The Death Relic

51

Maria stared at Ulster, waiting for an explanation. ‘What does that mean?’

Ulster grinned with delight. He loved it when people were passionate about history. ‘In the grand scheme of things, what do we really know about the Spanish colonization of the Americas? After all, it happened five hundred years ago, long before any of us were born. And unlike the Jerusalem scenario, we don’t have multiple accounts to sort through, because the Spanish burned every native codex they could get their hands on. That means everything in our modern history books was written from one perspective: the perspective of Spain.’

‘What are you saying? Hamilton found something contradictory?’

‘Not only contradictory, but shared. The last time we spoke, which was a few weeks ago, he hinted that he had found a shared perspective between the Aztec and the Maya that would cast doubt on what really happened in the 1500s. He didn’t talk specifics, so I don’t know what aspect of the colonization he was referring to, but he was genuinely excited about it.’

‘He was excited when I talked to him, too. But he was reluctant to tell me the specifics. He was getting ready to, but he disappeared before he had a chance.’

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Payne said, ‘but let’s get back to the artefacts. Could they possibly relate to any of this? I certainly hope so. Otherwise, we just wasted an hour of daylight on a history lesson that could have waited.’

Having worked with Payne before, Ulster wasn’t the least bit offended by his bluntness. He knew the clock was ticking and Hamilton’s life was possibly at stake. ‘Yes, of course, let’s talk about the artefacts. Obviously, I haven’t examined them in depth, but based on first impressions, I would say the only possible connection between the Aztec and the Mayan relics is one I’m not familiar with. In other words, we’ll need Hamilton or a member of his team to tell us how they are related.’

‘Speaking of his team, did you have any luck running down their names?’

Ulster shook his head. ‘I made a number of calls yesterday evening to colleagues who know Hamilton a lot better than I, and all of them said the same thing. He was working on a passion project that he refused to talk about. As for possible names, no one was forthcoming. Either they didn’t know, or they weren’t willing to tell me.’

‘If you had to guess, which one was it?’

Ulster puffed out his chest. ‘I’d say they didn’t know who he was working with. As you know, I am pretty good at sniffing out the truth.’

‘Really?’ Jones said. ‘Because we lie to you all the time.’

‘You do?’

‘No,’ he said, laughing, ‘but I think I just proved a point.’

Payne rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the time for jokes. ‘Petr, do me a favour. Keep looking through the artefacts. The more we know about Hamilton’s project, the better.’

‘No problem.’

‘And Maria, if it’s OK with you, please give him a hand.’

‘Of course,’ she said.

‘What about me?’ Jones asked.

‘Inspect Hamilton’s weapons and make sure they’re in working order. If push comes to shove, I want to know what we can count on.’

He smiled at the possibilities. ‘Gladly.’

Nearly twenty hours had passed since he had spoken to Randy Raskin. In the real world, that wasn’t a lot of time. During a mission, it was an eternity. Although he knew his friend was constantly busy, it was unlike Raskin to take so long on such a simple request. Payne decided to call him at the Pentagon to find out why.

Raskin answered his office line. ‘Research.’

‘Hey, Randy, it’s Jon. Do you have a minute?’

Raskin paused momentarily. Then he cleared his throat as if making a point. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Payne, I can’t assist you today. Perhaps I can transfer your call to another extension.’

Payne froze. Something was wrong. In all their time working together, Raskin had never referred to him as ‘Mr Payne’ or acted in such a professional manner. Normally, Raskin greeted him with an insult or threatened to hang up on him. He certainly never asked to transfer his call. To Payne, it meant one of two things: either a superior was standing in Raskin’s office, or Payne’s request had infringed upon an active mission of the US Government — in which case, a superior was monitoring Raskin’s calls. Either way, Big Brother was definitely listening in. With that in mind, Payne decided to fish for information without getting Raskin in any additional trouble.

‘No problem, Randy. Unfortunately, I’m on the road right now, so I don’t have a list of extensions in front of me. Do me a favour and transfer me to the correct department.’

‘Sure thing, Mr Payne.’

Raskin punched a few keys on his computer and the call was rerouted to a female operator at the George Bush Center for Intelligence in Fairfax County, Virginia. It was only a few miles from Arlington, but a completely different world. One filled with spooks and deceit.

She answered in a monotone. ‘ID number, please.’

‘ID?’ he said, confused. ‘Who am I speaking to?’

‘ID number, please.’

‘Sorry, ma’am, I’m kind of at a loss right now. I was transferred from a research analyst at the Pentagon to this extension. What department is this?’

She paused a few seconds before answering. ‘Langley.’

‘Langley?’ he said surprised. He had been in Langley, Virginia, twice in the past ten years, and on both occasions it was to visit the headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency. The thought of those trips made him squirm. Although he’d worked with a number of operatives over the years — the ‘I’ in MANIACs stood for Intelligence — he found the executive office way too political for his tastes. Based on his experience, they cared more about covering their asses in the media than covering their assets in the field. ‘Is this the CIA?’

‘ID number, please.’

‘Ma’am, I just told you, I was transferred to this extension by the Pentagon. How do I know what number to give you if I don’t know what department this is?’

Click. She hung up.

‘Thanks, sweetie. You’ve been a big help.’

Afterwards, he stared at his phone for several seconds. He hoped Raskin would send him a text message to apologize for his professionalism or, better yet, to explain the situation they had stumbled into. But after a minute of nothing, he gave up hope and went to discuss things with Jones. He ducked his head into the garage and said, ‘Hey, DJ, do you have a second?’

‘Sure,’ said Jones, who had just started to inspect Hamilton’s weapons. He wiped his hands on a rag as he walked past Maria and Ulster. ‘We’ll be outside. Scream if you need us.’

Lost in a world of artefacts, they barely noticed his departure.

Payne waited for him in the driveway. He tried to play it cool by leaning against a stone wall that defined the rear of the property, but his stress level was obvious. Jones could see it on his face and in his posture. Something had happened.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jones demanded.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You came out here to talk to Randy. Five minutes later, you’re talking to me. Obviously, something’s wrong.’

‘You’re right. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what it is.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Randy wouldn’t talk to me.’

‘What’s he pouting about now?’

‘He wasn’t pouting. He wasn’t allowed to talk to me.’

‘Why not?’ Jones asked.

‘I don’t know. But he called me “Mr Payne”.’

‘He did what?’

‘Then he transferred my call to Langley.’

‘Langley?’

‘Yes, Langley.’

‘Shit.’

Payne nodded. ‘Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.’

Jones paused in thought. It took a moment for everything to sink in. Even then, the picture in his head was still fuzzy. ‘What triggered their interest?’

‘Could’ve been anything: Hamilton’s financials, the serial numbers on the rifles, his disappearance. For all we know, the Agency grabbed Hamilton.’

‘Not a chance in hell. The CIA would never abduct an American on foreign soil.’ Jones kept a straight face for less than three seconds before he cracked up. ‘Damn! I thought I could say that without laughing.’

‘Come on, DJ, focus. We need to figure out our next step.’

Jones shook his head. ‘No, we need to figure out his last step.’

‘Whose last step? Hamilton’s?’

‘No. Randy’s.’