The Aztec Code (3 page)

‘Then it's lucky this old relic's as crap as its twin outside,' said Patch, as the lifted fingerprint did the job again. The blast door slid open to reveal an antechamber of mouldering concrete, empty save for a high-spec PC perched on a rickety camping table. Thick snaking cables connected it to an uninterruptible power supply. A high-res webcam was fixed to the top of the monitor with a blob of plasticine.

‘This place is a real lash-up, isn't it,' said Jonah.

‘Could be what the owner wants you to think,' Motti warned him, ‘trying to catch you off-guard.' He pointed to another set of blast doors. ‘The main containment vessel should be just through there. Which makes this the last line of defence.'

Jonah kneeled down in front of the PC, which was quietly humming to itself, and nudged the mouse to wake the display. A box appeared at once, prompting for a password. He pulled a CD from the inner pocket of his lightweight jacket and loaded it up. It was crammed with enough hack 'n' crack software to break the toughest encryption algorithms.

He hoped.

Slowly, as he worked, pitting his wits and his code against the computer, he became totally immersed in the challenge. He could have been anywhere: in the dark bedroom of one of his many past foster homes, or in the computer lab of one of his endless dreary new schools. It was like the monitor was a window on another world, one he could retreat to. An orderly
world that made beautiful, crystal-clear sense if you could only see it in just the right way. And right through his teens, the sorrier his circumstances became, the stronger the urge inside him had grown to crack ever greater codes.

Compared to cracking real life, it was a cinch.

‘I'm into the security systems,' he announced, checking his watch. Three minutes. Not bad.

Patch and Motti were studying the double doors. ‘Can you get these open, geek?' Motti demanded. ‘There's no entry-coder, nothing to override.'

Jonah double-clicked on folders, sifted through directories. ‘Can't see anything relating to … Wait.' By opening a folder he had triggered a software program; his heart did a flip. ‘Uh, guys? This could screw us.'

‘What?' Motti and Patch stalked over.

‘I've found the key to those doors.' He gestured to the screen, where a wireframe map of a human face was picked out in vivid blue and green. ‘Facial recognition scan, hooked up to the webcam. And from the look of things, designed to recognise one face only.'

‘Whose?' asked Patch.

Motti shoved him. ‘The guy who owns the place, dumb-ass.'

‘This is the mapped image. Let's take a look.' Jonah double-clicked it:
Kabacra.jpg
. ‘You never know, maybe he looks like one of us.'

He didn't.

A gaunt Hispanic face glared out at them through hard, feral eyes. His features were narrow and angular, and livid scars criss-crossed the skin in all directions.

‘Jeez!' said Patch. ‘Looks like someone tried to cross out his face with a Stanley knife!'

‘Son of a bitch ain't beaten us yet,' said Motti darkly. ‘That PC got Bluetooth, Jonah?'

‘Yeah, but –'

‘Well, so's my cell phone, as well as a high-res camera. So one of us smiles for the camera, we Bluetooth it across to the PC, you dump it in that folder, and –'

‘It's gonna take too long,' said Patch nervously. ‘These systems make a map of every detail on your face – distance between your eyes, length of your nose, all of that.'

‘He's right,' Jonah agreed. ‘Converting that info into code for the Local Feature Analysis could take ages.'

Motti swore. ‘OK, plan B. Patch, drop your trousers and bend over.'

Patch frowned. ‘You could buy me a drink first!'

‘We need something with less local features – I'm guessing it's quicker to map an ass than a face. Am I right, geek?'

‘That's thinking outside the box. Or outside the pants anyway.' Jonah was impressed. ‘I suppose with a bit of reprogramming it could work.'

‘Why not my back or something?' Patch protested. ‘Or my arm?'

Jonah was already calling up the code. ‘Less reprogramming if it's something round.'

‘Your ass, your face, same difference,' Motti agreed.

Patch sighed and undid his belt. ‘If my pants have got skids, promise you won't tell Con?'

Motti grimly angled the phone. ‘Man, I ain't telling a soul.'

Tye straightened up from the security console. She had mashed up the wiring so none of the surveillance cameras worked – that might delay the mercenaries upon their return. And Con had tied up both men with some nylon twine she'd found out the back.

Suddenly the driver's RT belched into life. Tye didn't catch the urgent flurry of Spanish, but Con did, and at once she started trying to shake the driver awake. ‘They've found where we hid the 4x4. They want further instructions. We need this jerk to talk to them.'

The driver stirred groggily. ‘Go to hell,' he hissed.

‘I don't have time to mesmerise him now,' Con said with a pointed look at Tye.

‘Then we'll try the blunt approach.' Tye grabbed Jose's fallen handgun and jammed it up against the driver's collarbone. Of course, no way would she ever use a gun for real – but
he
didn't know that.

Con nodded, her eyes hard and arctic pale. ‘Tell Kristian to bring the car up to the main entrance. Tell him to wait there while the others keep looking.'

The man glared at her, said nothing.

The RT squawked again irately. Con grabbed it and shoved it in his face. ‘You heard me. Do it
now
.'

Through gritted teeth, the driver did as he was told. When he was through, Con blew him a kiss.

‘I'll open the main gates,' said Tye, throwing the switch.

Con nodded. ‘Make sure they stay open, yes?'

Tye brought the butt of the gun down hard on the controls, smashing them.

‘You'll never get away with this, even if you get past my boys,' snarled the driver. ‘Wherever you run, Kabacra will find you.'

The conviction in his voice sent a small shiver through Tye. She knew he meant what he said. But Con ignored him and switched back into low, soothing Spanish. ‘Shh, little man. Look into my eyes. See how they glitter? You are feeling tired, I think. Relax a little … If anyone else calls you on the radio, you tell them to stay out there searching the woods. They are not to return. You don't want to be disturbed when you're feeling so tired, do you? So listen to what I say …'

The driver's eyes were slowly glazing over. It was uncanny, the way Con could put just about anyone into a trance, given enough time. But Tye had the uneasy feeling that their time, like their luck, was close to running out.

‘Sorted,' said Jonah. ‘Patch's bum is now access-all-areas. Let's see if the computer can recognise the real thing.'

Patch dropped his trousers again and mooned the webcam. His buttocks graced the screen in stereo as the software began cross-referencing the new image against the stored photo. It had mapped just eleven nodal points, so fingers crossed it wouldn't take too –

The computer bleeped. ACCESS GRANTED.

‘Yes!' hissed Jonah.

Patch planted a smacker on the monitor screen.
‘Kiss my ass!'

Jonah grimaced. ‘I'm not even going to shake its hand.'

Motti took no part in the celebrations, crossing at once to the containment vessel's blast doors. They opened smoothly and he hesitated in the dark doorway. ‘Let's spill some light in here,' he said, groping for a switch. ‘See what we're stealing.'

The lights faded up, and he walked purposefully inside. Jonah stood in the doorway with Patch as the nerves crawled back into his stomach. He had never seen inside a nuclear reactor before, but he imagined that not many looked like this.

The vast, square concrete chamber had been turned into a secret museum. Mounted around the walls were precious antique weapons – swords and scimitars, rapiers and daggers. They ranged from crude, primitive knives to cavalry swords with exquisitely designed hilts and jewel-encrusted scabbards. But, beautiful as they were, they sent a shiver through Jonah. He had the feeling these were swords that had been used, and used often.

‘Looks like there's pistols and rifles and stuff downstairs,' Patch observed, pointing to a spiral staircase in the corner that led down to the next level of the containment chamber.

‘We ain't here for pistols and rifles and stuff,' said Motti, moving from sword to sword, peering at each intently.

‘So come on, then,' Jonah said impatiently. ‘You're our designated treasure-finder, we're only here to help you get access … Where is it? Where's Cortes's sword?'

Hernando Cortes.

It was a name that until recently had meant nothing to Jonah, though it was written big in the history books. In 1519, with only six hundred men, twenty horses and ten small cannons he sailed from Spain, arrived in Mexico and conquered the entire Aztec empire of more than five million people. Never before had such a massive and wealthy region been taken by such a small force. So all in all, Jonah guessed it was fair enough that the very sword Cortes used when he took the capital city and imprisoned the rightful Aztec ruler would be worth a few quid and be a tempting target for thieves. But was it really worth him and the others risking their lives for?

Do we work for the boss, or does he own us?

‘It ain't here.' Motti was staring round the room, confusion on his face hardening to anger. ‘After all that, the goddamned thing ain't here!' He bunched his fists, punched the wall in frustration. ‘Coldhardt's fouled up, he gave us dud info! Jesus, what a f—'

‘Look at this space.' Patch was pointing to an area of bare wall. ‘Maybe the special sword
was
here.'

‘Well, it ain't now.' Motti started setting about random swords, impatiently unhooking them from their mountings. ‘I'm damned if we're not taking
something
away with us. This crap's gotta be worth a fortune to some dumb-ass collector. Give me a hand.'

‘Shouldn't we just get the hell out of here?' Jonah worried.

Motti ignored him and hurled a sword in his direction. Jonah caught it awkwardly and thanked God it was still in its scabbard.

‘Hang on,' said Patch, waving a hand frantically for silence. ‘I think I heard something.'

He was right. Jonah could hear the stealthy tread of someone on the concrete steps. He gripped hold of the sheathed sword tightly and turned to Patch and Motti. ‘Do we hide or fight?'

‘Neither,' came a familiar voice behind him. ‘You come with us.'

‘Tye!' Jonah felt weak with relief. ‘God, it's good to see you.'

She opened her mouth to reply, but it was Con who spoke, running up behind her. ‘We've got to get out of here,' she said. ‘Now.'

‘Situation?' snapped Motti, helping himself to more antique silverware.

‘The car's been parked at the main exit,' said Con. ‘Gates are open, one guard to take care of.'

‘What about the others?'

‘Still searching the grounds, but could come back any time. If they do, their leader will detail them to the turbine end of the complex, nicely out the way.'

‘But it won't take them long to find there's no intruders there,' Tye added. ‘Have you got what Coldhardt wanted?'

‘It's not here,' said Patch miserably.

‘So we're taking the other swords,' added Motti. ‘C'mon.'

Tye started forwards, but Con didn't move. She was too busy staring at the computer screen, her striking face caught somewhere between horror and amusement. ‘Ugh! Whose spotty butt is that?'

‘Even my virtual bum gets kicked,' Patch muttered,
his cheeks glowing crimson, crossly snatching daggers from the wall.

Tye led the way as they moved out, weighed down with their antique trophies, and stole across the moonlit compound. She signalled the others to stop as they came into view of the car. It was parked facing the open exit, thoughtfully pointing the way they wanted to go. The guard was sat at the wheel, listening quietly to the radio, having a smoke.

‘A rare moment of peaceful reflection in the life of a low-rent mercenary,' Jonah observed.

‘Almost a shame to disturb him, isn't it?' Tye agreed.

‘Let's just nail the sucker and get out of here,' said Motti.

‘Nail him how?' asked Con practically.

Motti hefted the stack of steel in his arms. ‘Biggest damn nails
I
ever saw.'

‘You're not seriously thinking of using one of those things?' Tye hissed, swapping a worried look with Jonah. But Motti only winked at her, crouched down and swiftly sidled towards the 4x4, clanking a little as he went. Stealthily he crept towards the passenger door …

‘What the hell is he up to?' Jonah muttered.

Motti dumped the swords down on the concrete as hard as he could. The sudden noise was deafening. Even at this distance Tye saw the guard jump so high in the driver's seat he must have whumped his head on the roof. And before he could recover his wits, Motti threw open the passenger door and socked him with a scabbard.

‘He's crazy!' hissed Jonah. ‘A noise like that will have carried for miles!'

‘So let's move it!' said Patch.

Tye led the charge over to the car. Motti was already throwing the back doors open for the others to dump their stolen arsenal inside. Tye got rid of her bundle, flexed her aching arms and opened the driver's door. The guard flopped out to the ground, bloody mouthed – she stepped over him and jumped inside. The key was in the ignition and she clutched for it; the engine turned over with a rich growl.

The car lurched as the others finished loading up and launched themselves inside, Motti, Patch and Jonah in the back and finally Con in the front.