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Evening finally arrived, and brought with it some relief from the blazing hot Mexican sun.
After such a long day—Rodrigo, Craig, and I had wandered aimlessly around the ruins, while Hernandez and Joshua went off on their own to conduct reconnaissance—I would be happy never to see Chichén Itzá again. I’d seen every ancient nook and cranny and heard every passing tour guide’s story about the place. Rodrigo and I could probably set up a sign and make some dinero conducting our own tours. At four-thirty, we’d herded out of the site with the rest of the tourists. The place closed down until eight to set up the seating area and prepare for the nighttime show. At seven-thirty, Hernandez and Josh dropped the three of us at the front gate to get in line while they “got into position,” as they’d explained.
Again, we wandered in and out among the temples with the rest of the tourists until, turning around, I beheld a vision. “Hey, guys, look at that.” I tugged Rodrigo’s hand.
“What? Oh, wow,” he said with reverence.
We, along with dozens of other visitors paused as the summer sun waned, dropping behind the Castillo. The glimmering sunset turned the gray granite into a glowing golden temple fit for the gods. I was glad to have been able to witness this natural splendor. The simple sunset calmed my nerves, for they had become stretched to the breaking point throughout the day. Rodrigo too had become snappish and grouchy as our time drew near. Craig was the only one not exhibiting outward signs of concern. On the other hand, every time he’d opened his mouth, Rodrigo barked at him, and eventually, I think he gave up attempts at any conversation.
“Okay, pequeña ave, once that sun dips below the horizon, it’s going to get dark real fast,” Hernandez said in my ear. “The three of you need to make your way over to the Jaguar Temple and hide yourselves. When they announce it’s time for the show to begin, foot traffic will move to the seating area.”
The Silverthorne boys had outfitted all three of us with coms. Josh had presented the little earbud as if giving me a Christmas present. “Hey, Cardinal,” he’d said with enthusiasm, “guess what you get today?” When I shook my head, he’d held out a small box in his open palm and announced, “Coms!”
“I guess you learned your lesson,” I’d said drily. “You better show us how it works.”
Rodrigo took my hand, and, with Craig trailing behind, we passed by the open seating area for the laser lightshow guests and trucked our way over to the Lower Jaguar Temple, along the east wall of the Ball Court. It wasn’t quite as impressive as the Castillo, however, I felt the temple held its own charm. In between the columns sat a small stone Jaguar throne. When I was a child, we must have been able to go inside the small overhang, because my parents have a picture of my sister, my brother, and I sitting on it. Now, like the Castillo, the portico was roped off to tourists. An American family of four wandered around, taking photos with their phones.
“I have a visual on three blind mice,” Hernandez said.
“Copy that. I have eyes on the south and west sides,” Josh said.
“You know,” I said, turning to Rodrigo with a smile as though we were having an enjoyable conversation, “I don’t appreciate the fact that the code name for our group is three blind mice. Couldn’t you have come up with something better, a little less offensive?”
Josh snorted. “What would you prefer, three Billy Goats Gruff?”
“Three little pigs?” Hernandez chimed in.
“Three little kittens who lost their mittens?”
“How about hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil?”
“Oh, here’s one you’ll like—the three stooges.” The pair continued to banter back and forth at our expense.
My smile turned into a teeth-gritting grimace, and I hissed, “Never mind.”
Craig jammed his hands in his pockets and kicked a stone, which bounced over my shoe. “You know, it could be worse. At least your code name is ‘little bird.’”
Rodrigo snorted and received a scowl from Craig.
“Point taken,” I said quickly to avert another nasty exchange between the two. Craig had been saddled with crap weasel, only the boys had translated it into the Spanish version, mierda comadreja, which I think was a bit nastier. Rodrigo’s code name was Sycamore. Josh had declared it as he stared at a Sycamore tree.
An announcement came on over the loudspeakers directing everyone to take their seats for the show. The family wandered off, and we were left alone.
“I have movement coming from the west. Looks like a staff member. Three blind mice, you need to hide, or you’ll be shooed away,” Josh said.
“We are in a fairly open area. Where do you suggest we go?” Rodrigo asked.
“Head toward the north side, that’s it. On your left is a deep corner with dark shadows,” Hernandez directed us. “Move in together.”
We stepped over the cordons and jammed ourselves into a corner. Craig squeezed into my left shoulder, and Rodrigo to my right. The black box pressed through the backpack’s canvas fabric into my spine.
“Sycamore,” Hernandez’s firm and steady voice commanded, “stand in front of pequeña ave, her white shirt is visible. That’s better.”
“You were the one who told me to wear light-colored clothes,” I reminded Hernandez in a whisper.
Craig shushed me, and a moment later, I understood why. The pit-pat of a pair of boots on hard-packed earth walked past us. No one breathed. I skootched down a little more to hide behind Rodrigo’s motionless back.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was probably no more than two minutes, Hernandez came back on. “All clear.”
“Should we return to position?” I asked.
“Negative, remain in place until I tell you.”
We spread out a little bit but stayed leaning against the rough stone wall.
Rodrigo checked his watch. “They’re late.”
“Relax. They may be hiding from the staff members too,” I reassured him, but silently I fidgeted with my earring.
“I have movement. Coming from the south,” Josh murmured.
“How many?” I asked.
“Three approaching.”
“Those must be Adolfo’s brothers,” Craig whispered. “Is there a petite one with pink hair?”
“One is wearing a ball cap, slim, may be our target,” Josh answered.
“Do you see any weapons?” Hernandez asked.
“Negative.”
There was a grunt, then Hernandez came back on. “I’m moving to a better position. Three blind mice, move out.”
“Roger that,” Rodrigo responded and immediately walked forward.
“Watch out for the—” I started to say, but immediately cut off in a stifled gasp. Rodrigo must have forgotten about the cordons because he ran into one, bounced off, and slammed into me, stepping on my shoe. Losing my balance, I windmilled my arms and began to fall to the side.
“I got you.” Luckily, Craig caught my shoulder just as Rodrigo got off my shoe. I stumbled around a moment before righting myself with his help.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“What’s going on down there—three blind mice?” Josh’s voice held a silky tone, and I realized we’d just lived up to our moniker.
“Nothing. Three blind mice moving into position,” Craig countered.
Once we were back in front of the Jaguar Temple, Josh said, “Mice have come into range, I have visual on all three.”
“Copy that,” Hernandez murmured. “Our visitors are heading directly to the location. I think this is it.”
Rodrigo and I stood a few steps behind Craig as we waited for the three to approach. I wiped sweaty hands against my shorts. They appeared in silhouette first, then the laser show began, and our position brightened significantly. With the increased light we could identify one man, about five-eleven, rather beefy, leading the other two. A voice in Spanish bellowed over the loudspeakers, startling me. Already on edge, the noise sent my heart sprinting like a rabbit at a Greyhound race.
“The one in front is Nico Dinapoli,” Craig murmured. “The fat one behind him is his brother Gaetan.”
My heart sank as I identified the third in the trio as Adolfo, not Mrs. Thundermuffin. “They don’t have her,” I whispered for the boys on com. Josh grunted in response.
The brothers arrived at our position and spread out in a line, with Adolfo on the right of Nico, and Gaetan—a shorter and much rounder version of Nico—to his left. Gaetan must have really enjoyed the heavy Italian pasta dishes. It looked like he ate them three times a day. His breathing was heavy, almost to the point of asthmatic. I saw little resemblance between Adolfo and his half-brothers. Whereas Adolfo’s features were very fine, almost feminine, his brothers were full-blooded Italian, with dark, hooded eyes, thick, pudgy fingers, and heavily-jowled countenances. All three of them wore dark pants and dark tops. Nico wore a black sweatshirt. The temperature hovered around seventy-eight, and perspiration gathered around Nico’s hairline. One of the brothers must have bathed in his cologne. The scent permeated our group like mustard gas. I’d smelled that scent before and, as the men spoke, I searched my mind, trying to pinpoint where.
“Nico,” Craig greeted him, stepping forward, “where is my aunt?”
“Nearby. We told you to come alone.” Nico’s gaze flicked between Rodrigo and I, assessing the situation.
“Plans changed.” Craig straightened, sticking his chest out like a male buck trying to establish dominance. “I knew you wouldn’t come alone. I didn’t see any reason not to bring my own friends.”
If his face was any indicator, Nico did not like the increase to the party, but Rodrigo and I must have looked harmless enough, because he didn’t push the issue. “Where is the mask?”
“My aunt first,” Craig replied firmly.
“Show us the mask first, then we’ll bring out your aunt,” Gaetan wheezed.
Craig glanced over his shoulder at me and jerked his head. I didn’t move, waiting to hear what the Silverthorne guys had to say. I didn’t like the fact that Nico had not brought Mrs. Thundermuffin with them. Then it hit me.
“My room!” All eyes turned to stare at me, and I coughed to cover my outburst. The cologne was the smell from my room at the hotel. The one that got trashed.
“I have no visual on the target,” Josh whispered.
“Neither do I,” Hernandez said quietly in my ear.
“Karina, show him the box,” Craig bit out.
“Fine,” I said through tight lips. I unhooked the backpack, pulled out the box, and opened it toward the group for inspection.
Nico said something in Italian to Adolfo, and his brother trotted across the invisible line in the sand separating our two groups. Craig didn’t turn, keeping his attention on the brothers. The lasers shifted, illumination darkened, and Adolfo pulled out a small penlight to examine the death mask. At one point he removed it from its foam bedding. Rodrigo made a small jerking move. I sucked wind and my muscles tightened.
“Easy, easy,” a voice cautioned over the coms.
Adolfo put the mask back in place and pivoted. “Yes, this is the one I made.”
Quietly, I closed the lid and, ever so gently, stepped back. Adolfo’s glance flicked at me, aware of my movements, but he didn’t follow my retreat.
“See? We brought the mask.” Craig indicated with his hand. “Now where is my aunt?”
“We’ll take the mask now and tell you where you can pick up your aunt,” Nico stated.
My grip tightened on the box.
“I don’t think so,” Rodrigo interjected, moving forward to flank Craig. “The deal was, the mask for his aunt. No aunt. No mask.”
I stepped back further into the shadow of the Temple.
“The mask, now, and we tell you where to pick up your aunt,” Nico said slowly and evenly, putting his hand behind his back.
Gaetan pulled out a shiny silver handgun. A .38, if I remembered correctly from Rick’s lecture. I didn’t doubt Nico’s hand rested on a similar weapon.
“Whoa.” Craig put his hands up and lurched backward, leaving Rodrigo to head our little troupe and face the brothers.
“I don’t think so.” Rodrigo’s voice held no hint of unease, which surprised me because the gun caused a lightning bolt of fear to course down my spine, and the box shook in my hands. “Light ‘em up, boys.”
Two red laser dots appeared dead center on Gaetan and Nico’s chests, easing my anxiety only minimally.
“Who the hell—” Nico started.
Adolfo spoke rapidly in Italian, and both the brothers looked down. Gaetan actually tried to wipe the dot away with his hand.
“It’s not a stain. It doesn’t come off, moron,” Craig taunted, clearly feeling more impowered, though he remained behind Rodrigo.
“Don’t antagonize him,” I hissed.
“As you can see,” Rodrigo said over the top of Craig and I, “we brought our own protection. Now, if you’d like to go fetch his aunt from wherever you left her, we can get back to the business at hand.”
Nico did not look happy at this turn of events. “We will—”
I had no idea what Nico planned to say because, to our left, an explosion shook the ground. Flames licked up the side of an information kiosk sitting next to a closed-up food truck. The blast distracted everyone.
Everyone except Adolfo, who snatched the box out of my hands and took off, hollering, “Correre! Correre!”
Many things happened at once. Nico swiftly took to his heels and was soon lost into the darkness. Gaetan waddled after him at a surprising speed for such a rotund fellow.
“Shit!” I stared blindly at my hands for a precious few seconds. “He took the box.” Comprehension kicked in, and I bolted after him, shouting, “Adolfo took the box! Adolfo has the box! Get him!”
Craig pelted past me, throwing something to the ground. I didn’t stop to see what it was as I followed in his wake. Adolfo, taking advantage of the chaos that erupted from the explosion, headed straight toward the mass of confused tourists. I kept a running monologue of their movements for Josh and Hernandez.
The laser show, frozen on an image of Quetzalcoatl, a.k.a. the “plumed serpent,” splashed across the pyramid. Meanwhile, across the field, the brightly burning kiosk created a dance of macabre shadows, making Quetzalcoatl seem alive. Spanish, repeated in English, barked over the loudspeakers directing everyone to exit in an orderly manner.
KABOOM!
A second, larger explosion rocked us, and the taco truck flew five feet into the air. It was accompanied by an enormous fire column worthy of a Hollywood action movie. I faltered. Ahead, confusion turned into downright hysteria. Spectators began screaming and running in different directions. I lost sight of Craig and Adolfo in the melee.
“Do not pursue! Do not pursue!” I finally tuned into Josh yelling in my ear. “Stand down, Karina! DAMN IT, WOMAN, STOP RUNNING!”
I came to a halt, pressed a hand to my ear, and panted, “What? You want me to stop following? He took the box. Do you copy? Adolfo has the death mask. We do not know where Mrs. Thundermuffin is. We have nothing.”
“We copy you,” Josh said. “Something else is happening.”
“Wait.” My eyes darted around. “The explosions weren’t a diversion tactic you created?”
“Negative. We are looking at some sort of terror attack.”
“Sycamore, retrieve pequeña ave. She is at your three o’clock. Everyone return to the extraction point,” Hernandez ordered.
“Karina!” Rodrigo, barely winded, grabbed my hand. “C’mon, we’ll figure out Mrs. T. later. We have to leave. Now! Before the next explosion!” Initially, he pulled me along, but soon I was sprinting with him—my feet pounding and my breath puffing.
We ran parallel to a group of frightened visitors, when suddenly a high-pitched scream erupted. The crowd shifted like a school of minnows, and the wave of bodies headed straight at us. Rodrigo tried to course correct, but we’d been running too close, and there wasn’t enough time. Our hands broke apart. Someone slammed into me, my right foot landed in a hole, causing my ankle to give way, and I went down to my hands and knees. In an instant, I was living one of my biggest nightmares. Someone else nailed my side and knocked me completely to the ground. Feet scrambled around, trying to dodge past me. Another person tripped over me. I put my hands to my head and rolled to my left, away from the cluster. The scent of earthy dust and dried grass filled my nostrils, and I knew that smell would forever cause a rush of fearful adrenaline.
Finally, the pounding feet receded, and I lowered my hands from my head. A new pain throbbed along the left side of my rib cage. Getting to my hands and knees, I took deep breaths to center myself. A gentle hand touched my shoulder.
“Karina, are you okay?”
I must have taken that hit to the head harder than I thought. That voice sounded like— “Mrs. Thundermuffin?” I asked dubiously. Her hair stood on end, and the firelight turned it a blazing orange shade, which reminded me of the Heat Miser from a Christmas movie I watched as a child. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. When I reopened them, she was still there. “Is that you?”
“Yes, dearie, in the flesh. Can you get up?”
“I think so.” She helped me rise to my feet. I rotated my twisted ankle. There was a little soreness, but nothing to indicate a bad sprain
“Come on, your friend is searching for you.” She pointed.
In the distance, I could see Rodrigo silhouetted by the firelight, waving his arms, and as we got closer, I heard him screaming my name, “KARINA!”
“Rodrigo!” I called.
He rotated spotting me. “Karina! Thank god! I found her. Wait, who is? Is that?”
“Mrs. Thundermuffin, this is my friend Rodrigo,” I introduced them as if we’d just met up for a cup of coffee.
“We have located the target. Repeat, Karina has found our target, and she is in our custody. Copy that, moving directly to extraction. Come on you two, follow me.” He turned and took off at a fast trot. Mrs. T. was able to keep up, and I tried to hobble quickly, but my knees were scraped raw and painful. Additionally, the pain along my side was making it difficult to run and breathe at the same time. Rodrigo noticed I was lagging and glanced back at me. “What’s wrong? Geez, your legs are a mess.” He pulled my arm across his shoulder to take some weight off the injury and headed into the woods past the pyramid of Venus.
“Wait, where are we going? The extraction location is that way.” I pointed with my free hand in the direction of the entrance.
“Change of plans. Didn’t you hear?”
“No.” I realized Josh and Hernandez weren’t yelling instructions in my ear. “I must have lost my earbud in the stampede.”
“It’s okay. I’m still plugged in.” Rodrigo held up his hand for silence and led us deeper into the glade. “Um-hm. Yes. Turn right here? Okay. Copy that.”
We came out onto a dirt track and Rodrigo halted.
“What next?” I asked.
“We wait.”
In the distance, I heard the growl of an engine growing louder and louder. The SUV turned a corner and its headlights speared the three of us. Hernandez brought the car to a dusty and skidding halt. Both passenger side doors were thrown open.
“Get in!” Joshua and Hernandez barked in unison.
Rodrigo climbed in front, while Mrs. T. and I took the back. I found myself in the middle, again, and staring at Joshua. He wore black from head to toe. His face had been blackened with grease paint, and his golden crop of hair was covered with a dark knit cap. The blue eyes appeared startlingly bright in comparison to all the black.
“You’ve never looked more like a Navy SEAL to me than you do now,” I commented.
His teeth gleamed in the darkness.
Hernandez pulled out, and we swayed back and forth as he made a U-turn.
“We better get you cleaned up. Rick is going to kill me if I send you home bloodied and bruised.” Josh reached behind me into the cargo area and retrieved a first aid kit. “Can someone turn on the dome light? Thanks.” He pushed my hand to my shoulder to assess the damage at my elbow. “You are filthy, Karina. What the hell happened?”
He was right. A thin layer of dust coated me from top to bottom. “I got trampled by the crowd.” The light-colored shorts and shirt were grass, dirt, and blood-stained. They would never wash clean; I’d have to throw them away. Just one more clothing casualty on this trip.
“Christ,” Josh whistled through his teeth.
While Josh disinfected and bandaged my wounds, I asked, “Anyone know what happened to Craig?”
Hernandez shook his head. “He switched off his tracker, and we haven’t heard anything from him on coms.”
“I think he threw them out. I’m afraid he might be in cahoots with his buddy Adolfo. Speaking of Craig” —I rotated to my seatmate— “I’m not a fan, Mrs. T.”
She sighed and crossed one hand over the other in her lap. “I know, dear. Craig can be a little shit, but he’s my sister’s grandchild and I had to help him. Frankly, the boy is too smart for his own good.”
“Ow!” I winced as Josh sprayed a stinging antiseptic on my elbow. “How on earth did you come to be at the site? Did they leave you locked in the car or something?”
“Oh, yes, they locked me in the trunk.”
Rodrigo put his arm across the back of the bench seat and turned to face us. “How did you escape?”
“It wasn’t that hard. They underestimated my skills. Usually, when I wasn’t in sight, they would handcuff me, like during the night. They really didn’t like doing it, though. Gaetan was always in charge of restraining me, and he would apologize profusely as he did it. I told them there was no way I could get out of the trunk and complained that the handcuffs were painful. Gaetan convinced Nico to tie my hands in front with rope. He left the knots rather loose, but it did take longer than I expected to get out. The car model is older and didn’t have the interior auto-release latch,” she explained.
“So how did you get out?” Rodrigo asked.
“With the help of a crowbar, I was able to push the back seat down.”
Hernandez hit a particularly bad pothole, slamming me and Josh against the window.
“Oof,” I gasped, pressing a hand to my bruised side.
“What’s wrong?” Josh asked.
“Got kicked in the ribs.”
“Let me see.” Josh raised my left arm high and gently hiked up my top. “You’ve got a bruise the size of a baseball. Here, put this against it.” He cracked an instant ice pack, wrapped some gauze around it, then pressed it against my side.
I sucked wind through my teeth as we bounced through another pothole. “Is there a reason we’re traveling down this goat track?”
“We put a GPS locator in the case,” Hernandez explained, wheeling around another particularly bad pothole.
“Of course you did,” I mumbled under my breath. No wonder the boys didn’t need me to chase Adolfo down. They’d already planned for this contingency.
“I’m trying to follow it, but I keep having to take my eyes off the, erm, road.”
Rodrigo faced forward. “I can help. Tell me what to do.”
Hernandez slowed to a crawl and handed Rodrigo a tablet. “The red dot is the mask, we are the green dot, here. This indicates the compass. Tell me north, south, east, or west.”
“Got it. Head west.”
Hernandez continued to jounce and bounce us down the bumpy trail while Rodrigo gave directions.
Josh pulled my left leg across his lap and tackled my knee.
“What were those explosions all about? I thought maybe you two had done something to cause a distraction,” I asked him.
“That would be my fault,” Mrs. Thundermuffin confessed. All eyes except Hernandez’s turned her way. “Like I said, I’m afraid it took me awhile to get out of the trunk. I knew I was late to the meeting. I didn’t trust those men not to hurt you, so I rigged a distraction.”
“With what?” Rodrigo asked.
“They had a bottle of vodka in the glovebox and a case of bullets. I dumped some gun powder inside the bottle and used the car’s cigarette lighter to light a rag I found in the trunk.”
“Okay, but why did you rig the second explosion?” Josh asked, while taping gauze to my knee.
“I didn’t. The first explosion was much too close to the food truck. A mistake. I didn’t realize until too late. The second explosion was the propane tank.” She grimaced. “I feel bad about that.”
“What’s that noise?” Hernandez asked as the theme song to Grease sang out.
“My phone. It’s my sister calling,” I replied.
“Is it important? Should you answer it?” Josh inquired.
I gave him the side-eye. “You mean more important than this? Let it go to voice mail.”
“Wait, stop!” Rodrigo shouted. “He’s turned north.”
We jerked to a stop and Hernandez looked to his right. “North? Are you certain?”
“Yes, heading north.”
The track continued west as far as the lights could illuminate. We followed Hernandez’s gaze. To our right was nothing but woods and underbrush. The Latino wrenched the wheel.
Uh-oh.
Yup, into the forest we went.
Twigs and branches scraped and scratched the car, the radio antenna twanged as it brushed past a bough. Bumping along the track had been like riding on asphalt compared to the off-road adventure Hernandez embarked upon. It was so bad, Josh paused his ministrations to grip the “oh shit” handle. My fingers curled around the seat in front of me, and I clamped my teeth together to keep from biting my tongue as the car bucked through the forest. Rocks and debris cracked against the undercarriage. I feared, at minimum, we’d end up with a flat tire, a broken axle at worst. It went on for probably only five or six minutes, but seemed a lifetime to me. Finally, a break in the trees appeared and we pulled out onto another dirt road.
“Now where is he?” Hernandez asked.
“Turn left. No. wait.” Rodrigo rotated the tablet. “Sorry, turn right. That’s it.” We drove about a mile down the dirt road. “Okay. Stop here.” Rodrigo passed the tablet to Hernandez and pointed at something.
Hernandez grunted and turned off the lights, including the dome light. All went quiet.
“What are we doing?” I whispered.
“Waiting,” Hernandez said in a normal tone, which sounded loud to my ears.
“Waiting for wh—”
Whap! A man smacked into the front quarter panel and pancaked across the hood of the car. Something went flying and slammed against the windshield. Hernandez turned on the lights.
“Craig?” Rodrigo rolled down the window. “Craig? Is that you?”
“Rodrigo? How did you find me?” Craig squinted. “Never mind, thank the stars you did. I got it. I got the funerary mask back!”
Hernandez opened his door and retrieved the black box. “Get in.”
Rodrigo threw open the passenger side door and scooted to the center of the bench seat.
Craig clambered in, looking as disheveled as the first time we met—sweat stains around his pits, and a leaf sticking out of his hair. “See, I got it, now we have leverage to get Aunt Milly back.”
“Hello, Craig,” Mrs. Thundermuffin said.
Craig jerked his head, craning his neck to see over the headrest. “Aunt Milly?”
“The one and only,” she replied drily.
“What happened to your GPS and earbud?” Rodrigo asked in an accusing tone.
He touched his left ear. “Uh, I must have lost it when I was chasing Adolfo. Here’s my tracker.” Craig dug into his pocket. When he didn’t find it there, he dug in the other one. “Huh, I must have lost that too. Sorry, guys.”
Lost it, my ass. I remembered Craig throwing something aside and realized it was probably the tracker and earbud, leading me to wonder—what the hell was he up to?
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“Tracker on the mask,” Hernandez supplied.
“Oh.” He digested that little tidbit for a moment, and I wished I could have seen his face. “Lucky for me, I guess. You know, this is great, we really duped them,” he went on with enthusiasm. “We have the funerary mask. Nobody got hurt. Everything worked out fine.”
I delivered Craig a glare so heated, I’m surprised his hair didn’t burst into flames. Mrs. T. smacked him upside the head.
“Ow, what was that for?” He rubbed the area where she struck him.
“Because you’re a moron,” Rodrigo drawled. “Karina’s back there bleeding all over the place. Your aunt had to escape out of the trunk of a car, and Hernandez just tore up the undercarriage of this vehicle to catch up with you.”
Craig glanced back at me and grimaced. “What happened to you?” My eyes turned to slits, and Craig looked away, mumbling, “Jeez, sorry.”
Mrs. T. smacked him again. Josh returned to his ministrations. Craig stared forward and remained blessedly silent the rest of the trip.
****
WE STOPPED AT THE HISTORICAL Spanish Library Studies, aka, the CIA front, and returned the tactical gear and most of the weapons to the El Camino. Josh retained a handgun, and quietly told Rodrigo and I to keep our stun guns. I don’t think anyone believed Craig “lost” his GPS, and our trust levels were low. Nobody came out to greet us this time, and we left Hernandez behind. Apparently, he was due to catch a midnight flight home. Josh took over driving us back to the resort.
I’d love to say that we prepared some elaborate scheme to sneak Josh and Mrs. T. up to my suite, but I can’t. We walked in the front door and went directly to the elevators, unmolested. Our motley group must have been quite a sight. Josh, who had wiped off most of the grease paint except for a few swipes around his ears, simply looked tough and unapproachable. The twig had fallen out of Craig’s hair, but there were still remnants of his race through the jungle, including the sweat stains on his new shirt. Mrs. T., wearing dark slacks and a blue blouse, would have ranged on the normal scale, except for the pink hair standing on end, and the new gauze wrapped around her wrists. Bloody, bandaged, filthy, and walking stiff-legged like Frankenstein, I probably looked the most disreputable. Rodrigo was the only one who appeared normal. It didn’t even look as though he’d broken a sweat.
When we got into the elevator, Craig gave me the once-over, taking in my sorry state, and opened his mouth to say something.
“Not a word.” I held up a finger. “Not a fucking word.”