hearts. It was impossible for the two ideologies to coexist.”
“Learning that Topiltzin-Quetzalcoatl had fallen ill, Tezcatlipoca took the body of one of his followers and entered the ruler’s house. He offered a strong drink known as pulque, which was undistilled cactus juice. Finding it palatable, Topiltzin asked for more. After five cups he passed out inebriated and awoke the following morning on a mat beside his sister. Several prominent citizens of Tula allegedly witnessed the indiscretion. The great leader was accused of breaking his priestly vows by advocating drunkenness and incest. He was disgraced and expelled from the land.” Jaxon paused for a brief moment to catch his breath.
“This is where the story gets a little fantastic,” he continued. “Topiltzin-Quetzalcoatl and his partisans fled into exile in 987. They marked their way by shooting arrows through saplings, leaving impressions that looked like crosses. According to one tradition, he eventually made it to the Gulf of Mexico by coasting down a river on a raft of serpents and ascended to the heavens to become the morning star. But before he left he promised that he would return in the recurring year Ce Acatl to regain his rightful throne. It is believed that Topiltzin-Quetzalcoatl, like the ancient god himself, had a fair complexion and wore a beard. The legend was passed on for centuries, and in 1519, the year Ce Acatl, the Spanish, with their white skin, beards, and crosses, suddenly appeared on the eastern shore of Moctezuma’s empire. The signs were too coincidental to ignore. As far as Moctezuma II was concerned, Quetzalcoatl had returned.”
“Most impressive, Mr. Smith,” Langford said. “Your ability to recount historical events is exceptional. You are certainly worthy to be considered as a possible protégé of mine, that is if you are interested.” Jaxon felt exhilarated. Of course he was interested. This was the opportunity of a lifetime.
“It would be an honor, Dr. Langford.”
“Good. Now I will pose one more question to you. What was it about Quetzalcoatl that Tezcatlipoca feared so greatly?”
“I assume that it was a simple case of dogmatic divergence, like the Catholic and Protestant wars of the middle ages. Only one pagan god could enjoy absolute reign among the people. That sort of thing,” Jaxon declared with confidence.
“A common assumption, but I’m afraid that it’s fundamentally incorrect. I was hoping that you would be more intuitive than that.” Jaxon didn’t like the sound of that statement.
“There is much more to the story than what has been written in textbooks, Mr. Smith,” Langford continued. “Far too often historians accept the most simplistic and obvious solution to any historical conundrum in order to get published. But that, I’m afraid, does a disservice to the ancients. It is easy to perceive the earliest inhabitants of any civilization as being unsophisticated, uneducated simpletons, living desultory and monotonous lives. However, nothing could be farther from the truth. We are the unsophisticated ones, Mr. Smith. Technology has retarded us. We are intellectually handicapped because of our unrelenting dependence on it. Our arrogance impedes our ability to understand ancient cultures and their rudimentary reverence for religion and nature. As a result, we look at them as being foolish and ignorant. No, Jaxon Smith, you’re just like the others before you. You haven’t the faintest idea what Tezcatlipoca feared most about Quetzalcoatl because your vision of the past is obfuscated.” Langford paused for what seemed like an hour. On his f
ace was the most austere expression Jaxon had ever seen. “Until you learn to look beyond your own beliefs and subjective perceptions,” he said, “you will never become the historian that I know you can be.”
“I’ll find the answer, Dr. Langford,” Jaxon shouted out. He was surprised at his own exuberance. “I do respect the past and am intrigued by its inferences and nuances. Give me another chance to show that I’m ready to work with you,” he pleaded.
Langford said nothing at first. His stare was heavy and deep. He seemed to be searching for something inside of Jaxon. “Very well,” he said softly. “Think of this as a period of probation. You can demonstrate that you’re ready if you ascertain the answer to this conundrum.”
A heavy thud pulled Jaxon away from his recollection. He looked down to where the sound originated. He saw a book lying at Reddic’s feet.
“What’s the matter?” Jaxon asked.
Reddic held his finger up to his mouth, signaling for him to remain silent. He walked over to Langford’s desk and quietly wheeled his chair out from behind the oak piece and put it directly under the fan. He cautiously stood on the chair and felt around the inner rims of the light fixtures.
He carefully pulled two objects out of the cylindrical tubes that faced the doorway and the desk. Jaxon watched from below in silent bewilderment as Reddic stepped down from the chair and approached the window. He unlatched the lock and lifted the bottom portion. With the objects still in his right hand, he threw them out of the open window and quickly closed it back up. Jaxon immediately knew that something was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” Reddic said. “We might be in trouble now.”
Chapter Eight
Jaxon stared at the ceiling fan as he spoke. “What just happened, Reddic? What did you find up there?”
Reddic was slow to respond. He was analyzing their options. “Remember when I said that it was safe to assume you’ve been watched liked Langford?” he finally asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well I was absently turning pages when a thought came to me. If I wanted to keep track of someone like Langford I would probably set up a base of operations in the one place I wouldn’t miss him, his office.” Jaxon wasn’t following. “Think about it. All I would have to do is get into the office and install a surveillance device of some type.”
“Like a camera?” Jaxon asked.
“Right, but it wasn’t a camera, it was a bug,” he said.
“A bug?”
“Audio surveillance,” Reddic clarified. “What I found wasn’t cheap either. I’ve read about this particular type before. Ironically, they’re innocuously small like a hearing aid. They’re battery powered and only become active upon audio detection. It’s also been said that they can transmit a signal over a distance of a ten miles.”
“Why did you throw them out the window? Isn’t there some way to trace the transmission signal? We could find out who was spying on Langford,” Jaxon suggested.
“It’s probably routed through at least five substations. It would be a dead end.”
Jaxon looked perplexed. The fact that Reddic spoke with such knowledge about substations and routing procedures was probably too much for him. It was a slip on Reddic’s part. He knew he had to choose his words carefully.
Before Jaxon could verbalize a thought, Reddic stalked to the door like a cat and quietly turned the knob. He looked down the corridor in both directions and retraced his steps throughout the office, replacing the book on the shelf and returning the desk chair to its proper location. He removed the white cloth from his pocket and wiped it over every place he remembered touching.
“We need to leave this office, right now,” he said, snatching up his backpack and leading Jaxon into the hallway. They scurried across the wood floor to the office door diagonally across from Langford’s. The nameplate indicated that it belonged to a DR. DIANNE CUTLER, PROFESSOR OF GREEK AND ROMAN HISTORY. Reddic picked the lock with his tools and squeezed inside. Jaxon tentatively followed.
The office seemed substantially smaller than Langford’s, but that might be attributed to the excessive clutter that existed within. File cabinets, bookshelves, armchairs, overhead projectors, and paperwork were scattered throughout the muddled room.
“If somebody finds us in here we’d be in big trouble,” said Jaxon nervously. Reddic said nothing. He silently stood with his ear pressed against the door.
“Quiet. I think I hear something,” he whispered. He heard light steps move cautiously passed the door, stopping a few feet away. Reddic turned and motioned for Jaxon to take a seat behind the desk. As he did Reddic inaudibly opened the door a few centimeters and peeked through. Feeling grateful that the hinges were well lubricated, he saw the backside of a man standing in front of Langford’s door. He appeared to be listening to something inside the office.
This man was much larger than the killer Reddic confronted a couple hours earlier. He had a barrel chest and looked to be at least six and a half feet in height and two hundred and thirty pounds in weight. Reddic replaced the door and moved over to the desk. Pulling open the top drawer, he quickly removed an object before Jaxon noticed.
He returned to the door and cracked it back open. The man now had something in his hand. It looked like a handheld radio from his vantage point. He attached it just above the doorknob and backed away. He then pulled two objects from his pockets: one was a gun, a Glock 40, Reddic estimated, and the other resembled a miniature remote control. Turning his head, the man pressed his thumb down on the apparatus just as Reddic nudged the door close.
***
The explosion knocked Jaxon out of the chair. His eardrums rang as he concentrated on regaining his disrupted equilibrium.
“What was that?” he asked softly. He lifted himself off the floor and looked toward the door.
Reddic was gone.
***
Outside of Langford’s office Reddic tentatively stood with his back pressed against the wall. He breathed slowly to decelerate his heart rate. He had to compose himself. This was going to be a matter of timing.
Only seconds earlier he watched the explosive device create a cavity the size of a basketball where the lock used to be on Langford’s door. The lethal assailant, with a gun extended in front of him, wasted no time rushing into the smoke-filled office.
Reddic then dashed across the hall and paused on the right side of the doorway holding a ten-inch steel letter opener in his hand. It was surely no match for the gun, but if used properly it could be of value. He bent his knees so that he stood in an athletic stance and cleared his mind of all thought, focusing instead on the sounds from within Langford’s office.
He heard a bustling!
It was indistinct but he sensed it. He pulled his right arm up to his chest and gripped the bulky handle of the letter opener tightly. The dwindling sunlight that expelled from the office door suddenly became dark, as if clouds had settled in the path of the sun’s rays. Without hesitation Reddic plunged the steel blade into the object that filled the doorframe. A deafening shriek of pain filled the vacant confines of the third floor corridor.
Pivoting into the doorway, Reddic crouched low and prepared for an attack. But something in the entryway caught his attention. Lying within an arm’s reach was the Gloch 40. He moved to scoop it up when out of the corner of his eye he saw the sole of a boot coming at his head. It was coming too fast to dodge. All he could do was raise his arms to absorb the impact.
The force of the assault was overwhelming. The boot struck his forearms, propelling him off his feet and into the heavy wooden door resting against the wall to his left. The impact was jarring. The massive man was almost on top of him. He had to move.
Setting his feet beneath him, Reddic exploded outward, burying a solid fist into the man’s abdomen. The blow didn’t seem to affect him; he was too big.
Reddic spun out of reach to his left. For a split second he stood at an angle slightly behind the killer, but the advantage didn’t hold long. The su
rprisingly agile man had already turned to face Reddic. It was then that Reddic noticed where the letter opener landed. It was imbedded four inches into the man’s right shoulder, yet it didn’t seem to hinder his mobility. He lunged at Reddic, swinging his massive fists wildly like an amateur pugilist. Ducking under the first two attempts, Reddic stepped around the third.
The man seemed to lower his right arm momentarily, providing an opening. The wound in the shoulder must be making a difference now.
Reddic didn’t give him time to recover. He delivered a lightning-quick left hook to his nose, audibly shattering the fragile extremity. As blood began spewing out, the killer shifted his weight to his left leg, locking his knee, trying to see through the water that was swelling in his eyes. Reddic planted his left heal in the floor and kicked out forcefully. He connected with the inner portion of the leg. He hoped to displace the patella, but instead the man’s leg bowed out laterally in a gruesome manner. Reaching for the damaged appendage, he clumsily fell to the floor in a heap. Reddic leaped over the fallen man and retrieved the gun, steadying it on the man’s head.
Just then Jaxon burst into the office with a look of visceral fear in his countenance. What was he doing here, Reddic thought? It was hard to predict what Jaxon would think seeing his younger brother was expertly holding a firearm squatting beside a giant of a man writhing in pain on the floor.
“What are you doing?” Jaxon screamed. Reddic didn’t respond. He kept the gun leveled on the killer as he searched him for more weapons. He reached down and ripped the letter opener out of the wounded shoulder, causing the man’s left hand to jolt.
