Authors: Michelle Gagnon
“I can handle myself. And you said you can’t trust these Tyr guys. They might put a bullet in your back just because they can.”
Mark looked ready to argue the point, but he was interrupted by Brown’s voice crackling out of his radio. “In position. We’re a go in two.”
“Roger that. Heading for the east gate.” Mark clicked off. He examined Jake for a long moment before saying, “Fine, you’re on with me and Decker. Syd, hang back with the sniper rifle. We’re going to need a good shot to help us on the way out.”
Syd nodded curtly. Jake was about to walk away when she abruptly threw her arms around him. “Take care of yourself, partner.”
“Always.” He gently eased her off, then followed Mark down toward the camp.
Twenty-Nine
“So we just need to find out where that temple used to be located,” Kelly said.
“Maybe.” Rodriguez scrolled through the site. “Although it says similar sacrifices were made in other Aztec cities like Tlatelolco, Xochimilco and Tex
“Stefan was focused on Tenochtitlán,” Kelly said, shaking her head. “That’s why he came here in the first place. Admit it,” she said with a grin. “This feels right to you.”
“You know—” he examined her “—that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since…well, you know.”
Kelly’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
“I just meant—”
“It’s okay,” Kelly said quickly. “I know. And I’m really sorry that I missed your wedding. Truly.”
Rodriguez shrugged, but his cheeks were pink. “No problem. It was hectic, anyway—three hundred people screaming at each other in Spanish. You would have been miserable.”
“You kidding? That’s practically my second language now.” Kelly smiled again, and Rodriguez grinned back. “So let’s find out where this temple used to be.”
“That sounds an awful lot like we won’t be sleeping tonight,” Rodriguez grumbled. But he typed some words into the search engine. “Here’s something. ‘An island city, five miles square, Tenochtitlán was surrounded by Lake Texcoco. Three causeways led into the city. Canals were used as streets and people traveled everywhere by canoe. With palaces, gardens, fountains, aqueducts and sewage collection on large barges for use as fertilizer, Tenochtitlán was more advanced than any city in Europe. Looming over it all was a great pyramid with bloodstained temples on top.’”
“Does it say where the pyramid was located?”
“I’m working on it.” He hit a few more keys, and a large topographic map materialized onscreen. “Says here that maps of Tenochtitlán are only accurate to a certain point—most of them come from archaeological exploration and Spanish records. But this is a mock-up of the ancient city.” Kelly leaned in. The map was scrawled on old parchment, squiggly black lines delineating streets and houses. “After the conquest of the Spaniards, the Great Pyramid of Tenochtitlán was mostly destroyed. It was located dead center in the city.”
“That sounds easy,” Kelly said.
“Not exactly. We’ve got to find out what the original borders of Tenochtitlán were. If I were back at the office, we could print out an overlay…”
“No time,” Kelly said. “Keep digging.”
Rodriguez blew out hard, making it clear he wasn’t enjoying himself.
“I can take over if you want,” she offered.
“No, it’s fine. Wait…here we go.” Another page popped up. This one had a photograph of an archaeological site.
Kelly read aloud, “‘More than four hundred years later the base of the pyramid was found during rebuilding after major earthquakes. The dig has gone on since 1978. The pyramid ruins lie to one side of the cathedral built by the Spanish next to the Great Marketplace. The site can be visited using a series of overlooks and footpaths.’ This is it, we need to get
“Now?”
Kelly nodded, and his shoulders slumped. Rodriguez scooped up the last of his taco and jammed it in his mouth, chewed three times, then swallowed. “The things I let you talk me into.” He shut the laptop and pushed his chair back. “We’re making a stop first.”
“We don’t have time—” Kelly said impatiently.
“Listen, Jones. I’ve only got my sidearm and ten rounds. And unless I’m mistaken, you’re still unarmed. I’m not going after anyone like that.”
“It’s nearly midnight, how do you expect—”
“You’re forgetting that I’ve got family here, chica.” He winked. “Time to pay a visit to Tío Pablo.”
Beads of sweat ran down Flores’s face, but he persisted. The shots were getting closer. Personally he planned to be long gone by the time the battle arrived. He had assumed that Tyr would stage a late-night snatch and grab, flying under the radar to sneak them out during a shift change. But from the sound of it they’d sent a large enough team for an all-out assault. The company manual never mentioned that type of operation.
The ground shook as a grenade exploded nearby. Screams and cries followed it. Flores gritted his teeth. He could feel Calderon at his shoulder, breathing hard.
“We must hurry, my friend,” Calderon said.
“I’m going as fast as I can,” he snapped.
Next door, aside from occasional coughing fits, Tejada had fallen silent. He sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth. The motion made the light in their pen shift.
Flores yanked the last two wires apart, pushing them out and away so they would cause the least amount of damage when they crawled through.
“Is that wide enough?” Calderon asked dubiously. The seam in the wires extended from about a foot off the ground to the bottom of the pen. The wires were spread two inches apart, gaping open like an inverted mouth.
“We’re about to find out,” Flores said. He pulled some of the filthy matting they used as bedding over his head to protect it, then carefully pushed through. His head just cleared the space. Flores could feel the upper wires straining, tearing at the bedding. One caught the back of his right hand and he winced. He shifted the hand to free it, then eased his shoulders through. The wires snagged at his clothing, but if there was enough room for his shoulders, the rest of his body would follow.
“You did it, cabrón!” Calderon snarled exuberantly. “Let’s go!”
Flores wiggled forward on his belly, an inch at a time. He was halfway through when there was a commotion at the front of their cage. He froze, shifting his head to see behind him.
One of the Zetas guards had materialized at their door. He was aiming right for them.
Thirty
Jake kept to the shadows as he followed Mark and Decker. They were entering the camp through the main gates on the eastern side. A pothole-riddled road wove away from the massive wooden fence, disappearing into the jungle. He glanced up at the guard tower they were skirting, wondering why no one was shooting at them yet.
“They must have pulled everyone south to act as reinforcements,” Mark said, as if reading his mind. “But there are probably still hostiles covering the pens.”
Decker was on point, sweeping the barrel of his LMT from side to side as he moved ahead of them. They slipped inside, initially sticking to the interior wall. The camp was composed of a motley assortment of dwellings, some obviously prefab, others built on-site from raw wood. They passed a long building, probably guard barracks. A light rain started to fall.
“The rain’s good cover,” Decker said in a low voice. “Finally we get a break.”
Jake kept glancing back, braced for someone to start peppering them with rounds. They passed quickly through the section of camp where the guards lived and trained. Decker stopped abruptly, holding up a fist. After waiting a few beats, he charged across an open space, down the long aisle that marked the beginning of the prisoners’ section. A moment later, Jake and Mark followed. They made it across without encountering any guards.
“Hell, this is almost too easy,” Mark murmured.
They approached what looked like an endless row of kennels constructed out of chicken wire. The smell was terrible here, sweat and piss mingled with rotting leaves. As they passed along the row, a chorus of voices kicked up. Stark-white eyes stared out at them, fingers clutching the wires. “Señores!” they cried out. “Por favor!”
“Christ, we might as well have brought a bullhorn,” Decker said, agitated. “They’re gonna bring guards running.”
Jake agreed, but there was no way to silence the prisoners. The noise shot along the line of pens like the wick leading to a bomb, increasing in volume until a single excited proclamation stood out. “Americanos!”
“Calderon and Flores are two rows down,” Mark said. “Brown should be coming up on them.” The plan had been for Brown to enter from the next gate over, the one closest to Calderon’s holding cell. That way if one of their groups attracted fire, it would distract the guards enough to allow the alternate team to slip inside.
Mark was moving faster now. Jake broke into a trot to keep up with him. The radio on Mark’s shoulder suddenly crackled. “This is Alpha team. Hostiles at the North Gate,” Brown said in a low voice.
“Roger,” Mark said. “Beta team clear. We’re almost at the target.”
“Roger that. We’ll double back and come in after you.”
The radio fell silent.
So it’s down to us, Ja thought. They turned the next corner at a dead run. According to their intel, Flores and Calderon were being held a few hundred feet down and to the right.
A sputter of gunfire a few rows over. Someone screamed. A second passed, then more rounds. The scream was abruptly silenced. Mark and Decker slowed. Jake matched their pace.
“Sounds like some of our friends hung around to execute prisoners,” Decker said.
At the sound of the shots, the murmur surrounding them ascended to a fever pitch. Prisoners threw themselves against the wires, clawing at the pen doors in their desperation to escape. Jake gritted his teeth and kept going.
They turned down the last row. Twenty yards away, a guy in fatigues braced an LMT against his shoulder as he aimed into one of the pens.
“Alto!” Mark shouted, sighting his own weapon.
The muzzle of the gun swiveled toward them.
“Get down!” Mark shoved Jake hard. He flew through the air, rolling a few times before slamming against the metal side of a pen.
A sputter of machine-gun fire, and Mark dropped to the ground.
Flores froze, his legs still inside the cage. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to squeeze all the way out and run for his life. But if he did that, Calderon would be killed. And in spite of everything, he didn’t know if he’d be able to live with that.
Of course, chances were the guard would shoot them both anyway.
“Métanse!” the guard yelled, pivoting the gun back and forth between them.
Calderon locked eyes with Flores. His held a look of infinite sadness. “Vaya con Dios, amigo,” he said before turning away.
“Wait,” Flores protested, but Calderon was already walking toward the entrance to the pen. He kept his hands held high, chin jutted up. The guard shifted as if anticipating an attack, although the door remained locked. The barrel of his gun aimed directly at Calderon’s chest. His body shielded Flores, at least for the moment.
Flores channeled the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He dug his elbows into the dirt, clawing his way forward. His hips shifted through the opening. The sheared wires rended his pant legs as he dragged himself out. As his feet cleared the gap, gunfire erupted behind him. Without looking back, he leaped up and ran like hell.
“Mark!” Jake cried out.
Decker was already firing. The guard’s body was buffeted by bullets, making him jump and twitch like a rag doll. His rifle went off in a sputtering arc, bullets ripping into the trees overhead as he toppled over.
Jake crawled to his brother. The impact of the bullet had thrown him on his side. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t appear to be breathing.
Jake’s hands shook as he rolled Mark onto his back. He couldn’t see any blood.
Decker squatted next to him. He reached out a steady hand, feeling for a pulse. Then he shook him.
“Hey!” Jake cried.
Mark suddenly shifted, and his eyes popped open. He looked up blearily.
“What happened?”
“Got your bell rung,” Decker said brusquely. “Looks like your vest stopped it, though.”
Mark lifted his head. There was a quarter-sized hole in the front of his shirt. He stuck a finger in and tapped his vest. “Good thing they weren’t using hollow points,” he said.
“Good thing,” Decker agreed. “Scared the piss out of your brother, though.”
“Yeah?” Mark shifted to look at Jake. “I didn’t think you’d be shedding any tears over me.”
“I just wasn’t in the mood to carry you.” Jake cuffed his shoulder.
“I’d feel the same way.” Mark grinned.
“We better keep moving,” Decker said.
“Sure.” Mark winced as he staggered to his feet, shrugging off help. He looked down the line of pens, getting his bearings. “Should be twelve pens down.”
“Crap,” Decker said. “That’s where the guard was.”
Thirty-One
Kelly sat in the corner nursing a mug of coffee. It was lukewarm and weak, with a greasy film that probably portended a serious case of Montezuma’s revenge down the line. But she didn’t want to offend their host, so she gambled and took a few sips. It didn’t actually taste that bad. There was a hint of something…cinnamon, maybe? At least she hoped that’s what the floating brown flecks were.
She examined Rodriguez’s Uncle Pablo over the lip of the cup. He was tiny, birdlike, the few sparse hairs on his head carefully combed across the top. An enormous moustache dominated his face, as if overcompensating for his baldness. Bright red pants were cinched above his waist with a belt, and he wore white leather loafers with black socks.
Apparently Pablo spent his spare time stocking weaponry. Once Rodriguez explained the reason for their late-night visit, he led them to a back room that was an NRA member’s wet dream. Wooden shipping crates were crammed into every available space, some stacked nearly to the ceiling. Pablo flung open the closest crate to reveal a stack of gold-plated AK-47s. A second held grenades. A third, handguns.
Kelly didn’t ask where all the artillery came from, or why he was in possession of it—she figured she was better off not knowing. She watched Rodriguez sift through the crates, appreciatively examining a rifle scope as they discussed terms in Spanish. From what Kelly could gather, although they qualified for a friends and families discount, none of this stuff came free. Which was a little worrisome. Thanks to the federales, she had less than a few hundred dollars on hand, and she doubted Rodriguez had much more. She suspectedasn’t the kind of deal sealed with an AMEX card.