Deity (33 page)

“There,”
Laffy suddenly barked into his headset. He pointed to a towering curtain of
lava rock that peeled the jungle back from the rim of a shallow crevice below. There,
in the shadowy bottom stood a lone pillar.

“Set
down there,” Tarah commanded.

Laffy
shot her an incredulous look. “Are you joking? That’s at least a ten percent
grade there. Even if the ground was level I couldn’t set this bird down in the
middle of that jungle.”

Tarah
sighed irritably. “Then find a place where you can land and set the damn thing
down.”

Laffy
circled, scanned, and circled again. Finally, he found suitable ground several
miles east and, much to Tarah’s visible
dismay,
set
the helicopter down there. “Shut it down,” she ordered.

“You’re
not suggesting we leave the helicopter here…”

With
a move as fluidly effective as Abe’s pistol threat, Tarah produced a pistol of
her own and trained it onto Laffy’s head. Laffy cut the power and the
helicopter wound down.

Tacana

Nothing
about Lori’s journey to Mexico
was turning out to be what it first appeared. The Calendar Deity wasn’t exactly
the Jesus Dr. Webb had been looking for, and although it didn’t appear to
record Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl’s arrival in Yucatan, it wasn’t just any old fresco
either. Chichen Itza
wasn’t just another ancient Mayan city, and both Dr. Webb and Dr. Friedman may
or may not be threatened by the Zapatistas.

But
the most baffling of all were Abe and Tarah. They were nothing like they
originally seemed. Just when Lori thought she had a handle on them, they turned
into completely different people. Obviously, they weren’t Red Cross humanitarian
aides. That had been a cover, and now the two people who’d saved her life had
turned on her, a deception she was still trying to grasp as she trudged through
the jungle.

If
there was one thing that was clear, Abe and Tarah were following their own
agenda and now they weren’t bothering to disguise it as a mission to help Lori.
In fact, Lori doubted she’d had anything to do with informing them of Dr.
Webb’s disappearance. They must have known he was working in the collapsed
cavern—a cavern so conveniently close to Tunkuruchu. Therefore, it must have
been him they were looking for when they found her.
But why?
What would they want with a Mormon professor unless…

If he’s come this far
then he must already have the cross.

Was
that why Dr. Webb was being pursued by the Zapatistas? But how did Dr. Friedman
fit in? Were they even aware they stood between two paramilitary forces in a desperate
race for the Talking Cross?

Imagine the power one
would achieve with such direct access to God!

Lori
groaned at the realization that she’d led one of those armies this far. Abe
wasn’t helping her find Dr. Webb, he was using her. He must have lost Dr.
Webb’s trail when the cavern collapsed but managed to pick it up again with the
information she’d given him. That explained his eager insistence to help find
him and, like a
fool,
Lori had gone along with his
plan.

Until now.

The
only problem was, with her arms bound behind her back, she had no choice but to
march in single file through the jungle. Lori glared holes through the back of
Tarah’s head. She heard Laffy breathing heavily around his gag behind her. Rafi
marched at his heels with his rifle at the ready.

The
morning had warmed quickly and the still air trapped within the humid jungle
felt heavy. It wasn’t long before Lori broke into a sweat and the soggy gag in
her mouth proved to be a terrible inconvenience, leaving her to pant through
her nose. To make things worse, her eyes stung from the sweat streaming from
her brow.

She
spied the pistols strapped to Tarah’s thighs. If only she could break free. If
only she could reach a pistol and—

Tarah
stopped abruptly at a seemingly impenetrable wall of vegetation. She surveyed
the area with a quick sweep of her eyes.

“We’ve
gone off course,” she said, her words fairly grinding between her teeth.

Rafi
sighed impatiently. “Damn women can’t keep their directions straight,” he
growled as he joined Tarah at the front.

Lori
stealthily took a step back. Neither captor noticed as they searched the brush
for a way through. This was her chance.

Another
step to Laffy’s side and she was back at a heavy bank of brush. Laffy watched
her curiously. In the jungle they wouldn’t have to run far—just far enough to
disappear. Laffy seemed to be waiting for the signal. With a deep breath, Lori
flung herself into the brush.

And immediately lost her footing.

She
fell
face first into a blur of leaves and limbs and
without her own arms to break her fall, she could only twist her body and land
painfully on her shoulder. But she didn’t stop there.

Her
momentum accelerated. Lori found herself rolling out of the brush, and she kept
rolling. In fact, with her eyes pinched shut she felt herself rolling faster,
accelerating over coarse grass and through slashing twigs. Her ears filled with
dirt and the noise of her body crashing through the brush.

It
happened so fast that she hardly had the chance to realize what she’d done when
it all came to a sudden bone jarring halt. For a moment she lay there, dull and
gasping for the wind that had been knocked out of her. Thankfully, she quickly
regained it, bringing her attention to the wet gag that now hung limp and
gritty around her neck. Pain pierced her side. No doubt she’d cracked a rib
against the tree that had stopped her, and now she lay concealed behind a green
netting of trembling leaves where the lowest branches wove into the mossy limbs
of the underbrush.

And
that’s where she stayed.

She
heard them before she saw them. Tarah was barking orders at Rafi. And then,
Lori spotted them through the vegetation. They stood atop the embankment she’d
just rolled down, looking down on her position.

But
they didn’t see her.

“They’ve
got to be down there,” Tarah barked. “Get down there and find them!”

Them
?

And
then it occurred to her—Laffy must have followed her lead and escaped down the
embankment too! But where was he?

There
was no time to worry about Laffy for movement atop the embankment caught Lori’s
eye. Rafi was lowering his rifle, preparing to sweep it across the bottom of
the draw. “I know how to root them out.”

Her
heart stopped. The brush may do well to conceal her but it wouldn’t stand a
chance against an onslaught of bullets. And she wouldn’t either.

Fortunately,
Tarah dropped a hand on Rafi’s barrel. “You’ll reveal our position to the
Zapatistas. They aren’t worth it.”

Rafi
put away his weapon and Lori sighed with relief. But it wasn’t over yet. Together,
Tarah and Rafi marched down the embankment. All Lori had to do was lie low.

And
wait them out.

Divine Intervention

Father
Ruiz stayed close behind Matt as he slashed laboriously through parasitic
tree-vines and Jurassic-sized ferns. Peet took up the rear, maintaining a
steady read on John’s compass. John, himself, had chosen to stay behind, not
only to rest his injured leg but to observe the villagers as the day progressed.
It was his opportunity to better understand the Mayan culture, he’d told them. KC
had offered to stay too. According to her, she’d hiked through enough jungle to
last her a lifetime.

It
didn’t bother Father Ruiz to leave them behind. That left less distraction as
he focused on Matt. He wasn’t about to let the Mormon leave his sight, not
after Matt surreptitiously took the Talking Cross back while he was sleeping. Losing
the cross again had been foolishness on Father Ruiz’s part. He was a heavy
sleeper, and being aware of this, he thought slipping the cross beneath his
pillow was a safe bet; that he’d awaken should one of the villagers try taking
it. Clearly he’d misjudged Matt. Either he slept harder than he thought or Matt
was far stealthier than he’d given him credit for. Father Ruiz banked on the later.
After all, he’d completely disregarded the fact that the professor not only
succeeded in eluding museum security but also found access to an inaccessible
chapel with bafflingly simple tactics.

Regardless,
as long as the cross was in relative sight, Father Ruiz was content to wait. The
cross was in Matt’s pack, the same pack that had bounced around at his feet in
the back of the Jeep as they’d made their getaway from the Zapatistas. All that
time Father Ruiz had been that close to his quarry and he hadn’t even realized
it! But now he knew exactly where the cross was and he was ready to take it
back just as soon as he got the chance.

Fortunately,
the opportunity came about mid-morning when they paused for a water break.

“According
to the guide, we should be in a shallow ravine by mid-afternoon,” Peet said,
tucking the compass away into a vest pocket.

The
guide, as it turned out, had been nothing but a pre-teen village boy who
claimed to have come across a pillar in a shallow ravine high up the mountain. The
pillar looked old, he’d said, prompting Matt to set his course along the Tacana
slope. But that was all the boy could offer and he certainly wasn’t willing to
lead the way, not on December 21, 2012.

Despite
Father Ruiz’s doubts about the validity of the boy’s story, he chose to follow
Peet and Matt anyway. He knew where his prize was and if he had his way, the
Talking Cross wasn’t going to reach some pillar waiting in the bottom of a volcanic
ravine. So, when Matt finally let down his bag to rest, Father Ruiz
purposefully took a seat beside it. He caught a glimpse of the cross just
inside as Matt retrieved his water bottle. Again, Father Ruiz waited. Matt
finally sat down nearby and took a long, refreshing swig from his bottle.

Father
Ruiz pounced.

He
grabbed the cross which slipped out of the pack even easier than he’d expected.
Matt was quick to notice.

“What
the hell?” he gargled as his last mouthful of water promptly spilled from his
lips.

Matt
instinctively reached for his rifle, but Father Ruiz was already moving toward
it. He grabbed the gun and stole it from beneath Matt’s fingertips. The weapon
was heavier than he expected and he found himself fumbling between its weight
and the cross as he lifted the muzzle directly at his surprised companions.

“Forgive
me, brothers,” he said, backing away. “But I must return this cross to the
cardinal.”

Peet’s
dumbfounded eyes widened. “You mean that’s the Talking Cross of the Cruzob?”

“The
same,” Father Ruiz said as he inched away from the archaeologists. He felt a
bit indignant toward Peet’s disbelief. Why wouldn’t this be the Talking Cross? Granted,
it was a simple wooden cross, but a lot of importance had been placed on lesser
novelties.

Peet’s
brow furrowed. “Matt,” he gasped. “Didn’t you learn anything from the results
of your religious exchange experiment?”

“What
I learned,” Matt argued, “was that there is truth hidden in every religion. But
one has to look beyond
their own
biases to see it. The
Mormons are just as unwilling to accept the validity of other faiths as every
other religion out there.”

Father
Ruiz didn’t know whether he should run or argue the point. The shift in
conversational focus seemed to lessen the seriousness of his actions. It left
him feeling indignant but his instincts urged him to use this opportunity to
run straight back to Cardinal Balbás and lock the Talking Cross away for good. He
would have done just that were it not for two hindering thoughts—the jungle was
thick and wild and the weight of Matt’s rifle felt cumbersome and unnatural.

If
Peet noticed his dilemma, he didn’t let on. In fact, he was shaking his head. “Matt,”
he said, “
what
could you possibly want with that cross
way out here?”

“In
an area patrolled by the Zapatistas, a little divine intervention couldn’t
hurt,” Matt said. His eyes shifted to Father Ruiz. “You saw how responsive
those villagers were once they saw it.”

“Didn’t
the Mormons provide you with a cross of their own?” Peet pressed, recapping his
own bottle of water.

“I’m
not very popular with the Mormons right now,” Matt said. “Besides, I thought a
Catholic cross would be helpful in a country predominantly Catholic.”

“Why
that
cross?”
Peet asked. “I’m sure you could buy one from any of the street vendors in Mexico City.”

“Trinkets,”
Matt spat, slowly rising to his feet. “This cross caught my eye. It’s unique.
Beautiful.
Reminds me of a Taco John’s
churro.”