He turned to the priest. “You are in charge while I am gone. Should I not return, my brother shall be chief, as is his right upon my death. And should any more arrive, fight them should you think you can win, and if not, take the women and children to the other villages and let those cowards fight.” He sighed as he took in the sight of too few of his warriors standing with him on the shore. “We have been victorious, but the price today was too high.” He stared at the lone survivor. “Tie him up. We leave immediately.”
34
Quintana Roo Cartel Lab #3
South of Tepich, Mexico
Present Day
Officer Hector Santana pulled to a stop, his headlights illuminating the small clearing, the light fading fast. Trees were flattened all around him, a large crater all that was left of what must have been a substantial drug lab. Bodies were strewn about, some killed by the blast, others burned beyond recognition.
All of it was exactly as described by El Jefe’s man at the dump. Over a dozen bodies were in the back of the pickup truck. About half a dozen of them he recognized as local women, the others he had never seen before, but they were all young.
Too young.
They reminded him of his own children. He shook his head. What possible connection could they have with the drug lab? According to his prisoner, they had been found with their workers, so were executed, El Jefe having ordered the entire situation cleaned up.
And judging by the bodies scattered around, the job wasn’t done.
Which begged the question, where were the others? Apparently, there were two SUVs filled with El Jefe’s men, who had headed farther out of town to see where the unidentified young people had come from. He hadn’t passed them on the way here, and it was unlikely they would have returned without finishing the job—El Jefe was not a patient man.
He sighed, many of the bodies clearly women, desperate women he knew only too well. He pulled out his satphone, the only one the precinct had, not trusting what he was about to say to go out over the police radio. He hit the speed dial, his call answered almost immediately.
“Hey Mariana, it’s Santana. I’m about twenty kilometers outside of town. Looks like—” There was a burst of static then a man’s voice cut in.
“Officer Santana, my name is Chris. I’m sorry to interrupt your call, but it’s imperative that I speak with you.”
35
En route to Chichen Itza
Maya Empire
1092 AD
Balam Canek sat near the fire, his legs crossed, his hands resting on his knees as he listened to the crackle, his eyes closed. His prisoner sat across from him, his hands bound, silent. They had made good time these past few days, and his prisoner seemed resigned to his fate, allowing Balam to relax slightly more with each passing sunset.
He opened his eyes and regarded his prisoner. Over the past several days of travel, he had nothing but time to examine the man. He was human in every way, just like him except for slight differences in the face, especially the eyes. Yet he had seen strange men in his time, men that appeared far less human than this one, and had treated them with respect.
And since the defeat of the demon army, he had been extremely cooperative, making no attempt to escape, and eagerly helping set up camp. Which was why he now had a much longer rope than when he started. A limited amount of trust was being established, but ultimately, the prisoner would die, though should he not attempt escape, it wouldn’t be by Balam’s hand, it would be by the priests in Chichen Itza.
When they arrived, he would be painted in the ceremonial blue, signaling his sacrificial future, prayers would be said at the top of the temple, then his head would be separated from his body, the blood offered to the gods as tribute. With the drought, he imagined there were many sacrifices, they always increasing in times of strife. Sacrifices were few in his part of the empire, his village fortunate.
A branch snapped behind him and he jumped to his feet, drawing his dagger. “Is someone there?” Another snap and his heart hammered.
“It’s me, Nelli.”
He sighed with relief as the woman he loved stepped out of the darkness and into the firelight. “What are you doing here?” he said, trying to be cross with her, yet failing miserably.
“I couldn’t bear not being with you.” She stared at him. “Are you mad?”
He smiled, grabbing her and holding her tight. “How could I ever be mad at you?”
“But it is against tradition. You are to take a wife from another village.”
He smiled. “My mother spent many a night in my father’s home. It is a foolish tradition that only works if one’s love is not strong.”
“So you still love me?”
“Until the day I die.”
She buried her head in his chest and sighed, clearly pleased with his reply. She looked at the prisoner, tied to a tree with enough rope for him to be near the fire. “And him? Has he been a problem?”
Balam shook his head. “Not at all.” He led her toward a cleared area around the fire. “Sit.” Nelli sat, cross-legged, on the opposite side from the prisoner, and Balam handed her some water and dried meat. “Here, you must be hungry.”
She nodded. “I didn’t really think it through. I just left without telling anyone. I’ve been following you from a distance, but lost you after the first night. It’s only by the will of the gods that I found your camp.”
Balam stared up at the stars and said a silent prayer of thanks. “They must be pleased with what we accomplished.”
She swallowed. “They must.” She frowned. “But so many are dead. Surely they couldn’t have wanted that?”
Balam shrugged. “I have no idea, that’s a question for the priests. All I know is that when the gods aren’t happy, they demand the blood of their subjects, and if the word from the east is true, then they must be very unhappy.”
Nelli stared at the man sitting silently across from them, his eyes closed, his body turned away as if to give them some privacy. “Will they kill him?”
“Absolutely.”
“If he was doing the bidding of his gods, then is he truly a bad person?”
Balam sighed, already having the same thoughts. If the gods had sent these men to punish his people for some wrongdoing, then this man and his comrades had been doing their gods’ bidding. They had failed, and would be punished in the afterlife should that be their gods’ will.
Yet did he deserve to die for this?
Probably not, though he had been witness to many innocents sacrificed over the years who had done nothing wrong, their only crime being unlucky enough to be picked by the priest when the gods demanded a tribute. Innocent people died for their gods every day. Why should this man be any different?
He sighed. He believed in the gods, though, like his father, had his doubts as to whether the priests truly were in communion with them, and whether they truly demanded so much blood in tribute. Yet to voice those opinions aloud would put one to the top of the list the next time a sacrifice was demanded.
If only I had the power to change the law.
Yet as a chief, he didn’t. He could rule his people only in accordance with the laws handed down to them, laws interpreted by the priest, a man Balam had never trusted, though those suspicions could be from his doubts of the gods’ desires.
“You’re troubled, my love.”
He smiled at Nelli as he snapped out of his reverie. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Of whether or not he should be sacrificed?”
He put an arm around her shoulders. “You know me so well.”
“We should just set him free and disappear. Let’s live together in the forest, raise our children away from all this fear and hatred and tradition. You’re too young for your life to be over. Your father was never meant to die so soon.”
Her words had appeal, of that there was no doubt, yet it would mean dishonoring his father, dishonoring his family. He placed his hand on the leather wrapped around the green ta
lisman, eyeing the enemy sitting across from him, and sighed. “No, no matter how tempting that idea may be, we must warn the King. Never again can men like this be allowed on our shores, for surely it will mean our destruction.”
36
Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Present Day
Chris Leroux pressed the earpiece tighter so he could hear better. He had called in his team after reviewing the scant details sent to him by Kane, little more than the raw text message. By the time he had arrived—his shower replaced by a mercy blue-ball recovery by his incredible girlfriend—his team had already located the source of the call, determined the phone was no longer transmitting, and had pulled Echelon records from the NSA, giving them a complete history from the moment it was activated a little over two years ago.
That intel had given them enough to know the phone was owned by someone in the drug business named El Jefe, located in Tepich, Mexico, which was less than twenty miles from where Laura Palmer’s text message had been sent. A spy satellite over the area had spotted a police vehicle, the number on the roof used to track who it was assigned to, then a satellite call detected.
A satellite call he had his team intercept.
“Who is this?”
Leroux smiled, relieved the officer spoke English. “For now call me Chris. I need your help.”
“This is a police phone! Do you realize how many laws you are breaking right now, señor?”
“Careful, boss, you could end up in a Mexican prison.”
Leroux waved off Randy Child’s snark, the young analyst brilliant but filter-free. “I am aware of that, Officer, however it’s necessary. We have American, British, and Mexican nationals that are being held hostage in your area, with another British national of unknown status. We need your assistance in resolving this matter.” There was a pause, Leroux watching the man as he stood by his truck, the phone pressed against his ear. An indicator in the corner of the display showed how many more minutes they had of satellite coverage, and it was rapidly winding down.
“Who is this? CIA? DEA?”
“Let’s just say it is some three letter acronym. Are you willing to help us?”
Another pause.
“Perhaps. What is it you want to know?”
“Our understanding is our people have been kidnapped by men working for someone known as El Jefe.”
There was a grunt. “That makes sense. I just shot one and arrested another a little while ago. They were dumping bodies.”
Leroux frowned, signaling one of his analysts, Sonya Tong, to action that bit of intel. She immediately went to work. “Have you identified them?”
“No Caucasians, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Leroux suppressed his sigh of relief. “Okay, understood. Do you have any idea why our people may have been taken?”
“Well, I’m standing at the edge of a crater that used to be a drug lab. I’m guessing they stumbled upon it somehow, and were caught in the middle when El Jefe’s men came to clean up the mess.”
Leroux frowned. That made sense. The Actons were do-gooders, always jumping into the middle of things they had no business getting involved with, though always with good intentions. Today, it just might cost them their lives. “Can you think of any reason why they wouldn’t have killed them? Why they would kidnap them?”
“Ransom.”
Leroux’s head bobbed, along with most of the room. It was the going theory here, taps already put on all known Acton and Palmer accounts. “That’s our theory as well. Listen, Officer Santana, do I have your permission to call you again should we need further assistance?”
“Sure. Maybe with you gringos involved, we might finally be able to take El Jefe down. But if you’re going to do something, you better do it quick.”
Leroux’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because there’s no reason to expect that when El Jefe finds out his men kept your friends alive, that he won’t kill them immediately. He’s cleaning up the evidence and wants no witnesses, and frankly, he doesn’t need whatever ransom your people might bring him.”
Leroux’s chest tightened. “Thank you, we’ll keep that in mind.” He ended the call and turned to face the room. “We need everything we’ve got on El Jefe, the drug activity in the area, the police, and any local contacts we may have. And notify State. And the Brits as well.”
“The Mexicans?”
“Let State deal with them. And no mention of our inside man. We don’t want to get him in any trouble.” He headed for the door. “I’m going to talk to the Chief and see if we can get some drones in the area. If they’re on foot, they couldn’t have gone far.”
37
Chichen Itza, Maya Empire
1092 AD
Balam Canek stopped and stared, the sight before him overwhelming. For days they had traveled among thousands of others through the barren landscape, once proud farmland now parched soil, cracking and heaving, not even a weed breaking up the monotonous horror. He gripped Nelli’s hand tight, the urge overwhelming to turn around and flee to the safety and blessings of their village.
“Come! You must hurry!”
He forced himself onward, their guide having already secured an audience with the King’s advisors, the strange green talisman, and his tale of the great battle, enough to pique the interest of the court. He felt a tug on Cheng’s rope, the man’s name learned over their weeks of traveling together, a rudimentary form of communication now possible between them for the essentials.
He turned and his chest tightened at the horror on this man’s face as he stared at a pile of bodies, all blue, all headless, discarded like refuse outside the city gates. Balam gently pulled on the rope and Cheng turned toward him, tears in his eyes.
Balam turned away, ashamed. “I’m sorry, I have no choice.” He knew the man couldn’t understand him, though his tone, he hoped, would be enough to convey the meaning of the words. Cheng nodded, and followed, his eyes directed at his feet as he tried to avoid the future foretold by the mass, open grave.
When they arrived at the palace, it was his turn to stop, the sight jaw dropping. Gold and jewels adorned the walls and ceiling, everything in the room a treasure, from cups to plates to knives. It was truly a sight to behold, the might of the King and the Mayan people proven by the opulence of the spectacle.
“Bow to your king.”
Balam stared at their guide for a moment then finally spotted the living god. He dropped to his knees, Nelli beside him. He yanked Cheng’s rope, forcing him to do the same.
“Rise.”
He did, as did the others. The King stood, walking slowly toward them, the green talisman in his hand.
“This is a curious piece.”
Balam kept his eyes directed at the floor. “Yes, sire.”
“And you say it was taken from men like these.” The King grabbed Cheng by the chin, examining him with curiosity. “Evil eyes,” he muttered.
“Indeed, sire. At first, we thought they were demons, but after we defeated them, we realized they were men, perhaps only sent by demons.”
The King grunted. “What do you think, priest?”
A man adorned in robes and gold stepped from the shadows, circling Cheng without touching him, as if afraid any evil he may represent might infect him. “He does appear to be a man, though unlike any I have seen before. You said they came in great boats?”
“Yes, sire, bigger than anything I have seen before, capable of holding dozens of men, if not more, along with supplies. And they had these huge, strange red wings. At first, I thought they were islands, they were so large, but my eyes were deceiving me.”
The priest spun on his heel, facing the King. “There are tales of creatures such as this, with ships such as this, having reached our shores before, long before this city existed, yet these tales are so old, they are considered mere myth.” He turned, regarding Cheng. “Though perhaps they aren’t.”
The
King dismissed the observations with a wave of his hand. “I’m not interested in myths and superstition. These people came to invade my land, of that there is no doubt.” He held up the talisman. “And this is obviously important to them, which means they could be back.” He squared his shoulders, raising his chin. “Let it be known, that from this day forward, should any arrive on our shores bearing symbols such as this”—he raised the talisman high—“or with odd faces such as that”—he motioned toward Cheng—“they are to be met with deadly force. Under no circumstances can they be allowed on our shores, to wreak the havoc they may bring with them.”
The official records keeper bowed, deftly recording the proceedings. The King held out the talisman and someone rushed from the shadows, taking it. “Now, put that in the library, along with an account of how it came to be in Our possession.”
Balam pulled the bag off his shoulder, opening it. “Sire, you may wish to keep this with it.”
The King’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
Balam removed the suit of armor and mask that the leader had been wearing. “This was worn by their leader. It is rather distinctive, and may help identify them in the future.”
The King nodded, a flick of the wrist sending someone from the shadows to retrieve the items. “Now, you must be tired and hungry after your journey. You will be my guests for dinner, and shall join us for the sacrifice of this one. Perhaps finally the gods will grant us rain and end the punishment we have endured for so long.”
A crack of thunder echoed through the hall, the already dark skies throwing a mighty wind at them. Everyone rushed for the windows, staring out at the sky as the clouds opened up, releasing their bounty on a starving people.
Balam turned to Nelli, his mouth agape, the gods truly pleased. A hand squeezed his shoulder and he turned to see the King standing beside him, a broad smile on his face.
Wrath of the Gods (A James Acton Thriller, #18) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 9
