The Death Relic

35

Tiffany had heard horror stories about the way women were treated in Mexico City. She knew females were groped so often on the Metro that a third of the carriages were designated ‘women-only’ during rush hour — a rule that was enforced by armed guards. She also knew that women were abducted so frequently in the Federal District that the government approved the use of ‘pink taxis’, a fleet of pink cars driven by women for women, which were equipped with safety locks and alarm buttons. And yet here she was, a ‘lowly’ woman, ready to rip off the most powerful criminal in the region.

The irony of the situation made her smile.

Wearing oversized sunglasses and a floppy white hat that kept her red hair hidden, Tiffany was confident no one would suspect her of anything as she strolled through the busy plaza. Here, amongst the tourists, she was just another face in the crowd. The rest of her crew blended in as well. Her point man was sitting on a bench in front of the Metropolitan Cathedral where he was able to keep his eyes on traffic from the east. They had mapped out the most direct route from Hector’s house, so they knew this was the road he was likely to take to the Zócalo.

Meanwhile, the explosives expert was positioned high above the plaza to the west. He monitored action from the rooftop restaurant on the Portal de Mercaderes building. From his elevated vantage point, he had a bird’s-eye view of the square, which would allow him to call out possible threats via their radio earpieces. In addition, he would be able to judge the best moment to ignite his devices, using a laptop computer that sat next to his lunch. The programme on his screen was designed to look like a Sudoku puzzle. In reality the numbers corresponded with garbage cans in the plaza. He could ignite them together, in rows, or individually.

It all depended on the events below.

To keep their names off the airwaves, every member of the team was given a codename that corresponded with the role they would play. The man by the cathedral was called ‘Church’. The explosives expert was called ‘Boom’. And Tiffany was called ‘Red’. In a life-or-death mission, names didn’t have to be creative; they needed to be memorable.

On the drive to the plaza, Angel tried to call his wife to warn her about the threat, but his call wouldn’t go through. He hung up and frantically tried to call her sister instead. Unfortunately, that call died as well. In fact, every call Angel and Hector tried to make from the SUV died as soon as they hit ‘send’. Why? Because Tiffany’s crew had installed a mobile-phone jammer in Hector’s vehicle on the night they had abducted his children.

Tiffany hadn’t activated the device until the final ransom call had been made, but now that it was turned on, any mobile phone inside the SUV wouldn’t be able to get a signal because of radio spectrum interference. Not only would it prevent Angel from warning his wife, it would prevent them from calling in reinforcements to meet them at the Zócalo. Of course, the downside was they would be unable to contact her if something went horribly wrong and they were involved in an accident or blew a tyre, etc., which is why she had a car following Hector’s SUV, just in case.

The driver went by the name of ‘Chase’.

Instead of a plain sedan, Chase was driving a bright green Volkswagen Beetle. It had a white roof, an illuminated ‘Taxi’ sign, and the word ‘Taxi’ painted on its two doors. With its rounded frame and neon paint job, it would stand out like a lightning bug on a dark night in most places, but not in Mexico City where bright green cars swarmed the streets by the thousand. Chase didn’t voice it, but he assumed some Mexican official had received a huge kickback when he’d agreed to buy that many Beetles. They were fun little cars, but they didn’t make very practical taxis.

Unbeknownst to him, the Mexico City government agreed with the sentiment, which is why they had recently outlawed the use of VW Beetles as licensed taxis in the city. The vehicles were still popular as ‘street’ or ‘gypsy’ cabs — independent taxis that picked up fares — but licensed companies had to remove them from their fleets, since they were deemed to be unsafe for passengers. With two doors rather than four, the government had realized it was too easy to abduct people in a Beetle, as it was virtually impossible to escape from the backseat.

Fittingly, Hector and Angel were quite familiar with the Beetle.

Their flash kidnapping business thrived because of that car.

Now one was tracking them to the ransom drop.

Two others were bringing Hector’s kids to the site.

The driver in charge of Daniela was nicknamed ‘Cash’. At first he’d been dubbed ‘Girl’, since he was delivering Daniela to the plaza, but he objected so vehemently to the feminine codename that they changed it. He claimed that his duty of picking up the ransom money was just as important as dropping off the girl, so he fought for ‘Cash’ and won.

Of course, Tiffany failed to tell him that the codename ‘Girl’ had nothing to do with Daniela and everything to do with his whining during the trip. The truth was the other guys had wanted to call him ‘Bitch’ because he’d been acting like one ever since they arrived in Mexico City. She had softened it to ‘Girl’ because she didn’t want the crew swearing in Daniela’s presence, but the more Cash complained, the more tempted Tiffany was to change his name again.

Somehow ‘Bitch’ seemed more appropriate.

The third driver, who was in charge of Antonio, was nicknamed ‘Bro’. Not only because he was in charge of the brother, but because he had the annoying habit of calling everyone ‘bro’. She figured if his codename were ‘Bro’, it would force him to stop using the term on the radio. Plus, she hoped he would hear how stupid it sounded when everyone called him ‘Bro’.

Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

It made him use the term even more.

Tiffany, whose nose, ears and cheeks were slathered in a thick layer of zinc oxide ointment to conceal her face, strolled around the plaza. As luck should have it, several dozen protestors were holding a small rally on the southeast corner of the Zócalo. Some people held sheets painted with slogans. Others chanted as they passed out literature. She didn’t know what they were protesting about and she didn’t care, as long they kept it peaceful. The last thing she wanted was an increased police presence in the plaza — not with Hector set to arrive any minute.

She glanced at her watch. He had less than five minutes to meet his deadline. After that, things would get tricky. She had done everything in her power to make the children as comfortable as possible during the last sixty hours. They were fed their favourite meals. They watched their favourite movies. They were treated like guests, not hostages. In her mind, the children were nothing more than bargaining chips. They had done nothing wrong, so they were treated with kindness and respect. She knew they couldn’t control who their father was. In fact, they were so young they probably didn’t even know what he did for a living. To them, he was simply their father — not a violent criminal who made his living from other people’s pain.

Unfortunately, if their father didn’t hurry up, she was supposed to penalize the kids for his tardiness. To encourage Hector’s promptness, her boss had told him that one appendage would be cut off for every minute he was late. She understood her boss’s rationale. The threat of physical violence against a loved one was a common ploy in the abduction game. Hector’s men used it constantly during virtual and traditional kidnappings. But it was something she didn’t want to do. Blowing a bad guy’s head off was one thing, but chopping off a child’s finger was quite another. There were some things even she wasn’t willing to do.

‘Chase,’ she said into her earpiece, ‘what’s your ETA?’

He answered. ‘About two minutes out.’

She glanced at her watch. They would barely make the deadline. ‘Keep me posted.’

‘Will do, Red.’

‘How’s it looking, Boom?’

He scanned the plaza from his vantage point. ‘Looks clear, but not for long.’

She froze, concerned. ‘Why?’

Boom laughed. ‘Because I’m about to blow this fucker up.’

She cracked a smile. ‘Church, what about you?’

‘I was fine until I heard some tourist say the cathedral’s falling down.’

She nodded. ‘I heard that, too.’

Church glanced up at the cathedral, paranoid. ‘You, what?’

‘Don’t worry! I promise you’ll die fast,’ Boom assured him.

‘Not funny. Not funny at all.’

Chase spoke again. ‘One minute out.’

Boom continued to tease Church. ‘Jesus Christ, will you look at all that scaffolding? And that isn’t American scaffolding. That’s Mexican scaffolding. There’s no way that stuff will hold. That shit’s gonna look like a game of pick-up sticks when I’m done with it.’

Church leapt off his bench. ‘That does it. I’m out of here.’

She turned towards the cathedral. ‘Stay put, and that’s an order.’

‘But—’

She cut him off. ‘If you leave your post, you lose your share.’

He growled at her but said nothing.

She continued her rundown. ‘Cash, where are you?’

‘Circling the fucking block. Like I have been. For an hour.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Bro, what about you?’

‘I’m in position, bro. Just say the word and I’ll be there.’

She nodded, feeling confident, as she glanced towards the road from the east.

The fun was about to begin.