The Aztec Code

by Stephen Cole

  They’d hired a large, white van and set off mid-afternoon to get ready to intercept the truck. The boys were sat in the back of the van – Patch absorbed in his Game Boy, Motti staring out the window, and Jonah with his eyes closed. The hours awake these last few nights must finally have caught up with him, and if Tye was being honest, it was a relief. Since their disastrous talk the other night it felt like he was always hovering, trying to say something he couldn’t quite put into words. And meantime, she was trying to deal with her fears about Ramez. How long did he have left now? How was he coping, knowing the end would soon be here?

  A bump as they hit a pothole made her realise she’d been accelerating without even knowing it. The wound in her side felt tight and sore. She just wanted to get this job over and done with, to get back in Coldhardt’s good books.

  Only he could help Ramez now. If he chose to.

  ‘Become a top-class thief for a shadowy millionaire master criminal,’ Con said suddenly, shifting in the passenger seat, ‘and you too can enjoy the glamour of driving a van along the Interstate.’

  Tye glanced at her in surprise. Con never travelled in the back of a car – not since the crash that killed her parents – so Tye knew she hadn’t sat up front for the company. They had barely spoken since she’d come back.

  ‘Wishing you were somewhere else, sweets?’ Con asked lightly.

  ‘Wishing you could believe me when I say I’m glad to be back.’

  The van fell silent for a while, until Con spoke again. ‘When you accused Coldhardt of wanting to see Ramez sacrificed, of believing in this goddess … were you just angry? Or were you reading him?’

  ‘A bit of both, maybe.’ Tye considered. ‘He definitely knows more than he’s letting on. Like that freak Traynor, he didn’t bat an eye at the idea of some ancient Aztec goddess rising up from the underworld.’

  Motti snorted. ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘He told me he’d invested a lot in looking for this lost Temple of Life from Death,’ Jonah murmured. ‘Said his future depended on it.’

  Tye checked him in the rearview. His eyes were still closed. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He opened his eyes, met hers. ‘But those were his words.’

  ‘Traynor said Coldhardt’s been chasing round after relics that are linked to stretching out your life, or cheating death, for ages.’

  ‘So he doesn’t want to die,’ said Con defensively. ‘Can you blame him?’

  But is that all there is to it? Tye wondered.

  ‘Guess he is cracking on a bit,’ said Jonah.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Patch, still staring at his Game Boy. ‘Nothing’s gonna happen to him.’ He paused. ‘Or else what happens to the rest of us?’

  There was a gloomy pause in the conversation. Jonah lightened the moment. ‘Motti’ll be OK. He’s going to be a rock star.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Motti deadpanned. ‘Maybe I’ll let you all be in the video for my first single. Song’s about freaks. You’ll be perfect.’

  They journeyed on in silence for a few miles.

  ‘How long till we reach the right bit of road?’ Patch asked.

  ‘Not long,’ Motti informed them. ‘Checked out the view from that low-level satellite you hacked into, geek.’

  ‘I’m getting quite good at breaking those,’ Jonah declared.

  ‘There’s a gas station under construction coming,’ Motti went on. ‘It’s a gift for us – should give us some cover and it’s on a dead straight. We’ll see a dark red truck coming a mile off.’

  ‘Won’t the workers notice us there?’ Patch asked.

  ‘We won’t get there till they’ve knocked off, numb-nuts. We shouldn’t be disturbed.’

  ‘It’s miles ahead of exit 85, too,’ Tye added. ‘So we should intercept the truck way ahead of Sixth Sun.’

  ‘It is a shame you don’t remember its registration number,’ Con said.

  ‘Kabacra didn’t give it.’

  ‘Funny, he gave all the other details.’

  ‘I only overheard them talking.’ Tye’s fingers had tightened round the wheel. ‘He probably had the registration written down somewhere.’

  No one spoke again until the construction site came into view, white and chrome against the dusty desert red.

  ‘Slow down to sixty,’ Motti told her. ‘Big truck shouldn’t be doing more than that. Let’s time how long we’ll have to get our asses in gear once we’ve spotted the sucker.’

  Jonah counted the seconds aloud from his watch. He’d reached twenty just as she sailed past the entrance.

  Tye decided to take advantage of there being no one behind her and no one coming the other way. ‘Hang on!’ she shouted. Putting the gearstick into neutral, she turned the wheel sharp left and yanked up on the handbrake, wincing as her stitches pulled. The rear wheels locked and with a protesting screech the van began to spin through 180 degrees. Three-quarters of the way through the turn Tye shifted into first gear, released the handbrake and stamped on the accelerator. The stink of burning rubber filled the van as the tyres chewed on the asphalt. Then they were moving forwards again. Tye steered them bumpily into the site before coming to a sharp stop behind a stack of construction supplies.

  Jonah was looking a bit shaken. ‘Take it you don’t like reversing?’

  ‘Figured it was best we got in quick,’ Tye told him. ‘Never know who’s watching.’

  ‘That was cool!’ Patch enthused, though he looked clammy and pale. ‘But now I think I’m gonna –’

  Jonah frantically slid open the passenger door beside him while Motti grabbed Patch by the back of the neck. He almost hurled him out of the van – before Patch could hurl all over the front seats.

  ‘Good handling,’ Con remarked.

  ‘Me, or Motti?’ asked Tye, and was rewarded with the smallest of smiles.

  ‘Definitely Motti,’ Jonah joked, as the sounds of retching carried from outside.

  By eleven o’clock, Jonah was sure his heart must be pounding hard enough to rock the whole van. But it almost stopped altogether when a loud banging started up on the side door.

  That was Motti’s signal.

  The five of them had been wearing hardhats and fluorescent jackets all night, hoping to pass themselves off as a late shift of construction workers – clanking around with wooden pallets and shoring poles, rigging a ready-to-go instant roadblock. Now Motti, their advance lookout, must have spied the truck coming.

  ‘I can see its headlights,’ Tye confirmed. ‘We’re on.’

  ‘There’s another car just behind,’ said Con. ‘I’ll take care of whoever’s inside.’

  Patch wielded the big knife beside him. ‘Once I’ve taken care of our trucker mate.’

  ‘Get hacking, Patch,’ Jonah encouraged him.

  Patch started sawing away at the length of rope Jonah had tied, which was securing a large, teetering pile of pallets and shoring poles to the side of the van. When the rope was cut, they fell loose and tumbled out into the highway with a terrible din, blocking the carriageway. A loud hiss of pneumatic brakes carried through the night to Jonah, and a screech of tyres as the truck swerved to avoid the debris – and failed.

  With a loud smack and a crash, the truck tore into part of the barricade. As if cued, Jonah and the others sprang into action.

  ‘It’s marked “Eucalyptus!”’ Motti shouted. ‘The job’s on!’

  Holding a fresh length of rope, Jonah joined Patch as he sprinted over to the driver in the cab, while Tye took the passenger side.

  Patch yanked the driver’s door open. ‘Get out the truck!’ he hollered. ‘Move!’ But the driver – middle-aged, plump and baffled – simply sat there. ‘Bugger. He don’t talk English.’

  ‘Eu sou Portugese,’ the driver offered.

  ‘He’s from Portugal.’ Con was jogging over to the family saloon that had stopped further up the highway. ‘Try, Saia do caminhão!’

  ‘Do what? Oh, sod it.’ Patch pulled
a large pistol from his jacket pocket and aimed it at the man’s face. ‘How about, Hasta la vista, baby!’

  Jonah stared at him in horror. ‘Patch, have you gone crazy?’

  ‘Stay out of this, Jonah.’ Patch jabbed the gun at the driver and then gestured to the side of the road.

  Raising his hands, the driver made to obey – until suddenly he stopped, his face darkening. ‘Is water pistol!’ he cried.

  ‘Sod it,’ said Patch.

  The driver lunged for him, and he opened fire – squirting jet after jet in the man’s eyes and mouth. Then Motti came along and hauled the spluttering driver bodily out of the cab, holding his arms behind his back while Jonah got to work binding the man’s wrists.

  Patch smiled and blew at the barrel of his water pistol. ‘The name’s Bond. Patch Bond.’

  ‘Patch “Ass”, more like,’ Motti retorted. ‘Dumb cyclops. Get clearing this barricade.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Wouldn’t wanna cause an accident or something.’

  ‘Did you check inside the lorry, then, see what we’ve got?’ Jonah asked, pulling the last knot tight.

  ‘Couldn’t get in. But from the locks on the rear doors there, I’d say we got a hell of a lot more than eucalyptus oil loaded up inside.’ Motti frisked the driver, then scowled. ‘Where are the keys to the rear doors?’

  The driver shrugged miserably. ‘No have.’

  ‘He means it,’ said Tye. ‘He’s just the delivery man. A stooge.’

  Motti shoved the driver away from them. ‘OK, pal. Start running. Don’t stop, you get me? No pare el funcionar!’

  With a last, wholly baffled look at his attackers, the man turned and stumbled off, away from the highway, heading cross-country. And while Tye adjusted the truck driver’s seat, Jonah and Motti joined Patch in clearing the road of poles and pallets.

  Con rejoined them. ‘That was Spanish, Mot.’

  ‘Close enough.’ Motti nodded after the dwindling figure of the driver. ‘Anyway, he got the idea.’

  ‘He probably just thinks we’re a bunch of escaped psychos and can’t wait to get the hell away,’ Jonah decided, dragging a wooden pallet over to the layby. ‘Con, did you deal with the driver of that car behind?’ But even as he spoke, he saw it was carefully manoeuvring past the lorry, the man at the wheel casually continuing his journey. ‘Guess you did.’

  ‘He will remember nothing of this incident. In five minutes he will pull over and call the police, alerting them to a major incident a few miles from exit 85.’ She smiled wickedly. ‘Many police cars might make our Sixth Sun friends feel uncomfortable, no?’

  Motti grinned. ‘Nice work.’ He looked up at Tye in the cab. ‘The front fender’s screwed but no other damage. Can you drive her?’

  ‘Get inside and see,’ she suggested, as the engine roared back into life.

  Traffic was starting to gather behind them now, and a few drivers were hitting their horns. Con smiled and held up her hands to them in apology while the others piled inside the cab. Then she jumped aboard herself, squeezing on to the seat beside Jonah. ‘We did it!’ she shouted.

  ‘Piece of cake,’ Motti agreed.

  Patch cheerfully squirted Jonah with his water pistol. ‘Like shooting fish in a barrel.’

  Tye swung the big wheel round and suddenly the rig was off. They did a U-turn and were soon speeding back the way they had come, heading for home.

  Jonah wiped the water from his face. ‘You don’t think it was too easy, do you?’

  ‘Here we go,’ sighed Motti. ‘The king of doom.’

  ‘I mean, that driver was a pushover, he barely put up a struggle,’ Jonah argued. ‘Would you put a guy like that in charge of a valuable cargo without any backup?’

  ‘Not unless I was stupid. But maybe his bosses are stupid. Must be why Kabacra targeted them.’

  ‘It isn’t far to Gallup,’ said Tye. ‘A few miles. Then we can see what we’ve stolen and let Coldhardt know.’

  Jonah nodded, still feeling apprehensive. The plan now was to dump this truck just outside the small town and – if Coldhardt approved of the cargo – to transfer it across to another rig Motti had hired from a haulage depot.

  After what felt like ages, Motti motioned Tye to take an unmarked exit. ‘The depot should be off here.’

  Soon, the truck was rumbling into a sprawling, apparently deserted industrial estate. They parked outside the depot, and Con went out to convince the night watchman into letting them switch transports without paperwork or awkward questions.

  Patch was looking a bit green after the journey, and Motti shoved him out of the cab quick. ‘Get busy with the locks, cyclops. Sooner we’re away and done, the better.’

  Feeling he could use a bit of fresh air himself, Jonah went outside with him. The night was cloudy and moonless, the only light coming from a couple of dim streetlamps further down the road.

  There was a heavy padlock and chain securing the lorry’s back doors. Patch hoiked out his glass eye from beneath his scrap of leather and extracted his tools.

  ‘Should be a piece of cake, shouldn’t it?’ Jonah observed.

  He shook his head. ‘That padlock’s a tricky sod. Multiple combination type – twenty-five possible ways to turn the tumblers, but only one unlocks it. Get the wrong one, the inner workings collapse and you ain’t getting in without serious cutting gear.’ He approached the padlock. ‘G’is a bunk up, then.’

  Jonah made a stirrup with his hands and took the boy’s weight. Patch pressed his ear up against the lock and gently fed in his pick and torque wrench. A few seconds later, the padlock sprang open and he jumped down.

  ‘Wa-hey!’ Jonah clapped his hands together, both applauding Patch and wiping them clean. ‘Thought you said it was tricky?’

  Patch grinned and popped his eye back into place. ‘To anyone who’s not a complete genius, yeah.’

  Together they pulled the chains away from the doors. Tye came round the back to join them, followed by Motti. ‘What have we got, then?’ she asked.

  Jonah turned the stiff handles and opened up the doors. A pale white light flicked on, illuminating the spacious hold. Not that there was very much to see.

  ‘Oh God,’ Tye breathed. ‘Don’t tell me it’s empty.’

  Motti climbed up and went inside. ‘No. There’s something here right at the back. A couple of metal boxes.’

  Intrigued, Jonah scrambled up to see for himself. But he found Motti standing some way back from the two boxes, pointing, apparently speechless for once. ‘Geek, do those signs mean what I think they mean?’

  He peered at the cases. Each was marked with lurid yellow stickers, a black circle flanked by three black triangles. Hazard warnings.

  ‘They’re well shielded,’ Jonah muttered. ‘This stuff must be radioactive or something.’

  Motti nodded. ‘What the hell are we on to here? What would Sixth Sun want with crap like that?’

  Tye had come up behind them. ‘Maybe it’s a trick, meant to put us off opening them.’

  ‘It’s working,’ Jonah assured her.

  ‘She could be right.’ Motti took a step closer to the boxes. ‘Kabacra’s goodies are locked up in a shutdown nuclear plant, he’s bound to have some old crates lying around.’

  ‘Yeah, but we also know he’s dealt in plutonium and stuff.’ Jonah wiped his sweaty palms through his hair. ‘This whole set-up is dodgy!’

  Motti knelt in front of the cases to examine them more closely. ‘I’ll bet it’s a trick. Why the hell would anyone wanna go transporting nuclear rods in a eucalyptus truck?’

  ‘Uh, guys?’ Patch was peering in worriedly. ‘We might have company. Chopper out here. With lights.’

  Everyone fell quiet, and heard the approaching drone. Jonah went to see, legs trembling, heart thumping.

  ‘Must be the cops,’ said Motti, stomping back across the truck’s hold to see. ‘I bet they picked up the driver.’

  Tye’s braids bounced about as she shook her head, peering up at the helicopter, which
was dropping steadily from the sky. ‘Looks unmarked.’

  ‘Wait a sec.’ Jonah swore. ‘Of course! Kabacra didn’t give Sixth Sun the registration number of this truck because there was no point. They wouldn’t have been able to see it – not from the air! That’s why he gave them the colour and the brand name and stuff.’

  Patch pointed at the helicopter, his one eye wide. ‘You think it’s them?’

  ‘We know they got a chopper,’ said Motti.

  ‘And we thought a big truck would mean a big cargo. But Traynor can snatch it and be away in minutes with that thing.’ Tye slammed her fist against the side of the lorry. ‘The truck didn’t pass the exit when it was meant to, so they’ve come looking.’

  The helicopter’s approach made a grinding, raucous din, shattering the quiet of the darkness as it came in to hover over the roof of the three-storey depot. A blinding white light shone down from its underside, bleaching the street. Motti, Jonah and Tye scrambled down from the back of the lorry and ran round to the far side where they were shielded from view.

  ‘Tye, get back in the cab and start her up,’ Motti hissed. ‘Whatever’s in these cases, we ain’t letting those bastards get it.’

  She made to go but Jonah caught hold of her arm. ‘I hate to point it out, but Sixth Sun must be prepared to hijack a moving lorry. They’ll be ready for us!’

  ‘Then we’ll have to get some place populated, where they won’t dare try anything.’ Tye pulled away from him, ran round and opened the cab door. ‘And fast.’

  ‘Go with her, cyclops,’ Motti told Patch. ‘The two of you take off. Now.’

  ‘And what do the rest of us do, Mot?’ Jonah demanded as Patch ran off. ‘Throw sticks and stones at the ’copter?’

  ‘Con’s gotta be ready with the other truck by now. We leave in that, fast – and hope they think we’ve had time to switch the cargo. They won’t know which of us to follow – and we can give them the slip.’

  ‘You ever driven a lorry before?’

  ‘Looks like there’s gonna be a first time.’

  The red truck’s engine roared into life and Tye pulled away. Jonah and Motti were exposed again, swamped in blinding brightness as they sprinted towards the depot car park. The lorry they’d hired now stood in its centre. Con was cowering in its thick black shadow as the chopper swooped down overhead.