He picked up the phone to call his boss. “Yeah, we got a breach. Three unknowns came in from the jungle, laid some explosives, then disappeared and triggered them. The gate is toast.”
“Hell should I know? It could be a diversion, but we don't wanna leave it unprotected.”
“I know we're short-handed, but do you wanna be the one to call Cimil and tell him we're abandoning the place? We need two guys to go check it out.”
He hung up the phone.
Three minutes later, Andrea, Simon and Crowder arrived at the second hidden door, a camouflaged portal barely visible unless you were on top of it. Simon and Crowder looked at the Blackberry as they caught their breath.
Crowder said, “A couple guys just poked their heads outta the wreckage at the gate. Still no movement down by the other door, so I think we're good there. Are we ready to blow it?”
Andrea peered through the canopy of foliage. Nothing moved. Something nagged at the back of her mind.
“I dunno, something feels off, I just can't place it.”
Simon looked up from the Blackberry. “Well, you've spent years protecting the place and now we're blowing it up. That's gotta feel different.”
“Yeah, but that's not it. I think maybe I expected more than two guys investigating the main gate.”
“Maybe there's more and they're hanging back.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they didn't buy our diversion.”
Simon removed the detonator from his pack. “That's why we have diversion number two. At worst, someone'll see us on the camera, but you said we only need about thirty seconds inside before the halls start to branch off and they'll have trouble finding us.”
“Yeah, you're right. Let 'er rip.”
Simon handed the Blackberry to Andrea. Then he squeezed the button on the detonator. Crowder watched over her shoulder and let out a slow whistle as the tiny screen showed the bottom of the first door ripping apart. He looked at Simon.
“We give it one minute, right?”
Simon nodded. “Just enough time that any guards down here will be called away.”
Andrea said, “Or so we hope. If I was still in charge, I'd leave two guys down there no matter what.”
Crowder shook his head. “All due respect, I don't think any of us woulda sent someone down here when the main gate blew. We'd have readied a team to go to one of the doors in case the gate was a diversion. Maybe someone'll get here in the next five minutes, but I'll bet my pension no one's there now.”
Simon looked at his watch. “It's time. And we're betting more than our pensions. I know it's a cliché, but unless it's the President, shoot first and ask questions later.”
If the voice from behind them had spoken two seconds later, they'd have already hurdled the bushes. Primed as they were for action, the unexpected sound provided extra surprise. The words were quite simple.
“Nice of you to finally come back for me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
December 13th, 2012
“Mr. Gonzales, my government is very concerned.” Ramaz Arveladze's voice over the phone betrayed little of the trepidation churning in his gut. He spoke over an encrypted line, and in theory the origin of the call in Tbilisi would be muddled by a series of relays. He remained aware that true privacy and secrecy are no longer compatible with any sort of electronic communication.
“Prime Minister, an actual explosion was always a possibility. But things are proceeding quite well.”
“Possibly your people do not define that phrase in the same manner we do. We were led to believe that this was the most remote of options. Surely this has gone beyond a deterrent.”
“Be that as it may, you can rest easy. America will of course know the nuke is Soviet, but they will have no idea about the involvement of your government.”
Arveladze finally lost his equilibrium. “No idea? Cimil's face has been plastered on every television set in the world for twenty-four hours. The Guatemalans will sell him out quicker than an informant facing the KGB. How long before they track that ship?”
“That is not likely. The Americans have a lot to deal with, and they are far more likely to run off half-cocked like they did after 9/11 than to be methodical. They'll target Guatemala first.”
“I'd feel a lot better about the term ‘not likely’ if that wasn't what you'd said about the chances of an explosion. Are we supposed to sit here and hope nothing happens?”
“Mr. Arveladze, your goal in this whole endeavor was Western instability with nothing traced back to you. I would suggest you're looking at just that. How you choose to take advantage of it is your business. I believe our transaction is complete, and we need not speak again on this matter. Good day.”
“Gonzales, you—” He stopped, knowing the other man had broken the connection. His hands trembled as he put the phone down. He took a deep breath as he looked up at the other men around the table who had been listening to the conversation.
“I think we're on our own.”
A harsh laugh escaped the President of Georgia's lips, though his face changed little. “We always have been. I suspect we would have been better off acknowledging that all along. But we scarcely had a choice. I doubt we could have prevented any of it, even if we blabbed to the Americans when we were first approached. In any case, we do have a choice now.”
Despite the use of the word “we,” Arveladze knew that he would take the most blame. Gonzales had chosen to contact him, and he would forever be associated with the eventual outcome. He had one chance to salvage his career and perhaps even his life.
“We don't have a choice, do we? If it comes back to us, we will be at war. And not a war by proxy, but a national struggle. A war where both sides will lose. We have only one possible way to avoid that. Call the American Vice President right now and tell him everything. At least, the version of everything most favorable to us.”
The President's expression gave nothing away. Arveladze peered at the others around the table, hoping to pick up some support. It seemed an eternity before a head bobbed in agreement, followed by several others. When the President spoke, he also nodded.
“Arveladze is correct. And there's something else. I received a communication from the American Vice President less than an hour ago. He requested an urgent call to discuss matters related to the incident in the western part of the United States. I suspect they know quite a bit already, so we need to come clean. The Americans may rattle their sabers, but if we are forthcoming, they will not hold us responsible. We will be expected to turn over General Surgulvilli, but I assume no one in this room has a problem with that, or even feels inclined to give him a warning.”
The lack of response confirmed agreement. “Very well, I will make the call right now. Vice President Davidson strikes me as a reasonable man.”
“What do we do if the Americans decide to hold us fully responsible?” One of the others present spoke for the first time.
“In that case,” the President looked directly at Arveladze, “we may have to sacrifice someone else as well.”
Arveladze swallowed and felt beads of sweat on his forehead. He dared not wipe them off with the back of his hand. The President picked up the phone and dialed a number. Five minutes after he explained to an aide what he wanted, acting U.S. President Oscar Lowell Davidson came on the line.
“I take it you received my communication. Perhaps you have something to share with me regarding the unfortunate incident in one of our western states.”
“As it happens, I do. I have several members of our cabinet on speaker-phone, as I want you to understand how seriously my government takes what you are about to hear.”
“Spit it out, then.”
“We have determined who sold the weapons to the Guatemalans.”
Silence spread across the line like a suffocating blanket. Finally, Davidson responded. “One of yours?”
“General Surgulvilli.”
“Ah. That matches our intelligence, although I have to sa
y there is little evidence that your government did anything to dissuade him. You can imagine the pressure I'm getting here to deal with the people ultimately responsible. Why shouldn't we consider that to be your government?”
“You couldn't be faulted for doing that. But you have my word that while we knew about Surgulvilli's arms-dealing, we did not know the scope of his ambition until it was far too late. That we did not notify you immediately upon discovering the transaction with Cimil is something for which my government is truly sorry.”
“Sorry? Sounds more like you're upset you got caught. The American people are screaming for blood, and I don't think they care whose. The Guatemalan government has specifically offered to put Cimil to death by firing squad after he is captured, on video for everyone to see, no less. Are you prepared to give us General Surgulvilli?”
“We would not make so public an offer, but we can either make him disappear or allow you to do it.”
“Let me talk to some people and get back to you on that. I appreciate the call, but it may be too little too late. Oh, there's one more question I have.”
“We will answer it if we can.”
“The biggest concern in all this is something we suspected and you just confirmed. I believe you referred to ‘weapons,’ plural.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
December 13th, 2012: Guatemala
“Nice of you to finally come back for me.”
Andrea and Crowder whirled, guns drawn. Simon didn't turn, but he did raise his voice. “Andrea, Mike don't shoot!”
They held their fire, and he turned to look at Jaime Cortez. The diminutive Maya stood with his hands high in the air, a grin on his face.
“Well, Jim, we figured you were dead until we intercepted the call to Cimil. After that, we didn't know what to think.”
“Hey, I know what you're sayin'. When it all went to hell, I hid in the jungle. Nothing I could do against those goons. I figured I'd go get help, but by the time I made it back to a phone, I got worried. Somethin' like this goes down and everyone plays the blame game. I'm too easy a target. And Richards, she's nuts. Loco en cabeza. So I figured I'd stay down here, disappear with my family and see what I could drum up on Cimil myself.”
Andrea raised her weapon, a scowl on her face. “Why should we believe you?”
He laughed. “I seem to recall you leading a team of guys that killed Secret Service agents. Not to mention Felix Rostan. Why should anyone trust you either?”
Simon put up his hands. “Listen, people, we need to calm down. If Jaime was working with Cimil, wouldn't we already be in custody or dead? You think Cimil sent him to take us out by himself? That said … ” He looked at Cortez. “I'm not inclined to turn my back on you any time soon. What was that phone call about, anyway?”
“I spent some time in the jungle here, watching the compound. But it was too dangerous with the scattered patrols. I called Cimil and spoke to him in that old Ch'olan dialect, figuring I might convince him to meet with me. I told him I found some glyphs with new information about the Fifth World. He sounded interested, and agreed to meet, but then he never showed up. I did follow Ms. Schmidt here—if that's her real name—out to that small temple in Chelemha. I haven't seen that kind of thing since I was a small child.”
Andrea shook her head. “He's lying. No way anyone followed me.”
The smile disappeared from Cortez' face. “You took a very indirect route to get there. You want me to describe it? Or how Cimil's two guys took you by surprise?”
Andrea said nothing, and Cortez continued. “I figured I wouldn't get close to Cimil. But I mingled with the crowd in the courtyard and went with them through the trails back to their cars and buses. One group was from only two villages away from where my family lives.
“A few days later, I went to the village on their biggest market day, a time when it wouldn't be unusual for me to be there. I recognized a couple of the people from Cimil's gathering and struck up a conversation. I slipped in a reference to the Fifth World and they started talking. Something about the first sign coming on the last Chuwen.”
“Chuwen?” Andrea's curiosity overcame her doubts about Cortez, at least temporarily. He flashed his grin and exaggerated his accent.
“Si Senorita. Chuwen is a day of the week, although Maya weeks are kinda complicated—thirteen days, but twenty day names. All you need to know is that the last Chuwen before the coming of the Fifth World was December Twelfth. Yesterday. I'd say there was a pretty big sign.
“This was all less than a week ago. In hindsight, I should have called you. But I was hoping to get more information. I didn't expect …”
His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat. “I screwed up. But I can tell you one thing. Cimil is not here. As soon as they came on the TV, I headed back over here. No one's showed up, not even a patrol. Except for you guys.”
Crowder looked at his watch. “I don't wanna interrupt the reunion, but are we goin' in or not? Our window is just about shot.”
Simon looked at Cortez. “Do you know where Cimil is?”
Cortez shook his head.
“Then we go in.” He looked at Andrea. “You want him with us where we can watch him, or out here?”
“They say keep your enemies close, or something like that.” She took out her Sig pistol and handed it to Cortez.
“You can't go in without a gun. You know how to use this?”
He nodded.
“Okay, then, Mike here is gonna bring up the rear, so don't go pointing it anywhere that makes him nervous. Got it?”
“Sure, sure. What's the plan exactly?”
They all looked at Simon.
“We gotta capture someone who knows where Cimil is and make 'em talk. We were gonna head for the security control room anyway, to take out their eyes and ears. Either it'll be manned and we can squeeze the guy, or we can set up an ambush when someone comes to check out what's wrong.”
Scanning their faces, he saw no dissent. He motioned to Andrea to lead the way. For the second time in five minutes, they poised to rush the camouflaged door.
They met no resistance on the way to the control room. At one point, Andrea whispered that she couldn't believe it, and worried that they might be walking into a trap. Simon suggested that it meant Cortez was telling the truth. She shrugged and they continued to move through the compound.
The door to the control room still moved slightly on its hinges. Someone had left it open recently. They glanced at a figure sitting behind a bank of monitors, not the disinterested stereotype of a guard, but a man sitting up and watching the screens with purpose. He wore a black headset with the attached mike under his mouth, although he didn't appear to be speaking.
Simon signaled to Andrea that she should go in and he would cover her. She jumped through the doorway and spoke in Spanish. “Hands where I can see them.”
The guard was good. Almost in one motion, he raised his hands along the bank of monitors and then shot his right hand out to the side. Andrea fired once, and the guard screamed as his hand jerked sideways. The hidden pistol clattered to the floor a moment before blood erupted from his damaged radial artery. He held his right arm close to his chest, teeth bared in a mask of anger and pain.
“Christ, Juan, you're an idiot. On the ground, now!”
He lowered himself to the floor, wincing. Simon jumped past Andrea and stuck a knee into the guy's back, Sig pressed into his neck. Crowder and Cortez remained inside the doorway. Andrea crouched down and reached for his head, pulling it sideways to meet her gaze.
“We're pressed for time, so answer our questions and we won't do anything more than knock you out. Where is Cimil?”
Juan's eyebrows went up and his mouth hung open. Then he closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut.
“Fine. Simon, cut his balls off.”
Simon pulled out his knife and sliced through the man's jeans at the hip. He dragged the blade across the hip-flexor, drawing blood.
“Come on, J
uan, I used to be your boss. I know you can't take the sight of your own blood. How will you handle your cajones shoved in your face?”
Juan's body shook, and tears started down his face. “I'm a dead man either way. Cimil's gone to Chelemha.”
“Where in Chelemha? That's a—”
“Get down!”
Crowder's voice silenced her as he dived into the hallway, rolling and then firing three shots. Simon rammed his elbow into Juan's neck, and the guard's eyes moved into unconsciousness. Andrea and Cortez dropped into a crouch, and Andrea peered around the door frame. Crowder lay in a classic prone firing position scanning the area. His breath came in heavy exhalations. Two bodies were crumpled on the floor, blood dripping from bullet holes in their heads.
“I got 'em both. Did we get what we needed?”
Andrea looked back at Simon, who shook his head. “This guy'll be out for a little while. I couldn't take a chance on him coming to while we were under attack.”
Cortez said, “I know where he's talking about. The Chelemha Cloud Forest is supposedly where they found the Dresden Codex, the Mayan glyphs that gave us the exact dates of the Fifth World. There's no real evidence, but among those who still practice the old ways, there are a couple of hidden temples in Chelemha that are closely tied to the Fifth World.”
“If they're hidden, how can we find 'em? It was hard enough to follow Cimil when I had a tracking device on him.”
Cortez furrowed his brow. “Hmm, I'm sure there are some people in my village who would have an idea. But you're right, I don't know exactly where.”
Simon stood up. “Let me ask you this, Andrea. Do you think Cimil found the transmitter you had on his costume?”
“I …” She stopped. “Hmm, He may not have. I only activated it a week ago and the battery should last at least a month. And you know, the tracker I used is somewhere in one of these cabinets here.” She reached for the handle on a metal cabinet, doors clanging open. She repeated the action on a second and then a third before reaching for a small device that looked like a hand-held video game. Simon and Cortez looked over her shoulder. Crowder got to his feet, but remained in the hallway watching for more guards.
The Mayan Legacy Page 20