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The trilling cell phone at my ear woke me out of a stress dream where I’d been running through a maze of tunnels searching for Rodrigo while something chased me. My subconscious was about as subtle as a brick bat.
“Hello?” I groaned.
“Karina? It is Marcellus.”
“What time is it?” I rolled over and saw a shaft of bright sunlight striped across the bed where the drapes didn’t quite close all the way.
“Seven-thirty. You said we would speak in the morning. Did I wake you?”
I yawned. “Yes, but it’s fine.”
“Did you find Milly?”
“Not exactly, but she should be back in our possession by tonight.” Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes.
“I do not understand. What do you mean?”
“Let me call you back. I need coffee in order to be coherent. We’ll talk at eight.”
Opening my bedroom door, I was hit with a most welcome scent of brewing coffee. Hernandez, who had slept in the spare bedroom, was up, showered, and dressed in all black—again—and sipping from one of the disposable coffee cups provided by the hotel.
He took one look at me. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please, cream and sugar,” I grunted, knotting the belt to the hotel’s complimentary white terrycloth robe.
“Rough night?”
Flopping down on the couch, I put fingers to my temples and rubbed. “How’d you guess?”
“I’ve never seen your hair styled in quite that manner.”
“Uh-huh. I call it á la rat’s nest. It’s the latest fashion.” I think Hernandez snickered, but I couldn’t be sure, because I was resting my eyes. A moment later, the scent of coffee grew stronger and I could feel Hernandez’s presence looming over me.
“Coffee’s ready.”
I opened my eyes and heaved myself into a sitting position. Hernandez left the cup on the table and took one of the side chairs. We didn’t speak again until I’d drunk three quarters of the life-giving beverage. “I see you are ready and raring to go. What time did you get up?”
“Six. I went for a swim and then took a shower.”
“Uh-huh. So what’s our game plan for today?” I pushed a hank of hair out of my face.
“I want to meet the rest of the crew.”
“We’d better wait a few hours. If you think I’m moving a little slow this morning, I’m fairly certain Craig will be moving at glacial speed.”
Hernandez’s brows went up.
I gave a sly grin and rose from the couch. “Four tequila shots and two margaritas. Order us some breakfast. I’m going to call Marcellus back and get cleaned up. Then we’ll invade Rodrigo’s room.”
****
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING up so early?” Rodrigo yawned and scratched his head. He wore a plain blue T-shirt and pajama bottoms.
“It’s after nine o’clock.” I squeezed past him. “Rodrigo, you remember Hernandez.”
“How’s it going? Didn’t know Karina had called in the big guns.” The two shook hands.
“I didn’t. Batman sent him down.” I stood at the foot of Craig’s bed and raised my voice. “How we doing this morning, Sleeping Beauty?”
Not a peep from Craig.
Rodrigo came next to me and crossed his arms. “He hasn’t moved since last night.”
“He’s not dead, is he?” I took hold of a foot and shook.
“Nope, been snoring on and off all night,” Rodrigo grumbled.
Hernandez swept open the curtains, allowing light to flood the room.
Still Craig didn’t budge.
“Hey! Craig! Wakey, wakey, hands off snaky!” I yelled.
Nothing.
Hernandez picked up the ice bucket from the coffee table. Splash! The ice had melted, but I’m fairly certain the water was still cold. Craig leapt up off the bed, banged his head on the overhead lamp, then turned and whacked his knee on the bedside table. He stumbled around for a moment before tripping over a shoe and landing face first on the opposite bed. I don’t believe a Hollywood director could have staged a more entertaining pratfall. If I’d been in the mood I would’ve cackled with laughter. I think Rodrigo and I were too stunned to do anything but watch in disbelief.
Craig, now awake, rolled to his side, cursing and rubbing his knee and back of his head at the same time. “What the fuck, man?”
“Quit screwing around. It’s time to get up,” Hernandez replied sharply.
Craig stared confused. “Who are you?”
“That’s Hernandez. He’s here to make sure this affair doesn’t turn into a shit show.” Taking pity on the poor fool, I walked over to the coffeemaker. “I’ll make you a cup of joe. We have things to discuss.”
Rodrigo took a quick shower while the coffee percolated, and I stripped the wet bedding off, leaving it in a pile on the floor. I made a mental note to leave a nice tip for the maid. Craig sat in the rolling chair, hunched over with his head between his hands. Hernandez hung out on the balcony, enjoying the view. After Craig finished his first cup of coffee, he seemed coherent enough to answer questions.
Hernandez started with, “When was the last time you got a proof-of-life?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” Rodrigo supplied, relaxing on his bed with his own morning brew. He found Craig’s phone on the bedside table and tossed it to Hernandez. “They sent a text.”
Craig didn’t even flinch when Hernandez held the phone out to him and demanded, “Unlock it and show me the text.” Craig tapped-tapped-tapped, then handed it back. “Why is she smiling and giving the peace sign?” Hernandez looked perplexed.
“Mrs. Thundermuffin is a little . . . quirky.” I crossed my legs and cozied further back into the chair, slowly sipping my own cup of java.
“What do you know about the people holding her?” Hernandez directed at Craig.
He scratched his growing beard. “Well . . . they’re not exactly Einsteins.”
“You know, you keep saying that, Craig. Yet they managed to find you” —I pointed at him— “twice, in a foreign country. First, they kidnapped and ransomed you, and now they have your aunt. So, while you’re not giving them a lot of credit, they’ve come this far and have you dancing to their tune.”
Craig blushed.
“You said they are from Italy. Are they old enough to have served compulsory military service?” Hernandez asked.
“I’m not sure. When did Italy end compulsory service?”
“2005,” Hernandez supplied.
“Let me think. They are from Adolfo’s father’s first marriage, he said they are ten years older, he’s twenty-nine. . . .” The wheels in Craig’s head turned as he counted. “Yes, I suppose they did. So what?”
“In other words,” Rodrigo drawled, staring at the ceiling, “they’ve been trained in firearms, you twit.”
Hernandez didn’t seem to like what he heard. Rising abruptly, he pulled his cell out of his back pocket and dialed.
“In other words,” I growled, “they are smarter than you’ve been giving them credit for, and your aunt is probably in bigger danger than you’ve let on.”
Craig rolled his eyes. “Pfft. They want the mask. Why would they hurt her?”
I didn’t answer. Hernandez started speaking into the phone in rapid Spanish while pacing the room. Rodrigo and Craig watched Hernandez, while I watched Rodrigo. At a pause on Hernandez’s end, I leaned toward my coworker and whispered, “What’s going on? Who’s he talking to?”
“He’s getting reinforcements,” Rodrigo answered. “And it sounds like we’ll be getting to Chichén Itzá early.”
“How early?” I asked.
Hernandez hung up. “We’re leaving now. You two,” —he pointed to Craig and Rodrigo— “get yourselves together and meet us in the lobby in twenty minutes. Karina, you come with me.”
I didn’t hesitate to follow his demands. It was clear Hernandez just called in some favors. I waited until we were back in the elevator going up to my room. “So what’s the deal? Who did you call?”
“Some of my contacts in the area. I don’t like the time change or the fact that these guys have been military trained. I need to get some equipment before we head out to the site.” He looked me up and down. “Do you have anything lighter? White shirt? Shorts?”
I glanced down at my navy-colored shorts and wine-colored top. “I’ve got some khaki shorts that are clean, and I think I have a white T-shirt. Why?”
“Change into them. I want you to be visible tonight.”
“Huh. Total opposite of what I was expecting.”
****
THE BLACK SUV ROLLED to a stop outside an iron gate. I rode up front with Hernandez, while Rodrigo and Craig sat in the back. The mask, once again in my backpack, lay securely between my feet. Through the gated bars, I could see a large stone and stucco Spanish style estate, surrounded by a creamy stucco privacy wall. A brass plaque next to the gate read Estudios Históricos de Bibliotecas Españolas.
“Historical Spanish Library Studies?” Craig snorted, and said with sarcasm, “How are a bunch of librarians going to help us?”
Nobody bothered to answer. The gate swung open, and Hernandez drove past the front circular drive, around to the back of the building, where there was a small, covered parking area. He pulled up next to a shiny, blue El Camino, in pristine shape with a tri-fold cover on the bed. Four people came out of the back door to meet us. A blond head towering above the others had me hopping out of the front seat.
“Joshua?” I trotted up to him and we hugged. “What are you doing here?”
“I volunteered.” Josh nodded at Hernandez who opened up the back liftgate of our SUV.
“Good lord, why?” I laughed.
“Didn’t think Hernandez could handle your mess on his own.” Josh’s grin split a mile wide.
Hernandez gave Josh the middle finger.
“Hey, I resent that. It isn’t my mess. It’s Craig’s, he started it all,” I protested shrilly.
“Actually, Rick and I decided you might be in deeper than you let on, and we though Hernandez might need help. Seems like we were right.” Josh continued to smirk down at me. “I heard you dragged poor Rodrigo into it also.”
My face burned at the bald truth. I coughed and fiddled with my earring. “Yeah, I feel bad about that.”
“Where is he?” Josh glanced around.
“In here,” Rodrigo called, leaning over the back seat. “I’m keeping an eye on Craig. Hernandez told us to stay in the car.”
While Josh and I had been chatting, Hernandez shook hands with the other men and started a conversation in Spanish. One of them, a medium height, slight fellow, had black hair and walnut skin. Another was brown-haired, average height, average weight, with chunky black glasses. His age could be anywhere from thirty-five to forty-five. The third stood out from the rest with his red hair, freckled face, and pale blue eyes. The men looked nothing alike, however, there remained a similarity between them. They each wore different colored chinos with button-down shirts and colored ties. None of them looked like any sort of librarian I’d run into. Like Craig, I too wondered how Historical Spanish Library Studies could help us. However, considering we’d pulled around back to a relatively enclosed parking area where at least four security cameras were trained on us, and the fact that Josh was here—I concluded we’d arrived at a CIA front.
“Who are your friends?” I asked Josh.
“Let me introduce you. Guys!” The men paused their conversation and turned toward us. “This is Karina. Karina, the red head is Julian, the guy with the glasses is Edgar, and that’s Mateo over there.” He indicated each man as he spoke.
“Hi, fellows.” I gave a finger wave to the crew. “Thanks for helping out.” I wondered if I should bother committing any of those names to memory, being fairly certain they were all cover identities.
Edgar smiled. His handshake was firm, and I could feel calluses on his palms. “Welcome to the research center. Joshua told us about you. It’s nice to meet you in person.” His English held no accent nor inflection of any kind.
“Hi, um, pleasure meeting you too. How long have you worked here?”
Edgar adjusted his glasses. “This will be my sixth year.”
“And how did you get involved in, uh, Spanish Library Studies?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “About nine years ago, I finished my doctorate in Anthropology with a concentration in ancient Mayan civilization. One thing led to another, and here I am.”
Okay, I could buy that. I nodded. “Wow, a doctorate in anthropology. Cool. The Mayan civilization is fascinating.” This guy seemed fairly normal. Perhaps my suspicious nature had jumped to conclusions.
“Well, Julian, let’s see what we’ve got to work with,” Josh declared, ending our conversation.
The redhead folded back the El Camino bed cover, revealing three black duffle bags, tactical vests, and half a dozen semi-automatic, military-style rifles. The stash washed away any sense of doubt regarding who these guys were. Not to say Edgar didn’t have a doctorate in Mayan anthropology—he probably did. That doctorate was probably also paid for by the American government for him to use as his cover. Seeing the cache, both Rodrigo and Craig trundled out of the SUV and gathered around to goggle at the loot.
The men began talking tactical gear and the pros and cons of each rifle. Even though they were now conversing in English, they may as well have spoken in Spanish. I didn’t speak gun. Josh or Hernandez would pick one up and evaluate each weapon before putting it down to check another one. I crossed my arms and watched the show.
“Any of you know how to use a gun?” Hernandez looked directly at Rodrigo and me.
“I do.” Craig raised his hand like a schoolboy.
Rodrigo shook his head.
“I’m good with a taser,” I volunteered.
Hernandez gave a frustrated frown, while Josh said to me, “I thought Rick worked with you last week.”
I swallowed. “He did.”
Josh curved his hands around the tailgate. “And how did it go?”
My gaze bounced between the two men. “Since you’re staring expectantly at me, I can see that Rick didn’t tell you about it?”
Hernandez shook his head, while Josh simply raised a brow.
I placed my hands on my hips and blew upward at my bangs. “I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn from ten paces.”
Rodrigo snorted, but shut it down quickly when I delivered a death glare.
“That bad?” Josh’s other brow rose to match the first.
“As much as I would love to say I’m just joking—I am not. I think Rick was genuinely perplexed by my ineptitude. My shots were erratic at best. If you’ve got someplace you can take me for target practice, I can certainly give it another go. But I’m afraid it might be more dangerous than helpful for you to arm me right now.” I stepped forward to peer into the back of the El Camino. “Are you sure you don’t have a stun gun or taser I could use?”
Hernandez and Josh shared a look and Josh shrugged. “It’s better than nothing. Go ahead and give it to her.”
Mateo dug into a duffle bag and pulled out a compact, camo-colored rectangular box, a little larger than a pack of cigarettes. “Here, stun gun.” He tossed it across the bed.
I had my hands up to catch it, but Josh whipped his arm out and caught it first. “Is it charged?”
“Charged it last night,” Mateo replied.
Josh turned it on, pressed the button, and electricity sparked between the two prongs. He turned it off and handed it over. “Put it in your pocket and keep it there. If you need it, I don’t want you rummaging around in that black hole of a bag you carry.”
I didn’t argue. If I put it in the backpack, it would likely fall beneath the death mask box.
“Hey, do you have another one of those?” Rodrigo asked.
Mateo tossed another to Rodrigo.
“What about me?” Craig whined, clearly disappointed that he’d been ignored.
Hernandez put out a hand to stop Mateo digging in the bag for a third. “We’ve got you covered.” While I hadn’t referred to Craig as a crap weasel when discussing him with Hernandez, it was clear the man had Craig’s number and trusted him about as much as he would an adder. Hernandez said something in Spanish; Julian grabbed another duffle bag and passed it to him.
“Here,” Hernandez said to Craig as he pulled out a small, black oval the size of a key fob. I recognized it immediately, because he’d already put one in my backpack and given me another to put in my pocket. “That’s a GPS tracker. Rodrigo, you take one too. We’ll be monitoring you the entire time.”
Craig’s face looked like he’d eaten a worm. “You know, I’m not quite sure why you’re treating me like the bad guy here. It’s my aunt they’ve got. I’ve done nothing but do what you told me to do. And I could help. Besides, I should be able to defend myself too. It’s not like I’m going to taser everybody and run off.”
We all stared at Craig, because that’s exactly what worried all of us, or at least it worried me. Since I’d be carrying the item, I really had no interest in allowing Craig to have any sort of weapon he could use against me.
“You know, Craig, you’re really getting on my nerves,” Rodrigo snapped. “You are the reason we’re all here. In case you’ve forgotten, Karina and I came to Mexico on vacation. And neither one of us has gotten any ‘vacationing’ done. We are in this mess because your shenanigans got Mrs. T. captured and turned into a hostage. These guys, in front of you, flew all the way down here to make sure nothing goes wrong and none of us gets hurt. Don’t you dare play the innocent victim,” he continued, cutting off Craig as he started to protest. “You’re only here because the Italian Stallions are expecting you at the exchange, and because we need you to identify them. If it were up to me, I would have dropped you off on the side of the road and told you to lump it. Now shut up and do what you’re told, or we’ll say screw it and have these nice fellows from the historical library lock you in a closet for the rest of the day and do this deal without you. Got it?”
Craig closed his trap and put the tracker in his pocket. I put a hand to my mouth to keep from letting out a whoop of laughter. Rodrigo, in his perfectly pressed black shorts and royal blue polo, had just put our little crap weasel in his place like nobody’s business. Unfortunately, Rodrigo’s little tirade brought home just how much I owed him. I’d have to rack my brain to come up with a way to repay him.
Rodrigo turned his attention back to Julian. “Now, where were we?”
About three conversations started at once to fill the uncomfortable void. The Silverthorne boys finished retrieving the necessary materials, which included night vision goggles, a handful of weapons, a sniper rifle, and other tactical gear, and put everything in the back of the SUV. Handshakes went around, the weapons cache was covered up, and we piled back into the car. Only this time, I was relegated to sitting in the middle of the back seat with Craig and Rodrigo. Craig had showered and shaved, so he no longer smelled like a broken bottle of tequila, and he wore the new clothes he’d purchased last night. With the beard gone, he looked attractive and reputable. I had no doubt that boyish handsomeness helped his job as a con. I specifically left the backpack up front with the Silverthorne boys.
“Does Edgar really have a Ph.D. in anthropology?” I tossed out.
Both the men nodded, and Josh answered, “Yes, he does.”