The Crimson Code. Rachel Lee
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been out here for weeks now, following some priest who was supposedly looking for the Kulkulcan Codex. His masters believed the priest would find it faster than the Hunter could. They, of course, were reckoning without adequate knowledge of the Hunter’s exquisite interrogation techniques. But then, they wanted the priest, too, as if they suspected him of holding some special information apart from the Codex.
His finely honed sense of people told him the priest was nowhere near finding the damn Codex. Even if that had been Lorenzo’s mission, affairs had pushed him onto another tack. The Hunter hadn’t experienced the least difficulty learning the story, even after all this time. These Indios had little to occupy them other than work, religion and gossip. They loved to talk about almost anything, but they particularly liked to talk about injustices against themselves and their fellows. The story of what had happened at Dos Ojos was beginning to take on all the proportions of an epic myth. Some were even murmuring that the bruja at Dos Ojos had made all the survivors invisible.
The Hunter knew better than that. They were invisible, all right, but there was no magic involved. It was simply that they knew the ways of these mountains better than he ever could. No matter what he did, he always seemed to be two or three days behind these people.
And as he plotted each campsite he discovered on his map, it began to seem to him they were moving in circles. Very big circles, but in no particular direction, unless you counted the miles they had put between themselves and Dos Ojos.
He bit into a piece of jerky and watched the rain drip from the narrow brim of his olive-drab pork-pie hat. He prided himself on his skills, smarts and utter ruthlessness. But right now he was beginning to wonder if a bunch of ignorant natives were going to outsmart and outrun him forever.
Neither his employers nor his masters would accept that. Either he found the priest and the Codex, or he died trying. There were no alternatives. Cursing silently, he pressed on into the jungle.
Frankfurt, Germany
Jonathan Morgan was pleased with his suite. While the Steigenberger Hotel was comparatively new, especially in a country where businesses proudly proclaimed centuries-old heritages, it offered both luxury and convenience, and had a well-earned five-star rating. Had he been merely a tourist visiting Frankfurt, he might have thought he had tumbled into a traveler’s delight.
But he was not on a tourist visit, and as he surveyed the faces of the other men in the room, he found himself unable to relax in the posh comfort of his accommodations. This was business, pure and simple. And it was an ugly business, at that.
“So,” the German said, “is your president prepared to use nuclear weapons?”
“He seems resigned to the prospect,” Morgan replied. “But this is hardly an easy decision for any man to make. He is a bold man, however. Once he accepts that there are no alternatives, he will move forward with our plans.”
“Make sure he does not move too quickly,” the Londoner replied. “You must remember that our plan depends on a confluence of events. The Vatican will doubtless object to the use of nuclear weapons, and the Catholic Church still has great sway in many quarters of the world. We need to preempt that objection.”
“Our friends are on the cusp of finding the Codex,” the Austrian added, nodding. “Its revelation will be major news, despite all that is happening, much as was the St. James Ossuary a few years ago. This, however, will be much greater—proof that Mary Magdalene was the wife of Christ, and that her grandson brought the true gospel of Christ to pre-Columbian America. That will demolish the voice of the Vatican in world events and leave us with an open field in which to operate.”
“I am familiar with our plans,” Morgan said, trying to contain his displeasure at being lectured. Would Europeans never accept that Americans were not recalcitrant children who needed to be reminded at every step of a process? “But you must understand the nature of American politics. While Harrison Rice is ours to control—to a point—have no doubt that he and he alone is the president of the United States. He and he alone has the power to authorize the use of nuclear weapons. Do not expect him to totally cede that authority, not even to us.”
“Hold on,” the German said. “You told us that if this worked, we would—in your son’s words—own the President of the United States. We took grave risks in underwriting Edward’s plan. Were it not for our contacts in your news media, the conspiracy to assassinate Grant Lawrence—and your son’s involvement—would have been exposed for the world to see. Now you are telling us that, despite those risks and the ultimate success of the plan, we cannot rely on President Rice to do what he is told, when he is told?”
Morgan paused to light a cigar, both because it allowed him time to frame his response and because he felt it necessary to make them wait for his answer, in order to regain the initiative. He was not accustomed to being interrogated, and the fact that the three of them had obviously prepared privately for this meeting did nothing to make him more amenable.
“Yes,” he said, finally, “that’s exactly what I’m telling you. He holds the most powerful elected position in the world. It takes little time for the import of that to settle upon a man. He was no one’s lapdog, even when he was in the Senate. Now, my friends, he will cooperate with us. But cooperation and slavish obedience are different, and we must accept the former without demanding the latter, lest he decide to use the power of his office in ways that could be even more harmful to our cause.”
“Unacceptable,” the Londoner said. “If you are implying that he might become a threat, then we remove him and replace him with someone more amenable.”
“You can’t do that,” Morgan said, leaning forward, his anger flashing. “I don’t have to tell you the geopolitical realities. You now have your European Union, but have no doubt that you are not yet a global superpower. The United States could crush you several times over, with little or no damage to itself. While the U.S. can no longer lead Europe around on a leash like a captive hound, the roles have not been reversed. And there are political sensitivities that Harrison Rice cannot ignore.”
“What sensitivities exceed our having bought and paid for his office in blood?” the German asked.
“Anti-Arab violence is on the rise,” Morgan said. “We knew it would happen. It was part of our plan. But do not forget the pressure that places on Rice. The American people are demanding a response. He cannot afford to look impotent in the face of what is nothing less than a global declaration of war. And we have told him that only one response is possible. We cannot now ask him to sit on his hands and wait for permission to act.”
Morgan rose to his feet, his anger demanding physical movement, lest it manifest in words he might not live to regret. “Your friends must accelerate their search for the Codex. They have been searching for nearly two years. The Codex was to have been revealed months ago, and now you tell me that the president must commit political suicide by waiting indefinitely before responding to Black Christmas? No, my friends, that simply is not possible. At the very least, we must give him a politically acceptable interim response. We must provide a way for him to appear prudent without appearing cowardly.”
“Yes, I understand,” the Austrian said, his tone softening. “The European people are also demanding a response. Obviously we cannot expect Herr Rice to, as you put it, sit on his hands.”
“Yes, of course,” the Londoner agreed. “Perhaps we have been too…forceful…in our approach today. I assure you, Jonathan, we are all aware of the political realities. We have spent decades creating those very realities.”
“I believe I can offer the necessary alternative,” the Austrian said. “We know one of the Black Christmas cells is in Vienna. If we could arrange for their…disposal…in a manner that could be attributed to a joint U.S.-European action, would that assuage the political pressure on Herr Rice?”
“The American people will want results they can see,” Morgan said, shaking his head. “After the 9/11 attacks, if you recall, there was a demand for visible action. The fact that covert teams were all over the world, taking down Al Qaeda cells, was not