The Tyndale Code: An Action-Packed Christian Fiction Thriller Novella (An Armour of God Thriller Book 1)
Page 4
Mother Superior gave Sister Grace the keys to the parish car. “God speed, Sister. Señor Cole. The Lord is thy Shepherd and He will not forsake you.”
And with that, it was time to go.
Chapter 12
Zack stood at the back entrance of the church and waited for Sister Grace. She drove up in a rusted late 1960s BMW. It was hard to tell where the rust stopped and heavily oxidized orange paint started.
“Get in, señor,” the sister shouted.
Zack opened the passenger door and looked at the nun in her habit. “Are you sure you don’t want to change into something a little more comfortable, Sister?”
“There is no time, and I am quite comfortable with what I am wearing.”
Zack sank down in the seat and fastened his seat belt. “I just meant if we’re going to be trekking through the jungle you might want to wear something a little more appropriate.”
The sister chuckled. “Guatemala is not all jungle, Señor Cole. But I have my hiking shoes just in case.” The sister lifted the bottom of her habit enough for Zack to see that she was wearing a pair of black cargo pants and black military style boots.
As Sister Grace drove them out of town, Zack couldn’t help but think that bringing her along was a bad idea. “You could have just given me directions,” he said. “There’s no reason to involve you in this. It’s me they’re after.”
“A white, American male alone would stick out like a sore thumb. You’d be en la carcel before dark.”
He didn’t have a response. This trip would have been a lot easier with Waterson along. The coward had ducked out on him just as he needed him most. “Why are you helping me, Sister?”
“I told you already. I will not let an innocent man . . . a man sent to help the church, go to jail.”
“Not just finding El Tigre and taking me to the Víbora stronghold. I mean with the Bible.”
“The Bible is very important to the church and very important to Father Ferguson. He said it could do much good—not just for the church—but for many people. God brought you to us for a reason, Señor Cole. I am just helping you get to where you need to go. The rest is in God’s hands.”
Again, Zack didn’t have a response.
“My family is from Las Montañas,” she added. “I will stay there, and you can go find El Tigre on your own. La Víbora has a location in Chicuana Fuego. It’s the next town over from Las Montañas. That is where El Tigre will be.”
Meticulous planning was the key to any successful mission, and Zack had to plan this one carefully. He powered up his laptop and opened a satellite imagery program. “Sister, tell me again about the Víbora stronghold.”
“It is just past Chicuana Fuego.”
“How far is Chicuana Fuego from Las Montañas?”
“About five kilometers,” the sister said.
Zack found Las Montañas and Chicuana Fuego on the satellite map. “How far from Chicuana Fuego to the Víbora?”
“Less than a kilometer.”
“North or south?”
“East.”
“Is it visible from the road?”
Sister Grace glanced over at Zack. “No. It is in the jungle. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d miss it.”
“Found it!” Zack said, pointing at his computer screen.
“You found it on the computer?”
“Yes, a satellite image of the compound. Is it four buildings, in a clearing, surrounded by trees?”
“Yes, that sounds right.”
“Why do you think El Tigre will be there?”
“Because his father, Victor Ibarra, will be there. He is one of the bosses of La Víbora. That is where El Tigre would take the Bible.”
“How do you know so much about the Víbora?”
“I told you. I grew up in Las Montañas, and the Víbora gang is merely part of life here. Many friends joined the mara, because it was all they knew.”
“But not you.”
The sister crossed herself and said, “No. I chose a different path.”
“This information is helpful. Thank you, Sister.” Having someone who knew the area and the players would save him a lot of time.
He had a plan . . . or at least the beginnings of one.
Chapter 13
As they bounced along the unpaved road toward Las Montañas, Zack took in the scenery. Passing on blind curves seemed to be the national sport in Guatemala. Horses, goats, dogs, and other obstacles appeared out of nowhere. The landscape repeated in the most monotonous patterns as if it were from a cheaply animated movie.
Having traveled around the world on countless occasions—even when he could afford the finer things—sometimes money couldn’t buy the most basic things. In this case, working air conditioning or a road that didn’t make him feel nauseous.
It couldn’t get any worse . . . could it?
Life, being the irony-obsessed creature it is, answered him on the spot.
A sweet smell of maple syrup permeated the vehicle’s interior and moments later a cloud of white smoke billowed from under the car’s hood. The motor sputtered and Sister Grace maneuvered to the side of the road before the car stalled.
“This can’t be happening!” Zack shouted.
“It will be okay, señor. God works in mysterious ways, but He is always on our side.”
“I’m sorry, Sister, but God seems to be having the most fun while I’m miserable.”
“Oh, you surely cannot mean that. Don’t you see what would have happened if you had not had so many delays and arrived on time?” She asked with an offended, yet understanding tone, like the one you would use with a child. “You would be dead right now, exactly like Father Ferguson,” she added and immediately lowered her stare.
He did not answer out loud, but she was right. Had he arrived on time he might be dead, right alongside Father Ferguson.
Zack popped the hood and a cloud of steam blew into his face.
“Will you allow me to help you?” the sister asked suddenly appearing at his side.
Zack peered under the hood and shook his head. “No, it’s not that bad. The upper radiator hose has a leak, but I can fix it. We just have to let it cool down a bit. Do you have any tools?”
“I wasn’t talking about the car, Señor Cole.”
“Help me with what then?”
“Your remark . . . about God.”
Zack grabbed the keys from the ignition and opened the trunk. “Oh Sister, please excuse my outburst earlier. I was just upset.”
“But this is not the first time you’ve felt these feelings toward God, am I right?”
Zack rummaged through the trunk and found a flat head screwdriver. “God and I are not exactly on speaking terms,” he answered.
“Are you mad at Him, señor? Because, I know what it is like to be mad at God.” Zack stopped what he was doing, and the sister continued, “Ten years ago I lost my father to cancer. I prayed and believed with all my heart that God would heal him. But He did not.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Sister. What did you do?”
“I didn’t know what to do. It was before I had entered the convent. My mother offered me the guidance I will never forget.”
“What type of guidance?”
“She read two passages from the Bible. Matthew 11:6, ‘Blessed are those who do not give up their faith because of Me,’ and Proverbs 3:5-6, ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding—’”
“‘And in all your ways submit to Him and He will make your paths straight,’” Zack finished.
“You know your Bible.”
“Believe it or not, Sister, it’s my specialty. Ancient biblical texts and codices to be precise.”
“Then you also know being angry with God causes our relationship with Him to stop growing.” Before Zack could answer, the sister continued, “The apostle Paul said ‘everything else is worthless when compared with the immeasurable value of knowing Christ Jesus.’”
&nb
sp; Zack hadn’t had a meaningful relationship with God since his mother and father’s death. He hoped one day biblical archaeology would help him renew that relationship, but it wasn’t going to happen overnight. His grandfather had tried to help before his passing, and Father Giovanni still tried to help. He was grateful for the love and support, but it was something he needed to do on his own, and in his own time.
Zack grabbed his pack from the back seat and moved to the front of the car. The sister followed. “How did you get past the anger?” he asked, loosening the clamp that held the faulty radiator hose in place.
“I confessed it.”
The screwdriver slipped off the clamp and Zack burned his knuckles on the hot engine block. He immediately pulled his hand away and shook it in the air.
“Are you okay, señor?”
“I’m fine,” he said sucking on a knuckle. “So, you said you confessed your anger?”
“Yes. I told God about it. He knew it was there, and then I told Him I was sorry.”
Zack removed a combat folding knife from his backpack and sliced off a two-inch section from the end of the hose. “You apologized for being angry?”
“I did,” she said. Zack reattached the hose, careful to avoid any hot metal, and tightened the clamp. Sister Grace took a step closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Bad things happen to good people, Señor Cole. Don’t live your life mad at God about things you can’t understand. You may not always know His plan but trust that He has a plan for you.”
Zack glanced heavenward. “I’m sure He does, Sister. I’m sure He does.”
Chapter 14
The rest of the two-hour drive was uneventful. It was late afternoon, and they were just one military checkpoint away from Las Montañas.
Checkpoint agents have various ways of operating in different countries around the world. The border agents in the United States on the Mexican U.S. border, for instance, are very proactive. Those who guard the border between France and Belgium, on the other hand, are a little more lax.
The military checkpoint agents in Central America were somewhere in between.
Now what this meant was two things.
One, nothing was ever easy in Guatemala.
Two, things were a lot easier here when you had enough money to spread around. Fortunately, Zack had the money.
Pulling up to the military checkpoint, the sister prepared their documents.
The crossing was just a strip of highway in the middle of a barren area between two towns with a white stone building big enough for the two guards in it, and two manually operated crossing arms. One for the road headed west and one for the road headed east.
There was no other traffic. Not a lot of people had a need to travel to this part of Guatemala. Out of this part, sure, but not into. The guard looked surprised to see them pulling up. The guy had a pencil-thin mustache and mirrored sunglasses and wore his brown uniform like a comfortable pair of pajamas.
“Buenas tardes, señor,” Sister Grace greeted the guard. There was no answer. The man was too busy looking at the documents she had handed him. The documents, and the two hundred dollars tucked underneath—Zack’s ‘paperwork.’
The man elbowed his partner in the booth, and both of them looked over their sunglasses at the cash, and then looked at the sister and Zack with very obvious intent.
Zack frowned but produced two more hundred-dollar bills. The time had passed when decent people would be happy with a two hundred dollar bribe and not ask for more.
The guards smiled and sent them through the gate.
Chapter 15
The road led to Las Montañas, a small village of rundown homes and clay brick buildings. There were a couple of restaurants and a motel that was going to be Zack’s rest stop for the night. The sister parked the car in front of the motel and handed Zack the keys.
“No, you keep them,” he said. “I want to approach the stronghold on foot at dawn tomorrow.”
“Are you sure? It’s five kilometers from here.”
Zack got out of the car and took another look at the rusted BMW. “I’m sure. I could use the exercise. Meet me in Chicuana Fuego tomorrow at noon and we’ll drive back to San Pedro together.”
“How will I find you?”
“Just park on the main street and I’ll find you. If I’m not back by twelve fifteen head back to San Pedro without me.”
Sister Grace had invited him to meet her family, but all Zack wanted was a few hours rest. She said a prayer for his safety and walked to her family’s house across the road.
Zack checked into the motel and went up to a bare room with hardly a glance from the tired old motel owner. Kicking off his shoes, he latched the security chain on the door, and then fell onto the bed. What he really wanted to do was go home. He didn’t mind the life of globetrotting. But he didn’t care for this part of the world much. It was hot, dusty, and depressing.
A knock on the door woke him with a start. He hadn’t even realized he had been dozing.
The knock came again.
“No me molestes, por favor,” he said to whoever it was, just wanting a few hours of peace.
The door burst inward, a kick breaking the lock and splintering the dry wood.
A man in black pants, black sweater, and enormous black boots strode into the room carrying a revolver. He swung the barrel of the gun toward Zack with a menacing smile.
“I speak English, señor. There is no need to butcher our fine language.”
Zack sat up, keeping his hands in the air as he did.
“Good, that is good, señor,” the man continued. “Now. I would like it very much if you gave to me your money.”
Zack recognized the man, finally. “You left your sunglasses back at the guard shack,” he told the checkpoint guard.
Guards . . . different in every country.
The man laughed and waved the pistol around. “You are a very funny man. But we can laugh about this later. Money now, por favor.”
Zack nodded over to his backpack in the corner of the room. “In the pack.”
The guard looked at the backpack across the room, then looked back at Zack. “Open it,” he ordered.
Zack shrugged and got up off the bed. “Suit yourself. How much of it do you want?”
“You are joking now, yes? American humor. Bah. All of it, señor. Of course. All of it.”
“Of course,” Zack said, picking the backpack up and turning toward the man. “No problem.”
The Blackhawk X-26 Taser probes zipped out from the pack’s front compartment as Zack triggered the concealed weapon from inside the backpack.
Never can be too prepared.
Both probes hit true, one in the man’s chest and the other in the abdomen. The resulting voltage ripping through the would-be robber’s body caused the man to convulse and dance in place and stutter with clacking teeth. His muscles tensed involuntarily, and his finger pulled the trigger of his gun.
The bullet zipped by Zack’s head, close enough that he could feel the breeze, and then embedded itself in the wall.
Zack kept the shock going for longer than he reasonably needed to, just because. The guard dropped to the floor panting, still seizing when he finally did turn the taser off.
He got the gun out of the man’s hand before the guy could regain his senses and turned it on him, checking to make sure the other chambers had rounds in them. “Okay, now where were we?” Zack asked. “Oh, that’s right. I was leaving. Thank you for a wonderful reception to your beautiful town, but I think I’ve seen enough.”
Chapter 16
Zack left Sister Grace, the car, and Las Montañas behind and caught a camioneta de pollo to Chicuana Fuego. Chicken buses were an excellent way to travel as long as you didn’t care where you were going or when you got there. They were retired American school buses repainted every color of the rainbow and there was no such thing as ‘maximum capacity.’ What should have been a ten-minute drive turned into a thirty-minute adventure.
The crumbling white stucco building was hardly distinguishable from the other crumbling white stucco buildings in the town and the room was sparse. Four red clay walls encompassed a low cot, a table and chair, and a clay pot. Zack decided he really didn’t need to know what the clay pot was for. There were no windows and two bare electric bulbs hung from the ceiling.
* * *
Early the next morning Zack approached the Víbora stronghold on foot, crouching in the shadows of tightly spaced trees and brush. It was a fifteen-minute hike from the town, and once he caught a glimpse of the Víbora location, he decided stronghold might be too strong a word.
In a clearing hacked out of the bush, four pre-fab metal buildings had been set up facing each other in more or less a perfect square, just as he had seen on the satellite images. They were ugly, and the sun overhead reflected off the roofs of each one in blinding little spots of light. If it weren’t for the blocky air conditioning units set into the windows, anyone inside would probably fry to death within an hour. A humming gasoline generator brought power to the encampment.
There.
Encampment.
That was a much better word than stronghold.
Armed men wandered between the buildings. Men with rifles slung over shoulders or machine pistols hung in tactical nylon holsters strapped down on their thighs. A few women, too. Nice to know the gangs down here were equal opportunity employers.
Two of the buildings were obviously barracks for the gang members. This location must be some sort of staging ground for them. A place where they could station people for raids, or hide them after an operation. A row of unevenly parked vehicles sat beyond the buildings, sedans and pickup trucks and even an H1 Hummer, all waiting to be used. So, if those two buildings were the barracks, and that one there was a storage building for weapons and ammo, then the fourth building would be the main building, where they held meetings, orders were given, and victims were tortured.