Codex

by Bill Craig

  Sam wasn’t leaving much of a trail, but Glory was. She would scuff her boots in the dirt to leave him a sign to follow. He had promised to keep her safe. That was a promise that he would make good on or die trying!

  Fortune pulled out his canteen and took a long pull at it. The water had gotten warm, but it was sweet and clear. It tasted good. Fortune swallowed a couple of salt tablets and took another drink of water. He re-capped the container and put it back on his belt. Then he picked his Winchester and started trotting out along the trail.

  He had liked Sam once, respected him even. But he had never really trusted him. Snipers were a different breed from most soldiers. They held the power of God in their trigger finger. That changed a man. Every one of their kills was a personal thing. The shared a cosmic connection to their victims.

  He had no doubt that Morris would try to kill him before he got close enough to rescue Glory. In fact, Fortune was counting on it. He would use Morris’ own hubris against him.

  Wolfgang Schmidt led his team down the path. His men were some of the best jungle fighters that the Third Reich had turned out. That was why they had been sent on this mission! Klausen wanted them to capture that man and the red-haired woman. The man was of little importance, but the woman was to be taken alive.

  She was the target of his mission. Klausen wanted her alive, because she was the one who could lead them to The Lost City and the Temple of Kukulkan. Schmidt thought all this nonsense of chasing after mysterious religious artifacts was a waste of time, but it was what the Führer wanted so who was he to question?

  His particular unit contained some of the top jungle fighters that the SS had to offer. The heat and humidity didn’t bother him and in fact he preferred it to the bone-chilling cold of the Austrian Alps where he had grown up.

  He heard something and made a quick hand signal for the others to freeze. Then they all melted into the jungle beside the trail like khaki-clad ghosts. The cries of birds and monkeys masked the slight sound of gun safeties being moved to the off position. It was then that he noticed that the sounds of the drums had grown silent, at least for the moment. Schmidt briefly wondered what that meant. Then he saw them, the man and the woman with hair like fire stumbling along the trail.

  Glory Newkirk was worn out. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and now she was soaking wet with sweat and dew, her arms sore from the ropes that bound her wrists together and from Morris’ constantly tugging her forward at his pace.

  After his earlier outburst, Sam Morris had continued to mutter darkly to himself as he half-dragged her along the trail. She wondered if he hadn’t finally gone over the edge. Suddenly, there were khaki-clad men stepping out of the jungle around them with guns pointed at her and Morris.

  “Halt!” snapped one man who appeared to be the leader. Glory glanced at Morris who appeared to be smiling.

  “You want the woman,” Morris said it in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Ja, we do.”

  “How much will you give me for her?” Morris had dropped the rope that he had been using to drag her along with.

  “How about your life?” the leader of the men asked quietly. He was big and powerfully built, like a circus strongman, yet he moved with a panther-like grace. His bright blue eyes never left Morris’ face as he spoke.

  “Not enough,” Morris said, his hand flashing for the revolver in his belt. The leader shot him in the head with his automatic before he could drag the revolver free. As Morris crumpled to the ground, the man turned his attention to her.

  “Good Day, Fräulein Newkirk. My commander has been waiting to meet you. If you will be so kind as to come with us,” he said.

  “Who are you people?” Glory demanded.

  “I am Rottenführer Wolfgang Schmidt of the Schutzstaffel,” he introduced himself.

  “So, you’re a Nazi?”

  “Some call us that.”

  “Why would I want to come with you?”

  “Would you prefer the alternative?” he asked, pointing at the corpse on the ground.

  “No, I guess not. But can I rest for a few moments and have some water first?”

  “I can arrange for that,” Schmidt told her. He was surprisingly well-mannered for a Nazi. While he was the first one that she had knowingly met, the newsreels had always portrayed them as heartless brutal monsters that would kill anyone in their way.

  Jake Fortune looked up as the sound of a single gunshot echoed through the jungle. That couldn’t be good. He didn’t know if Morris had a gun or now. More than likely he did. But if so, why was there just one shot? Jake Fortune began to hurry forward along the trail.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Fräulein Newkirk, can I have your word that you will not try to escape?” Schmidt asked. Glory thought about it for a moment, figuring that agreeing to play nice might get her untied. So, she nodded her head, agreeing but not really giving her word. “Untie her,” Schmidt told one of his men. One of the men moved forward and she could feel his fingers working at the ropes. Finally, they came free and she tried rubbing circulation back into her hands and wrists.

  “Thank you,” Glory said, meaning it.

  “We are not your enemies, Fräulein. We want your help, and we want to help you. Sturmbannführer Klausen would very much like to help you in your quest to find your lost city.”

  “I bet he would. That man kidnapped me from my party. They will come looking for me.”

  “That would be most unfortunate for them,” Schmidt smiled at her.

  “Are you certain of that?” she asked.

  “I am very certain,” he replied. “This way,” he said pointing down the trail. Still rubbing her wrists, Glory started down the trail.

  Jake Fortune had gotten close enough to spot the group, and to overhear what was being said. Nazis. It looked like he had been right about the men that had attacked them on the ship and again when they had docked in Cancun.

  He paused to take off his hat and wipe the sweat from his brow. He swallowed a couple more salt tablets and gulped some water from his canteen to wash them down. Rescuing the Professor was going to get dicey, especially since he was going to have to do it all on his own and the pair of them were going to have to evade the Nazis and then catch up to their party. That was going to make things very tough on them. Especially on him.

  Because Fortune was already tired from lack of sleep. Unlike Morris and Glory, he had trekked through the night on their trail. It was the only reason that he had managed to close the distance. He was going to have to rest soon. It didn’t matter if he liked it or not. His body would force the issue, especially in this heat and humidity.

  Fortune would follow them for a while, long enough to get a sense of where they were headed. Then he would rest.

  Mike Rogers had made sure that the rafts were loaded. Chac had the map Glory Newkirk had given them. He had made sure that a canoe and paddles were secreted for the couple near the campsite and the trucks. He was sure that Fortune and Professor Newkirk would need it and find it.

  The swamp was dismal and dreary, dark from the thick foliage overhead and the fog that hung over the black water. This, he had a feeling, would be the most dangerous part of the journey. Because the swamp was home to snakes and alligators and God only knew what else. It was the great unknown. Somewhere, either in the midst of it, or on the other side of it lay The Lost City and the mysterious Temple of Kukulkan.

  “This place is creepy,” Cliff Shaw said as he walked up next to Rogers.

  “It is. It has an unholy feel to it,” Rogers nodded.

  “Unholy is a good description,” Shaw agreed.

  “There is evil here, Cliff. Ancient evil. I wonder if Jake knew that before he agreed to bring us here.”

  “Even if he did, he probably didn’t care. Jake came for the adventure and the excitement.

  “He cares about the Professor, Cliff. Have no doubt about that. He’d accompany her to the Gates of Hell if she asked him to.”

  “Y
ou seem sure of that.”

  “You mean to tell me you haven’t seen the way that he looks at her?” Rogers asked.

  “Well, yeah, now that you mention it. But the Captain always had a way with the gals,” Shaw shrugged.

  “No, he’s got it bad for this one, Cliff. I think the old boy might actually be in love,’ Rogers said.

  “Will wonders never cease. You think he’ll find her and catch up?”

  “I’d bet money on it.”

  “Look sharp, Cliff. We need to be ready for whatever we encounter,” Mike Rogers commanded.

  “Sure thing, Mike.” Shaw wandered off.

  Sturmbannführer Eric Klausen paced back and forth in his tent. He had held up the striking of the camp to give Schmidt a chance to find and capture their prey. Berlin was waiting to hear if the group leader had been successful or not.

  Klausen was willing to bet that Schmidt had been successful. He was one of his elite storm trooper group leaders. He had not been pleased when he had first been tasked with this mission, but if Schmidt had been successful in locating and capturing the girl, it would make him look very good to his superiors back in Berlin.

  It would give him a certain satisfaction to eliminate the men that the American, King, had saddled him with. They were arrogant and acted as if Klausen and his men were their servants. Soon, he would show them who was really in charge!

  Those men showed no discipline and were nothing more than a bunch of thugs. Klausen had men keeping a close eye on them, men who would execute them at the slightest provocation. King had proven himself useful in letting them know when the other group was leaving and on what ship they had been traveling, but aside from that, he had contributed nothing but a bunch of thugs that had proven less than useful in the grand scheme of things.

  Somewhere over the Atlantic.

  Fregattenkapitän Rupert Meijer frowned as he read the latest radio transmission from Berlin. His mission hadn’t changed, essentially, but the request that he reach Mexico at all cost and with most urgency was new. The orders were signed by Himmler himself.

  Meijer knew that Himmler was part of a secret cult within the Nazi hierarchy that was known by the name of Black Sun. Black Sun was made up of true believers in the occult preaching of Adolph Hitler. They believed in his concept of a master race descended from the ancient Aryan race, a race of superhuman beings akin to the gods themselves.

  Whatever Sturmbannführer Klausen was after was something of immense importance to Black Sun. Also, if Himmler had taken a personal interest, whatever Klausen and his men were after was of great value to the Führer. So, if Meijer were to aid in its recovery, it could mean that he would upgraded to a much more important role in the war effort! He walked over to the pilot.

  “Get us to Mexico at best possible speed, and once there, make radio contact with Sturmbannführer Klausen to offer our assistance,” Meijer commanded.

  Jake Fortune was tired. His body refused to go any farther. He knew that he was very close to the Nazi camp. So, he climbed up a tree and belted himself onto a branch. It would keep him from tumbling off in his sleep. He needed rest if he was going to be able to successfully rescue Glory and evade the Nazis long enough to reach the The Lost City and find this Temple of Kukulkan. He didn’t know for sure what she expected to find there, but it was important enough for Griffin to send her after it and important enough for the Nazis to be after it, too.

  Something moved on the branch, snapping his eyes back open. A large iguana, nearly four feet long was on the smaller end of the branch. Fortune glared at it. “Are we going to have a problem?” he asked. The Iguana dropped down to another branch below. Fortune closed his eyes again. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered.

  Rottenführer Schmidt approached the tent of Sturmbannführer Eric Klausen. Klausen was well known for his volatile temper. However, so far, the mission was a successful one, so in all likelihood, something else would arouse his ire. Personally, Schmidt felt that it would be the men that the American, King, had forced on them. Since he had captured the girl, those men were no longer necessary.

  “Sturmbannführer, I was able to secure the girl,” Schmidt said, as he walked into his superior’s tent.

  “Excellent work, Rottenführer. You’ve done well. Have you questioned her yet?”

  “No, Sturmbannführer. I thought you should have that particular pleasure. This professor, she is how the Americans say it, easy on the eyes.”

  “Take me to her,” Klausen ordered.

  Don Franklin was helping to pole one of the rafts through the swamp. It was dark already under the trees, and hurricane lamps glowed to light the way, hanging from shafts that had been mounted on each corner of the rafts. A low fog hung over the black water and insects buzzed hungrily around the uncomfortable people huddled around the boxes and crates of supplies.

  Franklin looked at his watch, amazed to discover it was just a little past six o’clock in the evening. Under the jungle canopy it felt like it should be much later than that. “I wonder how the Captain is doing,” Felix Grimaldi said, breaking the almost preternatural silence that had engulfed the three rafts and the four canoes as they glided across the water.

  “I’m sure he’s doing fine,” Don replied as he dug in his pole and pushed, helping propel the raft forward.

  “Am I the only one who is uneasy about all of this?” Felix asked.

  “Nope, but you are the only one bellyaching about it,” Don pointed out.

  “I’m not bellyaching about it,” Felix said, defensively.

  “Yes, you are,” Tommy Grover called from the next raft over.

  “Hey, I didn’t ask for comments from the peanut gallery,” Felix called back. As soon as the words left his mouth, something long and heavy fell from the trees to strike him across the shoulders, knocking him from his feet. A scale and sinuous body began wrapping him in tight coils and squeezing, trapping his arms at his sides. Felix managed to get out a blood-curdling scream alerting the others to his danger.

  Don Franklin dropped his pole on the deck as he rushed over to help his comrade, unsure of the danger. It was then he saw the head of the boa constrictor as it continued to tighten its coils around the swearing Italian-American. Franklin yanked out his knife and slashed at the snake’s head. The tip of the blade cut into its skin and it hissed angrily, tightening its coils tighter. Grimaldi couldn’t breathe, he was gasping for air. Franklin slashed again and this time he cut off the snake’s head which flopped onto the deck.

  Franklin grabbed onto the snake’s blood-stained body and fought to unwind it from around his friend, even though dead, the coils were still trying to tighten. One of the scientists joined him and soon they had it free of Felix’s body and tossed it over the side.

  Grimaldi had passed out from lack of oxygen; the coils of the snake having forced all the air from his lungs. The scientist was trying to get him to breathe again, and suddenly Grimaldi began coughing and curled into a ball, fighting to get air back into his lungs. “Take it easy, Felix. I’m going to get you over to the nurse so she can take care of you,” Franklin told him.

  “Watch the branches above for goddam snakes! One nearly killed Felix!” Don shouted.

  “Is he gonna be okay?” Tommy asked worriedly.

  “I don’t know.”

  Don called back truthfully. Two of the scientists took over poling the craft forward as Don and the other man carried Grimaldi to the boxes and did their best to make him comfortable.

  Glory Franklin looked up as the leader of the German soldiers stepped into the tent where she was being held. He wasn’t totally unattractive. His close-cut blond hair lay smooth against his skull. He wore a monocle over his left eye. A fencing scar bisected the left side of his face. He smiled at her, but it wasn’t a smile that she found to be pleasant at all. “Fräulein Newkirk. I am Sturmbannführer Eric Klausen of the German Army. I have been trying very hard to find you,” he said.

  “And I’ve been trying very hard to a
void meeting you,” Glory spat back.

  “There is no need for you to be unpleasant, Fräulein,” Klausen told her.

  “That is certainly a matter of opinion, Herr Klausen. I don’t especially enjoy being kidnapped.”

  “Fräulein Newkirk, you wound me. Rottenführer Schmidt rescued you from your kidnapper.”

  “And yet he didn’t let me go,” she said, bitterly.

  “He brought you here for your own protection, Fräulein. If he left you alone to wander in the jungle, there is no telling what sort of fate might have befallen you.”

  “I think I’d have made out all right.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Klausen smiled at her again and this time, Glory couldn’t help but shiver under his gaze.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jake Fortune had never been a fan of snakes. In his opinion, the only good snake was a dead snake. So, when he awakened to one that was wrapping itself around both his leg and the tree branch he was belted onto to keep from falling, it would be easy to understand that he was less than pleased. The main problem that he had was that his knife was sheathed on the belt and was currently under the branch and out of reach. “This is not how I wanted to start my day,” he whispered to himself.

  The snake’s head was getting closer to his groin and was starting to squeeze his leg against the branch. Something was going to have to be done and it was going to have to be done fast. The question was what? Fortune kept his eye on the snake. The forked tongue kept slipping out to taste the air. He wondered if it could sense his fear, taste it even. He waited, letting the head advance higher. Sweat began beading on his forehead, then slowly started trickling down his face. It had grown cool beneath the canopy of trees, so Fortune was fairly certain that the sun had gone down. It was hard to tell in the nearly impenetrable gloom caused by the thick canopy of trees above. If that was the case, he would soon have other larger predators to worry about.