Clive Cussler - Treasure

"I don't suppose there's a plan five," said Giordino, bracing himself for the collision.

"Sorry," said Pitt. "We're all sold out."

Lily and Hala watched, helpless and horror-stricken. Then they dived behind the division behind the chauffeur's seat, closed their eyes and clutched each other.

Pitt stiffened as they struck several long racks holding skis and poles.

The skis seemed to explode as they were sent flying through the air like toothpicks. for an instant the Cord seemed buried, but then it burst clear and bored up the concrete stairway, missing the restaurant but splintering through the wooden wall of the cocktail lounge.

The room had been emptied except for the piano player, who sat paralyzed at his keyboard, and a bartender, who elected discretion and frantically took refuge behind the bar just as the Cord exploded into the room and bulldozed its way through a sea of chairs and tables.

The Cord almost broke ugh the far wall and down a two-story drop.

Miraculously, its momentum finally spent, the mutilated car stopped short, leaving only its badly distorted front bumper protruding through the wall. The cocktail lounge looked like the recipient of an artillery barrage.

Except for the hiss of the radiator and the crackling of the overheated engine, an eerie silence filled the room. Pitt had banged his head against the windshield frame and blood was streaming down his face from a cut above the hairline. He looked over at Giordino, who sat staring at the wall as if turned to stone. Pitt turned and stared down at the women behind. They were wearing their best "are we still alive?" look, but seemed none the worse for wear.

The bartender was still huddled out of sight behind the bar, so Pitt turned to the piano player, who sat in a daze on a three-legged stool.

He was wearing a derby hat and the cigarette that dangled from the side of his mouth hadn't even lost its ash. His hands were poised above the keys, his body rigid as if he was locked in suspended animation. He stared, shaken, at the bloody apparition who insanely smiled back.

"Pardon me," sir Pitt asked politely. "Can you play 'Fly Me to the Moon'?"

October 19, 1991

Uxmal; Yucatdn

The stonework on the massive structure reflected an unearthly glow under the battery of multicolored floodlights. Blue dyed the walls of the great pyramid, while orange highlighted the Temple of the Magician on the top. Red spotlights swept up and down the wide staircase, giving the effect of cascading blood. Above, on the roof of the temple, a slender figure stood haloed in white.

Topiltzin spread his arms and open hands in a divine gesture and stared down at the hundred thousand upraised faces surrounding the temple/pyramid in the ancient Mayan city of Uxmal on the YucatAn peninsula. He ended his speech, as he always did, with a chant in the lilting Aztec tongue. The vast audience picked up the phrases and repeated them in unison.

"The strength and courage of our nation lies in us who will never be great or wealthy. We starve, we toil for leaders who are less noble and honest than ourselves. There can be no glory or greatness in Mexico until the false government is dead. No longer will we endure slavery.

The gods are gathering again to sacrifice the corrupt for the decent.

Their gift is a new civilization. We must accept it."

As the words died away, the colored lights slowly dimmed until only Topiltzin remained brightly lit. Then the white spotlights blinked out and he was gone.

Great bonfires were lit, and a truck caravan began handing out boxes of food to the grateful mass of people. Each container held the same amount of flour and canned goods, and a cartoonUe booklet, heavy on illustrations, light on captions. President De Lorenzo and his cabinet ministers were drawn to resemble demons being driven out of Mexico and into the open arms of an evil-looking Uncle Sam by Topiltzin and four major Aztec gods.

A list of instructions was also included, describing peaceful but effective methods of eroding government influence.

During the food handout, men and women worked the crowd, recruiting new followers for Topiltzin. The event was staged and oiled with the professionalism of a rock concert organization. Uxmal was only one stop from Toppling the campaign to subvert the government in Mexico City.

He preached to the masses only at the great stone centers of the past-Teotihuacdn, Monte Albdn, ?"ula and Chichdn It7A. He never appeared in Mexico's modern cities.

The people cheered Topiltzin and shouted his name. But he no longer heard them. The instant the spotlights went off, his bodyguards hustled him down a ladder on the backside of the pyramid and into a large truck and semitrailer. The engine was started and the truck, led by one car and followed by another slowly wound its way through the crowd until it met the high' way. Then it turned toward the Yucatdn state capital of Mdrida and picked up speed.

The interior of the trailer was expensively decorated and divided between a conference room and Topiltzin's private living quarters.

Topiltzin briefly discussed the next day's schedule with his close worshipers. When the meeting broke up, the truck was stopped, and everyone bid him a good night. The two cars collected the weary followers and drove them to hotels in MA-rida.

Once Topiltzin closed the door and shut off one world, he entered another.

He removed a feathered headdress and stripped off his white robe, revealing a pair of expensive slacks and a sports shirt underneath. He opened a hidden cabinet, removed a chilled bottle of Schramsberg Blanc de Blanc sparkling wine and swiftly extracted the cork. The first glass was downed for thirst, but the second was slowly savored.

Relaxed, Topiltzin entered a small cubicle containing communications equipment, punched in a numbered code on a holographic telephone and turned to face the center of the room. He sipped at the California champagne and waited. Slowly an indistinct figure began to materialize in three dimensions. At the same time, Topiltzin was visible thousands of miles away.

When the details cleared, another man sat on an ottoman couch and stared back at Topiltzin. His complexion was dark, and the thin brushed-back hair gleamed with oil. His eyes had a hard-jeweled gleam. The visitor was dressed in a silk paisley robe over pajamas. He studied Topiltzin's shirt and slacks for a moment and frowned when he noticed the glass in one hand.

"You live dangerously," he said sternly in American English. "Designer clothing, champagne-next it will be women."

Topiltzin laughed. "Don't tempt me. Acting like the Pope and wearing a bizan-e costume eighteen hours a day is bad enough without practicing celibacy."

"I endure the same inconvenience."

"We both have our own cross to bear," Topiltzin said in a bored tone.

"Do not get careless so close to success."

"I don't intend to. None of my people would dare disturb my privacy.

Whenever I'm alone, they think I'm communicating with the gods."

The other man smiled. "The routine sounds familiar."

"Shall we get down to business?" said Topiltzin.

"All right, what's the status?"

"The arrangements are sealed. Everyone will be in his place at the right moment. I paid out over ten million pesos in bribes to set up the rendezvous. Once the fools on the take did their job, they were sacrificed, not only to guarantee their silence but also as a warning to those who are waiting to carry out our instructions. "

"My congratulations. You're very thorough."

"I leave the cleverness to you."

There was a friendly silence after this remark, which lasted several moments while both men rested on their thoughts. At last the caller smiled craftily and produced a small brandy snifter from beneath a fold of his gown. "Your health."