The Mayan Priest (24 page)

He was right in the middle of the three-lane freeway with high barriers and no exit ramps. His heart pounded fiercely as he searched for a possible decoy, his eyes falling on the trucks in front of him. The Wal-Mart truck was still travelling alongside the livestock-carrying semitrailer with the exception that it had moved over to the centre lane, positioning itself directly in front of Dale. The distance between the two trucks was six feet at best. If he tried, he could almost squeeze in between them, any indecisive notions he had pushed to the far reaches of his mind when a bullet shot past his ear, nicking the side of his black helmet. He was left with no choice. He accelerated as quickly as he could, but the roar of the pursuing vehicle and another bullet to the right handlebar alerted him to the severity of the situation. They were only just behind him.

Dale forced the bike to a new speed as the old engine protested unhappily but complied. He rapidly closed in on the trucks and was able to judge the distance he required to fit between them. The phrase ‘like a can of sardines’ came to mind as he battled the wind gusts before sliding into the Wal-Mart truck’s slipstream. This allowed him to race behind momentarily before slipping into the gap between the trucks. He had only inches to spare but managed a sigh of relief until he looked in his rear-vision mirror. His pursuers had pulled up just behind him and had a Valmet M76 trained directly at him.

He realised he had made a terrible mistake. Instead of making his escape, he had cornered himself, giving the assassins a direct line of fire. Dale lowered himself as far as possible to the handlebars and kept riding, all the while praying for a miracle which did not come.

The truck drivers alerted to the gunfire had automatically braked and swerved slightly in their attempt to view the proceedings. The driver of the livestock semitrailer held steady, but the assassins had made the fatal mistake of hitting two of the Wal-Mart tyres. With the slight imbalance, sudden onset of rain and his avid curiosity, the driver of the larger vehicle began to veer sharply to the right causing the trailer to jackknife. It was like a bad movie unfolding as Dale, still sandwiched between the two trucks, watched the cabin of the Wal-Mart truck edge in towards him. He braked just as the cabin connected with the other semitrailer.

In an attempt to avoid a collision, the livestock carrier accelerated and forced Dale backwards just as the Wal-Mart truck attempted to avert a disaster by overcorrecting the front wheels. Unfortunately this only exasperated the problem and the trailer reacted by swinging fiercely in the opposite direction. Dale, seeing the gap in front widen once again accelerated and managed to clear the ill-fated truck that had just blundered into a deadly slide.

The tyres screeched as the driver tried in desperation to bring the vehicle to a stop, but the huge truck had developed a life of its own. It swung vertically around the centre of the road, swiping two other vehicles and the assassins who were unable to react in time. Eventually losing its fight to stay upright amid the loss of grip and increase in sway, the massive truck tilted and rolled. It careened dramatically into the side rails and crunched firmly into the solid concrete barrier before bursting into flames. The exhibition was as spectacular as it was loud with the inclusion of the assassin’s vehicle caught underneath the falling cargo only adding to the scene.

In any normal circumstance, Dale would have stopped and rendered assistance, but this was far from the usual, so with considerable regret, he continued his journey towards Bee Cave. He noticed the scenery change from busy suburbia to a sparse land, full of water retentive trees and scrubs. This gave way to slightly larger homes and eventually taller bushes and a single lane residential street.

Less than one hour after the truck accident, Dale pulled into the relative secrecy of a few large shrubs and took advantage of the added foliage to conceal the bike. He was relieved that he had lost the assassins but was not ignorant enough to realise that he could not hide forever. The key to this mission was to get in and out as quickly as possible and gather as much incriminating evidence as he could on the Senator.

A large, three storey ranch-inspired home spread widely across the centre of the manicured lawns. It was surrounded by a mix of oak and poplar trees, sported a large circular driveway and flimsy looking white fences. To the right of the house was the stable complex and a number of outbuildings including two barns, and to the left was a swimming pool and tennis court. It appeared friendly and welcoming but looks were deceiving. Dale’s trained eyes easily detected the trip-wires running around the boundary fence. He also knew that superior security would be employed in all areas surrounding the home and outbuildings. Hidden cameras and sensors would be employed as well as laser in the home.

Entry through the front was not likely but the space between the stables and the barn could be a possibility. He quickly viewed the surroundings and noted that the neighbours property had high stone walls. It was probable that the Senator had considered this security enough and that he had not used trip wires for the one hundred or so feet bordering the stables.

Using the high grasses as cover, Dale followed the wall until he was at the desired location. He jumped the stone and held his breath … no alarms. He had been right, although he did pinpoint five guards. Three surrounded the house and two were patrolling the grounds with the nearest being ten feet from the end stable.

Dale lay on his stomach and wriggled away from the fence, ensuring that he stayed as low as possible. He detected no movement, but the deep, dark shadows spilling from the stable complex ensured Dale moved more cautiously than normal. He gazed at the guards and noted that two were on mobile phones, one was smoking and the other two had stopped for a chat. Their lack of concentration was clear evidence that intruders were a rarity which gave Dale enough confidence to move into the stables.

He did not find what he expected.

When he was a teenager, Dale had volunteered at the local police station for two months to show any future employers that he was eager to succeed. Unfortunately he had been put to work in the horse stables for that entire time and became familiar with the acrid smell of stale urine and large foul lumps of dung. Ferrero Santiano’s stables sported rubber lined stalls, paved flooring and fine brickwork. There were all the usual saddlery, rugs, straw and food bins, but something was missing. At first, he could not pinpoint what it was, but it eventually dawned on him. There was no smell of horse, and on further investigation, no horse hair. In fact, Dale wondered if these stables had ever seen horses at all.

He edged cautiously through the shadowy building until he reached the second stall from the end. A crunching noise stopped him in his tracks. Dale dove for cover under the straw, hitting his left shoulder against the concrete floor. His bones groaned under the pressure.

He was way too old for this.

By the rumble of the diesel engine and fierce screech of the brakes attempting to bring a heavy load to a halt, Dale could tell that it was a truck. A number of doors slammed and within a few moments, the shuffle of many feet approached his position.

Other than the occasional whisper, there was no noise which Dale found odd, considering he estimated at least twenty people stood only three feet from him. Temptation proved too hard to resist, so Dale pushed aside enough straw to see a group of very young children forced into a cluster. They had hackles around their ankles, ropes around their wrists and tape over their mouths and eyes. Their lack of resistance and general movement led him to believe they had been drugged which was confirmed moments later when their captor gave each one a needle in the arm.

Dale could not believe what he was seeing.

The captors cleared the straw away from the first stall and lifted a hatch concealed underneath. They forced the children one by one into the darkened space below. The children obliged without argument.

Dale felt ill, sickened to his very core.

His initial reaction was to jump to his feet, shoot the captors and free the children, but he feared outing Ferrero Santiano would cause the entire operation to close down before they could infiltrate the core. He needed to save these children and find the Senator without alerting him to the loss of his captives.

His good friend Antony Larrami, the current DCIA (Director of the Central Intelligence Agency) was just the person he needed.

Fifteen minutes passed until the men secured the hatch and left in the large, fully enclosed single cabin truck, normally used for furniture removal. Dale immediately rang Antony Larrami and secured the childrens’ freedom. He would have men here within the hour. This gave Dale exactly fifty-five minutes to get into the home and find the information he needed.

With years of covert operation behind him, Dale quickly lured the two men walking the grounds by creating a small fire in the bushes. He shot them before hurrying to a large oak and using it as cover until the guard on the front porch wandered by. Dale hesitated. His best combat years were behind him and the ability to take a life without a conscience had long since passed. He had to visualise the image of the poor children, some as young as two, before he could snap the man’s neck.

With the element of surprise on his side, Dale easily overwhelmed the inexperienced guard at the rear door and crept unseen through the living area and up the finely crafted oak stairs to the second floor. He would have normally taken the opportunity to search the den and other rooms on the ground level, but the visual of two guards on the upper balcony informed him of the Senator’s position.

He did not have time to waste.

The red carpet symbolised riches and power as did the family portraits and busts that lined the long bowling alley style hall. Large crystal chandeliers hung in regular intervals along with equally elaborate wall-mounted lights designed to resemble diamond teardrops. At least a dozen ornate doors were visible from the landing that gave equally exquisite views to the parquetry-inlaid galley style entrance hall below. As Dale had entered through the rear, he had not seen the glorious foyer that sported gold leaf chairs, handmade rugs and life-sized paintings, all gained at the expense of innocents. It made his blood boil.

With his nerves on edge, Dale was fortunate that the noise of the vacuum cleaner hid his steps as he tiptoed down the hall. The two cleaning trolleys and open doors to the right of his position automatically indicated that the Senator was in the opposite direction, his deduction proving correct as a couple of male voices echoed from a room nearby.

Dale could not stay in the hall for fear of being caught, so he moved into the room in question, noting that it had a small adjoining alcove.

Ferrero Santiano was in the alcove.

Dale paused and listened. A man with a small voice that reminded him of a timid mouse was busy complying to Santiano’s every whim! All he could hear was ‘yes, Sir. No, Sir,’ with the fear of not meeting the demands greater than having to live with his conscience. The man was most likely young and inexperienced, caught up by the power Santiano represented. He felt sorry for him.

Santiano was sitting at his desk. He was a dark-haired, dark-skinned man with a large moustache, a solid upper frame and tattoos on his arms. His eyes were small and arrogant, his mouth twisted tightly in a snide grin and he had a large bulbous nose. He wore designer suit pants with an elaborate buckled belt and a short sleeve shirt, designed to belittle anyone who was of a lower social or monetary status, and an abundance of gold jewellery.

Dale listened carefully, peering through the door as Santiano gave the young man orders.

‘The truck will be here by midnight tonight. The children must be prepared and loaded for immediate departure. You know how Arun is if they do not arrive on time and with a twenty-four hour journey ahead of them, it’s going to be tight.’

Campeche was approximately that distance from here, but their previous attempts to locate a facility in that region had been a failure. Dale wondered if it was better to let the children be taken by Santiano to the facility and then follow them, but twenty-four hours was too long a time. If he was to assist his daughter at all, he had to uncover Arun’s lair in less than twelve hours.

‘Yes, Sir. I will ensure all is ready for you. We will leave right on schedule under the cover of darkness,’ said the thin young man with a mop of blond hair. When he turned, Dale also noted the darkened circles around his eyes and the intense expression of sadness and loss. He was not a happy man.

Seeking cover between the wall and door, Dale waited for the boy to depart before drawing his semi automatic pistol and boldly entering the small room. He closed the door behind him.

‘You better have a bloody good excuse to interrupt me,’ said Santiano, presuming it was the young man who had returned and not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

‘Too right. A better excuse than you could imagine,’ muttered Dale, his voice neither malicious nor angry as he pointed the muzzle directly at the Senator’s forehead.

He was simply doing his job.

Santiano looked up in surprise, the expression of astonishment quickly becoming anger at the unexpected intrusion and threat on his life. ‘Who the bloody hell are you?!’ he spat heatedly.

‘Just someone who has a little bit of sympathy for the children you are holding in your stables.

Santiano’s dark skin flushed with anger. The veins on his forehead expanded and he clenched his fists. His dark brown eyes fired daggers as Santiano tried to collect himself.