Deity (34 page)

Father
Ruiz thumbed the cross. Even he couldn’t dispute its uniqueness. The shaft and
cross arms had been intricately carved with perfectly spaced ridges that ran
down their lengths. It was a splendid piece of woodwork, to say the least.

“We’ll
need all the protection we can get as we climb Tacana,” Matt said, stepping
toward Father Ruiz.

“I’m
afraid you’ll have to find your protection elsewhere,” Father Ruiz interrupted,
raising Matt’s rifle more menacingly toward him. “I’m taking this cross back to
the cathedral.”

“You
can’t,” Matt said, his eyes suddenly imploring. “I mean, not yet. Father, I beg
for your help on this. Lord only knows who we’ll run into out here.”

Peet
had also risen to his feet. “Wait a minute. Something isn’t adding up,” he
said. “Who steals two artifacts from a museum and then makes a quick stop at a
cathedral for divine intervention?”

Matt
scowled. His momentary plea for cooperation vanished in a breath as he stepped
even closer. Father Ruiz stepped back, suddenly fearful. He was going to pay
dearly if Matt got his hands on him.

“You
won’t make it a day in this jungle alone,” Matt snarled low so that Peet
couldn’t hear.

“With
the Lord as my guide I’m willing to take my chances.”

Matt
lunged, catching Father Ruiz by surprise. In his haste to retreat, Father Ruiz
pulled the trigger and a single shot riddled the air. The bullet whizzed
harmlessly through the jungle but the blast had catapulted the rifle loose from
his grip. Matt didn’t miss a beat. He leaped for the weapon and belly flopped
onto the ground as the rifle fell a mere meter from his fingertips. Shocked,
Father Ruiz tucked the cross against his chest. He spun around to flee…

…and
ran right into the chest of a weapon-wielding Zapatista.

In
one swift movement, the masked Zapatista captured Father Ruiz’s arm and fired
off a pistol shot at Matt who was scrambling to regain his rifle, stopping him
in his slithering tracks. With a harsh tug, the Zapatista jerked Father Ruiz
back around and, gripping him in a choke hold, dragged him back to Matt’s rifle
which he kicked out of the way.

Matt
and Peet were frozen in place.

Then,
with all threats disarmed, the Zapatista snatched the Talking Cross from Father
Ruiz’s grasp and tucked it inside his shirt.

“
Perdóneme, el padre
,” he said. “You have
sinned.”

* * * *

Matt
Webb couldn’t believe his bad luck. How could he have been so stupid as to let
his guard
down.
He’d nearly had his ass handed to him
by a priest no less. He should have known what the priest was up to. The signs
had been there. Why didn’t he recognize them?

Even
as he asked himself the question, Matt already knew the answer. The small
priest looked harmless.

Now,
just as he feared, the Zapatistas had arrived from out of nowhere, no doubt
alerted by Father Ruiz’s careless gunshot. Matt had expected to run into such a
predicament, but not so soon. Not before reaching The Calendar. Without his gun
they were doomed for sure, except—

No
other Zapatistas came out of the forest.

If
there were others, they remained hidden out there, leaving this single gunman
to face the three of them alone. That took a lot of balls, unless the Zapatista
had already determined there was only one weapon between them.

The
lone Zapatista whipped out a length of cord from his pocket and instructed
Father Ruiz to use it. Matt listened closely to the muffled voice behind the
mask.

“Tie
the tall one first,” the Zapatista ordered, nudging Matt to his feet with the
toe of his boot. Father Ruiz promptly obeyed his command, tying Matt’s hands
behind his back.

“Make
sure it’s tight,” the Zapatista ordered.

To
Matt’s dismay the priest followed orders to the letter. He didn’t even have the
foresight to secure him with a slip knot or something he could escape. Was the
priest really so stupid?

Peet
was just as useless standing with his arms in the air, waiting for Father Ruiz
to tie him too. The Zapatista checked their ties and grunted with approval. Matt
was disgusted. Their only hope now was that the priest would miraculously find
a way to turn the tables, and Matt saw little hope in that.

Satisfied,
the Zapatista withdrew one last cord for the priest when gunfire suddenly split
the air. A volley of bullets riddled the trees and brush around them, showering
them with shredded leaves as they all dived for cover. The Zapatista returned
fire which only spurred a deafening thunder from a dozen or more rifles hidden
somewhere in the jungle. The lone Zapatista appeared undeterred as he fired off
more rounds, alternately ducking beside the priest who lay tight against a
felled tree.

Matt
smiled. His luck wasn’t so bad after all. As the Zapatista defended his
position from this latest round of attacks, Matt realized just who they were up
against here.

The bravest Zapatista of them all.

Tribulations

Tarah
and Rafi didn’t give up searching for Lori as quickly as she’d hoped. They
searched slowly, methodically, turning over every single leaf. It was all Lori
could do to lay there scraped and bruised with a cracked rib and a splitting
headache, covered in sweat, dirt and monkey feces, and who knew what else she’d
rolled through.

And
now she faced a new problem.

She
hadn’t realized it until she felt a tickle travel up her leg. Another followed
on her ankle. Two more crawled along her calf. She could feel them all now,
dozens of tiny little feet skittering over her flesh. She dared to look down
the length of her body to find dozens more, ants climbing the woven fabric of
her huipil. They ducked beneath the folds and into the airy sleeves while
others climbed along her back and now explored the contours of her neck.

Lori closed her eyes, desperately trying to block out the
sensation of insects crawling over her. She willed herself to hold still, to
avoid any sudden movements that might anger the ants.

But
it didn’t work.

Points
of fire began to shoot across her flesh. Lori gritted her teeth. Tarah had
drawn close, separating the foliage with the pistol in her hand. Her face was
taught with intensity and determination. It was only a matter of moving the
right limb and Tarah would find her, recapture her or maybe even shoot her. Lori
held her breath, waiting with ever-increasing dread that she was about to be
discovered—or eaten alive by the ants.

Lori’s
nerves threatened to jump from the attack on her flesh but in a desperate game
of mind over matter she held fast to her cover. Despite Tarah’s meticulous
search, she slowly passed her position. Every muscle in Lori’s body tensed to
flee the fire of ants but her pursuers were still too close to attempt it. The
ants were getting to be too much. Her legs squirmed for relief. Her hands
vainly strained against the cuffs binding them behind her back. Every nerve
screamed for escape.

Just a little longer! Just
a little longer!

The
pain became intolerable. The breaking point came when one of the insects
discovered her ear and promptly crawled inside.

Lori
surged out of the brush in a mad dance to rid herself of the ants. “Get them
off!” she pleaded, shaking her head violently. She’d never heard or felt
anything
so
maddening as those legs clawing for her
brain.

Through
the static of those legs probing her eardrum Lori could hear Tarah laughing
nearby. She simply stood where she was, apparently amused by Lori’s misery.

“They’re
eating me alive!” Lori implored, dancing and stamping in place, her hands
aching for freedom.

“You’ll
be lucky if that’s the worst that’ll happen by the time Abe gets through with
you,” Tarah said, finally slipping her pistol back into its holster.

Lori
threw herself down and desperately rolled and flailed her body over the ground,
an act which sent Tarah into another fit of laughter. Despite the comedic style
of her stunt, it served its purpose, crushing the ants and relieving some of
the sting that now wracked her flesh. She even managed to rid herself of the
ant in her ear which in itself alleviated the madness that had driven her from
cover.

By
the time she breathlessly regrouped on her knees, Lori was coated from head to
toe with damp earth and jungle decay. Her hands were numb and her tormented
skin was already puckering with painful welts. That brief taste of freedom had
been replaced with the bitterness of surrender.

Tarah
couldn’t stop laughing. Her fingers snagged Lori’s hair and pulled her to her
feet. “That’ll teach you!” she said and laughed. In the next breath she called
for her partner.

Rafi
wasn’t far. His voice echoed back to them. “What about the pilot?”

“Let
him go,” Tarah yelled back through her wicked smile. “He’s no use to us now.”
Her eyes never left Lori, even after Rafi had rejoined them. “We got the one we
really need, even if she is a little chewed up.” Her laughter cracked through
the trees again.

Rafi
wasn’t laughing. He was listening. He slapped Tarah on the arm.

“Shut
up and listen,” he snapped.

Tarah
immediately reined herself in and turned an ear to the jungle now popping with
distant gunfire.

“Let’s
go,” Rafi ordered. He snagged the gag around Lori’s neck and shoved it, mud,
monkey dung and all, back into her mouth. “The Zapatistas are close.”

* * * *

Peet
huddled tight behind a rotting log, a defenseless spectator in the middle of a
showdown between the lone Zapatista and his foes hidden somewhere in the jungle
beyond. Matt squatted on his haunches behind a bush that provided no more protection
than a duck blind, anxiously surveying but no more beneficial to the situation
with his own hands tied and his FN Scar lying harmlessly beside the Zapatista. The
only person with the freedom to move was Father Ruiz who was now backed tightly
against the downed tree from which the Zapatista made his stand. The priest’s
eyes were closed tight in prayer, his Rosary in hand.

Bullets
whizzed overhead, cutting through the flora and sinking into trunks and earth. They
appeared to be hopelessly surrounded when the Zapatista did something
astounding. In a brief suspension of gunfire, he slipped from his cover, skittered
directly toward Peet and immediately slit the rope he’d just ordered Father
Ruiz to tie him with. Shocked, Peet pumped his fingers for circulation but the
Zapatista was already shoving his reloaded Browning 9mm into them. “Shoot!” the
Zapatista demanded.

Peet
was dumbfounded. His own enemy, the very man that had just captured him moments
before was now requesting assistance to fend off their unidentifiable
attackers. Just who exactly was attacking them? It could be a rescue attempt. Would
Peet dare fire against his own rescuers?

“Who
am I shooting at?” Peet asked as the Zapatista resumed his position beside
Father Ruiz.

He
snatched up Matt’s rifle and pointed out to the jungle. “Just shoot that way!”

With
that he resumed firing back at their assailants. Peet peeked over the log and
saw only jungle. A leaf trembled here, a limb quivered there. Peet couldn’t
find anything to shoot at but by the sound of it, there were many targets hidden
out there. He didn’t dare say how many. He just knew they were outnumbered, and
the Zapatista was sure to run out of ammunition soon.

“Peet!”

It
was Matt. Ducking under fire, he inched his way over, talking in a hushed
voice. “Free
me
and I’ll shoot. I’ve got a clear shot
over there.”

Peet
didn’t hesitate. He fished his Leatherman out of his vest pocket, extracted a
blade and sawed through Matt’s ropes. Without so much as a thank you, Matt
ripped the pistol from his hands. To Peet’s surprise, Matt didn’t return to his
position behind the bush. Instead, he slipped around behind and headed straight
for the Zapatista.

It
made sense, Peet thought. Take out the Zapatista and this battle would be over.
As good as that sounded, he couldn’t bear to watch Matt shoot a man in cold
blood, and this time Father Ruiz wasn’t inclined to stop him.

Would
Matt actually pull the trigger?

Peet
held his breath. Matt inched up behind the Zapatista who was consumed by the
rapid fire he was pouring into the jungle. Matt raised the pistol.

Peet’s
heart skipped a beat.

The
Zapatista must have noticed. His head snapped in Peet’s direction, perhaps
wondering why he hadn’t fired yet. That’s when he noticed Matt standing right
behind him. The Zapatista froze as the muzzle of his own pistol pressed against
his head.

And
then Matt said something Peet would never forget.

With
the Zapatista on his knees, raising his hands in cautious surrender, Matt
smiled down at him and said, “Welcome to the party, Chac.”