The Aztec Code by Stephen Cole Page B

hardened, he clearly didn’t believe a word of it.
    â€˜It wasn’t like that, Mot,’ said Jonah, getting to his feet – and wincing as the world pitched and tilted.
    â€˜Just stay in bed, lover-boy,’ said Motti gruffly, getting up too. ‘I’ll go out and see if I can find any evidence of that Sixth Sun ’copter. And you’d better hope I turn up a better lead than anything
you’ve
found so far.’
    He stalked from the room and shut the door behind him. Jonah curled up on the bed and closed his aching eyes. ‘I’m hoping,’ he breathed. ‘God, am I hoping.’

Chapter Five
    Con sat in the front of the Range Rover, shooting a pained glance at the chauffeur every time he took a bend too fast or drove over one of the many deep ruts in the road. He was a local, stuffed into an ill-fitting uniform and clearly wishing he was a thousand miles away. His presence was a constant unpleasant reminder that Tye had been taken from them.
    Poor, serious Tye, always agonising over everything instead of milking the moment for all it was worth. It didn’t seem possible to Con that she might never see her again.
    She glanced over her shoulder at Patch and Coldhardt but they hadn’t shifted; one wearing out his good eye and blasting both ears with his Game Boy, the other apparently asleep. Con sighed. Coldhardt looked so much older when he slept. Frail and vulnerable.
    The road was near deserted as they climbed and swooped through the dramatic landscape of Baja Verapaz. They had driven for hours along the Carretera al Atlántico, scrubby bush and cacti slowly giving way to lush pine forest and alpine meadows. Now, as they descended into the heart of the Salamávalley, there was an almost sinister stillness about them. Con’s unease grew as the car drew inexorably closer to Kabacra’s hidden lair. Hemmed in by parched hillsides, the hard, featureless sky like pale ceramic high overhead, she felt more and more isolated from the real world.
    The sat-nav suddenly spoke up, making her jump, warning the chauffeur to turn left at a turning two hundred metres ahead. A chequered flag had appeared on the display, telling them their long journey would soon be over. Quickly Con checked her long, dark wig in the vanity mirror, and put on a pair of chic sunglasses. Being recognised by some random guard as the bogus backpacker from the nuclear power station was something she could live without. Although considering the men had spent more time looking at her legs than her face, she was probably safe so long as she didn’t lose her jeans.
    The turn was well hidden by straggly, overgrown bushes, but the Range Rover pushed through and on to a track crowded by dense vegetation.
    â€˜We there yet?’ asked Patch, not looking up from the Game Boy.
    â€˜Almost. But keep playing.’ He got car sick, and from bitter past experience Con knew that he was prone to throwing up the moment he lost concentration. She allowed herself a weary smile. That would certainly wake Coldhardt up with a jolt.
    As they rounded a sharp corner she saw two armed sentries come into view. They both raised their rifles, ready to fire. The chauffeur stamped on the brakes and the car slewed to an awkward halt.
    The hum of an electric window broke the tense silence. ‘Let us pass,’ rapped Coldhardt from the back. Con turned to see he was sat bolt upright, looking alert and confident, a changed man from just a few moments ago. ‘Kabacra is expecting us.’
    One of the men fished a radio from his pocket and spoke into it. After a brief exchange he nodded to the other guard and they stood aside to allow the car through.
    The chauffeur started speaking angrily in Spanish as he pulled away again. Con translated for the others. ‘He says he’ll wait for us outside for one hour. After that he’s driving straight back to Livingston, no matter what we’re paying