Warren Murphy - Unite and Conquer

"But it wasn't supposed to do that!" Smith complained, a dumbfounded expression crossing his face.

He was still wearing it when Remo pried the weapon from his unresisting fingers.

"We're a team till this is done," Remo said.

"Give me back my piece."

"Behave yourself and maybe I will."

They left the cantina. Assumpta started off ahead of them, looking for transportation.

"The CIA, designed that gun," Winston said after a long silence.

Remo eyed him. "So?"

"It's programmed to recognize my voice. Only my voice."

"Maybe it needs a new chip. "

"But it recognized your voice. It did that last time, too."

Remo said nothing. He didn't like the way this conversation was going, either.

"You know what I think?"

"You do not think!" Chiun said unkindly.

"I think there's a logical explanation. And it means one thing."

"I'm not your father," Remo said hastily.

"It means you're CIA. Come on. Admit it."

"If you had a brain, you'd know a CIA agent doesn't admit anything."

"Gotcha! You just proved my point."

"Congratulations, but it's not true," Remo said dryly.

"But you are warm," Chiun said.

"Chiun!" Remo warned.

"Four letters. It begins with a C and ends with an E."

"Damn! I know all the intelligence agencies by heart. Let's see. CANE? CORE?"

"You are getting warmer," Chiun prompted.

"Try CARE," said Remo. "If you're going to pester it out of us, it's CARE."

Winston frowned. "Isn't that a relief program?"

"That's the cover story," Remo said dryly.

Up ahead Assumpta was haggling with a fat man wearing a baseball cap that said "Frente Juarezista de Liberacion Nacional." She was out of earshot. They kept their voices low.

"We're never going to catch up to Verapaz hoofing it," Winston hissed.

"You got a better idea?" Remo asked.

"We need a helicopter."

"We need a helicopter pilot unless you're thinking of the kind that eats quarters and doesn't go anywhere."

"I'm rated for choppers."

Remo favored him with a skeptical eye. "That the truth?"

"Would I lie?"

Chiun sniffed. "Yes, repeatedly."

"Look, if we can find a chopper, I'll get us out of this jungle."

"There was a helicopter at the army post," Chiun said.

"Let's see if it's still there," said Remo.

Chapter 44

When the dawn of the first full day after the Great Mexico City Earthquake broke, it failed to break over a hundred-mile swatch from the Valley of Mexico to Oaxaca State.

The brown pall emanating from the unquiet volcano called Smoking Mountain since the days of the Aztecs extended far to the south, blotting out the rays of the rising sun.

The deep black of the night abated somewhat, but no bright blessings fell from Tonituah, the Sun God. The lowering sky refused to permit even the merest ray of sunshine to penetrate.

In the Zocalo of Oaxaca, the adherents of Coatlicue stirred to this phenomenon. They had fallen asleep around the splashing fountain. Now their eyes blinked at the ominous atmosphere.

"There is no sun!"

"The sun has gone out!"

"Call back the sun, Coatlicue. Make him shine."

But Coatlicue stood unhearing.

It fell to High Priest Rodrigo Lujan to bring meaning to the evil portent of a dawn without light. He disentangled himself from a knot of freshly deflowered Zapotec maidens.

"It is the will of Coatlicue that you do not see the sun on the first day of the new Zapotec empire," he shouted.

"What can we do? What must we do? Tell us?"

"Our Mother desires hearts. We must sacrifice fresh hearts to Coatlicue. That will call back the retreating sun."

The logical next question came. "Whose hearts?"

"I will choose the hearts that Coatlicue whispers are needed. Make lines."

They formed ranks, disorderly and uneasy, but no one ran as Rodrigo Lujan moved through them.

Scrutinizing the faces that shifted with downcast eyes as he came to them each in turn, he tapped the chosen ones on the tops of their heads with a heavy walnut scepter.

Jaguar soldiers seized each one, dragging them after the high priest whose long, rabbit-trimmed feather cloak swept the Zocalo flags in his wake.

When he had ten, these were thrown at Coatlicue's feet, and the obsidian blade came out, glittering dully in the weird postdawn twilight.

"Coatlicue, Mighty Mother. In your name I consecrate these hearts as an offering to your indifferent love."

Coatlicue looked down with her flat eyes. Her steelplated serpent heads were at rest, blunt snouts touching.

The blade slashed and split flesh and rib bone as the victims were opened up. Quick, sure strokes severed the aorta and other arteries.

The first extraction was very bloody, but as he moved along, Lujan learned where and how to slice so that the blood spurted away from his eager face.

Not that he minded blood. But the warm stuff in his eyes soon turned sticky and made vision difficult.

By the tenth and last victim, the blood was a fountain that washed Coatlicue's clawed feet and touched her high priest not at all.

Cheers went up. Only a few faces frowned. All Mixtec faces.

They had good reason to frown, Rodrigo knew. All ten offerings wore Mixtec faces. Mixtec hearts now lay at the feet of Coatlicue the uncaring.

And at a gesture, the dead Mixtec husks were thrown against Coatlicue's obdurate feet, only to be absorbed like liquid into two rude sponges. Even the blood flowed toward her, strengthening her power.

When the ceremony was concluded, all eyes turned to the heavens in anticipation of the returning sun. Instead, there came a distant rumble that was not echoed in the ground at their feet.

Thunder. Not an aftershock. Then it began to rain.

And the hearts of the followers of Coatlicue grew fearful, for the rain pelting from the very black heavens was itself black as the ink of an octopus.

Even Rodrigo Lujan, ruler priest of Oaxaca, felt a distinct chill as he watched the octopus ink rain streak his bare arms, his pristine finery and most terribly, his implacable Mother.

Chapter 45

Chiapas Barracks was deserted when they reached it less than an hour later. They piled out of the rented rust-bucket Impala that had cost Remo his Discover card. Let Smith worry about the bill.

The helicopter was still there. It was a utility chopper, crudely converted into a makeshift gunship by rocket pods and Gatling guns bolted to the body.

The bad news was that it seated two people-three if someone were willing to squeeze into the storage area behind the seats.

That option was rendered moot when the Master of Sinanju took his steamer trunk from Remo and carefully stowed it there.

"In case you haven't noticed, we don't have room for everybody," Winston Smith said, stowing his gear inside.

"The girl will stay behind," Chiun said.

"I'm not leaving Assumpta."

"Then you both may stay behind."

"Then who'll fly the chopper?" Remo and Smith said at the same time.

"I will," said Chiun.

No one thought that was a survivable option, and it showed on their faces.

"Let's see if she flies first," said Winston, climbing into the cockpit. Once seated, he laid his feet on the pedals and took hold of the collective stick. He snapped switches, and the rotor blades whined slowly to a whirling silvery disk. The chopper vibrated like an eager steed.

Winston called out, "Gas gauge says low. We're going to need a full tank and some spare cans."

Remo looked around. There was a Quonset but nearby and it smelled vaguely of gasoline. Handing the Hellfire pistol to Assumpta, he started for it. Remo got halfway there.

Behind him the helicopter reared upward. Remo whirled. Assumpta clung half in and half out of the cockpit. Winston leaned over to haul her in.