The Aztec Code (24 page)

‘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.

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 –

‘Dummy,' he muttered. Why make life hard for himself? He crossed to the door, listened hard to check no one was waiting outside, then folded the vandalised card wallet flat and slid it partway under the door. With the metal strip, he poked about until the key was indeed nudged clear; it fell from the lock and landed on the card. Then he slid the card back under the door towards him, and the key came with it.

Patch smiled and squeezed the key tight in his hand. As tricks went it was olden but golden.

The key turned smoothly, and the door opened without a sound. Patch slid the photo up his top, closed the door and locked it behind him. Hopefully no one would call in to offer him a bog-break or whatever. At least, not till he was miles from here.

He paused in the roomy corridor. There was a window at the far end, he could maybe open it and slip outside. But what about Tye and Jonah? He couldn't leave them behind. If all three of them escaped they could call Coldhardt, tell him all they'd discovered, hide out some place until they were picked up …

Tye had been taken upstairs. Patch decided he'd try to find her first.

Cautiously, his heart banging away, he crept through the house. There was no one about. Maybe everyone was still sat inside that creepy room. Maybe they were all dancing about naked and painting each other funny colours, or practising their sacrifice moves.

Patch ran up the stairs, one hand pressing against the photo through his top, grateful that the deep pile carpet muffled his footfalls. After a minute or two spent checking various doors, he found a locked room. The key was in the lock. He turned it quietly and peered inside.

Bang on. There was Tye, lying asleep on a leather couch. That Ramez bloke was here too, crashed out on the floor beside a table loaded with grub – roast chicken, burgers, crisps and champagne. Patch eyed it hungrily, realised he was starving. But first things first.

‘Tye?' he whispered, and gently touched the side of her face. ‘Tye, it's me, Patch. Wake up, yeah? You're never gonna guess what I've found out …'

She didn't stir. Something was wrong. He crossed to where Ramez lay and nudged him none-too-gently with his foot. But Ramez didn't react either. Returning to Tye, he used his thumb to open one of her eyelids. Her pupil was barely more than a pinprick.

Patch looked over at the table piled high with booze and grub and swore. ‘Drugged.' He stared round the room, trying not to panic. How could he get her out of here now?

The simple answer was – he couldn't.

‘I'll be back. I'll get help,' he told Tye softly, taking her hand. ‘If you stick with Ramez you'll be safe. They need him, don't they – and he needs you.' He squeezed her fingers. ‘We
all
need you, Tye. We really do.'

Suddenly Patch started at a distant round of applause drifting from downstairs. Sounded like the meeting was about ready to break up – which meant it was time for him to break
out
. He'd be no help to anyone if he got himself caught again. Wielding his improvised picks, he blew Tye a kiss and slipped from the room, looking for a back way out of this dump.

It was shaping up to be a really top night, Jonah decided.
First I get beaten to a pulp, then I find out Sixth Sun's whacko plan, and now I'm off to dump a dead body in the great American wilderness
.

There were times when he looked back on his months in the Young Offenders Institution and felt homesick.

Xavier was driving the limo along Highway 24. Still not trusted, Jonah was locked in the back with only Kabacra's corpse for company. The dealer had been wrapped up in black plastic bin liners. Jonah tried not to look at the swaddled figure, glistening in the orange light from the streetlamps that spilled in through the tinted windows.

He leaned forward and banged on the partition between front and back. Xavier slid open a small window. ‘What is it now?'

‘We're just passing Manitou Springs, right?' he said casually.

‘You can read the signs,' Xavier retorted.

‘We're heading west though, right? Where are we making for?'

‘What's it matter to you?'

‘Guess it doesn't.'
Apart from the fact I'm desperately trying to get any clues as to where I am across to Motti and Con, who might still be listening in to this conversation
. ‘And it sure as hell don't matter to Kabacra. Doesn't it worry you that Honor had him killed, just like that?'

‘He was trying to betray us. Wanted to get his hands on the goddess's treasure.'