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“Un poquito,” Brower said huskily.
“Then I will say this in English, just in case,” Jacob continued. “Tonight, you will die in a ceremony nearly as ancient as the world. A little dart with a special toxin will prick your flesh, rendering you conscious but immobile. It will increase your heart rate. Awaken your senses. You will feel . . . everything. I will stand over you with a dagger made of obsidian. Sharper than any surgeon’s scalpel. At midnight, in front of a cheering crowd of the elite, I will unbutton your shirt, cut open your chest just below your nipple, and extract your heart. You will be alive when this happens, Mr. Brower. Your bleeding body will be thrown down the steep steps of the temple. But it is the heart that Kukulkán desires as a proper sacrifice.” Jacob said this last part with a mocking tone. The god of creation had always spoken symbolically. He wanted his followers’ devotion, their desire to serve, their willingness to help one another. His devious brother had hungered for more literal sacrifices.
“I swore an oath to defend the Constitution, not a single man,” Brower said. “You’ll have to root through a lot of rib cages to get that out.”
“Bravely spoken,” Jacob said, impressed. “But I’m no fool. I know your country’s people better than its protectors do. Precious few of your fellow citizens would not betray that bit of paper for a swallow of carbonated soda or the momentary thrill of a tiny pill.”
Jacob nodded to the two jaguar priests with him. “Take him to the temple dungeon with the others.”
“Yes, Great One,” said one of the priests. They hoisted Brower to his feet and walked to the obsidian mirror decorating the wall of the office. A wreath of black smoke exuded from it, and they stepped into the mist and disappeared.
Jacob looked at Señor Chaboya, who had sweat dripping down the sides of his face. He looked terrified. He swallowed noticeably. Was he expecting to die?
“Do not let the American military act within your borders with such impunity,” Jacob said. “Send the marines against them. The army. They cannot win. And when I rebuild Tenochtitlán—here, where it once stood—I will make you ruler over it, Señor Chaboya. In my house, there are many mansions. You will get yours if you remain faithful.”
“Y-yes, Great One,” Señor Chaboya said, looking relieved. He sank to his knees and began murmuring incoherently.
Jacob sat at the desk, savoring the feeling of strength and power it gave him. As in any war, there was no controlling all circumstances. The surprise in the Situation Room had proven that to be true. Power was a game. The jaguar priests were immune to the bullets and missiles that the US government could unleash against them. Even the most expensive and complex fighter jet was powerless against the fury of a tornado. Battleships could be sunk by tsunamis. But there was a teenage girl with a stolen bracelet who could pierce the defenses provided by the kem äm. And so could any other who knew its secrets.
Suki would die and with her, her power and knowledge. Especially her knowledge of Aztlán. He’d right the mistake he’d made in letting her live. Indeed, the whole family would die. He should have killed them a year ago when he had the chance.
Jacob rose from the seat and walked to the obsidian mirror, invoking its power. He shielded himself with kem äm, just in case someone was waiting for him on the other side.
He was greeted by the other guardians posted there. It was his own “situation room.” A place where the jaguar priests of the past had spun their webs of deceit and murder in order to topple kingdoms and corrupt high priests. The mirrors gave them the ability to spy on their enemies. And to reach those who were thought to be unreachable.
After exiting the portal, he walked briskly through the winding tunnels. He felt young, alive. The master of the moment. Hundreds of the wealthiest, most corrupt people in the world were assembled here to see the dawning of a new age. People who had deceived their neighbors, friends, and even family members to achieve a position of rank in the old world become new again. Instead of skyscrapers, there would be pyramids built throughout North and South America. Instead of football and soccer, the death games would provide entertainment. Instead of cheering for Britain’s Premier League, there would be cheering for the warriors in the arena.
Then he entered his private chamber and found Angélica prostrate on the bed with Uacmitun standing over her.
His warrior chief looked startled by his sudden arrival.
For an instant, the world slowed. Betrayal, seduction, revenge, murder. The explosion within his heart made his eyes start to glow, made the promised taste of blood tingle in his mouth. He would shred them both to pieces. He would . . .
No.
The selfish part of his mind stopped abruptly. This was not as it seemed. If he transformed into a jaguar, he’d be vulnerable. Uacmitun knew this.
“Atin ri ik,” Jacob gasped, invoking the word that would dispel all illusions.
A warrior who had been invisible stood in the corner, a blowgun pressed to his lips, ready to shoot. It was Bajibal, one of Uacmitun’s young protégés. The young man’s eyes widened with shock when he realized he was visible.
Jacob leaped at him. The dart hissed from the tube, deflecting off his shield of kem äm. The young man’s neck was broken in a fluid action as soon as Jacob landed.
Uacmitun had staged this scene. He came at Jacob with a macuahuitl sword that must have been concealed in the sheets. Channeling the power through his bracelet, he sucked the web of kem äm away from Jacob to make him vulnerable.
Angélica didn’t scream. Didn’t move at all. She was paralyzed, he realized. Victim to the same toxin used on the sacrificial victims.
The sword had jagged teeth of obsidian. Uacmitun swung it deftly, powerfully, trying to saw Jacob in half.
K’awex. Speed.
Chuq’ab. Strength. Muscle.
Jacob invoked these words, his ring granting him special power over those who also had magic items or only knew the words. He dodged the first sweeps of the blade, nimbly evading the deadly edges that would have killed him. Then he lunged forward, smashing the heel of his hand against Uacmitun’s nose. It would have been a killing blow, but the hardened warrior had turned his head just in time, so the blow landed on his cheek instead, cracking the bone. Uacmitun roared in pain and tried again to slice through his master.
Jacob spun around behind him and kicked the back of Uacmitun’s knee, forcing him to kneel. The warrior swept the sword around behind him, trying to catch any part of his nimble prey.
“Tuqar!” Jacob seethed, invoking a word that would send ripples of weakness through Uacmitun’s body. The man’s muscles began to quiver with the exertion, and when he tried to get up, Jacob kicked him in the face, knocking him back down. The macuahuitl sword struck the ground and slid away. The warrior scrabbled for it on the ground.
