The Mayan Legacy (A Simon Gray Thriller Book 1)

by Edward G. Talbot

“Yeah, they went upstairs. And another three guys seem to be following them.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to know? Two guys who wouldn't be out of place in the WWE and a third guy who's probably in charge. Dark-skinned, but not black. Kinda Hispanic, but maybe a little like Indians, too.”

  “Well excuse frigging me. Yes, I meant Native Americans. Anyway, I'm thinkin' the guy who met Andrea is probably takin' her to his car, so you should get the cars out to the garage exit ASAP.”

  “No, I don't know why he bolted. I think they're together now, but I can't be sure. The three guys following 'em don't strike me as choir boys.”

  “And what if I guess wrong? Bad idea boss. They could be on any floor. You shoulda known that four guys and two vehicles wasn't enough for this job. Get the cars, that's our only shot.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I'll meet you guys around front.” He closed the phone and headed outside, zipping his heavy parka as he emerged into the winter sunlight.

  Andrea and Simon reached his car, a basic late model white Toyota Camry. Simon jumped in the driver's seat. As they closed the doors, he said, “I'm happy to drive, I can still pull the trigger easy enough. Why don't you leave your seatbelt off, just a little extra insurance for me?”

  He watched her eyes darken, and he imagined her considering the idea. She had no choice but to agree. Simon drove to the end of the row and followed the exit signs towards the down ramp.

  At that moment, Yum Cimil stepped in front of the vehicle about fifty yards out, gun leveled at the windshield. Simon and Andrea yelled at the same instant, ducking to the side. Cimil couldn't miss from this distance. Three bullets ripped holes in the glass. Cimil dove out of the way, rolling and coming up to fire three more shots. Only one of them met its mark, taking out Simon's left tail-light.

  As the Camry squealed around the turn, Andrea steadied herself. One of the bullet holes was dead-center in the driver's area of the windshield. Disconcerting, but Simon could still see. He looked over at her right as she screamed, “Look out!”

  He whipped his head back in time to see a concrete post three feet in diameter dead in front of them. He slammed on the brakes and missed it by inches. He wrenched the wheel to the right, and gunned the engine, sending them down towards the exit.

  “Your boss seems a little pissed off.”

  “Yeah. You did notice he was shooting at both of us.”

  “I noticed. I'm not ready to welcome you to the family, but I figure I won't have to kill you before the car trip is done.”

  “I suppose I should be grateful.”

  Simon braked a little too hard and she lurched towards the dashboard.

  “Sorry about that. Listen, if he's setting off a nuke tomorrow, we gotta go tell Braxton.”

  “We gotta tell someone. But you haven't heard how this is gonna come about or who else is involved. Plus, the nukes aren't the worst part.”

  “Aren't the worst part? Oh Jesus, where's he gonna set 'em off?”

  “It's not that, it's the virus. Hey, watch out for that—”

  A moment earlier, Jason Andrews had sat in the passenger seat in the stereotypical nondescript government sedan, parked on the grass next to the garage exit. His man in the parking garage, Frank Cunningham, now sat in the driver's seat, hands poised on the wheel. Two agents sat in the other car about a quarter mile down the road. Cunningham drummed the steering wheel, nervous energy seeking whatever outlet it could.

  “Frank, I swear to God, I'm gonna chop your fingers off if you don't stop that shit now.”

  “Promises, promises. This lack of manpower really sucks.”

  “Don't remind me. We're lucky we even have this. That intercepted call with Andrea's name? Turns out it went to the cell tower closest to Langley. Word came down from the Director to stay away. I told Yarrow and she talked to the Homeland Security Director and he told her to stay on it. No love lost between the CIA and DHS. But Yarrow insisted on only a token presence led by me personally.”

  He grinned, and Cunningham shook his head. “You gonna tell me what's so funny?”

  “Yeah. I'm not that good at following orders. Watch this.”

  He took out his phone and pressed a button. “Ed? Yeah, Jason here. We need you to get over here.”

  “Of course right now! When the hell else?”

  His face to tightened, and Cunningham leaned away.

  “You're stuck where? A fucking train crash? Can't you turn around and go another way?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know flashing your badges will make matters worse. Christ on a crutch, we don't need this. OK, call me back when you get out of there.”

  He flipped the phone shut and looked at Cunningham. “Not a word if you value your job, you hear me?”

  Cunningham swallowed. “Yeah, sure. Hey, what if they don't come out in a car? They could just escape on foot.”

  “Weren't you the one who said our only shot was to wait for the car?”

  “Well, yeah, I did. But even so, how will we know it's them?”

  They heard an engine revving and tires squealing. Simon's Camry ploughed through the lowered wooden bar at the exit. The wooden bar exploded into the air.

  Andrews said, “I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that's our target.”

  When Simon's car disappeared around the corner, Cimil chastised himself for the briefest of moments. The culmination of his life's ambition was underway, and here he was firing shots at a bit player in a second tier airport. Cimil's makeup left little room for self-doubt, however, and he barely registered the thought. In any case, he'd engaged in a bit of misdirection with Andrea. Even if she told someone in authority, they'd think there was more time before the kidnapping. He tapped the button on his Bluetooth headset.

  “Anibal, Estuardo, we need to be gone, now.”

  Before the diversion to Baltimore, Cimil had planned on landing in a small private airport in Maryland. His car had switched destinations, and now waited for him in short term parking at BWI. He called the driver and told him to meet them at the loading/unloading area. The shots would attract security, but already he was striding out of the garage. In less than a minute, he and the two bodyguards climbed in the back of the Lincoln Town Car, and they headed out of the airport.

  Cimil looked at his watch: 3:57 PM. Enough time to make his appointment if the traffic wasn't too bad. If not, he had little doubt that she'd wait. The biggest risk was the weaponry at the Capitol. He owned half a dozen members of the security team, some of whom had worked their way up for over a decade before ascending to the position where they could help him today. But nothing was foolproof. He knew the show in Congress represented unnecessary exposure, something not critical to his plans. But he needed to demonstrate his power.

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. Not long now. Not long at all.

  “I think someone's following us.” Andrea Schmidt craned her head to see the reflection in the passenger mirror.

  “The gray Ford? Yeah, I just was thinking that myself.”

  The Camry sped south along Powder Mill Road in Maryland. Given the bullet holes, Simon wanted to stay off the highways, so they followed a series of roads that would get them south towards Washington. The route was about thirty miles longer than a straight shot down I-95 or the Parkway, but that couldn't be helped. He'd called Braxton a few minutes earlier. The CIA Director had agreed to send two cars to meet them at a McDonalds in the town of Springdale, Maryland. Simon's main concern was getting stopped by a local cop.

  Andrea took off her seatbelt and turned all the way around to look out the back. She watched for a full minute. “I could be wrong, but I think there's two of 'em. Doin' a little of the classic trading off technique for tailing a suspect, but it doesn't work too well when you have two identical cars.”

  “You have a point. I don't see how Cimil managed to stay on us. We were out of that garage less than a minute after he fired at us.”

  Andrea shook her head. “I don't think it's him. Those have unmarked govern
ment vehicle written all over 'em. I have no doubt Cimil has some influence in the U.S., but not enough to get feds involved on such short notice.”

  “Who the hell else would be following us? You're telling me it's the FBI on their own? Maybe Braxton just managed to get a couple of babysitters for us.”

  “Don't you think he would have told you? Listen, I think we need to assume these guys aren't on our side. No firing shots at 'em, but let's try to lose 'em. If we're wrong, no real harm done.”

  Simon nodded. “Makes sense. I've got an idea. We gotta cut over to Route One”

  Few events get portrayed less accurately in movies than giving a pursuer the slip. Usually, they show a high speed chase with a whole lot of damage. Occasionally, they'll show something a little more creative. In fact, losing a single pursuer proves quite simple most of the time. With two chasers, it would be tougher, but if they stayed close together the concept still worked. You used the exits on a freeway or a limited access road.

  About fifteen minutes later, they reached U.S. Route One in Beltsville, Maryland. The two pursuers remained behind them, although a couple of times they'd disappeared from view. Simon explained to Andrea what he had planned, and they settled into a stream of traffic in the right lane.

  “Andrea, how far back are they?”

  “Let me check. Um, looks like one four cars back. Another six cars back.”

  “Perfect. Keep an eye out for an exit sign.”

  Soon enough, the situation Simon was hoping for presented itself. Relatively heavy traffic. A sign that indicated one mile to the next exit. And several big trucks in the left lane, back about a hundred yards. Simon waited until the exit was a quarter mile away, and the trucks were almost next to him. He jerked the steering wheel to the left, shifting lanes and cutting off the first truck. The deep honk of the truck's horn pierced the air.

  He put his foot on the brake, praying that the Camry wasn't squashed like a bug under an eighteen-wheel behemoth. But he needed to jam up the left lane. His speed slowed from a steady forty-five down to thirty-five. No impact came.

  “Come on, come on.” Andrea's eyes locked on the passenger mirror. The first gray Ford came by in the right lane. Simon's move had been hidden from them by the trucks. The occupants seemed aware that their quarry had disappeared, as the passenger craned his head up, trying to see over the cars in front of them. The exit loomed a hundred-fifty yards ahead. Ten seconds later, the second car came by on the right. As soon as it passed, Simon shifted back to the right, triggering another honk as he cut off another vehicle. The prey had now become the hunter.

  The exit was close, but Simon waited. The Ford in front of him put on its brakes, now realizing what had happened. Simon veered off at the exit, missing the barrier by only feet. He accelerated hard, at least to the extent the car's 2.4 liter engine would allow. He growled under his breath, “Shoulda gotten the V6.”

  Neither of the pursuers made the exit. Simon ran a red light and turned left back under the highway. A minute later, they were out of sight.

  As soon as he heard the squealing brakes, acid filled Andrews' stomach. He knew without looking what had happened. He glanced over his shoulder to see the flash of white disappearing to his right. He slammed the bottom of his fists on the steering wheel.

  “Goddamn it! Frank, see if you can keep an eye on them, we gotta take the next exit.”

  “Yeah, Jason, they're heading off to the left. They just ran another light. Still going. Ok, I can't see 'em any more. No telling where they're headed.”

  “Christ, this is seriously FUBAR. I'm calling Yarrow. If she wants this killer caught, she'll need to throw some weight around right now.”

  He opened his phone and dialed the number.

  Yarrow said, “Jason, tell me how it went.”

  “We found 'em. We were about to make contact when they took off running from the baggage claim. Three guys were chasing 'em, probably South American. Shots were fired in the parking garage, but Andrea and the guy she met at the airport escaped. I've got no clue about what any of that means.

  “But we did follow 'em. Then they made us, and we lost 'em. Undermanned, and with not enough information, I shouldn't have expected anything else. I'm here in Beltsville and they're disappearing further east with every minute that passes. This has Agency written all over it. What kind of pull do you have over there?”

  “We've been over this. I can't stick my nose in over there. That's Cabinet level politics. I know Director Braxton pretty well, but if I call him up directly on this and my boss finds out, I can kiss my job goodbye.”

  “Hey, I get that. But this is our best lead right here. How bad do you want to catch the Corn Flakes killer?”

  “Ah, shit. All right, I'll call him. I'll ring ya back within fifteen and let ya know.”

  He handed the phone to Cunningham. “She'll call Braxton. We're gonna see if we can turn the tables.”

  They took the next exit, and the second car followed. They pulled into a supermarket parking lot and Andrews took the phone back. He once again pressed a button for a programmed number. “Jack, this is Andrews. I need you to drop everything, OK?”

  “Yeah, I know, just do it. I'm gonna be getting one or more phone calls soon. I need you to track the location of the callers. They may be untraceable land lines but at least give it a shot. I need to make something happen.”

  He hung up and all four of them got out of the two cars. Darkness had already settled, and a cold wind blew from the east. The frustration of the chase created the need for movement, so they walked around the lot, talking. A few minutes later, Yarrow called back.

  “You're in luck. Braxton tried to act like he hadn't heard the name Andrea Schmidt, but he's a terrible liar for a spy. I told him to shut up and listen. I outlined both our case and what happened at the airport. I think the appearance of South Americans made him change his mind. He wants you to tell him everything you saw. He admitted that he is meeting Andrea and the guy with her—he called the guy an Agency Consultant—but he wouldn't say when or where. He'll be calling you any time now.”

  “Wow. Thanks, Linda. I appreciate you sticking your neck out like that.”

  “No problem. Don't expect him to fall over himself arranging a meeting, though. He'll be trying to find out what you know. Hey, also…” Yarrow's voice stopped, and Andrews heard raised voices in the room on the other end before Yarrow came back on.

  “Jason, something's come up, I gotta go.”

  The line went dead. Andrews told the others that they would get a call from Braxton. Part of his mind remained on what he had heard through the phone when Yarrow stopped suddenly. He could have sworn someone said, “Director Yarrow, it's FROLIC. She's missing.”

  Simon and Andrea drove towards Springdale, Maryland. Since the escape on Route One, they'd relaxed a bit, although they kept an eye behind them for any sign that their pursuers had regained contact.

  Andrea laughed and shook her head. “I gotta tell ya Simon, that was good. It's been quite a while since I've been hunted, and I forgot what a rush it is.”

  He chuckled. “That's one word for it. I never exactly got used to it myself. All that adrenaline can lead to bad decisions. But, yeah, I do sorta know what you mean. Hey, take a look at the map and tell me how far we've got.”

  She opened a laminated road atlas of the state of Maryland. “Looks like maybe fifteen miles. Could be half an hour with the traffic.”

  Twenty-eight minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot at the McDonalds. They chose a spot in the back. Braxton drove in a minute or so after them. He tried to park next to the Camry, but wound up straddling two lanes with his Chevy Caprice. He stepped out of the car and shook his head at the botched parking job.

  “I gotta start driving myself more. There's no excuse for that.”

  Simon laughed and punched him gently on the shoulder. “You're getting old, Dennis. You remember Andrea?”

  “Of course I do. Kinda hard to forget. So, Ms.
Schmidt, what is it you needed to fly all this way to tell us?”

  “I got him.”

  Andrews gripped the phone tighter and sucked in his breath. “Great job. Where is he?”

  “In Springdale. He has an encrypted phone, but the idiot has a GPS unit built in. I think those Agency boys have 'em standard in case they get captured in some top secret mission overseas. He just pulled into a McDonalds.”

  At the mention of Springdale, Andrews motioned to everyone to get in the cars. Within thirty seconds, they'd pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Jack, you're awesome. Consider your bonus doubled this year.”

  “We don't get bonuses.”

  “You catch on quick. Take it easy. And thanks.”

  Andrews wasn't a religious man, but he said a prayer as they headed east. Please let 'em still be there when we arrive.

  “Simon already told you about the nukes. Cimil's setting one off tomorrow. But there's more. He and Richards are staging a presidential kidnapping.”

  Braxton looked at Andrea as if waiting for more. Then his face registered what she had said. He drew out his words, as if their weight slowed him down. “Oh my God. Why would she do something like that?”

  Simon answered. “Judgement day, Dennis. Our friend didn't tell Andrea everything, but apparently our commander-in-chief is a member of one of those end-times churches. It fits nicely with Cimil and his Fifth World. It seems the two of 'em have decided to help usher in the apocalypse.”

  Braxton slumped back against his car. His heavy parka fell open, but he didn't notice the cold biting through his shirt. “This is just …” He stopped, then tried again. “No one ever could have imagined something like this. We've gotta call Yarrow right away.”

  Andrea nodded. “Yeah, but it gets worse.”

  “How in the name of ever-loving Christ could it get worse?”

  “The virus. Cimil's got his hands on some sort of doomsday virus. I don't know where he got it, he said something about getting a cure from the Amazon region. He said no one can survive without the cure, which may be an exaggeration, but still … I've worked for him for a few years, and he's always been a little crazy. Really into the ancient Maya stuff. It seemed harmless, and for a weapons dealer he runs a pretty stable business.