Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “I got it,” she said, fanning her shirt. She glanced down the pyramid and took a deep breath, amazed at how small the people looked on the ground. She could make out Bambi and Rosa standing at the base of the pyramid, staring up at them.

  A flurry of motion pulled her attention back to the temple. Bass stumbled out of the structure, the back of his hand over his mouth, then he hurried around the side. Peyton could hear retching sounds as he got sick over the sheer drop.

  Well, that wasn’t good, she thought, rubbing her damp hands on her trousers. That wasn’t good at all.

  Tank came to the edge and motioned to her. She climbed up the rest of the way and stopped in front of him.

  “Is it bad?” she said, but she could already smell decay.

  He handed her a mask. “Put this over your mouth and nose.”

  “Is it bad, Tank?” she asked again.

  He glanced over his shoulder toward where Bass slumped against the right side of the pyramid. “It’s bad, Peyton.” He motioned to the mask. “Put that over your mouth and nose.” He took a second one out of his pocket and put it over his own face.

  She pressed the mask to her mouth and followed him to the edge of the stone temple. It was a square box on the top of the pyramid, open on four sides to the elements. Radar blocked her at the entrance.

  “Keep your eyes down, Sparky,” he said behind his own mask. “Don’t look up until I tell you.”

  She nodded because just the smell alone was making her ill. He took a firm hold of her elbow and led her into the interior. Shadows fell over her face. She was aware of many people in the small enclosure and a trail of black blood where it had flowed down toward the edge of the room, dropping off the stairs. She could see a man’s shoes and the black of his suit trousers. His legs hung off something, splayed, the sheen on his dress shoes incongruous with the location.

  She saw a hand, flies crawling on it, and she fought her gag reflex. The hand was bloated, the skin splitting and turning black. The smell was even worse, decay and rot and the metallic tang of blood.

  “Just take a quick look,” came Radar’s voice, his hand tightening on her elbow.

  She glanced up. The body was lying on its back, the head hanging off a stone altar, the chest splayed open. She could see maggots and flies moving in the opening, the flesh flaking away, rotting, putrefying. She made a strange sound in her throat and tried to force her eyes away from his gaping chest, the ribs white in the mass of mutilated flesh.

  “Sparky?” said Radar.

  She looked at the dead man’s face. The features were distorted, the flesh swollen and mottled, the mouth open in a scream.

  “Is it Miller?”

  Even though the flesh was badly disfigured, she recognized the taciturn man with the kind smile and the everyday American good looks. “It’s Miller,” she said, pressing a hand over her mouth.

  Radar pulled her toward him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he guided her to the door. He brought her out of the temple onto the upper tier of the pyramid. Vega stood there, his dark eyes sympathetic. He reached out and squeezed her elbow.

  Radar moved in front of her, taking the mask off his face. He kept her back to the temple. She lifted trembling hands and pulled the mask away. The sight of Miller’s mutilated body would be with her forever.

  Radar closed his hands on her shoulders. “I have to go back in and help Tank take pictures. Are you okay?”

  She was touched by his concern. “I’m fine,” she said, straightening her back.

  Vega passed her a water bottle out of his pack.

  “Are you sure it’s Miller?” Radar asked. “I need you to be sure.”

  “Did Bass identify him?”

  “He did, but he lost it pretty quickly. I need to hear it from you.”

  Peyton forced herself to think about his facial features once again. She drew a deep breath, pressing the cool water bottle to her throat. “It was Miller.”

  “Okay. I’m going back in. You stay out here.”

  She nodded. There was nothing that could make her go back inside that temple with its bloodstained, macabre altar where human sacrifices had taken place centuries before. Radar glanced at Vega as he untangled the loops on his mask.

  “Call the helicopter.”

  Vega nodded and began speaking Spanish into the radio. Peyton looked over to where Bass sat around the corner. His legs dangled off the pyramid and his forearms were braced on his thighs. Walking over to him, Peyton took a seat at his side, passing him the water.

  “Thanks,” he said, breaking the seal and taking a gulp. He swished the water around in his mouth, then spit it over the side. “I’m sorry I lost it.”

  “No problem. I almost lost it myself.”

  He took another gulp and rinsed, spitting it out again. He leaned over and looked down the side of the pyramid. “It would be so easy just to pitch forward,” he said in a low voice.

  Peyton grabbed his arm and hauled him back. “What?”

  He gave a self-deprecating laugh and closed his eyes. “I’m not gonna do it, but…”

  “But what?”

  He opened his eyes again and played with the cap on his water bottle. “No one would miss me.”

  “Bass!”

  “No, listen to me a minute. I’m serious. Life…this existence is shit. Miller had a wife and kids, he had parents. They all loved him, depended on him, but he’s dead.” His hand tightened on the water bottle. “They cut his heart out.”

  Peyton didn’t respond, staring out at the jungle rising in the distance, brilliantly green, lush, alive.

  “They cut out his heart and left him like an offering to the gods. What gods? What god can allow that to happen?”

  “It wasn’t God. It was man, Bass. Men that need to be stopped.”

  Bass didn’t respond for a moment, just stared out and squeezed the water bottle. “He had people who loved him and he died. I have no one and I’m still alive. There’s no sense in that. No reason. I…” He shook his head and bit his bottom lip. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

  Peyton watched him without speaking.

  He pointed back over their heads at the temple. “It should be me. I’ve been down here for six months. It should have been me.”

  Peyton fanned her shirt away from her body once more, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good. She didn’t know how to respond. She was as raw as he was. She couldn’t stop seeing Miller splayed across the altar that way, his body rotting.

  Bass blew out air. “Is it okay if we just sit here and not talk?”

  Peyton glanced over at him. “Do you want me to leave?”

  He shook his head, giving her a sheepish look. “I’m afraid to be alone with myself right now, but I just don’t want to talk.”

  That was fine with her. She didn’t feel like talking either. She nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  And they sat like that, on the edge of the pyramid, staring out over the jungle, listening to the birds cry, watching the clouds slide across the sky. When rain pounded down, they still sat without moving as it drenched them, then moved on and the sun reappeared. A few minutes later, they could hear the rotors of the helicopter cutting through the sounds of the jungle, drawing closer to them.

  Peyton shifted and looked back as the helicopter banked toward the pyramid, a metal basket swinging from a cable beneath its belly. Vega and Radar grabbed the basket, removing it and carrying it inside the temple. The helicopter swung out and waited while the men secured Miller inside it.

  A few minutes passed, then the helicopter returned, swinging its cable. A group of men carried the basket out of the temple and affixed it to the cable, then the helicopter lifted, carrying the basket with it off into the jungle, disappearing from sight before the sound of its rotors faded away.

  Peyton glanced back at Bass, but he was rubbing his eyes, his shoulders slumped alarmingly.

  “It should have been me,” he whispered.

  * * *
>
  The ride back to the hotel was a silent one. Everyone sat lost in their own thoughts, not speaking, not whispering, just sitting and letting the air conditioning wash over them. When they got back to the hotel, Vega wished them a buenas noches, but Bass hung back.

  “I’m going to the Excelencia tonight,” he said. “I can’t wait anymore for a break in this case.”

  Rosa studied him, then she looked away. “I’m going to my room.” She started to walk, but Radar called to her. She half-turned toward him. “Give me a night, Radar,” she said. “I’ll be back at it tomorrow, but I need tonight. I have to talk to Celeste.”

  Radar nodded and looked down. Without another would Rosa walked into the hotel and disappeared through the automatic doors. Peyton glanced at Bass. “I’m with you. What are you thinking?”

  “There’s a cantina in the Excelencia that most of the college and high school students go to for drinking and dancing. It opens on the beach. Radar mentioned the bartender might be a potential contact point and I think he might be onto something. Let’s split up and cover as much ground as we can. If pills are being distributed, it makes sense it might be where there’s alcohol and music.”

  “I want a shower and a change of clothes,” said Peyton.

  Everyone agreed.

  “If we’re splitting up, it doesn’t matter if we arrive at the same time,” she reasoned.

  “Maybe you and Bambi could go together – two girls just looking for a good time,” said Bass. “Dance and see if you can get some of the guys to buy you drinks. Tank and Radar, you shouldn’t be seen together. If anyone sees the two of you hanging out, they’ll think cop for sure.”

  “We’ll use the comlinks and I can stay at the hotel to coordinate,” said Radar.

  “No, I think we should all be there. Maybe just sit in the back, having a drink. You could be a wealthy Mexican tourist on vacation. Your wife went to bed early and you just wanted a drink.”

  Radar nodded. “That works. Come up to our room and get a com, so we can communicate.”

  Bass agreed and they all entered the hotel, going up to their rooms. Peyton took a lukewarm shower, dried off and dressed in a floral print long summer dress with a halter top. She added strappy sandals and left her hair down, pinning back one side with a silk floral barrette Bambi loaned her. Then she added a little makeup and put on some red lip-gloss.

  Bambi wore a mini-dress in lime-green, her long legs accentuated by sandals with straps that wound up her calves. She braided her hair into a fishtail braid and added another floral barrette to the end to hold it in place. A seashell necklace dangled in the center of her chest, drawing the eye to her impressive cleavage.

  Peyton handed Bambi her chunky metal bracelet with the comlink inside and the earpiece. Bambi placed the earpiece in the ear covered by her braid. Peyton also picked up her own bracelet and put the earpiece in, hiding it with her hair.

  Bambi lifted the bracelet to her mouth. “Agent Redford checking in,” she said into it.

  They waited and Radar’s voice came through their ears. “Agent Redford, Agent Moreno checking in.”

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “I’m already at the bar in the hotel. I have a table near the outdoor restaurant.”

  “Agent Campbell checking in,” came Tank’s voice. “I’m having a drink at the outdoor bar.” They could hear steel drums in the distance.

  Peyton lifted her arm. “Agent Brooks checking in. We’re headed to the Excelencia now.”

  “Agent Bass checking in,” came Bass’ voice. The sound of music was very loud, a pumping rhythm, and people laughing. “I’m sitting at a booth in direct line of sight to the bar. The dance floor is to my left.”

  Bambi gave Peyton a nod and they headed out. The night was mild as they walked down the white sand beach toward the Excelencia. They saw Tank sitting at the outdoor bar, sipping a beer, appearing to listen to the steel drummers. A few couples sat at tables, their faces illuminated by candlelight, drinking and whispering to each other. Tank gave them a chin lift as they made their way toward the interior.

  The inside was crowded as people jockeyed for a position on the dance floor or stood three deep at the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention. Waiters meandered through the crowd, holding trays aloft as they brought drinks and food to the people stuffed into the booths around the perimeter of the room. Strobe lights in a rainbow of colors waved back and forth over the crowd and the music was loud.

  A group of college boys at a tall table caught sight of them almost immediately. Bambi nudged Peyton as the boys waved them over, then she led the way across the room. The boys elbowed each other and one tall, buff blond held out his hand to Bambi.

  “I’m Jordan.”

  “Emma,” she purred, then looked into his drink. “What’s that?” she asked vapidly.

  “Watermelon margarita. Want one.”

  “I sure do,” said Bambi.

  An equally muscular young man with dark skin and a brilliant white smile moved close to Peyton. “Can I get you a drink?”

  She started to answer when Bass’s voice came over the com. “Can one of the women come over to me and keep the co-eds at bay?”

  Bambi met Peyton’s gaze. Peyton turned to the boy. “Maybe next time. Actually I need to find a restroom.” Bambi gave her a short nod as she stepped away from the table.

  Threading her way back through the crowd, she glanced back at Bambi. Something was definitely up with that girl.

  She found Bass just where he’d said he’d be, in a booth watching the bar. A group of young women at a table to his left were waving at him and simpering. Peyton paused by his table and gave him what she hoped passed for a sultry look.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself,” he said and flashed a smile at her, his arm draped across the back of the booth. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, open over a yellow tank top and khaki shorts, his blond hair spiky on his head. He patted the booth next to him. “You wanna take a seat so I don’t have to dance with that entire table over there.”

  Peyton shot a look at the girls, then she slid into the booth next to Bass. The girls shot daggers at her.

  “Oh, you’re getting so much shade right now.”

  Peyton laughed and slid closer to him. He reached out and fingered a curl, then motioned for a waitress. “When she comes over, order something real.” With his other hand, he twirled his shot glass around.

  Peyton could smell the tequila on his breath. Was he doing shots? He looked clear-eyed, his gaze shifting to a table of young men off to his right. “See those boys?” He nodded his head at the group.

  “Yeah.”

  “They’ve been putting pressure on the one with acne to approach the bar.”

  “They’re too young to drink.”

  “I know, but they might have an illegal ID.”

  The waitress appeared in front of them.

  “Un trago de tequila,” said Bass. “Get whatever you want,” he told Peyton.

  “Margarita,” she said, smiling.

  “Blended or rocks?”

  “Blended.”

  The waitress nodded and walked away. Bass’s attention returned to the boys, but he continued to finger Peyton’s hair. The boys kept nudging the one with acne and pointing at the bartender. The boy kept shaking his head no, staring down at the table, the color high in his cheeks.

  “Talk to me,” said Bass.

  Peyton didn’t know what he wanted her to say. He looked at her. “Pretend you’re trying to pick me up and if one of them moves toward the bar, tell me.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “How long have you worked for Rosa?”

  “Not even a year.”

  “She recruited you, though. That’s what she told me.”

  “I was working for the police in San Francisco. We’d just solved a serial killer case when she got the position with the FBI.”

  The waitress appeared with their drinks. Ba
ss nodded at her and tossed some money onto her tray, then he waved her off. He pointed at Peyton’s drink. “Take a sip. Make it look real.”

  She leaned forward and sipped at the margarita. The bite of tequila was evident. This was no typical bar drink of watered down booze. Bass tossed back his shot and ran his finger over the rim, the other hand flattened on Peyton’s shoulder. She took another sip, her attention captured by the boys. The boy with acne had started to rise, but a woman bumped into him as she went past. He sat back down again, making all the boys laugh and prod him some more.

  Peyton glanced at Bass. “I’m sorry about Miller.”

  Bass’s hand flexed on her shoulder. “Don’t talk about Miller. Keep talking about yourself.”

  She didn’t know what more to say. “Tell me about Cancun?”

  “What’s there to tell?”

  “You’ve been here six months. What’s the best thing about it?”

  “Besides the crazy beautiful ocean,” he said wistfully.

  “Yeah, besides that.”

  “The fish tacos at the taqueria down the street in the open air market. It’s a little restaurant called ironically Pescados.”

  “Fish?”

  “Yep. Best food in Cancun.”

  Before she could think of something else, the boy got up the courage again. This time he made it to his feet and walked over to the end of the bar where there were less people. He motioned at the bartender. When the harried man eased over to him, the boy leaned forward and whispered something. The bartender nodded and moved back down the bar to get someone else a drink.

  “He said something to the bartender,” she told Bass.

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “He’s just standing there, waiting. The bartender’s serving drinks.”

  Bass lifted his hand from Peyton’s shoulder and talked into the watch on his wrist. “Radar, Tank, get ready. Bambi, do you have eyes on the bar?”

  “I do,” she said. “Who am I looking for?”

  “Boy, about eighteen with brown hair, shaved on the sides, acne, wearing a Michigan State t-shirt.”

  “I got him,” she said.

  The bartender went to the cash register behind him, turning his back on the bar, and placed some bills inside, then he took something out of a slot in the drawer and came over to the boy, placing the thing on the bar and covering it with his hand. The boy set a few bills on the bar surface, took the thing under the bartender’s hand and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he walked away from the bar.