but you can’t hide that much construction work or that level of heightened security around the venue. The more hush-hush the activity is, the more obvious it becomes that something big is in train.”
“And your man in China knows for a fact that it’s a conference? All the High Priests are going to attend?”
“He does. He’s an Anahuac, a cousin of a cousin of mine. Works in the building trade over there. He’s been supplying labour to the site. They’re putting up a convention hall right where one of the main palaces in the Forbidden City used to stand. They’re also raising a brand new temple ziggurat. There’s going to be some serious sacrificing once the Great Speaker blows into town.”
“How do you know he’s on the level, your cousin’s cousin? Mightn’t the Empire have turned him? Could he be feeding you deliberate misinformation? Couldn’t this all be some Imperial plot to smoke Xibalba out?”
“Ah, so suspicious,” said Chel. “And you are wise to be. However, I’m in absolutely no doubt that he’s telling the truth. He’s sympathetic to our aims, and what with that and our shared blood, I trust him implicitly. That’s why I’ve obtained this aerodisc. That’s why I’ve cooked up this kidnap plan.”
“Kidnap? It isn’t going to stop at that, though, is it?”
“No.” Chel looked grave. “It can’t. The Great Speaker has to die. And he has to die publicly, screaming, begging for his life. As a man, not a god. In mortal terror.”
“In Beijing.”
“That would be the ideal location. The world’s press are going to be there. It’ll be the focus of international media attention. Before hundreds of cameras, before millions of watching eyes, Xibalba will unmask the Speaker and show him to be a human being, as frail as any of us and as capable of dying. We will cut him down just as his priests have cut down so many countless others, and the Empire’s reign of terror will be over.”
Off the top of his head Stuart could think of a dozen objections to this plan. The ways it could go wrong were many and obvious. For one thing, they had to make sure the Serpent Warriors at Tenochtitlan were fooled into believing this disc was the one that had come to fetch their master. For another, it was a distance of several thousand miles from Anahuac to Beijing. Could such a rusty old rattletrap make it that far? And assuming they got there in one piece and were able to stage a public execution for the Great Speaker, wasn’t there a chance people might be made to think it was faked? The Empire could claim the whole thing was a setup, with some hapless impostor duped into wearing a replica set of robes and golden mask. A replacement Great Speaker could be wheeled out at short notice and declare that a vicious prank had been played by enemies of the Empire and the world should pay it no attention.
Chel studied his face and saw all the doubts there.
But he saw something else as well.
“It’s not without its potential drawbacks,” he admitted. “I’m well aware of that. Some might even call it harebrained. But imagine if we manage to pull it off. Just imagine. The Empire is predicated on the fact that its Emperor is Moctezuma the Second, ancient and everlasting. If we were to prove convincingly otherwise, it would have nothing to stand on. It would fall heavily and hard. And…”
He moved a step closer to Stuart.
“What a grand gesture it would be. What a spectacular coup. I know your love of the bold, flashy statement, your flair for the dramatic. You understand that that’s what’s needed to get one’s point across. A slumbering public has to be woken up. It has to be shocked out of its complacency. People are numb, docile — sheep. What else was the Conquistador about if not throwing a metaphorical grenade in their laps? This would be the biggest grenade of all. The effects of its explosion would be felt for all time. It could change everything!”
Chel looked deep into his eyes.
“Let’s set it off. Let’s at least try.”
SEVENTEEN
Same Day
Stuart was on first watch that night. He and a man called Auilix patrolled the perimeter of the clearing separately, Stuart at one end, Auilix at the other. Every now and then they met in the middle to exchange nods and maybe a word or two.
Since his conversation with Chel, Stuart had oscillated between feeling the Xibalba leader was hopelessly deluded and wondering if he might not be on to something. If the plan could be carried out without a hitch, it would make everything Stuart had done as the Conquistador look small-time indeed. It might even, as Chel insisted, cause the Empire to crumble. At the very least, shake it to its foundations and leave significant cracks in its facade.
But…
The odds against success were inordinately, almost ridiculously high.
But…
If there was even a tiny percentage chance it would work, wasn’t it worth attempting?
One Flint Knife was half a trecena away. Stuart had seven days to make up his mind.
The rainforest was unusually loud this evening. The animals seemed to have recruited several new members to their nightly glee club. The racket made it hard to think. Stuart, as he did his semicircular circuits of the clearing, could scarcely hear his own footfalls.
Then, all of a sudden, it stopped.
A hush descended.
The hush stretched on, as eerie as it was absolute.
Stuart strode over to Auilix. The Mayan had the lightning gun, while Stuart had a semiautomatic rifle. Stuart could see he was perturbed.
“What’s up?” he whispered. “Why’s it gone so quiet?”
Auilix shook his head uncertainly, and both men stared into the darkness of the trees. The only sounds were the burble of the waterfall, the faint ripple of a breeze through high branches, and their own breathing.
“Sometimes, if there’s an apex predator around, the other animals are subdued,” Auilix said. “But not like this. Not this silent.”
Stuart felt the hairs prickle on the backs of his hands.
“Someone…” said the Mayan, so softly it was almost inaudible. “Someone is moving around out there.”
Immediately Stuart racked the bolt handle on the rifle. The sound seemed astonishingly loud, but he was happy with that. Whoever was in the forest, he wanted them to know he and Auilix were aware of their presence and ready to deal with them.
His eyes searched for movement. With the Eagles he had learned to use peripheral vision at night. The blind spot at your focal point, his training sergeant had said, could hide an elephant.
There.
Black amidst the blackness. Something shining. A glint.
Stuart raised the rifle and sighted along the barrel.
But the glint had gone. It could just have been moonlight reflected off a leaf.
But Auilix beside him had glimpsed something too. The l-gun began to whine.
Stuart moved closer to the trees, leading with the rifle. He was expecting to come under enemy fire at any moment. In his gut, he was terrified. In his head, he was calm. The real danger here was losing his nerve. Keep that and he might just keep living.
“Come on, you bastard,” he murmured under his breath. “Where are you? Show yourself.”
He reached the tree line. Behind him, Auilix grunted, urging caution, but Stuart didn’t pause. The best tactic, when facing the possibility of ambush, was to take the fight to the ambushers. Your opponents’ one advantage was their hidden position, and that could be negated by a direct, full-frontal approach, flushing them out from cover.
He entered the forest, and the tree canopy closed overhead, blotting out the moon. Everything was a play of silver and black, patterns of pale filigree light. He trod toe-to-heel, feeling for each step with his feet, never dropping his gaze once to look where he was treading.
The whole of the forest held its breath.
