The Fifth Kingdom (19 page)

The hillside was at a thirty-degree angle to the flat ground below, making for an arduous trek down the slope. The various upheavals of the earth over the centuries had created deep gouges along the incline that they had to slowly traverse. The ground beneath their feet was a combination of loose rock, dry, dusty soil, and short, sharp-bladed grasses. Scattered here and there were low shrubs with stinging needles as well as assorted cacti and large agave plants.

They had to pause once or twice for Bill to allow a bout of dizziness to pass and it was during one of those breaks that the distant sounds of gunfire snagged their attention.

Their pursuers had discovered the abandoned 4x4 and one of the men had noted their location near the base of the hillside. He was firing at them futilely since they were at least a mile away. Luck was with them since, based on their decision to go down the hillside, the rugged terrain prevented the PM members from following using their Jeep.

“Let’s get moving,” Bill urged, pushing back up onto his feet. Deanna was about to slip beneath his shoulder to offer assistance again when Miranda took up the job.

“You need to go ahead. You can move faster than either of us and hopefully find a way to communicate with someone,” she said.

Deanna’s gaze locked with hers. Miranda seemed determined to try and make things right. Deanna would not argue and waste yet more valuable time. Perusing the base of the hillside, she noted a small shack about half a mile away. The sun-bleached wood and rusted-tin structure was barely a ten-by-ten and yet it boasted a satellite dish. In addition, an assortment of wires ran to the building from a neighboring shed about a dozen feet away.

She pointed to the structure. “Meet me there as quickly as you can.”

She took off, nearly sliding down her ass the remaining fifty or so feet of the hillside. The scraggly grass and shrubs tore at her with their prickly edges, scratching the skin on her hands and arms. Biting through the fabric of her khaki pants. But she ignored the pain and itch, propelling herself forward at breakneck pace. Every second counted now and if she could find out how to make contact, they might be able to get assistance before PM caught up to them.

When her feet contacted the flat earth at the base of the slope, she broke into a run, the dry heat of the air searing her lungs with each step she took. Her throat was parched and sore by the time she reached the shack and outbuilding.

Both were padlocked and although there were windows in the structures, the openings were too small for her to climb through. Peering through one window in the larger building, she realized it was some kind of line shack, possibly for one of the cattle ranches in the area. Inside were the basic essentials, as well as a woodstove, phone and radio of some kind.

Beside the smaller shed was a portable generator, likely to power what was in the line shack. Beside the generator was a small pile of sticks and logs for use in the woodstove and a hatchet.

After checking that the generator had gasoline, she grabbed the hatchet and went to the door of the building. Hacked at the padlock and door clasp over and over, but hadn’t made a dent by the time that Miranda and Bill arrived.

“There’s a phone inside,” she said.

Bill nodded and waved at her to step away from the door. He pulled his weapon and with one perfect shot, blew apart the lock. Then he went to the generator and pushed the start button. The sputter of the engine was followed a second later by the roar as the generator kicked to life.

Their joy was short-lived, however. The shouts of the PM members warned that they were already too close. They had been slowed by the stops they had made for Bill, while the PM members had raced headlong down the slope.

Bill cursed beneath his breath and urged both of them inside the shack. Once inside, he closed the door and then moved a nearby dresser across the entrance in an attempt to secure the entry.

“Let me have the pistol,” Miranda said, holding out her hand.

Reluctantly he handed it over together with the backpack. “There’s one more clip of ammo inside.”

Deanna grasped the strap for the rifle slung across his shoulder and at his worried glance, she said, “You know who to call to get us the help we need.”

Bill couldn’t argue with that, although he was filled with worry that either of the women would be injured if a gunfight ensued. Luckily the back of the shack was almost built into the hillside, so they would have to guard fewer lines of approach. He hoped that help would arrive before the PM cell could surround the building because with their firepower, they’d turn the shack’s walls into Swiss cheese in no time.

“Don’t fire until—”

“We see the whites of their eyes,” Deanna teased, clearly using humor to deal with her fear.

“You got it,” he confirmed and walked over to the rickety table holding the communications equipment.

Saying a prayer, he picked up the phone, but the line was dead. Biting back a curse, he sat at the radio beside it. He flipped the switch and a crackle erupted. A dim green power light confirmed it was on, but would it be functional? he wondered.

He flicked a switch on the mike and spoke into it. “This is Special Agent Bill Santana. Do you copy?”

At the silence that followed, he repeated his call, assuming that it was set to a frequency someone was monitoring back at the home base for the shack occupants, but he had no luck.

The first ping of gunfire came against the tin of the shack, but thankfully the metal held.

Bill gently eased the dial, hearing the snap and crackle as the frequencies changed. Repeating his call again with no success. As he spun the dial a little farther, the squawk of the radio was followed by the sound of human voices. Two to be exact and speaking in English.

He repeated his call and this time one of the men on the line answered, “You’re five by nine here, Old Man. This is Dan in Laredo, Texas.”

“And this is Miguel in Colonia Santa Fe in Mexico City. We’re copying your transmission just fine,” the second man responded.

More gunfire came, a burst from an automatic weapon that took out the side window, sending shards of glass flying into the shack. The bullets that had come through the window ricocheted dangerously against the inside walls of the building.

“Is that gunfire?” Dan from Laredo asked.

“Listen, carefully,” Bill said and provided the men with the contact details for his ADIC in addition to a special code which would confirm to his boss that it was not a prank call.

“Tell ADIC Williams that we immediately need backup and air support at the GPS locations from which we’re transmitting.”

“Copy that,” both men replied.

Another burst of gunfire spewed more dangerous missiles through the windows. After the blast, Miranda jumped up and awkwardly fired the gun through the hole.

“I’ve got to go, but will keep this line open. Please report back if you can,” Bill said.

There was a thick oak table in the center of the room and he flipped it onto his side and rushed over to where Miranda and Deanna crouched beneath the windows. Kneeling beside them, he said, “Hand over the guns and get back behind the protection of the table.”

Both women seemed inclined to argue, but with a sharp “Now,” they obeyed.

Bill scrambled quickly to the woodstove and yanked on it. His arms were still weak from the blow to the head. It took a few pulls for him to drag it over to a spot beneath one window. Then he checked the other two windows, but luckily the PM members were still concentrated along the path leading up to the shack from the hillside.

He returned to the windows facing that direction, hoping that if he could pin them down long enough, help would arrive in the meantime. He opened fire carefully, aware that he had limited ammo. Picked his shots for the most impact. He managed to take down the man closest to the shack.

The man dropped to the ground and his friends retaliated with a blast of automatic weapons fire that rattled like deadly hail against the tin wall. The barrage was so great that it actually weakened one part of the wall enough to allow a few bullets to pierce the metal.

A bullet slammed into the thick oak of the table behind which Deanna and Miranda were taking cover. Another struck the bottom of the woodstove, but the cast iron was thick enough to stop the round.

Bill waited only a second after the fusillade to peer out the window and gauge the location of their attackers. They had kept their positions during the volley, but now one of them slipped out from behind a small outcropping of rocks about thirty feet from the shack. He had gone only a few short steps when Bill fired, killing him with one shot.

Bill dropped down again, shrinking into as small a ball as he could as another onslaught of bullets tore into the structure. The wall weakened further, but the stove and oak table survived, shielding them against the attack.

In the silence that followed, the squawk of the radio came.

“Agent Santana. Do you copy?”

Before he could move, Deanna was racing across the way, answering the man. “We copy. Did you reach ADIC Williams?”

Another burst of gunfire drowned out any response and Bill jumped up, returned fire in order to keep them from advancing.

“Can you repeat?” Deanna asked the men and the words that followed were sweet.

“Copy that. Help is on the way.”

“ETA is ten minutes,” the second man added and with that, Deanna raced to Bill’s side. Crouching beside him, she said, “Only ten minutes, Bill.”

He forced a smile to his face, not wanting to kill the hopefulness in her gaze. “I can hold them off, love. But you need to get back behind the protection of the table.”

Deanna nodded and did as he asked, but he sensed that she realized that the only way he could hold them off for ten more minutes was by sacrificing himself.

Deanna plopped down beside her mother, her heart breaking as she acknowledged what he had not said.

“I can’t let him die again,” she mumbled, reaching for the knapsack at her feet.

Miranda stayed her hand while she fumbled with the leather ties on the pack. “You must let this play out, Deanna,” her mother said, her tones low so only they could hear.

Deanna glared at her. “Do you understand what that means?”

“I understand that we were not meant to play God,” she replied, grasping her daughter’s hand in hers.

Another salvo shook the shack and bullets ripped along the edge of the table, sending dangerous splinters of wood flying through the air. Although they ducked down, the small shards tore at them, slicing into their arms and shoulders.

In the silence that followed the fusillade came Javier’s voice, taunting them. “Would you rather die by a thousand cuts than give up the location of the tomb?”

Bill responded, but his voice was weak. “Montezuma sought peace for his people, unlike you.”

“Gringo dog. What do you know of our heroes?” Javier shouted in response and backed up his challenge with another burst of gunfire.

Deanna tossed off her mother’s hand and reached for the ties on the pack again. “I can’t let this happen, mother.”

Miranda must have realized that Deanna would not be dissuaded, but before Deanna could take the stone out of the pack, more gunfire erupted. This time it was from a greater distance and was followed by the pulsating sound of a helicopter engine.

As soon the thump-thump-thump came closer, gunfire rang out from those on the ground.

The walls of the shack shook from a combination of the gun battle occurring outside and the air kicked up by the helicopter as it came overhead. Deanna peeked over the edge of the table and from a side window saw the copter land about twenty feet away from the shack. From the side door spewed at least a dozen heavily armored men with assault rifles and with a sigh of relief, she dropped back down beside her mother.

“Help is finally here.”

“Thank God,” Miranda said and wrapped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, sitting out the minutes that seemed like hours until a final gunshot rang out.

It was followed by someone calling out over a bullhorn, “Special Agent Santana?”

Deanna and Miranda rose as one and faced where Bill still hunkered against the body of the woodstove. He rose more slowly, almost uncertainly, until he was visible through the window. He called out feebly, “Santana, here. Area secure.”

“We’re coming in,” the man on the bullhorn confirmed and Bill slowly crumpled back down to the ground.

Deanna and her mother raced to his side.

It was déjà vu all over again as she noted the bullet wound in his abdomen. Placed her hands over the wound to stem the blood pulsing from his body. The warmth of it sickeningly familiar as it seeped through her fingers and his body shook as he tried to draw a breath.

“This can’t be happening again. It can’t,” she said and glanced back toward the table to where the knapsack rested on the dirt floor.

She was going to go for it, when Bill laid his hand over hers and said faintly, “You can’t change what is meant to be.”

“No, Bill. I
can
change it,” she said, but before she could act, another CIA agent was bursting through the door followed by a slew of Mexican and American soldiers.

The man grabbed hold of the radio at his shoulder. “We’ve got an officer down. We need immediate medical treatment for a gunshot wound to the abdomen.”

He waved at the men with him who went to Bill’s side and lifted him from the ground, running with him toward the helicopter.

“I want to go with him,” she said and the CIA agent nodded, talked into the radio again. “We’ve got two civilians coming with us also. Minor injuries.”

After he hung up, the agent said, “You’ll need to be debriefed once we get to our destination.”

Deanna nodded and scooped up her pack as she and Miranda headed to the helicopter. She crouched slightly as they hurried beneath the blades and were assisted into the belly of the copter.

Bill had been placed on a blanket and two of the soldiers were already at work on him, making it impossible for her to do anything with the relic. To save him much like she had before. But as she nervously played with the ties on the pack, her mother reached out and covered her hand again.

“Listen to what you know is right in here,” Miranda said, tapping a spot above her heart.

Although Deanna’s heart ached with the fear of losing him, Bill’s words and her mother’s echoed through her soul. She had saved him twice only to risk losing him again because there was a greater truth she could not avoid.

It was not in her hands to play God. Only He could decide matters of life and death.

Releasing her hold on the pack’s ties, she leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder. Accepted the comfort her arms offered and the gentling kiss along her hair. Closing her eyes against the sight of the medics frantically trying to stop the bleeding from Bill’s wound, she prayed silently that Bill would be okay.

That she had not found love only to lose it too soon.

It took less than ten minutes to arrive at their destination, a Mexican army facility that was swarming not only with Mexican soldiers, but also American personnel and an assortment of men-in-black.

“Where are we?” she asked after Bill had been whisked away from the copter and they were standing on the airfield.

The agent with them replied in detached tones. “This is our base of operations for a joint terrorism task force with the Mexican authorities.”

Deanna gestured in the direction in which Bill had been taken. “I’d like to go with Bill.”

“Special Agent Santana is being well attended at the moment. We’ll keep you informed of his status.”

A second later, two American army personnel arrived. The agent stepped aside to brief them and then returned.

“These men will take you to quarters where you’ll be staying until we get things sorted out. You’ll be able to get cleaned up and we’ve provided a fresh change of clothes for you.”

Although Deanna’s main desire was to be with Bill, she recognized that she was caught in the snare of red tape for now. But just to be sure she made her point, she stepped up to the agent who was almost of a like height. Leaning in so close that she almost bumped his nose, she said, “Listen up, Special Agent. You will not get a word out of me about anything until I get to see Bill.”

Her mother laid a hand on Deanna’s shoulder and urged her away from the agent, but added, “I’m sure the agent will let us see Bill when it’s possible. Isn’t that right?”

With a curt nod, the agent confirmed that he understood what they wanted.

“Yes, ma’am. As soon as you’re ready, I’ll have you taken to see Special Agent Santana.”

With a quirk of his index finger, he commanded the two Army soldiers who came up to them and escorted them into a nearby building. Once inside, they were directed to a small dormitory with half a dozen bunks. There was no evidence that anyone was bedding down in any of the cots, but on the surface of two of the beds were sets of clean clothes.

One of the privates dipped his head toward an open space at the rear of the dormitory. “The showers are in the back. Towels, soap and shampoo are in each stall. We’ll be at the door in case you need anything.”

Another quick dip of his head placed him and his partner into motion, leaving the two women behind staring at each other and then at the pack that Deanna still held.

“You go first and I’ll watch your things,” her mother said and after a hesitant look down at the leather knapsack, Deanna handed it over. After all, she had to be able to trust someone.

Moving quickly, she snared the clothes from the bunk and hurried to the shower stall. She ran the water and stripped as it heated. The warm water was a welcome balm and as she stepped beneath the stream, it loosened some of the tension within her, but also stung the myriad cuts and scrapes all over her body. The shampoo and soap added to her awareness of the many small injuries, but she ignored them, quickly washing away the dirt and blood of their travails in her haste to be with Bill.

Wrapping a towel around herself, she poked her head out to her mother, who was sitting on one of the bunks, deep in thought.

“Mom,” she called out and her mother slowly picked up her head, but smiled.

She hurried over, understanding what Deanna wanted. She handed her daughter the pack and then went about washing up herself while Deanna finished drying off and dressed. Laying the damp towel on the narrow bench in the stall, Deanna sat and opened up her pack, stared at the relic within.

So much power in such a tiny object and only three of them knew how it worked. It occurred to her in that moment that the fate of the relic was in their hands. If they kept its secrets, the sun stone would likely be placed in a Mexican museum and her mother would finally get vindication for the many years that her theories had been discounted. If they revealed its secrets, or if they were inadvertently discovered, there was the possibility its powers would be abused.

She understood that all too well, having struggled with using the stone to save Bill a third time, putting her personal needs above what was right.

It was a moral dilemma that scientists had faced for centuries, balancing invention and discovery versus its impact on society.

A knock came on the wall of the shower stall.

“Deanna? Are you okay?” her mother asked.

Deanna closed up her pack, rose and pulled aside the curtain. “I’m okay.”

Her mother nodded, reached out and grasped her hand. “Then let’s go see Bill.”