The Death Relic

58

Angel Ramirez did two things after he survived the smoke-filled battleground of the Zócalo. He sought medical attention for himself and the kids, and he seized control of Hector’s operation before anyone else in the city could take advantage. But not necessarily in that order.

His first order of business was putting out a sizable reward for Hector’s killers. He managed to do so without revealing that Hector was dead. He simply said they were thieves who needed to be punished and left it at that. People would find out about Hector’s death soon enough.

Although he’d seen glimpses of Bro and Chase while he was underneath the SUV, Angel had seen Tiffany the clearest. He had a perfect view of her face and her bright red hair. It was unmistakable in the haze. Despite his anger — or maybe because of it — the image was seared into his brain. He described her in great detail to a street artist, who sketched her over and over until the picture matched Angel’s memory. Afterwards, he took a picture of the sketch and sent it to everyone who worked for, or was connected to, his organization.

In his message, he called her El Diablo Rojo.

The Red Devil.

Unlike the olden days when information took forever to filter across a country, her photo appeared on mobile-phone screens throughout Mexico within minutes. As expected, a feeding frenzy erupted from the Pacific Ocean to the Caribbean Sea. Hungry for money and the promise of advancement, low-level players rushed to the airports, train stations and border towns, hoping to spot Diablo Rojo before she slipped away. But it didn’t stop there. Because of Tiffany’s interest in the medallion, Angel sent out word to the ‘talent’ scouts who worked the archaeological sites — men who searched for potential targets amongst the busloads of tourists who visited the jungle every day — and told them to be on the lookout for collectors. Angel figured if she cared that much about an artefact, she might surface in one of the areas around the sites, possibly hoping to sell the Aztec medallion to the highest bidder.

Though he hoped for the best, Angel realized the odds of catching her in the immediate future were pretty damn slim. Not because his men weren’t motivated, but because her crew was bound to have an escape plan that was just as good as their plan of attack. And it had been precise, one that anticipated every move that he and Hector had made. Over the years, Angel had been involved in hundreds of kidnappings and had worked with dozens of men, many of whom were ex-military, but the expertise of her crew was on a completely different level.

There was no doubt they had worked in black ops.

Nevertheless, within twelve hours of sending out his personal all-points bulletin, his organization was flooded with potential leads. Phone calls, emails and texts came from nearly every state in Mexico and several border countries as well. Of course, most of the leads were fruitless. To earn the reward, Angel required photographic evidence of Diablo Rojo. This resulted in more false sightings than Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster combined. Pictures poured in at such an incredible rate, Angel was afraid his Internet connection would crash. He sat there in his office, with one arm in a sling, clicking on picture after picture after picture.

A few of the women did resemble his target. One photo was close enough that he called its sender and asked for a few close-ups in better lighting. Unfortunately, when the next batch arrived, it was obvious that the woman was far too old to be the redhead he was looking for. Despite the temporary excitement of that lead, most of the pictures were so far off the mark that Angel started to doubt the collective intelligence of his operatives. No less than five pictures were of men, not women. A sixth candidate was so gender-neutral he couldn’t tell what sex it was. Not that it really mattered, since it was abundantly clear that ‘it’ wasn’t his target. After a while it became apparent that most people were taking photos of redheads with the same mindset as a worker buying a lottery ticket. They figured, you can’t win if you don’t play. So they took pictures of everyone and sent them in.

Angel continued his hunt late into the night. He eventually passed out in his office chair, thanks to a combination of painkillers and exhaustion. Remarkably, he was back at it with the rising sun, awakened by the memory of his fallen friend and his desire for retribution.

Less than an hour into his morning search, he came across a photograph from a small village in the Yucatán. It wasn’t a fuzzy mobile-phone picture, like so many he had seen in the previous hours, but a series of clear shots of a redhead, taken with a telephoto lens. He recognized her face instantly, like a mother identifying her young. There was no doubt or indecision. He knew it was the woman who had killed his friend. Somehow she had been spotted a time zone away and tracked to a tiny camp ground near the ruins of Chichén Itzá.

Within seconds, he was on the phone.

Within minutes, he was rounding up troops.

Within hours, he was flying across Mexico to get revenge.

He didn’t care who or what got in his way. The bitch needed to die.

Led by Payne, who kept a close eye on Tiffany, the group left the jungle path and marched through two zones (the Central Group and the Ossario Group) in the site as if they were on a field trip with guns. Payne and Jones did their best to conceal their weapons, but there was only so much they could do with so many witnesses around. Fortunately, most people were paying attention to the Mayan ruins, not the six foreigners who were about to be attacked.

They had just re-entered the Great North Platform when Tiffany spotted a man near the entrance who resembled Angel Ramirez. At first, she assumed her mind was playing tricks on her. She was in Chichén Itzá, nearly a thousand miles away from Mexico City. There was no way in hell he could have found her that quickly. Besides, didn’t Angel die at Zócalo? She was pretty damn sure that Church had killed him at the beginning of the shootout. Or did he? Before she had a chance to ask Church, he had been shot himself. In the aftermath, she had assumed that Angel had been killed, either from a bullet to the head or the bomb in the SUV. Now she wasn’t so sure. From a distance, the guy looked like Angel. Same face. Same build. Same mannerisms. And his arm was in an elaborate sling. Not the kind someone would wear for a simple sprain, but the kind someone would wear if he had been shot and lived.

‘Oh shit,’ she mumbled to herself. ‘It can’t be.’

Payne heard her comment. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Can we stop and talk?’

‘Of course we can. Would you like some tea?’

‘I’m serious,’ she pleaded.

‘I’m not. Keep moving.’

She stopped anyway. ‘Listen, I know you’re not going to believe a word I say—’

He pushed her forward. ‘Exactly. So why even try?’

‘Because we’re walking into a trap.’

‘Speaking of traps,’ he said, ‘shut your trap and keep walking.’

‘Listen,’ she said urgently as she hid behind him. ‘If I wanted to make a scene, I could do it with ease. All I have to do is start running. Trust me, I’ll scream so loud they’ll hear me in Florida. I know it and you know it. The only reason I’m playing along is because you’re doing everything that we anticipated. Do you really think I would have used Hamilton’s credit card at the petrol station if we didn’t want you here? I stared into the camera on purpose, you know.’

Payne had figured as much. ‘Go on.’

‘See that man in the sling?’

He looked towards the entrance. ‘Yep.’

‘We tried to kill him yesterday. Apparently, it didn’t work. My guess is he won’t be happy about the attempt.’

‘Who is he?’

‘His name is Angel Ramirez. He’s a dangerous man with a lot of dangerous friends.’

‘How dangerous?’

‘Let’s just say there’s a reason we left you a boxful of weapons in the Hummer. We didn’t want you to be unprepared in case he slipped past us.’

‘Which he did.’

She shrugged. ‘We’re not perfect.’

‘What do you expect me to do about it?’

‘That depends. Did you bring the AKs?’

‘Nope.’

‘The C-4?’

‘No.’

‘Shit.’

Jones moved in from the rear. ‘What’s wrong?’

Payne answered. ‘According to Tiffany, we’re about to be attacked.’

‘By whom?’

‘The guy in the sling.’

Jones looked ahead. ‘No problem. I’ll just shoot him in the other arm.’

‘He might have friends.’

‘How many?’

Tiffany answered. ‘More than us.’

Jones grimaced. ‘I don’t know. I’m on Facebook. I have a lot of friends.’

She shook her head. ‘Unless they have guns, I don’t think they can help.’

‘They might. Do I have time to tweet?’

Payne ignored him. ‘Does Angel know who we are?’

‘Yes,’ she lied.

‘All of us?’

‘Yes.’

‘So hiding won’t help?’

Worried about her safety, she continued to lie. ‘For the short term, maybe. But not for the long term. These are the type of guys who will follow you home. America, Italy, Switzerland — it really doesn’t matter. They won’t stop until we’re dead.’

Payne stared at her, trying to gauge the truth. Unfortunately, she was a trained CIA agent — someone who lied for a living. There was no way he could detect a lie with any certainty. ‘What do you recommend?’

‘That depends. Are you as good as they say?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we can take them.’

Jones interrupted. ‘What’s this “we” shit? We’re not giving you a gun.’

‘Of course you will, if you want to live. You’re severely outnumbered.’

Jones shook his head. ‘Right now I count one guy in a sling. He may or may not be a bad guy, who may or may not be looking for us. How are we outnumbered?’

‘I’m telling you,’ she assured them, ‘guys like this don’t come alone.’

Payne continued to stare at her, searching her eyes for any signs of truth. He simply couldn’t tell if she was lying or not. ‘Petr, come here.’

Ulster hustled over. ‘You rang?’

‘How well do you know this place?’

‘Quite well. Why do you ask?’

He continued to stare at Tiffany. ‘Where’s a good place to hide?’

‘From what?’

‘Possible gunmen.’

Ulster gasped. ‘The jungle, I would think.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t want you leaving this site.’

‘Well, in that case, I would say—’

Payne cut him off. ‘Whisper your answer to DJ. I don’t want the others to hear.’

‘But—’

‘Just do it.’

Ulster did as he was told. He whispered the answer to Jones.

‘DJ, you got it?’

Jones nodded. ‘I got it.’

‘Good.’ Payne pulled out Tiffany’s gun. He handed it to Ulster, who was tempted to object, but the look in Payne’s eye kept him in line. ‘I want you to take Maria to that hiding place. Stay there until one of us comes and gets you. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘If anyone else comes, shoot them in the face.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘But, what?’

‘What about Terrence?’

Payne shook his head. ‘Sorry. Don’t trust him. He’s involved in this, but I don’t know how. Until I do, he’s on his own.’

Maria objected. ‘That’s not fair! Why do you get to decide everything?’

‘Because you called me. The moment you did, you put me in charge of your safety. So that’s what I’m doing. Trying to keep you safe.’

She started to argue. ‘But he’s—’

Hamilton cut her off. ‘He’s right, Maria. He’s right. I haven’t earned anyone’s trust. Go with Petr. He’ll keep you safe. I’ll be fine with Tiffany.’

Maria glanced at Jones for support, but he was on Payne’s side.

‘Go,’ Jones said. ‘I’ll come get you when this is over.’

She took a deep breath and nodded. ‘You’d better.’