Adrian D'Hage - The Maya codex

‘And…?’ Felici challenged.

‘If the codex is found, only to be hidden away in the secret archives, not only will a great discovery be lost to archaeology, but we will have abrogated our duty to broadcast the Maya’s warning to the world.’ Jennings sniffed smugly.

‘I would remind you, Monsignor, that the funding for your archaeological expeditions is not inconsiderable. That funding depends entirely on your cooperation.’

‘The Vatican Bank is not the only source of funding available for archaeological expeditions, Eminence.’ Jennings had already sounded out alternative wealthy financial backers. It would have been more prudent to remain silent, but prudence had never been Jennings’ strong suit.

‘I had hoped it would not come to this,’ Felici said, rising from his seat to retrieve Jennings’ file, ‘but you leave me no alternative.’ He handed Jennings the folio of photographs and watched his reaction with a sense of satisfaction.

Jennings was speechless with shock, his face ashen.

‘Fortunately for you, Monsignor, it is paramount that the image of the Holy Church be protected, and you are more valuable inside the Church than out,’ the Cardinal said, relieving the hapless priest of his file. ‘Now, having resolved the issue of what is to be done with the Maya Codex, there is one other matter which is of the utmost confidentiality.’

Jennings nodded.

‘At the end of World War Two, in order to ensure the defeat of Communism, the government of the United States and the Vatican cooperated to release a number of German scientists and others who had valuable knowledge which could be used to defeat that threat. Amongst them was an officer of Himmler’s SS, Karl von Hei?en. In return for his cooperation, he was given a new identity as a Catholic priest in the parish of San Pedro.’

‘Adolf Eichmann was another,’ Jennings replied, still reeling over the photographs.

‘Eichmann is dead, but von Hei?en is still alive, or at least we think he is. You would have known him as Father Hernandez.’

‘Yes, I remember him now. He had a thick Spanish accent – but you’re saying he was German?’

‘The Spanish schools in Antigua are very good, Monsignor, and von Hei?en was given extensive training, but even the schools in Antigua can’t erase cultural backgrounds. That said, in his role as Father Hernandez, von Hei?en was very useful in the fight against Communism, and up until now his real identity has remained intact. Unfortunately, like you, he was careless, and we’ve recently discovered he kept detailed diaries.’

‘Diaries that could be embarrassing to the Vatican and the US government?’ Jennings sensed an opportunity to recover some ground.

‘The diaries may also contain information on the whereabouts of the Maya Codex,’ Felici replied stonily. ‘Either way, we want them back.’

‘Do we have any idea where von Hei?en might be?’

‘He retired in San Pedro, but he was apparently tipped off that Mossad were finally on to him and he had to leave in a hurry – perhaps to Peru.’

‘So the trail has already gone cold.’

‘Perhaps. Nevertheless, you are to make some discreet – very discreet – enquiries. As a cover, you are being assigned to the same parish of San Pedro on Lake Atitlan, which has been without a permanent priest for some time. Your primary aim remains the discovery of the Maya Codex, and you’re to leave for Guatemala tomorrow. Father Cordona has your travel documents. Should you need to make contact, the papal nuncio in Guatemala City has secure communications, but even he does not know the real purpose of your return. In the meantime, these photographs will remain in my safe, Monsignor.’ Felici waved the file at Jennings. ‘I do hope you won’t give me an opportunity to use them.’

A ntonio Sodano quietly raked the pins of the lock to Aleta’s apartment. Encountering the same problem O’Connor had experienced, he changed to a finer pick and raked them again. He held the tension with his torsion wrench and lifted the final pin over the shear line and turned the cam. Sodano eased open the cedar door and listened. A light was coming from the left, and he could hear the sound of running water. He silently moved forward and peered around the corner of the hallway. In the bathroom at the end of the corridor a woman was cleaning her teeth. She matched the photograph he’d been given. She was tall and shapely, standing now, examining her teeth in the mirror, an outline of her breasts straining against her nightshirt. He felt for the gag in his pocket and withdrew back into the front hallway.

Aleta turned off the light and headed towards her bedroom.

Sodano flattened himself against the wall and waited. The woman passed without looking into the hallway. He took two steps, clamped his right hand over her mouth and wrenched her hair back with his left.

Aleta let out a muffled scream and Sodano winced as she bit hard into his hand.

‘ Schlampe! Bitch!’ He bundled Aleta into her bedroom and pinned her to the wall. Aleta’s eyes widened in fear as she felt the knife against her throat.

O’Connor found both the heavy double wooden doors to the courtyard and the steel security door at the bottom of the steps to Aleta’s apartment ajar. Fearing the worst, he drew his Glock 21 and silently bounded up the staircase, two stairs at time. The front door was unlocked. O’Connor paused at the sound of voices from inside.

‘Not so feisty now, are we?’ Sodano sneered as he ran his free hand up Aleta’s inner thigh.

Aleta spat in his face.

‘You’re going to regret that, bitch.’ Sodano moved the knife back against Aleta’s neck and fondled her breasts.

O’Connor eased his way up the hall and cautiously looked around the door jamb, only to make immediate eye contact with Aleta. Her sharp intake of breath was enough. Sodano reacted in an instant, whipping Aleta around in front of him and pressing the knife harder on her neck. ‘Drop the gun, O’Connor, or she gets it. Now!’

O’Connor reluctantly threw the Glock onto the floor in front of him. Sodano’s use of his name was instant confirmation that Aleta was not the hitman’s only target.

‘Now step back.’ Sodano shoved Aleta to one side. She stumbled on the rug beside the bed and for a moment, as he tried to hold her, Sodano was distracted. O’Connor swung his right leg in a roundhouse kick to Sodano’s ribcage, pushing powerfully with his left leg. Sodano grunted in pain, releasing Aleta. The knife arced harmlessly through the air, clattering against the wardrobe. O’Connor head-butted Sodano and then fought for balance as the tough little Sicilian hooked his leg behind O’Connor’s right knee. They tumbled out into the lounge room, each searching for grip. Sodano drove his knee into O’Connor’s thigh and they crashed against the fireplace. O’Connor slammed his elbow against Sodano’s throat and rolled onto his back, wrapping his right arm around the Sicilian’s neck. In the classic special forces choke, O’Connor secured his upper left arm on the struggling Sodano’s shoulder and applied his left forearm and hand to Sodano’s neck, forcing it forward. O’Connor squeezed his arms towards one another and Sodano’s eyes bulged with fear. O’Connor held the mafia hitman’s throat until the lifeblood drained from Sodano’s face and his head fell limp in his hands. When O’Connor was certain his assailant was dead, he rolled Sodano onto the floor, and gasped for breath. Aleta stood above him, Sodano’s knife in one hand.

‘I’m on your side. So you can put that down,’ O’Connor rasped between deep breaths.

‘Not until you tell me who you are and what the hell you’re doing in my apartment!’ Her hands were shaking.