White Bird (A Mayan 2012 Thriller)

by Tom Rich

  Avendano Xaman was lowered to the floor and placed on his knees. One of the costumed soldiers removed Avendano’s headdress. Avendano was pushed forward and his head placed in the Ch’ak of Ukit Took.

  Felix took Avendano’s shaking hand and placed it on the lever.

  Avendano fulfilled his role.

  In the first instant the headless body rose upright on its knees. A torrent of blood gushed from the neck. Two soldiers directed the body so that blood spilled over the ch’ak and followed the head into the ol. A moment later the body went limp.

  One by one the Army of the People of the Maize looked to the blank stela.

  No one noticed that Lydell Wade had risen to his feet. Not until he said, “L.T. my only superhero.” He looked down at Antony. “Son, I’m gonna prove to your mamma I ain’t no liar.” Lydell let out a scream and lowered his head. He churned his shoulders and charged the guard with the gun. The collision knocked the weapon from the guard and put him on the floor. But Lydell didn’t stop for the gun. The tackle barely slowed him. He spread his arms like an eagle swooping on its prey and hit two of the soldiers standing in front of the ol. He took them and the Ch’ak of Ukit Took down the shaft.

  A stunned silence filled the room. One of the soldiers groaned.

  Felix drew his pistol and charged the captives.

  Nomar screamed after him. He ran up from behind and grabbed Felix by a shoulder. He whispered into Felix’s ear.

  Felix jerked his shoulder from Nomar’s hand. “You should only be so fortunate as to have me shoot you,” he said, waving the pistol between to the four remaining captives.

  “Woody just wanted to make a movie,” pleaded Sylvie. “Why does that make you want to kill everybody?”

  “You brought this on,” Felix said, aiming the gun at Aly. “You should have stayed out of my world.”

  “You’re right,” said Aly. “You are so, so right.”

  Nomar spoke into his radio. Felix froze his captives with an angry glare.

  Aly felt the situation hopeless. She decided her best option was to come up with a smartass comment to incite Felix to raise his pistol and shoot her through the forehead like Nomar shooting the man back at Clove’s.

  Two soldiers arrived on the elevator carrying rappelling equipment. Felix directed them to hook in and drop down the ol.

  The Ch’ak of Ukit Took was brought up in pieces, and Aly was glad for that. No way the artifact that had gotten her into this predicament could be used on her now. Still, there were plenty of other devices at hand for ritual killing. If only she could come up with the wise crack of all time to hasten her end. She’d certainly learned enough about Felix’s culture to know how to get under his skin.

  The bodies of the two soldiers came up next.

  Aly could see the soldiers were dead.

  And that their comrades were saddened.

  Until now, the movements of the soldiers had been crisp, each motion carried out with purpose and without waste, as if they had been drilled a thousand times on every contingency. What a thing to see: cold-blooded killers with enough heart to show grief. Or are they slumping with the defeat of failure. Felix must have told them about the ch’ak being found with the blade up. And no bones beneath it.

  So there was one small triumph Aly could revel in before they killed her. The end of the world? How presumptuous. It’s only the end for these people. And I’ve provided the evidence that Ukit Took never fulfilled his role. My last words might not be witty, but pointing out that their entire reason for existence has been a sham for centuries might provoke enough of a knee jerk to facilitate a quick finish.

  The head of Avendano Xaman came up last. Except for the one remaining body, the emptying of the ol was completed in less than ten minutes.

  Felix went into an alcove. He came out and stood over the captives. He made a grand display of deciding which of the obsidian blades he held would best serve his purpose. He took a long look at Pelfry, who continued to fade in and out of consciousness. Felix gestured for two soldiers to hold down Antony. They ripped open his shirt and exposed his chest. Antony appeared resigned to his fate.

  Now is the time. Jump up and provoke this man who knows that I know secrets about his culture that he doesn’t. And Aly wondered about that. How did Felix know she wasn’t lying about the blade and the bones? She wasn’t, but how did he know that? Was there some latent gullibility at work in this man’s belief system because, at heart, he was nothing more than an unsophisticated peasant tied to the land? Or had their shared experiences taught Felix something about Aly that she herself didn’t know?

  Aly Roarke rose to her feet. “Felix. Think about what you’re doing.”

  “I should cut your throat where you stand,” lashed Felix. “What do you know of what I am doing?”

  What did she know about anything? She knew that she could not revel in the defeat of these people. “All the blood that’s been spilled in here.” Aly glanced at the bodies of Franz and Breeze. “All the blood that’s not of the People of the Maize. The man you shot downstairs.” She pointed at Paxton. “His blood was still running in the elevator. The other man. His mouth was bloody when he came up. That’s why the story of Ukit Took won’t appear on the stela. Their blood made the ol impure.”

  Felix swiped his empty hand close to Aly’s face. “Or is it because you and Phillip Arbanian defiled the Temple of Ukit Took?”

  Aly lowered her eyes. “That’s true. I know it is. You tell me if there’s any way I can change that. I’ll submit to whatever you want. But to kill these other people, that’s only blind…” She looked deep into Felix’s eyes, deep into the past where Fishhook existed. “Is it really your intention to repeat the actions of Governor Bustillo? And to disgrace the legacy of the Winaq who worked so hard to save a man who only wanted to stop the killing?”

  Felix’s eyes widened. He narrowed them, fiercely. “I see you are as adept at appropriating our history as you are our artifacts.”

  “I had no idea about the smuggled artifacts. I didn’t, really. I was just there for…” Aly sensed that showing at least a small bit of her “impertinence” was necessary for this man to not doubt her sincerity, “…you know, a hot yam and a, ‘Hi, Honey, how was your day?’” She paused two seconds, noted no reaction, then continued. “But I know where the temple is, where your people—The People—are gathering to wait for the end of the Fourth Creation. So kill me here, kill me there, do whatever it takes to keep the secret safe. That’s my law. I’ll prove it to you with my life. That’s all I have.”

  Felix stared into Aly’s eyes. Nothing about his eyes existed in the moment.

  Nomar leaned in and whispered in Felix’s ear.

  Felix listened for a moment, then shook his head.

  Nomar’s whisper gave way to voice: “Kam xib yuyum.” He went to Sylvie and grabbed a handful of her yellow hair.

  Felix looked unconvinced.

  Nomar kneeled down and tapped Antony’s exposed chest. “Ek tan picdozy.”

  Felix stiffened.

  Nomar pointed at Pelfry’s red sweatshirt. “Kam tan picdozy.”

  A light passed over Felix’s face. He took a step back. His jaw clenched— Fishhook’s jaw clenched—and he thrust his shaking chin forward. His voice cracked as he said to Aly, “Sac chic.”

  Aly recognized the words the old storyteller on the mountain had yelled at her.

  Fishhook’s emotions passed. He became the gargoyle Aly saw standing on top of Ukit Took’s pyramid. He said, “Your life and the others’ are to be spared.” He was animate only the few seconds it took to speak. Then he withdrew behind his scar; withdrew into another time.

  Tencho! was Aly’s first thought. On the ride in from Cincinnati Aly was cursing Tencho for having set her up. But now… He’d gone to great lengths to make certain she’d heard the stories of Ukit Took and Ciriaca. Why? Did he know she would need those stories to save herself? Maybe he wasn’t fully behind the cause of Felix and Nomar. Maybe he want
ed the same ends but didn’t approve of their means. Maybe his family wasn’t waiting for him in El Estor, but was being held by the militant faction of the Winaq so he would do their bidding. Or the family was a lie, and Tencho was the groom in the sad tale he told on the mountain, and somehow he saw something of his bride in me, so he gave me something to save myself.

  That would be Aly’s belief. For now, anyway. Believing in the goodness of Tencho was a way for her to believe that he and his people would endure.

  And by believing such, Aly Roarke could send hope on the wind to the gathering descendants of Ciriaca’s people.

  Fishhook once again became Felix. He turned from Aly and went to Jeffery Paxton. “You feel compelled to remain loyal to the rich man in his death?”

  “Well, don’t you know me,” said Paxton. “Just now I’m like a Doberman without a master.”

  Felix turned and motioned. His people began to pack it all up.

  Sylvie put her arms around Antony’s shoulders and pulled his head onto her lap.

  Aly noticed Sylvie begin to shake much like she was shivering when they’d first met that morning—such a long, long time ago.

  Aly knelt down to see what she could do for Jones Pelfry.

  After ten minutes, besides the four surviving captives, only Felix, two soldiers, and Paxton remained. Gone were the ch’ak, the blank stela, the two dead soldiers, and the corpse and head of Avendano Xaman. Felix had the soldiers put Paxton onto the elevator. He then boarded.

  Fishhook looked at Aly. “Do not make the mistake of the rich man Franz. He failed to heed my warning to stay out of my world. See the result.” He swept his hand at the room. The elevator door closed: the gore from Kurtwood Franz now spread thin and wide.

  Two men lay dead on the floor. The man at the bottom of the shaft was probably dead. Aly thought about the people back in Cincinnati. She had no idea if Trish, Clove and Pig were dead or alive. One man inside Clove’s was dead for sure. And probably whoever had tried to escape through the back door. Had the bombs gone off? Aly suspected that was only a bluff to facilitate a clean getaway. But there were also the two murdered boys, not to mention the dead Xaman brothers, the two soldiers, Phillip Arbanian, and who knew who else might have been caught in the wake.

  All because Kurtwood Franz wanted to make a movie.

  ~ ~ ~

  Felix and Nomar collected their people from the garage and the grounds below. They parked the nine Jaguar coupes in a tight formation away from the building. Two of the trunks were popped open and gasoline containers were removed. Just as two circling planes dropped out of the night sky and onto the empty parking lots, the cars were doused and set aflame.

  The Army of the People of the Maize boarded the planes with their artifacts, their dead, and Jeffery Paxton, and climbed into the sky. They disappeared into a crease in the night, the inferno of automobiles raging below.

  45: “Haven’t we met?”

  “Delucia! Delucia!” cried the little girl. “You must come out now. The Spanish priest says it is time to hear his Bible stories.”

  The first ray of dawn illuminated the dew gathered inside a bromelia flower. A wasp flew out, having had its morning drink.

  In the dawn, the Sun is reborn each day, and so are all the creatures that live in its light. Ix Chel, the god who lives in the rainbow, touches the forehead of all newborns to remove the terrible pain of birth and replace it with innocence.

  “Delucia! Wake up, please.”

  The forest, awakening in increments, reached the moment when all sounds, near and distant, gentle and ferocious drew into a single note.

  A small hand appeared from beneath the footbridge. A head emerged, face down. Delucia crawled out. Though she was but a child, she struggled to stand against the stiffness caused by her cramped sleeping quarters. She held herself, shivering with cold. Sleep had not yet decided if it was ready to leave her eyes. Her mouth trembled with worry whether it was reasonable to accept the possibilities of a new day. “Who are you?” she said.

  “Ciriaca.”

  “Oh.”

  In the time of a bitten sun, Ix Chel cannot see to bestow his innocence, and all that are born know only pain.

  Ciriaca wiped a bit of mud from Delucia’s face.

  If only the people could hide behind mud, and not the false brilliance of Seven Macaw.

  Delucia’s chin crinkled. Her mouth grew taut. Ciriaca took her eyes from Delucia’s and looked to the opening from which she had crawled. The fierceness of Ciriaca’s gaze caused Delucia to lift her chin.

  “Aren’t you afraid being alone in there all night?” said Ciriaca.

  “Oh, no,” said Delucia. “I have many friends who visit me in the night.”

  “Oh?”

  The slumber left Delucia’s eyes. They became wide and bright. “Yes. Last night there came three Saracens wearing white turbans with red rubies in their centers. And a white knight on a steed who battles black knights to rescue ladies who wear long, flowing gowns and strings of precious stones around their necks they call diamonds. Sometimes the white knight dances all night with his ladies. They never grow weary. And they have other ladies who attend them and who brush their hair and braid it with fragrant flowers.

  Ciriaca shook her head, not understanding. “Were you dreaming when I woke you just now?”

  Delucia thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”

  Ciriaca put a hand on Delucia’s shoulder trying to channel the morning sun to stop the shivering. Delucia smiled.

  “Hurry, or we will be late,” said Ciriaca. She turned and ran.

  Delucia followed. “There is also a Moor who comes. His skin is black as the night. He performs magic by making the animals of the forest talk like humans.”

  Delucia was falling behind the swifter Ciriaca.

  Ciriaca wanted to keep running: keep running, running, running away from the pity welling inside.

  “And there is a boy wearing a crown of leaves and flowers who has an instrument that can imitate the music of birds.”

  Delucia’s voice grew faint and distant. Then Ciriaca heard Delucia say the boy wearing the crown was going to bring her a tiara made of diamonds, and Ciriaca’s heart grew so heavy that she could no longer run. In a moment, Delucia was standing behind her, panting.

  Ciriaca spun around. “You have to remember the other stories. Our stories.”

  Delucia’s head snapped back. The running had done little to stop her shivering. She crossed her arms and brought her fists up to her chin. “Oh, but Lady Blood visits me, too. And she knows where is hidden all the maize that our people cannot find. When she tells me where it is, I will share it with you.”

  Ciriaca felt glad she was out of breath; it kept her from falling into tears. She gathered Delucia into her arms.

  Ciriaca kept an arm around Delucia as they walked, hoping to stop the shivering, lest Delucia be punished for appearing to fear the stories of the false sun they were about to hear.

  Delucia’s head fell to Ciriaca’s shoulder.

  EPILOGUE: Now the Sun is Bitten

  When the FBI found Kurtwood Franz’s unfinished screenplay, it was filled with numerous comments attributed to Kenneth Fabritzi. Every comment was dated, and if had been made in person, would place Breeze in Indianapolis at the time the two boys were murdered. No witnesses in Indianapolis could be found to confirm as much, so the decision was made to scour the Oregon coast in the effort to establish Fabritzi’s whereabouts at the time of the murders. Fabritzi died the night he received his wounds.

  Pistol Pete, whose real name was Curtis Place, was an old friend of Kurtwood Franz from the days they played high school basketball with Melvin Weeks. Place gave himself the nickname “Pistol Pete” because Pete Maravich was his role model as a player. Soon after Franz opened his world headquarters, he hired the jobless Place as head of security. Because Franz felt his building was secure enough by design, his nighttime security force, mostly retired relatives of employees, were not prov
ided arms. Place was grateful to Franz for the token job and the overly generous salary, so he often made himself useful in any way possible. For that reason he was in Franz’s penthouse helping coordinate the second effort to locate Sylvie Averling. As it was, Sylvie happened to be in Franz World Headquarters at the time two soldiers entered the penthouse. Because Place had long ago lost the touch that allowed him to put a basketball through a hoop, the kids he coached at Helping Handz joked that his nickname must come from the handgun he kept hidden on his person. Place grew to like that idea and, unbeknownst to Franz, began keeping a loaded pistol concealed under his uniform. When the two soldiers bearing automatic weapons charged off the elevator and into the penthouse, Place drew his pistol. He was immediately shot to death. Otherwise, he may have survived the evening.

  Lydell Wade died of injuries resulting from his plunge down the empty shaft.

  Antony Phillips, whose surliness and bravado were exposed to himself as phony tools that had no use in the real world, vowed to become a leader in honor of Lydell Wade, the man he attributed to saving his life. It was Antony’s plan to ride hard his fellows at Helping Handz into make something of themselves. But Antony continued to succumb to fits of uncontrollable shaking, which he found to be humiliating. Ten days after the assault upon Franz World Headquarters, Antony disappeared from everyone who knew him.

  On the night of the assault, a night watchman spotted the burning cars and called the fire department. By the time the authorities managed to gain access to the thirteenth floor to free the surviving captives and begin piecing together the evening, Sylvie Averling had let loose of whatever held her together during the ordeal. She collapsed into a complete mental breakdown, and was admitted to a local hospital. Two days later, she was collected by her agent and taken to a private clinic that specialized in substance abuse and fending off the media. Only the FBI, awaiting her recovery so as to aid in their efforts to apprehend Felix de la Paz and Nomar Hernandez, long suspected drug dealers now wanted for acts of terrorism, knew of her whereabouts.