Clive Cussler - Treasure

Ten seconds. Ten seconds it took between the commands to "fire" and

"cease fire," and for the rumble to echo back from the low hills behind Roma.

A paralyzing silence, pierced by the pungent smell of cordite, fell over the stunned multitude.

Then the screams of the women shattered the quiet, quickly joined by the shrieks of the terrified children. Most dropped in horror to the ground while the rest remained standing, frozen in shock. A great outcry followed from the other side as the men, held back from crossing with their wives and children, feared the fallen were dead or wounded.

Pandemonium erupted, and for the next few minutes it looked as though the immigrant invasion had been stopped dead in its tracks.

Then spotlights from the Mexican shore blazed to life and were beamed to a figure standing atop a small platform supported on the shoulders of several men in white tunics.

Topiltzin stood with arms outstretched in a parody of Christ, shouting through speakers, ordering the women who were hugging the ground to rise up and press forward. Slowly the shock diminished and everyone began to realize there were no bloody, mangled bodies. Many laughed hysterically to find they were neither injured nor dead. A rolling cheer went up that turned deafening as the throng mistakenly thought Topiltzin's powers had miraculously swept aside the destruction and shielded them from harm.

"He turned it against us," said Julius Schiller ruefully.

The President shook his head sadly. "Just as it's happened so many times in our nation's history, our humane efforts backfire."

"Chandler's in for it," said Nichols.

General Metcalf nodded very slowly. "Yes, it all falls on his shoulders now."

The time for the fateful decision had arrived. There was no dodging the agonizing issue any longer. The President, sitting safely deep in the basement of the White House, remained strangely silent. He had deftly passed the time bomb to the niiliL-uy, laying the groundwork for General Chandler to become the sacrificial scapegoat.

He was between the proverbial rock and a hard place. He could not allow an army of foreigners to simply storm across the borders unhindered, but neither could he risk the downfall of his entire administration by directly ordering Chandler to slaughter children.

No President ever felt so impotent.

The chanting women and children were only a few short meters away from the troops entrenched a short distance back of the shoreline. Those at the head of the snakelike column of candles crossing the international bridge were already close enough to look up at the gun muzzles of the tanks.

General Curtis Chandler had a long and illustrious military career to look back upon, but nothing to look forward to except a guilt-stricken conscience. His wife had died the year before from a long illness, and they had no children. A onestar Brigadier General, he had no more rank to attain in the short time before his retirement. Now he stood on the bluff watching hundreds of thousands of illegal inunigrants flood into his nativ land and wondered why his life had cruelly culmanated at this place and time.

The expression on his aide's face bordered on frantic. "Sir, the order to fire."

Chandler stared at the little children nervously clutching their mothers' hands, their candles revealing their wide, dark eyes.

"General, your orders?" the aide implored.

Chandler mumbled something, but the aide couldn't hear it over the chanting. "I'm sorry, General, did you say 'Fire'?"

Chandler turned and his eyes glistened. "Let them pass."

"Sir?"

"Those are my orders, Major. I'm damned if I'll go to my grave a baby killer. And for God's sake don't even say the words 'Don't fire,' in case some dumb platoon commander misunderstands."

The Major nodded and hurriedly spoke into his microphone. "To all commanders, General Chandler's orders; make no hostile move and allow the immigrants to pass through our lines, repeat, stand down and let them through."

With immeasurable relief, the American soldiers lowered their weapons and stood stiff and uneasy for a few minutes. Then they relaxed and began flirting with the women and, kneeling down, playing with the children and gently cajoling them to wipe away their tears.

"Forgive me, Mr. President," said Chandler, speaking into a camera. "I regret I must end my military career by refusing a direct order from my Commander-in-Chief, but I felt that under the circumstances .

"Not to worry," replied the President. "You did a magnificent job." He turned to General Metcalf. "I don't care where he stands on the seniority list; please see that Curtis receives another star."

"I'll be more than happy to take care of it, sir."

"Good call, Mr. President," said Schiller, realizing the President's silence had all been a bluff. "You certainly knew your man."

There was a faint smile in the President's eyes. "I served with Curtis Chandler when we were Lieutenants of Artillery in Korea. He would have fired on a vicious, out-of-control, armed mob, but women and babies, never."

General Metcalf also saw through the facade. "You still took a terrible chance."

The President nodded in agreement. "Now I have to answer to the American people for the unopposed invasion of their land by masses of illegal aliens."

"Yes, but your show of restraint will be a strong bargaining chip for future negotiations with President De Lorenzo and other Central American leaders," Oates consoled him.

"In the meantime," added Mercier, "our military and law enforcement agencies will be quietly rounding up Topiltzin's followers and herding them back across the border before the threat of vigilante warfare breaks out."

"I want the operation to be conducted as humanely as possible," the President said firmly.

"Haven't we forgotten something, Mr. President?" asked Metcalf.

"General?"

"The Alexandria Library. Nothing stands in the way now of Topiltzin's looting the artifacts."

The President turned to Senator Pitt, who had been sitting quietly at the end of the table. "Well, George, the Army has struck out, and you're the last man at bat. You care to enlighten everyone on your stopgap plan?"

The Senator looked down at the table. He didn't want the others to see the uneasy apprehension in his eyes. "A desperation long shot, a deception created by my son, Dirk. I don't know how else to describe it. But if everything goes right, Robert Capesterre, a.k.a. Topiltzin, won't lay his hands on the knowledge of the ancients. However, if all goes wrong, as some critics already suggest, the Capesterres will rule Mexico and the treasure will be lost forever."

Thankfully, the outpouring of religious zeal and Topiltzin's maniacal grab for power did not end in bloodshed. There was no death by misunderstanding. The only real tragedy was that of the young victim who had drowned during the first crossing.

Unbound, the massive crowd flowed past the army units and through the streets of Roma toward Gongora frill. The chanting had faded and they shouted slogans in the Aztec tongue that all American and most Mexican observers could not comprehend.

Topiltzin led the triumphal pilgrimage up the slope of the hill. The Aztec god unposter had carefully planned for his role of deliverer.

Seizing the Egyptian treasures would give him the necessary influence and forcing aside the long reigning Institutional Revolutionary Party of President De Lorenzo without the inconvenience of a free election.

The head of Mexico was within four hundred meters of falling into Capesterre family hands.

News of his brother's death in Egypt had not yet reached him. His close supporters and advisers had deserted the communications truck during the excitement and missed the urgent message. They walked behind Topiltzin's hand-carried platform, driven by curiosity to see the artifacts.