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Chapter Three Blake and I were scheduled to leave for
ancient Mayan territory early the next morning, so we headed back to the agency's Mexico City headquarters first. We needed to look at the maps, requisition some equipment and check the computer database for information about the
region and Ah Puch, the ancient god of death. Both of us thought Lichtman was a nice enough man, and very intelligent. But he also believed a mythical Mayan deity was not only not a myth, but that it had somehow been
resurrected and was in league with a modern criminal to destroy the world. Makes my childhood fears of monsters under the bed and look downright sane by comparison. |
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I decided to take a short nap and then have a shower before we ate. Blake had the room next door and he said he'd order dinner, then call me when
it arrived. We'd eat in his room so we could discuss what we'd do when we reached Chichen Itza the archaeological site that was our first stop before heading into less charted territory. We'd meet one of our local agents there
and he would lead Blake, Eddie and myself into the old Mayan stomping grounds. I curled up on the bed, the air conditioning wide open and promptly fell asleep. * * * * * |
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I am a mother. I have an internal radar that can pick up sounds from blocks away. I know when my children cough or sneeze in the middle of
the night. I know when someone gets out of bed and rummages through the refrigerator. I know because mothers hear everything, even things their kids don't want them to hear. And something awakened me from my nap something that
didn't belong in my hotel room. I am also a former cop as well as a present day spy and, although I wouldn't say my reflexes are in the same class as James Bond, I do have some survival skills left from my time on the
streets. And one of them is being able to wake up, smell danger and instinctively move in the right direction. |
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The breathing sounded as though it was only inches away from my ear, like someone or something was inspecting me. I didn't move, but I
tensed myself, ready to roll off the bed and away from where I perceived the person to be. My gun was under my pillow. I would reach for it as I moved, hoping I could snag it and come up with it pointed the right way before my
visitor could react. I knew it was probably just my imagination, but it was cold in there much colder than a simple air conditioner running full blast could make it. I started to shiver a bit, then forced myself to stop.
I didn't want my interloper to know I was awake, aware of his presence. I could hear the rasping breaths as someone moved around my room. Whoever it was wasn't too hot at self-ventilation, but he was light on his feet I'd
grant him that. I could hear the breathing, air sucked in like it was going through a hollow gourd, then out again, harsh and grating. Almost like an old man on an oxygen tank, only different. Louder and raspier. Think Darth Vader
with bronchitis. I heard the rustling sounds as he went through my possessions: opening and shutting drawers, the wooden clank of the hotel hangers as he methodically worked his way through my closet. I had my hand under
the pillow now, my fingers wrapped around my 45-calber handgun. The black rubber grips were sweaty in my palm. I gripped it a bit tighter. I didn't need to lose that gun when I finally moved. |
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Cumbersome? Sounds weird, but that describes it. This guy was big huge, really. Well over six feet tall. But he had an odd look from
behind, like he was swaddled in dark material, wrapped in black plastic. I decided to try for a look at his face before I jumped. My police training made it difficult for me to comprehend the spy ethic shoot first, ask
questions later. Police work required I do it the other way. Besides, I have a problem being completely ruthless. I reasoned it would be better to grab this guy alive and unscathed so Blake and I could find out who he was and what
he was doing. I forced myself to stay calm and surreptitiously watched as he made his way around the room, doing a pretty darn efficient search. I didn't have the faintest idea what he was searching for, but it was a sure
bet he hadn't found it yet because he kept looking. Suddenly, he stiffened and slowly turned around, and I knew he knew I was awake and watching him. Don't ask me how it's that mother's instinct at work again. He
turned, and because it was so dark, I couldn't see his face very well. I had a quick impression of light against dark, of a pattern like latticework. Something frighteningly familiar, yet strange and out of context. I
tensed and then without warning leapt across the room, covering the distance between us with a lunge that was panther-like in its speed and agility. As he moved towards me two things became indelibly etched upon my brain: He
was holding a very wicked looking knife aloft in his hand and the hand was descending rapidly toward my chest.. |
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