Diaz pulled out his satphone. “El Jefe will want to know right away.”
“War?”
“Oh yeah, this means war all right.” He pressed the button to make a call, but the display flashed then went dead. “Shit.” He tossed it toward one of his men. “It’s dead. The charger is in the glove compartment.” His man caught it then climbed into the vehicle. Diaz slowly turned, examining the scene. “Okay, there’s no way for this to be traced back to us except through people. Let’s gather up our guys—”
“Hey, Javier, looks like we’ve got survivors.”
Diaz spun toward one of his men, waving a tracker.
“Southeast of here, heading this way fast.”
Diaz twirled his hand over his head, signaling his men to get in the SUVs. “Let’s clean this mess up.”
22
En route to Tepich, Mexico
Laura tightly gripped the tailgate of the pickup truck, wedged into the corner by the other women, there barely room for the seven of them. Despite the fact they would be in town shortly, none of these women seemed happy or even relieved. Fear still dominated their faces, their eyes wide as they stared at the road ahead, as if worried something might yet come to claim their lives.
The woman beside her, who she had learned was named Rosa and who spoke excellent English, clung to her arm like a child. She was perhaps twenty-five, the women a mix of ages and sizes, the drug lords apparently not choosing their female workers based upon their potential sex appeal.
Which made sense. The last thing a drug lord would need is having his men too busy keeping their eyes on asses rather than assets. She felt sorry for them. How bad did things have to be to knowingly work in a drug lab, to work for criminals, surrounded by dangerous chemicals all day?
She was obscenely wealthy thanks to her late brother who had left her hundreds of millions after he died, money he had earned selling his hi-tech company years before. She and Acton didn’t live an ostentatious lifestyle except when they traveled, private jets their preferred mode of transportation. They still lived in Acton’s home, bought on a professor’s salary, drove regular cars, and rarely ate at expensive restaurants. They were down to earth people who enjoyed the basics. Good home cooked meals with a nice glass of wine, a snifter of scotch, or a bottle of beer—whatever was appropriate to the occasion. She didn’t consider themselves snobs, and would be horrified if she found out anyone did think of them that way.
They were generous, though usually through anonymous gestures, though now most students knew who was funding their trips when they couldn’t afford them. All they insisted upon was hard work and dedication from their students, no matter who was footing the bill. And if their extra money meant solar panels and air conditioning in the tents in Egypt, then so be it.
A luxury shared.
And the occasional plane ticket for a friend who couldn’t afford it, just made her feel good. She thought of Reading, waiting back at the archaeological site with her husband and Morales, and closed her eyes, picturing the first time she had seen him at her old haunt, the British Museum. She had met Acton for the first time just that day, yanked into a maelstrom of danger and confusion resulting in her arrest by the very man she now considered one of her closest friends, all over a crystal skull she had dedicated her life to studying. Her life had changed so much over the past few years, it was breathtaking at times.
She was now married to an incredible man, lived and worked in the United States, and led a life that never wanted to give them a moment of peace. She loved the adventure, the intrigue, the taste of discovery, though could do without the guns and explosions and cults and terrorists.
She sighed, her heart slamming as she tried to ignore the insanity of the student driver as he raced full-tilt on the gravel road, following the other vehicle ahead of them in a desperate attempt to reach town before something went wrong.
We’re more likely to end up wrecked than accosted by some drug gang.
Red lights shone brightly ahead of them, and they were all tossed forward as their driver applied the brakes, both vehicles skidding to a halt. Laura pushed to her feet and peered through the dust, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of two black SUVs, blocking the road ahead, at least half a dozen men emerging, guns drawn. She slammed on the roof of the truck with her fist.
“Get us out of here!” The ignition cranked, the old truck having stalled out, probably from a two-footed braking maneuver and a forgotten clutch. Gunfire erupted, the lead truck’s windows shattered, the students inside screaming. “Everybody out!” cried Laura, leaping over the side and onto the gravel road. She reached in and pulled the woman who had been holding her arm to the ground, the others following.
She raced for the trees only feet away, plunging into the thick cover as the gunmen turned their attention on the stalled truck. She glanced over her shoulder and cried out as she watched the three students crammed in the front shake from the impacts of the bullets, the women surrounding the truck, some running down the road, away from the shooters, mowed down as the onslaught continued, unabated.
She looked about her and found only Rosa had made it. She grabbed her hand and they rushed deeper into the jungle, putting as much distance as they could between them and the shooters.
Then there was silence.
She froze, pulling Rosa to a halt and slapping a hand over the woman’s mouth. She continued slowly forward, pulling them deeper into the woods, carefully watching her footing, avoiding any dried branches strewn along the jungle floor, all the while listening for any signs of pursuit.
There were none.
They must not have seen us.
Doors slammed shut and engines roared to life, the sounds of departing vehicles filling the air, then nothing.
“Stay here,” she whispered, but the woman shook her head vigorously, latching onto Laura’s arm. “Okay, but be quiet. Watch your step.” The woman nodded then followed her, gripping Laura’s hand as she led them back to the roadway. She pushed through the trees and gasped.
All four vehicles were gone, as were the bodies. All that remained were shell casings and blood. And two billowing clouds of dust in either direction. Her eyes bulged as she realized one of those clouds was headed toward the discovery site.
James!
She yanked her hand free and sprinted after them.
23
Pacific Coastal Region
Maya Highlands, Maya Empire
1092 AD
Cheng Jun picked his way carefully through the trees, leading what had been twenty men along their left flank in an attempt to outmaneuver the enemy. While the main body of their force continued noisily forward, two groups had been dispatched on their flanks, small enough to move forward quickly and quietly with the hopes they could come in from behind and trap their enemy between two fronts.
And it was working.
Somewhat.
Their force of twenty had dwindled to a mere dozen, traps and one-off surprise attacks by lone defenders having pared down their numbers, though each time they had also drawn blood, preserving the balance, and the secrecy of their presence.
He heard something to his right and held up his hand, everyone stopping. He peered through the trees and smiled. There were dozens of the enemy, hiding in the trees, all facing the approaching main body—their backs to him and his men. He pointed so everyone could see where the enemy lay, then positioned himself behind a large tree, waiting for Captain Tai to arrive.
He regarded the dozen men with him, wondering if it would be enough. It would be should the second group flanking to the right had successfully arrived as well, though all they had to do was sow confusion among the enemy’s ranks. It would give Tai’s group enough time to reach them, then they would all make quick work of this inferior force.
Branches snapped nearby and he dropped low as a young boy sprinted through the trees, oblivious to the danger lurking nearby. He reached the group of enemy soldiers, excitedly exchanging words with
what must be their leader. The leader appeared unhappy with the report, exchanging glances with the others, one of them running away, a second following. Harsh words were snapped and the rest of the line held, though it was evident discontent had infested the ranks.
This could work to our advantage.
Balam Canek buried his anger. The runner had just informed him that no warriors from the surrounding villages would be joining them in the battle, all apparently too scared to engage an army sent by the gods. He was certain if he had gone himself to solicit support, he would have succeeded, the young boys sent commanding no respect from the other chiefs. Yet that hadn’t been an option.
His place was with his people in this time of crisis.
As he eyed the approaching enemy, numbering at least a hundred men, he regarded his paltry force of less than fifty, now short two more who had panicked. They had eliminated perhaps half of the enemy through their traps and ambushes, lost at least a dozen of their own, and he now no longer had confidence they would win the day, their delaying tactics for naught. This would be a war of attrition, whittling down their enemy one by one then fleeing before they could regroup. There would be no single, great engagement with hundreds of fierce Mayan warriors battling the minions of the gods.
He looked at the others. “Do not lose faith, my brothers, for I believe the gods are on our side today.” He raised his hands to his mouth and executed a birdcall, echoed several times in return, then readied himself as several of the others removed their tinder bundles, blowing gently on them until they smoked then finally burst into flame. The moment the flames appeared, casting a bright glow on their surroundings, he heard the others, concealed high in the trees above the enemy, execute their deadly task.
24
Universidad Veracruzana Archaeological Site
South of Tepich, Mexico
Present Day
Javier Diaz stepped out of the SUV and glanced around, not bothering to draw his weapon. It was quiet. Too quiet. He examined the muddy clearing, there no doubt vehicles had been here recently. He turned to one of his men. “You’re sure this is where they came from?”
The tracker was waved at him. “According to this, they came here for a few minutes, then left.”
“Hey, Javier, there’s a trail over here. Looks like fresh footprints.”
Diaz walked over and took a look, there no doubt a significant number of people had been through here, probably the people with the missing workers. “Let’s go.” He pushed through the trees, following the trail for several minutes before emerging in a clearing, a curious scene laid out in front of him, a grid work of stakes and twine covering a large area surrounding a stone archway. He knew enough to know it was probably Mayan, their ruins all over this part of the country, though hadn’t been aware something was so close to their operation.
“Looks like some sort of Indiana Jones shit going on here, hey?”
“Yeah. This looks new. It’s going to draw attention to the area. El Jefe will want to know.” He walked over to the archway and peered inside, a set of stone stairs leading down. He heard voices and held up his fist, silencing the others. He drew his weapon and began down the stairs, gesturing for his men to follow.
“Do you think it will be safe if we just leave it?”
Professor Morales shrugged at Acton’s question. “Sure. It has been for a thousand years, what’s another few days?”
Acton’s eyebrows rose. “A thousand? You mentioned that before. Don’t you mean five hundred?”
Morales shook his head. “No, this is pre-Columbian.” He pointed at some hieroglyphs on a nearby wall. “According to this, it was built shortly after the arrival of our Chinese friend here, and according to the Mayan calendar here, that would put it around 1092 AD.”
Reading’s eyebrows rose. “That’s rather precise, isn’t it?”
“Yes, absolutely. The Mayans were extremely accurate with their calendars, their entire civilization was built around understanding the positions of the sun, moon, planets, even the stars. Their pyramids were built with the positioning in mind, and they were able to use their knowledge to predict eclipses, and by doing so, the priests were able to trick the people into thinking their prayers and sacrifices were having an effect, by timing rituals around these events.”
“Sounds pretty sketchy.”
Morales smiled. “It was. But the Mayans lasted for thousands of years, and probably would have lasted much longer if it weren’t for the arrival of my ancestors.”
Acton agreed. “True, though the droughts by the time Columbus had arrived had pretty much done them in.”
“They still might have recovered.” Morales held out his hands, shaking them at the room. “Look at this! We’re going to learn so much!”
Acton smiled at his friend. “And you’re sure we can leave it unattended?”
“Absolutely. Nobody knows we’re here except for my students, and they should be arriving in town shortly. When we’re picked up, I’ll arrange for the university to have security sent before we return.”
Acton frowned. “And whoever owned that drug lab won’t come snooping around?”
Morales shrugged. “Why would they? The lab is kilometers from here, and I doubt those women even knew where you took them. Besides, they never saw anything but where we parked. In a few days, this will all be over.”
Footsteps echoing down the stairs had them all freeze, Reading backing away and put himself between whoever was about to arrive and the other two men.
Acton leaned to the side, peering around Reading’s broad shoulders. “Umm, Laura, is that you?”
The steps continued, several distinct sets now clearly heard. Acton’s eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapon, finding nothing he’d be willing to risk damaging merely to save his life. Four men emerged, the first spraying the ceiling with a burst of gunfire as the others spread out, weapons aimed at them.
“Are there more?” asked the apparent leader in Spanish.
Morales shook his head. “Just us.”
The answer wasn’t believed, a wave of the gun sending two of the men to search the other chambers before returning.
“Nobody else, Javier.”
The leader raised his weapon. “Sorry about this. It’s just business.”
Acton decided to take a chance and appeal for their lives in the only way he could think of. He stepped forward, past Reading, his hands up. “Wait! I’m American, and I’m rich.”
Better include the others.
“We all are. We’ll pay you whatever you want.”
This had the desired effect of giving the man pause. He lowered his weapon slightly. “Okay, don’t kill the gringo, kill the others.”
The weapons rose again and Acton stepped forward some more, and in perfect Spanish, said, “Kill anyone, and you’ll get nothing.”
Javier Diaz eyed the gringo, frowning. If it were true, and this man was rich—these men were rich—then there might be a hefty ransom to be had. He sneered at the obvious Mexican. “You’re not rich.”
The man’s eyes cast to the floor and the gringo stepped in front of him.
“He’s rich because he’s with me. Anything happens to my friends, anything at all, and you get nothing. Let us go, and I promise you we’ll pay whatever you want.”
Diaz’s eyes narrowed. “Say I wanted ten million dollars?”
“Then you’d have it.”
Diaz’s mouth went slightly dry. “Each.”
The gringo frowned. “Now you’re just being greedy.”
“Each.”
The man sighed. “Fine. But nobody gets hurt.”
Diaz smiled. “I’ll take you to El Jefe. He’ll decide if you’re worth the trouble.”
“Who’s El Jefe?”
Diaz noticed the Mexican go pale. He gestured toward him with his gun. “Ask him. He knows.”
The gringo turned. “Who’s El Jefe?”
“One of the most vicious drug dealers in all of Me
xico.”
25
Universidad Veracruzana Archaeological Site
South of Tepich, Mexico
Laura stopped running, pressing her hand against her side, the stitch now unbearable. She gasped in lungful after lungful of air, swearing to get more cardio in when this was all over. She had let her fitness lag since being shot in the stomach, and though she now felt she was fully recovered, she had only recovered to the point someone living her lifestyle could.
Too many private jets and luxuries on the digs.
She glanced back to see Rosa in the distance, clearly out of shape compared to her. Laura left the road, following the rough trail cut into the jungle by the students so they could fit their trucks through, the parking area only a few hundred feet from here. She made her way quickly and quietly, not sure of what she might find, still hoping whoever had gone in this direction had driven right past, the only way they could possibly know of this place would be if someone had survived and told them. Part of her hoped there had been more, though another part hoped there hadn’t been, selfishly placing more value on the lives of the ones she knew and loved, than the strangers she had only met today. It made her feel guilty.
Slightly.
She froze, spotting the glint of something through the leaves. She ducked into the trees and rounded the clearing, the two black SUVs from earlier parked in the center, one man leaning on the hood, smoking a cigarette, his back to her. She looked about but saw no one else.
They must be at the site.
If they were, then Acton and the others could already be dead. Yet kidnapping was big business in Mexico, and a rich American could prove valuable. If Acton had been given time to negotiate with them, then he would have played the money card.
And greed had a way of making people do stupid things.
Like keep people alive you shouldn’t.
Wrath of the Gods (A James Acton Thriller, #18) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 6
