Thieves Till We Die (20 page)

‘What are any of us worth?' Coldhardt whispered. ‘When I was a younger man I thought of nothing but money. I was prepared to sell everything I possessed, thinking I could acquire so much more.' He leaned
against the altar. ‘A policy that in my later years, as the sands of time run out … I have come to regret.'

‘Oh, Jesus. I get it now.' Jonah sucked in an icy breath. ‘This isn't a treasure vault at all, is it? It's a tomb. It's going to be
your
tomb, isn't it?'

‘We're all dying, Jonah, all of us decaying a little more each day. And what waits for us on the other side?'

‘I don't know,' said Jonah. ‘But I think you have a pretty good idea of what's waiting for you. And you don't like it.' He remembered the little statue on Coldhardt's desk, the man struggling with the demon, and shuddered.

‘As a young man, the thought of what would happen to me after death never bothered me.' Coldhardt turned and gave his wintry smile. ‘I was more than willing to sell my soul.'

Jonah felt a shiver down his spine. ‘Is that a metaphor … or for real?'

Coldhardt remained impassive.

‘Who d'you sell yours to?'

A tight smile. ‘The highest bidder.'

Figures
, thought Jonah. ‘And now you're trying to get out of it?'

Again, silence.

‘So that's why you've been so busy looking for the secret of eternal life. And why you're banking everything on finding this temple, the Temple of Life from Death. It's not the treasure you want – it's that promise.'

Coldhardt was staring into space. ‘Eternal life doesn't seem to be an option. And although deep and
deathlike trances can extend the body's lifespan dramatically, it isn't much of an existence.'

Jonah stared wonderingly at Coldhardt. ‘So unless this temple can offer you another way out, you'll end up hiding your body away in this deep freeze, hoping it'll keep out whatever comes digging for you –'

Coldhardt leaned forward suddenly – ‘Shut up,' he hissed, and for a split-second Jonah caught a glimmer of something ancient and inhuman in the old man's hard blue eyes. Then the moment passed, and Coldhardt leaned back heavily against the altar, wiping a hand across his brow. ‘You have no conception of the fate that awaits me.'

‘I know what's waiting for Patch and Tye,' said Jonah shakily. ‘Tye said Ramez will be sacrificed soon – which means Sixth Sun are almost ready to move. If they
do
know the location of that temple, and now they've got whatever that lorry was transporting –'

Coldhardt pushed himself up from the altar. ‘We
must
find out the temple's location for ourselves.'

‘But how? We're still no closer to deciphering those symbols!'

‘So work harder,' he snapped. ‘If we reach the temple ahead of Traynor we can deal with him, bargain for the safe return of Tye and Patch.'

‘What if he's already had them killed?'

‘I will not be questioned, Jonah,' Coldhardt thundered. ‘This is our path of action. I have made my decision.'

Jonah turned and walked away.
In that case
, he thought,
so have I
.

* * *

Tye had been waiting in the room for what felt like for ever. The majestic view from the huge windows was no kind of comfort, showing as it did – with sick irony – the other side of the
Sangre de Cristos
mountains she'd stared out over from Santa Fe. She wondered vaguely if, given that Sixth Sun were a pagan outfit, there was some kind of symbolic reason for their choosing locations overlooking a mountain range named for Christ's blood.

She had no idea where Patch or Ramez were; all she knew was that she was somewhere in Colorado Springs. She guessed that she was being held to convince Ramez to play along, while Patch was being held to ensure that Tye didn't try to escape again. Otherwise, Traynor's thugs could have killed them both in the back of that lorry. Instead they'd had their phones snatched, been bundled off into the helicopter along with the cargo, and flown straight to some big industrial plant in Colorado – the Black House. She and Patch had been separated, and driven thirty minutes into the hills … a striking old mansion set all alone in rugged countryside, shaped like a black arrowhead pointing up to the stars.

Presumably Traynor and Kabacra were nearby – and maybe the woman from the penthouse too, that ‘colleague' Traynor had been so edgy about.

Suddenly the door opened and a tall, stocky middle-aged man entered. He was dressed in black and wore a jade amulet around his neck. A band of dull yellow make-up was daubed across his face from ear to ear, framing his mouth.

Tye glared at him. ‘Nice look. Can I help you?'

‘The Council of Thirteen Heavens has summoned you,' the man said, quietly. He sounded more like a librarian than hired muscle. ‘Come with me. No funny business.'

‘I'm not feeling very funny,' Tye assured him. With nerves flickering grimly through her stomach, she followed the strange-looking man out of the room. Any thoughts of trying to take him were abandoned when she saw a second man waiting outside the room, younger and fitter-looking than the first. He was wearing make-up too, though the stripe across his face was a livid red. As if to press home his advantage in the flamboyance stakes, he wore big, gold ceremonial earrings and a kind of headband festooned with turquoise sequins.

‘You guys could have told me the party was fancy dress.' It may have been a lame joke, but it was still defiance, and to Tye that was the important thing. She tried to put some of Motti's swagger into her step. She was going along with these bastards because she had no choice, but she wasn't about to act all cowed and helpless. Not now, not ever.

They led her downstairs and through the hallway to a set of double doors. Here they paused. The doors were dark, made of some kind of smoked glass that absorbed all light.

‘O great black mirror, we seek to enter the highest heavens,' yellow-mouth announced. ‘We seek to enter the homes of storms and winds, of colours and remote gods.'

Then the other man started spouting off. ‘We are only paintings in your book of pictures,' he intoned.
‘Destroyer of eagles and jaguars, we ask that you let us enter.'

The doors swung open. Yellow-mouth grabbed Tye by the back of the neck and marched her through the double doors.

Tye almost gasped as she was thrust suddenly into a large, cold, circular space. If the weapons plant was Traynor's Black House, his space to think and plan, then this place must be where he went for all-out worship of his own cult. It was done out like some strange, two-storey temple – and since there were no windows she guessed it must form the centre of the house. Weird effigies lined the sandstone walls high above their heads, fantastical creatures that resembled crocodiles or birds of prey or big cats, dramatically lit with spotlights above and below. Images of the sun and six smaller circles that might have been planets were carved above and below them. A muted lightshow was playing on the upper reaches of this bizarre space; the ceiling slipped between light and shadow, colours bled, then clotted, then dissolved and turned black or white in turn. It was soothing and unsettling all at once.

At ground level, a table shaped like a giant horseshoe dominated the space. On the wall above it, in pride of place behind the table, an elegant but dangerous-looking rapier had been mounted. The hilt was swathed with coils of swept steel to protect the owner's hand, and the blade was pitted from frequent use.

‘Guess you've got to be Cortes's sword,' she murmured. ‘Finally found you. Way, way too late.'

All but four of the thirteen chairs ranged around the table were taken – the two at both ends of the horseshoe sat empty. Tye's escorts drifted away to stand either side of the doors; she supposed they must usually occupy two of the seats, but where were the others?

Whatever, it didn't take Einstein to work out that they must make up the Council of Thirteen Heavens.

The members present varied in age from maybe mid-thirties through to sixty. They were all done up the same, in headdresses and make-up, and all except one was wearing the distinctive amulet – a blond-haired guy with staring green eyes and a swollen nose. Perhaps he wasn't the necklace-wearing kind.

Then, with a shock, Tye recognised Traynor at the centre of the table, in a kind of crude crown. She noted that the only woman was sat to his right – the woman she'd glimpsed on the balcony back in Santa Fe. She was tall and thin, her black bob emphasising her sallow skin, her dark eyes made up black, and a streak of gold make-up accentuating her narrow lips.

‘Nice 'ere, innit.'

The familiar voice echoed all around the temple. Tye turned to find Patch stumbling forwards from out of the shadows. He looked pale, the rigid way he was holding himself betraying his fear. ‘Patch, are you all right?' she whispered.

‘I've been better.'

Tye took both his hands in hers and whispered, ‘Can't you break us out of here?'

‘Got no tools, have I?' he reminded her. ‘Lost 'em when they snatched us.'

‘Quiet,' Traynor snapped. ‘You defile Omeyocan with your ignorant speech.'

‘Defile who?' Tye frowned.

‘Omeyocan. Highest of all heavens.'

‘You really do take this Aztec stuff seriously, don't you?'

‘Sixth Sun was founded to celebrate the achievements, the culture and beliefs of the Aztec people, last and greatest of the Mesoamerican races.' Traynor spoke quite casually, as if talking to someone over tea. ‘They picked up the baton of progress from other chosen peoples, of course. The Izapan civilisation, the Maya, the Olmecs …'

‘Let us not waste time, Michael,' said the woman. ‘We should receive Coldhardt's emissary.'

Tye glanced at Patch but he seemed none the wiser. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘A man called on your cell phone,' said Traynor, who seemed vaguely amused. ‘Says he wants to make a deal in exchange for your lives. Of course, at the first sign of treachery, you and the boy will be killed.'

Tye caught movement behind her, and now she realised that the last two members of the council stood in the shadows around the perimeter of the circular chamber. They must have brought Patch here. The shifting light in the ceiling gleamed on their guns.

‘Does Ramez know you're treating us like this?' Tye demanded.

‘Poor Ramez doesn't even know that we have caught you again,' the woman informed her with a smile. ‘Now, kneel down. Try anything and we'll kill
you – along with your mystery knight in shining armour.'

Patch dropped to his knees like he was ready to scrub the floor. Tye crouched down more slowly, nerves buzzing inside her.

Traynor raised his voice. ‘The priests shall now receive the unbeliever.'

The doors were opened and Ramez's bodyguards from Santa Fe appeared in the doorway with a slim, suave figure in a dark, well-fitted suit. The doors closed behind him as he breezed into the temple with a slim, titanium flightcase, apparently unfazed by the strange surroundings.

Tye stared. ‘
Jonah?
'

Jonah looked over and smiled in friendly greeting, like this was no big deal. ‘Hey, Tye, Patch. Good to see you're still in one piece.' Then he noticed someone sat at the table, the man without an amulet. Jonah fished into his pocket and produced one. ‘Xavier, right? Your friend called out your name that night you tried to kill me. I'm sorry I took your hummingbird.' He tossed it over to the man for an easy catch. ‘Peace offering, yeah?'

The woman reached out with bony fingers and snatched the medallion from Xavier's hand. She scrutinised it while Jonah waited, before passing it back, apparently satisfied.

‘It's the real deal. Even gave it a polish.' Jonah smiled round the table. ‘My case has been searched too, by the way.'

‘Who are you?' Traynor inquired.

Good question
, thought Tye. It looked to be Jonah,
but he was talking the talk and even walking the walk in a way she'd never imagined he could. He was playing everything so cool – only the wet, matted hair at the back of his neck pointed to the nerves he must surely be feeling. The eyes of this Council of Thirteen were on him, cold, wary and mistrustful.

‘His name is Jonah Wish,' the woman announced unexpectedly. ‘Coldhardt's encryption and decryption specialist, from England.'

Traynor looked at her. ‘How do you know of him?'

She shrugged. ‘The boy is unusually talented, aroused a lot of interest in high places. Coldhardt got to him first. Broke him out of a Young Offenders Institution.'

Tye could tell from the way Jonah self-consciously straightened his shoulders that his confident front had been shaken a little. She knew it freaked him out, the idea that so many powerful, shadowy people had been interested in his talents while he was away inside, how they'd been waiting to make their approaches …

‘Yeah, well,' said Jonah, forcing the flippancy back into his voice. ‘Now I've broken
myself
out of Coldhardt's care. And I'm available for hire – at very unreasonable rates, of course.'

‘What's he on about?' Patch hissed, but Tye shushed him.

‘I want to get with the winning side.' Jonah glanced over at Patch and Tye, then stabbed a finger at Traynor. ‘You're Michael Traynor – you head up the big secret biological weapons research labs around the corner, right? Nice to meet you, great place you have here.'

‘I am the king,' said Traynor evenly. He gestured round the table. ‘These are my priests. You will show us respect.'

‘Er, do your shady government bosses know about the Sixth Sun stuff, Mike? About what you've been up to behind their backs – kidnap, dealing with international arms dealers, wearing funny make-up …'