Page 103 of Final Strike

“To thee, god of the night sky, god of the hurricane, of hostility, discord, and rulership. To the god of jaguars and sorcery, of beauty and war, I offer this next sacrifice! Your enemy Jonathon Roth!”

The warriors didn’t have to wrestle the author onto the slab of stone. He went willingly. The Spanish king was blubbering like a babe, gripped tightly by his captors. The British PM looked stoic. Of course he would be. They’d always faced impossible odds with equanimity. The German chancellor looked outraged and more than a little terrified.

Jacob pointed at the three men. “You’re next,” he growled.

Jacob turned away from the crowd and walked to the altar. The warriors stood back, watching Mr. Roth as he held his own arms out, exposing his chest to the knife. His fists were clenched, but he looked determined to face his death without cowering. He looked strangely . . . peaceful.

“You won’t plead with me again to spare your family?” Jacob said mockingly.

“What good would it do?” Mr. Roth answered. “You always win.”

“I’m glad you’ve finally realized that,” Jacob said. “You could have been in the crowd below tonight instead of up here as an offering. I will take pleasure in cutting out your heart, Mr. Roth.”

“That’s because you’re a psychopath. Get it over with. I know how this is going to end.”

Jacob withdrew a dart from his pouch and walked to Mr. Roth’s side. No matter how brave the author proclaimed to be, Jacob wasn’t going to cut into him unless he was truly helpless.

“You won’t be parted from your family for long,” Jacob said. “You will all be together in torment in Xibalba.”

And that’s when the gunfire erupted. The rattle of automatic weapons echoed through the acoustically perfect space of the pyramid courtyard. Screams of terror sounded from the crowd below.

Jacob had already summoned a shield of kem äm to protect himself before mounting the steps to the pyramid. He was taking no chances tonight. But the disturbance had caught him completely unaware.

He strode to the edge of the steps and looked down. Men—soldiers from the American military—were running up the steps. There were only four of them and a young woman. No—two women. One was Angélica. His nostrils flared with shock and fury. The soldiers were shooting down his warriors as they rushed down to intercept them.

“Dad!”

It was Suki’s voice. He hadn’t recognized her in the military clothing she wore, but he knew her voice. She had used her magic to penetrate the defenses of the temple grounds. And she’d healed or revived Angélica from the dead.

Warriors were using blowguns to try to hit the soldiers, but Suki had put up a shield to defend them as they vaulted up the narrow steps.

“Mataré!” Jacob shouted to the other jaguar priest who was with him on the heights. He pointed down the steps. “Kill them!”

He saw the look of hatred on the other man’s face as he beheld the intruders. He didn’t need to be told twice and transformed into a jaguar. The jaguar priest bounded down the steps, emitting a frightening shriek as he lunged toward them.

Jacob turned around, glaring at Mr. Roth. More gunfire blasted at Mataré, the bullets deflected by the jaguar’s shield as he charged.

Mr. Roth lifted his head. He’d heard his daughter’s voice. The look of anguish on his face suggested he hadn’t known his daughter would be coming. He didn’t want her to die. He certainly wouldn’t want to be killed right in front of her. Good.

“We end this now, Jonathon Roth!” Jacob said firmly. He rushed to the edge of the altar and pressed a hand on Mr. Roth’s chest to hold him down. He lifted the obsidian knife, determined to plunge it in and end his enemy’s life.

There was a sound like the rushing of wind. Like the violence of an impending storm. The jungle trees swayed. Birds began to cry and took off in a panic.

And then the kem äm shield fell away. All of it. The stelae went dark. The sacrificial torches plunged into blackness. All the magic vanished, and only the light of the moon was left. Jacob felt exposed. He stared at the ring on his finger, the one holding Mr. Roth down. That stone had gone dark too.

Suki had extinguished all magic. How? How had she . . . ?

Jacob felt a prick of pain on his forearm. It took him no more than an instant to understand. Jonathon Roth had stabbed him with a dart he’d hidden in his closed fist.

Jacob stared in shock as a drop of blood welled up from the puncture spot. Mr. Roth pulled the dart out, his face grimacing with anger.

“Sic semper tyrannis,” Mr. Roth breathed and then kicked Jacob hard in the groin.

Already the toxin was working. Jacob felt the numbness spreading through his body along with the anguish of bodily pain. The blow knocked him backward. His leg muscles wilted. His arms dropped helplessly to his sides. He staggered back, knowing he would be completely immobilized in another second. Immobilized and then captured. The thought of this horrified him beyond words. Trapped by the Americans. Held in awful cells in shackles and chains. His wealth and power muted by a precocious teenager whom he’d taught enough to destroy him. No!

Jacob turned, gazing down at the fleeing crowd drenched in moonlight. He swayed. His body was now almost totally useless. He only had strength enough for one more act.

Chin drooping, he tottered to the edge of the steps. And then he let himself fall down them. He would rather die than face that future.

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