The Fourth Prophecy

by Ernest Dempsey

  “Tracking her?”

  “Yeah, man. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. They know where she is. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t already dead or at the very least being tortured.”

  “Where is she, Raul?”

  “Last they heard she was in a hotel along the coast to the north of the city. Resort place. The cartel doesn’t mess around in that area much because of the heavy military presence. Can’t afford to lose the tourist money. So, if she’s there, she might be safe for now. The second she leaves the resort, though, they’ll nab her.”

  “You’ve told me a lot without really telling me anything, Raul. Where is Lilian Pike?”

  Raul slid a piece of paper across the table. Collin picked it up while his guest continued to look around the plaza with a palpable anxiety. The paper had the name of the hotel.

  “That’s where she was last night,” Raul said. “I don’t know if she’s still there or not. I’ve told you too much as it is. I’m pretty sure the others were wondering why I was asking so many questions.”

  Collin stood up and took a wad of cash out of his pocket. He left more than enough bills under his coffee saucer. Then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out another stack of folded bills bound by a rubber band. He tossed the cash to Raul.

  “American,” Collin said. “I hope that’s okay.”

  Raul looked at the money with wide eyes.

  “You ought to be able to buy a ton of blow with that. Or at least enough to get you through the weekend,” he added.

  Collin started to turn and walk away, but as he spun around he found himself facing a huge man in a black tank top and jeans that looked like they were from the late 1980s. The guy was easily two inches taller than Collin and had him outweighed by at least twenty pounds.

  “Excuse me,” Collin said. “Didn’t see you standing there.”

  The man flexed his huge pectoral muscles and cracked his neck to one side and then the other.

  Collin spun around and found Raul standing between two other men in white T-shirts and dark blue jeans. Both of the men were holding Raul by the back of the shirt.

  Collin turned back to the big man in front of him. “So, I guess my question for you is, stone-washed jeans? Really? You look like you’re going to a Def Leppard show.”

  The man reached out to grab him, but Collin stopped him. “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” he warned. “Lot of people standing around. Don’t want to cause a scene.”

  “Shut up and do what he says,” Raul snapped. “These guys run this town.”

  Collin didn’t flinch. He stared the big man in the eyes. “Fine. Where would you like us to go?”

  The guy motioned to an alley off to the side of the cafe. There were a few dumpsters overflowing with garbage and some sand that must have blown in from the beach over the years.

  “Oh I see. Quiet side street where no one will see what you do to us. Makes sense. That’s what I’d do, too, although I might prefer taking a victim out to the middle of nowhere. I guess that’s not how you guys operate, though, is it? You like to make examples.”

  The big man drew a pistol out of his belt and pointed it a Collin’s chest.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll go. No need to get testy.” Collin directed his next comment at Raul. “Your friends need a lesson in manners.”

  “Shut up,” Raul said again.

  Collin waited for another few seconds before he started toward the alley. He walked slow, deliberate, making sure he didn’t do anything to startle the gunman, not yet at least.

  The truth was, Collin wanted to get out of the crowd as much as they did. The difference was they had no idea with whom they were dealing.

  They marched deep into the side street and around a corner between two buildings where no pedestrians could see them. Once they were completely out of view, the other two men shoved Raul over next to Collin.

  “What are you going to do?” Raul asked. Fear spilled out of his lips.

  “You know what we do to traitors,” the big man said.

  One of the smaller guys in a T-shirt produced a machete. The blade was old and even had a hint of rust to it, but the edge was sharp as a razor.

  “How long has it been since you cleaned that thing?” Collin asked. “Just wondering because I haven’t had a tetanus shot in a while.”

  The three henchmen frowned for a second, puzzled. Collin didn’t know if it was the language barrier or the context that threw them off.

  “On your knees,” the man with the gun said.

  Raul shook his head. “No. Please, don’t do this. I didn’t tell him anything. I swear.”

  “Then why are you so afraid, Raul? If you did nothing wrong, you should have nothing to fear.”

  “Please. I’m begging you. Don’t kill me.”

  The guy with the machete motioned to T-shirt No. 2 to put Raul on his knees. He stepped forward and grabbed Raul by the shoulders, forcing him to the ground.

  That was the next-to-last mistake he ever made.

  Collin grabbed the gangster by the shirt and yanked him over so he was between the gunman and the American. A half second later, Collin’s forearm was wrapped tightly around the guy’s neck, using the thug as a human shield.

  The gunman turned his pistol toward Collin.

  “Drop the gun,” Collin ordered. “Do it.”

  He saw the man’s finger tense on the trigger and knew what was coming next. Collin had slightly miscalculated the loyalty between the cartel hitmen, but not entirely. He knew there was a chance the guy would light up his comrade. It was hope that caused him to offer the gunman a way out.

  Oh well.

  The big man squeezed the trigger. Collin shoved his captive forward as the weapon’s muzzle spat fire and smoke. Round after round pounded the hapless gangster as he stumbled toward the gun. He collapsed into the gunman and knocked the shooter’s hand to the side as he kept firing.

  The guy with the machete reacted a tad slow but still fast enough to cause problems. He lunged at Collin with the blade held high over his shoulder and took a wild hack at the American’s neck. Collin stepped to the side, easily dodging the attack while driving his knee into the man’s midsection.

  The attacker doubled over and nearly dropped the weapon, but he recovered well enough to spin around and try again.

  Collin saw the gunman shrug off his dead associate, sloughing the body to the ground as he turned and readied to fire again. Collin whirled around and grabbed the guy with the machete as he took another swing, this time at the American’s shoulder. He twisted the gangster’s arm into an L shape and jerked it up and back, dislodging the shoulder from the socket.

  The guy screamed as the blade hit the ground with a clank. Collin spun him around and dropped to the ground a second before the gunman unloaded the rest of his magazine in a barrage of loud gunfire.

  Bullets ripped through the gangster’s chest, back, and arms as he spun around in a carousel of death before he fell to his knees then onto his face.

  Collin rolled to the side, scooping the machete as he moved. The gunman raised the weapon as Collin stood only seven feet away from the end of the gun barrel.

  The gunman flashed a crooked-toothed grin. “Adios, gringo.”

  Collin cocked his head to the side and smiled back. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think you just used up all your rounds.”

  The big man’s forehead wrinkled with a frown as he pulled the trigger. The weapon clicked. It clicked again and again as he tried to fire the gun, but Collin was right. He was out of ammunition.

  Collin stepped toward him with the machete gripped firmly in his hand. The guy tossed the gun aside and reached to his hip. He drew a long hunting knife and brandished it menacingly. The shiny blade flashed in the sunlight.

  “That’s not a knife,” Collin said, holding up the machete. “This is a knife.”

  The guy lunged toward him, whipping the knife tip back and forth, hoping to catch the American in the gut or, if he
was lucky, in the neck.

  Collin deflected the first swipe with a counter of his own. The second swing was a backhand, and Collin grabbed the guy’s forearm and pulled him hard in the same direction, using his momentum against him.

  The attacker stumbled forward but maintained his balance enough to stay on his feet. Collin could have followed and ended the fight right then and there, but the sick part of him was enjoying it too much to stop things so quickly.

  “Your form’s a little off,” he taunted. “Make sure when you wage a knife attack that you keep your balance.”

  The big man grunted as he spun around and charged the American again. Now he was even angrier, more reckless. Collin slid to the side as the guy tried a stabbing lurch. A quick flick of the wrist, and the machete cut the man’s right arm as he rushed by.

  He yelped at the sudden stinging pain coming from his arm and looked down at the cut. Blood didn’t appear for a few seconds, then it came suddenly, oozing freely down the skin and dripping onto the ground.

  The wound only angered the man further. He growled and lunged forward again with the knife, jerking the blade left to right in a furious rage. Collin’s forearm collided with the attacker’s. Both men winced from their bones striking, but Collin reacted faster. He twisted his arm down, knocking the other guy’s arm toward the ground, then drove his hand into his own torso just below the rib cage.

  The raging Mexican’s eyes went wide as Collin forced the blade deeper. The man grabbed at the knife handle with both hands. Collin raised the machete and brought it down on the guy’s wrist. The blade was sharper than most machetes he’d seen, and the edge cut through to the bone with ease.

  A howling scream escaped the man’s mouth, to which Collin finished pushing the knife into the hilt. The guy lurched violently. Collin twisted the blade and then pulled it to the right, knowing an artery was close to the sharp metal.

  He knew when he hit it. There was slight resistance and then a clipping feeling, then the crimson liquid flowed from the wound.

  The killer dropped to his knees, still grasping at the handle with one ineffective hand as he stared up into Collin’s eyes.

  The American let him slump over onto the ground and stood there for another minute making sure he wasn’t getting up again. Then he turned and looked for Raul.

  His Mexican connection was lying on the ground with his back against the wall and his shoulder pressed against a dumpster. A dark hole in his forehead told Collin the story of Raul’s fate. In the chaos, the gunman must have accidentally shot Raul.

  Collin dropped the machete and walked over to Raul’s body. He stared at him for a second and then reached down and fished the wad of money he’d given Raul earlier.

  “I guess you won’t be needing this,” Collin said, doing his best not to be irreverent. Raul was a scumbag. Collin knew that, so he had no intention of mourning the loss. To him, it was like losing a favorite tool from the garage. He could always get another one, but that would be a pain.

  He didn’t have time to think about replenishing his network. Lilian Pike was his target, and apparently she wasn’t far away.

  Chapter 34

  Chiapas

  “Shame Jack couldn’t come with us,” Sean said as he and the others trudged down a hill in the soaking wet jungle. “But I understand. He has other concerns.”

  “Yeah, I’d say he’s busy,” Tommy agreed.

  The three men kept their heads on a swivel, turning left and right, constantly on the lookout for danger of any kind.

  Jack had given them their SUV back along with weapons and ammunition. Sean was grateful for the supplies, though he missed his trusty Springfield at his side. The Kalashnikov in his hands would do, but he’d have preferred something a tad more reliable and far more accurate. In a pinch, though, the AK would work fine.

  Birds squawked in the canopy above. Rainwater from a storm that went through an hour before dripped onto the men intermittently. Most of the forest floor was covered in leaves, twigs, and debris, though the animal path they were on had thick patches of mud that drove the men off course for a few yards at a time.

  Sean stopped by a huge tree and pulled out the map again. They’d been tracking toward the point he’d drawn the night before, checking every twenty minutes or so to make sure they were still going the right way. The hike had already consumed two hours, and Sean had initially wondered if they should have brought more supplies, perhaps for an overnight stay in the forest.

  “According to the map,” he said, “it shouldn’t be too far now. Just over that next ridge over there, and we should be right on top of it.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Tommy said, wiping his forehead with his forearm. “I gotta tell you, I cannot wait to get back to the office.”

  Sean laughed and raised an eyebrow. “This humidity is something else, isn’t it?”

  “I thought you two were from the Southern United States,” Pablo said. “Doesn’t it get hot there?”

  “Yeah,” Tommy nodded. “It gets pretty hot. And the humidity is bad in the summer months. It’s nothing like this, though. This is next level. I mean, I’ve been to Charleston, South Carolina, in the middle of July, and it can’t touch this.”

  “At least the rain cools us off here,” Sean added. “Come on. Let’s keep going. Standing around here talking about it isn’t going to make things any better. And we have a temple to find.”

  Sean stuffed the map back in his gear bag and pressed on down the hill, grabbing low-hanging tree branches along the way to keep from slipping and busting his tail.

  The downhill part wasn’t so bad, but the hard work began at the bottom of the ravine where they began the difficult task of climbing the steep hill on the other side. It took nearly half an hour for the three to make it two thirds of the way to the top, where they stopped again to drink some water and catch their breath.

  The men didn’t say much while they recovered. When it was time to get moving again, Sean made a weary motion to the others, and they got going once more.

  Arriving at the top of the ridge brought relief to every man’s face. Then they were given a small reward for their efforts. The crest rounded at the top, and the thick stands of trees parted slightly to give them an incredible view of the foothills and jungle spreading out over thousands of square miles.

  Down the other side of the little mountain, a roundish basin spread out, almost like a giant bowl had been placed there millennia ago to imprint the land.

  Sean took a long drink of water and looked out over the setting. “Based on this map, the temple should be somewhere down there in that basin.”

  “That’s a big area to cover,” Tommy said. “Could take a couple of days to search all of it.”

  “The ancient Mayans were extremely precise with their designs and with their construction. If our calculations are correct and this is the right place, the temple should be somewhere in the center of that basin.”

  “Like a giant dot on the map.”

  “That’s if your conclusions were correct,” Pablo said, playing devil’s advocate.

  Sean grinned at the snide comment. “I like your style, Pabs. Maybe when this is all over you can come work with us at IAA.”

  Tommy’s eyebrows lifted high with surprise.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  “I know, because you have a duty, and even when or if we find this place, you’ll still feel like you have to protect it.”

  “Actually, I think I’ll take a vacation. If this place isn’t dangerous, I believe I’ll go somewhere milder. Perhaps British Columbia. I hear the weather there is much cooler.”

  Sean pursed his lips and nodded, appreciating the response.

  “Sounds like you’ve thought about this.”

  “You could say that.”

  Sean’s eyes caught movement in the jungle below, and he snapped his head to the right. “We’re not alone,” he said.

  The other two looked down into the basin but didn’t
see anything.

  “Get down,” Sean said, motioning with his left hand like he was pressing something toward the ground.

  He and the other two got on their bellies with weapons out in front of them, ready to fire if necessary.

  Sean kept his eyes locked on the place where he’d seen the movement. There was no sign of an animal or another human. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Maybe it was the heat finally toying with his brain.

  “You sure you saw something?” Tommy whispered after nearly two minutes of watching the jungle.

  Sean nodded.

  Another minute passed when they saw something fly from one tree branch to another about two hundred yards away.

  “There,” Tommy said, almost shouting. He instantly muffled his voice. “There it was.”

  “Yeah, I saw it.”

  “What was that thing?” Pablo asked, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Monkey?”

  “I don’t think so,” Sean said. “Looked like a human leg.”

  “You think it’s one of those ghosts Jack was talking about?” Tommy asked.

  Sean didn’t know the answer, but if he had to guess, that’s what he would have thought. “Maybe. This is the area Jack said those guys are guarding. I’m pretty sure that was a human leg, but it was covered in dark gray and green paint. Perfect camouflage for this part of the world.

  He kept his eyes locked on the tree where he’d seen the creature land. Minutes passed and nothing happened.

  “What is he doing?” Pablo asked.

  “Maybe he had to use the bathroom,” Tommy offered.

  Sean shook his head at the silly comment. “Doubtful.”

  Something didn’t feel right. Sean had experienced the same feeling many times before when trouble was about to strike. The birds no longer chirped or sang in the treetops. There were no signs of any wildlife either. No snakes or mammals crawling through the branches or on the ground. It was almost as if the entire forest had gone quiet. More than that, there was an ominous feeling hanging in the air, like the three men had crossed a boundary into an area where no creatures lived other than the thing they’d seen in the basin below.