by Stephen Cole
Motti frowned at her. ‘So, taking the picture altogether we’re left with, “secretly cacao”. What the hell does that mean? Sounds like a perfume or something.’
‘I don’t know,’ Con admitted. ‘But this other pictogram, the one that was hidden on the statuette …’
‘The one that looked like a big egg in the middle of four trees? Even the geek couldn’t make no sense of that.’
Con looked at him, her blue eyes brilliant. ‘Maybe they’re cacao trees. Maybe the egg represents the temple – a kind of rebirth thing, yes? Maybe it’s buried beneath four trees.’
‘But the pictogram’s a code,’ Motti argued. ‘Isn’t it? I mean, how the hell would we find four cacao trees in the whole of Mexico? There must be millions of ’em out there.’
Con slumped back on the bed. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘Wish I wasn’t.’ Motti turned back to the headphones and placed one pad to his ear.
It was dead.
Swearing, he twiddled with the receiver. There was just static.
‘What is it?’ Con asked.
‘Damn mike must have gone out of range.’ Motti stopped the MP3 recorder and started skipping back through the contents. ‘We only got us a twenty-mile operations zone, enough to take in the weapons centre and Traynor’s place. Wherever Jonah is now, we can’t get to him – and we can’t listen in, neither.’
Con swung herself off the bed. ‘Let’s look at the map. If they’re out of range already, we can work out which direction they’ve taken from the positioning of Traynor’s place, no?’
‘And then drive round, see if we can pick up their signal again. We might hear something that gives us a clue where they’ve gone.’ Motti nodded in agreement. ‘OK. Let’s do it.’
‘And hope we pass a McDonalds somewhere on the way,’ Con added, giving him the tiniest of smiles. ‘I’m starving.’
Jonah stared at the bloody steak Honor placed in front of him, fresh from the fridge. ‘I’m, uh, not hungry,’ he said.
‘It’s for your cheek,’ she informed him. Without the freaky make-up, she was a striking woman, stick-bony and ashen-skinned, but with a steely strength about her. It showed in those dark eyes that seemed somehow just too big for her face. ‘It will help with the swelling and constrict the blood vessels to stop further discolouring of the skin.’
Jonah gingerly picked up the meat and placed it against his sticky cheek. ‘You a doctor or something?’
She turned that white, voracious smile on him again. ‘I know a very great deal about the way the body works, Jonah.’
He nodded vaguely, looked away. The steak did actually feel soothing, but the smell of the raw meat threatened to turn his stomach. Or maybe that was down to his situation. He was trapped in a fancy rented top-floor apartment in downtown Colorado Springs. A man who had nearly killed him a few days back was guarding the door outside, while he was left alone with a woman at least five times as tough as she looked, the high priestess of a murdering cult of loopers.
He hoped that Motti and Con were still listening in, that they had some idea where he was. That they were coming to get him. Otherwise he was in big trouble.
‘So where did you meet Traynor?’ he asked conversationally.
‘I heard of his reputation in certain areas that interest me, and sought him out.’ She smiled. ‘It’s been well worth it.’
Jonah sucked in a breath as he pressed on the steak. ‘Does he often beat up his visitors?’
‘He has something of a temper.’ Honor shrugged, and smiled. ‘But then, so do I. If you’re thinking of trying to escape from here, I should warn you that what I did to your arm I can do to just about any part of you.’
Jonah didn’t like the way she was looking him up and down. ‘I wouldn’t want to upset a potential employer, would I?’ he said, hoping she actually bought his story about running out on Coldhardt.
‘So,’ she said, moving closer, her eyes fixed on him. ‘You would like to please me?’
‘If you’re happy, I’m happy.’
‘You’re, what – seventeen? Eighteen?’
‘Eighteen, last December.’
‘And yet so highly-skilled, and pleasing to the eye. Yes, I may have need of someone like you, Jonah.’ Standing right in front of him, a predatory look in her eyes, she wiped a finger over the plate that had held the steak and licked it – just as there was a bang at the door. ‘How very tedious.’ Her black bob swung glossily as she turned to the door. ‘Xavier? Who is it?’
‘Kabacra,’ he reported.
‘I want to talk,’ came a hoarse voice.
Jonah had never imagined feeling overjoyed to have a crazed gun-runner drop in unexpectedly, but right now he felt like punching the air. ‘Damn,’ he said, acting rueful. ‘Just as things were getting interesting.’
‘They’ll get interesting again, I assure you.’ Honor steered him towards the hallway. ‘Now, there’s a guest bedroom along here. You will stay there, safely out of the way.’
‘Couldn’t I stay with you, listen in?’ he asked casually, lowering the steak from his face. ‘I mean, if I’m going to be a part of all this –’
‘Trust is earned, Jonah,’ she told him, ‘not given.’
‘Worried I’m going to tell him what Traynor said – that he’s not getting what he thinks he is?’
‘Actually, no.’ She smiled knowingly and opened a door on to a small, plainly furnished room that was just about empty save for a bed, a dresser and a flash stereo. An inner door led to a small en suite bathroom.
Honor switched the stereo on to a local radio station, turning up the volume loud. ‘I appreciate how tempting it must be for you to listen in on my business meetings, but that’s not going to happen. Not until I’m truly satisfied …’ She widened her dark eyes, all but licking her lips. ‘Satisfied, that is, as to where your loyalties truly lie. Now, make yourself comfortable and enjoy the music. And don’t try to turn it down, Jonah –’
‘Or you will turn me down, right?’
She shut the door behind her and locked it, leaving him with only a soft rock guitar solo for company. He heard the door open faintly, but could catch only a murmur of conversation.
His mouth felt horribly dry, so he went into the en suite. No surprises – just a sink, shower and toilet, all done out in white and chrome. A waterproof radio hung from the shower’s housing. Great, he could listen to cheesy old rock songs in here too … He ran the basin tap, swilled water around his mouth. Come on guys, get me out of here!
Then an idea gripped him. There was a radio mike in Xavier’s amulet, right? That had to mean it broadcast on radio waves. Could a regular radio pick up those wavelengths? He grabbed the one in the shower, a flash digital job. Surely there was a chance?
He closed the door to quieten the music. Then he dumped the steak in the sink and pressed the shower radio to his ear, scrolling through the stations. The auto-tune didn’t pick up anything, but maybe if he tried it manually …
Soon, with a thrill, he caught faint voices. It was Kabacra and Honor. He grinned in disbelief – their voices were carrying from the living room through the front door to where the mike in Xavier’s amulet was picking them up and broadcasting them to the little radio!
Jonah kissed the speaker, then pressed it up against his ear. The quality of the sound was terrible, peppered with weird digital whoops and harmonics. But he could just make out what was being said, and thanked God it wasn’t in Spanish.
‘… the demonstration was very convincing.’ Kabacra was speaking, and Jonah shuddered to recall that scarred, scary face on the computer screen in Guatemala. ‘Now I know how deadly this stuff is, I can think of a dozen groups who would take it – we could name our price. But if Traynor truly imagines he can part-pay me for Cortes’s sword with a substitute formula a thousand times weaker …’
‘Bloody hell,’ Jonah breathed. So that’s what he’s getting. And he already knows about the stitch-up.
‘Try t
o see it from Traynor’s point of view,’ said Honor. ‘He sees himself as the instrument of Coatlicue’s vengeance – and the power of life and death on such a scale certainly makes him godlike. He’s not going to hand it over to just anyone – particularly someone like you.’
‘That’s why you must get me a sample yourself,’ said Kabacra menacingly. ‘That weak junk Traynor’s trying to foist on me is no better than most other products on the market. We’ll get a fraction of the cash we could get for the real thing.’
‘Bloody, bloody hell.’ Jonah felt sick. The latest in biological weapons, to be used on God knew how many people, and all so Traynor could stage the last part of the prophecy – Then Coatlicue will arise from her temple and feast on the poison in men.
‘I can’t simply ask him to hand over samples of cutting edge bio-weapons, can I!’ Honor protested. ‘What use would I have for them? I’m supposed to be Traynor’s priestess, supposed to accept all that trippy garbage he spouts!’
Tye was right, Jonah realised, remembering her last words to him. She doesn’t believe like he does.
‘He honestly thinks he’s going to find the spirit of Coatlicue in that temple,’ she went on. ‘Once he thinks Coatlicue has blessed the phials of the biological agent, he will give them to his priests to disperse. I will give you their intended destinations, and you can send someone out to the closest location and intercept the delivery. Then you will have your sample.’
‘I had better …’ A pause. ‘You know, I really don’t understand you, Honor. You stand to make a phenomenal amount of money from the treasures in that temple. Why seek to make a deal with me on top of that?’
‘Because I have invested three years of my life getting this close to Traynor and Sixth Sun,’ she said curtly. ‘I do believe the temple will contain priceless treasures as they all maintain, but if something goes wrong – if we can’t raise it, if it’s been ransacked or whatever else – I am not coming out of this affair a loser.’ Another pause. ‘I will take a cut of your profits from the sale of the full-strength bio-weapons as willingly as I’ll take Traynor’s treasure.’
Through the digital static, Jonah heard the sneer in Kabacra’s voice. ‘You’re a greedy bitch.’
‘Oh, yes. But one who takes sensible precautions.’
‘So what happens to Traynor?’
‘When the temple is exposed and the treasures transported to a place of safety, I shall have no further use for him. He’ll probably be quite insane by then in any case, once he realises his deluded dreams have come to nothing … that not even the deaths of millions of Europeans can wake up this ludicrous “presence” of his. I’ll make sure he meets with an accident before the authorities can track him down, along with his pathetic followers. And those riches in the temple will be mine.’
‘Yours alone?’ Kabraca said quietly. ‘Or perhaps you would consider sharing?’
The conversation stopped. Jonah jammed the radio harder against his ear.
Kabacra spoke again, his voice hardening. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Without me, Traynor’s plans would have come to nothing – and nor would your dreams of wealth. I sold Cortes’s sword to Traynor so he could play at talking to gods. I located and acquired the plutonium needed to make that bomb.’
‘So you could get your hands on the agent,’ she retorted. ‘Traynor could have got the fissile material from anywhere.’
‘What if I was to tell Traynor the true reason you involved yourself in his affairs? That you are a tawdry con-woman?’
‘Ah. So the gun-runner thinks he can blackmail me.’
He seemed to think exactly that. ‘When I tell Traynor your plans, show him how many broke and broken men you have left in your wake … what will he think of his high priestess then? And how might he reward me for protecting him?’
Jonah was wide-eyed, but Honor sounded unruffled. ‘You’d have to move quickly.’
‘I could confront him tonight. You and I have been working together for some time. Long enough for me to compile plenty of evidence.’
‘Are you sure it’s still in your possession? Coldhardt’s operatives got hold of your client list – presumably when they came to call on you in Guatemala.’
‘Impossible,’ Kabacra hissed.
‘I know it for a fact,’ she went on, cool as ever. ‘Three of Coldhardt’s agents are our prisoners.’
‘Then I will kill them.’
‘I shall sell them back to Coldhardt – or to the highest bidder.’ She paused. ‘After all, I’ll need the extra funds, won’t I – if I’m to share Coatlicue’s treasures with you?’
Jonah imagined he could hear Kabacra’s creepy smile spreading through the static. ‘A wise decision, high priestess. Very wise.’
‘Let’s drink to it, shall we?’
Jonah heard the chink of glasses and lowered the radio from his ear, his head crowded with thoughts and fears. He’d come here to try to get his friends back from a dangerous bunch of fanatics in fancy dress. Now he found himself caught up in some mad world where homemade nuclear bombs would awaken ancient Mexican deities, where biological weapons were primed to poison the water supplies of who-knew-how many cities …
His head began to spin, panic rose up inside him. Millions of people could die, and he was the only one who knew. What the hell was he going to do about it? He was in way over his head. This couldn’t be happening, no way could this be happening –
Suddenly Jonah felt his guts turn, and saliva flood his mouth. He dropped the radio, lifted the lid of the toilet and threw up. His throat burned, his cheek felt like it might burst with the pressure.
Then the stereo in the room outside shut off and the door pushed open. With a spasm of fear, he saw Honor standing in the doorway.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she demanded.
‘Don’t know.’ Jonah flushed the toilet, wiped his mouth on a towel. He didn’t even want to look at her. ‘Something I ate maybe.’
‘Well, pull yourself together,’ she snapped. ‘It’s time you earned a little trust. Prove yourself now and I’ll allow you to join us on our expedition tomorrow.’
‘Has Kabacra gone?’ Jonah asked.
‘Come through to the living room,’ she said.
Jonah followed her a little unsteadily, breathing deeply. He soon saw Kabacra was still here.
On the floor. Dead.
The arms dealer’s swollen tongue lolled out of his frothing mouth. His eyes were staring, wide and sightless. Thin yellow bile seeped along the scars that scored his face from lips to ears. A glass, empty and cracked, was clutched in one hand.
‘Take a good, long look, Jonah,’ said Honor softly. ‘And don’t ever dream you can betray me.’
Jonah looked between the tall, bony woman and the corpse of the man she had poisoned. Then he pelted back to the bathroom to be sick again, half wishing it was him lying on the floor, out of the game for good.
Chapter Eighteen
Patch was feeling the strain in his makeshift cell, jumping every time a sound carried down the corridor to the little storeroom he was locked in. How long did he have? While Tye was needed to keep Ramez happy, and while Jonah was convincing Sixth Sun that they couldn’t get by without him, Patch guessed that Traynor thought of him as just a little kid whose only use now was as a corpse to send to Coldhardt if the big man got too close.
Naturally, Patch had decided not to tell these spooky sods about his talents – they’d either leave a dozen guards outside his door, or else kill him right now before he could cause any bother. So here he was, jammed into the narrow space of the storeroom.
There wasn’t much to do in here. Facing him was a row of filing cabinets and a long shelf packed with dusty old books about Aztec history. He’d checked for any dirty mags salted away between volumes – you never knew, after all – but no, there was nothing of interest anywhere.
Finding another use for his hands, at least he’d managed to convert two paper clips into a set of makeshift picks. But
there was no chance of him using them on the main door – the key had been left in the lock on the other side, and anyway the tumblers were too big to be budged by something so flimsy.
So he was picking the locks on each of the filing cabinets in turn to see if there was anything he might use there instead.
The first one was stuffed full of old newspaper clippings about archaeologists in Mexico exploring the highlands, the lowlands – probably the in-between lands while they were at it. The second cabinet was stuffed with hanging files. Patch took one out and sorted through it. Just photos of jungle and stuff. He ditched it, picked up another, marked TEMPLE. That looked more promising. But there were only a few photocopied drawings inside, in a weird, old-fashioned style. One showed a step-pyramid surrounded by skulls. Another showed a big snake-headed figure, like Coldhardt’s statuette, standing in-between two pillars. Thirteen circles hovered around the figure’s clawed feet, evenly spaced. God knew what they were supposed to represent.
With a shrug he folded all the papers together and stuffed them in his back pocket. Then he sorted through a few more folders full of archaeological reports and more newspaper clippings, until he found a file marked SURROUNDING AREA. Sounded a winner. Patch opened the flap and started to flick listlessly through the black and white photographs inside. Jungle. Mountainsides.
Then, a few pictures in, he stopped dead. ‘Bleedin’ hell!’ he breathed, pulling it out and studying it closely.
That clinched it. Now he had to get out of here.
Frantically he rooted through the rest of the cabinet’s contents. There had to be something he could use to poke the key out and pick the lock. Then he realised that about a dozen candidates were staring him in the face – the hanging files themselves. Each card wallet was edged with thin metal strips.
Quickly Patch tore one away. Either end of the strip was hooked so it hung snugly from the chrome runners. It would make a pretty good pick and would be strong enough to poke out the key so he could –
