Down Among the Dead Men (A Thriller) (39 page)

Any other man would have been killed by now. But Rafael, like Marta, had the benefit of being related to El Santo by blood, so the old man was merciful toward him. In fact, he often seemed amused by Rafael’s transgressions, and El Santo was not easily amused.

Despite Marta’s standing in the community, however—her status as a
bruja
—El Santo seemed to have little patience for her, and she was often envious of the affection Rafael received.

But then, Rafael was a second-born son and would always live with that mark upon him, so she knew that her envy was misplaced.

She also knew where her brother was. Ever since the night they’d met her precious Jennifer, he had been obsessed with the sister. Elizabeth. She was, he had once told Marta, an angel sent to him by La Santisima. The missing piece to an incomplete soul.

That she was a lying, conniving, sinful whore meant nothing to Rafael.

He often pretended to hate her now, to want her dead, but Marta knew his true feelings. Many times, when she and her brother and Jennifer made love, Marta knew he was thinking of his prize, wishing she were back home with them where she belonged.

But Beth didn’t belong here. She had gotten what she deserved, and despite Rafael’s foolish yearning for her, she belonged in that hospital, where she could rot and die, for all Marta cared.

She had not liked Beth from the moment they met. Did not trust her. And Rafael’s obsession with her was a constant source of frustration and annoyance.

So Marta knew he was still in Los Angeles, pining away for his lost love, thinking he could somehow change her. Mold her. Bring her back to him.

But Marta knew that Beth was not the type to be molded. Her time here had proven that, had it not?

And if El Santo were to find out about Rafael’s obsession, he might not be so merciful this time.

La Santa Muerte had made a deal with the ex-husband, the lawyer, to leave her alone, and El Santo did not go back on his pledges. And if Rafael again disobeyed El Santo’s command to honor that deal, Marta feared she would soon lose her only living brother.

It was bad enough that she was losing her precious Jennifer tonight.

Jennifer.

Marta knew this was supposed to be a joyous occasion. She knew that the sacrifice Jennifer was about to make on this holiest of nights was a high honor that would deliver her into the waiting arms of La Santisima and God. But that did not keep Marta from dreading the moment. From wishing that someone else had been chosen.

Jennifer and the baby were down in the preparation room now—down near the Great Chamber—their bodies being rubbed with holy oils. But Marta had decided to stay up here in their room for a while. Had thought about missing the ceremony altogether.

She knew, however, that Jennifer would need her in her final moments, would want to hold Marta’s hand until El Santo lowered the torch.

So Marta would be there, dressed in her finest robe, looking on stoically as her one true love was given to God in a burst of flames.

93

Vargas

C
RISTO DREW THEM
a map of the portion of the tunnels that lay directly beneath the La Santa Muerte compound. It was crude and done by memory, but Vargas was confident it would help them should they get lost. He didn’t want to wind up like one of the corpses the boy had found down there.

“How far is this from here?” Vargas asked.

“Four, maybe five miles.”

Close enough, Vargas thought, but such a trek might take as much as an hour and a half, so they’d have to leave soon if they wanted to get there before the ceremony began.

While Beth had stayed with the children, Vargas and Ortiz had gone back into town to pick up the Barracuda and a few supplies.

The Día de los Muertos celebration was in full swing and many of the shops and services had been closed, but they’d managed to find what they needed: several small flashlights, a twelve-pack of mandarin Jarritos in glass bottles, two gallons of gasoline, two backpacks, and a bundle of rags.

“Leave the Tomcat,” Ortiz said, “and the
pendejo
’s piece of shit. With all this weight, we’ll want to keep the hardware to a minimum.” He gestured to the gun in Vargas’s waistband. “The Glock is all you’ll need, anyway.”

Vargas nodded, then they climbed into the Barracuda and headed back to the church.

Time to get busy.

They gathered in the cave at 10:00 P.M., the supplies distributed under the light of the moon. Many of the children were asleep now, and despite the churning ocean, there was a calmness here. No fear or trepidation—at least not for Vargas. When he looked into Beth’s eyes, he knew this was the right thing to do.

Five minutes later Cristo said, “We go,” and they all flicked on their flashlights and followed him into the tunnel, leaving the sounds of the ocean behind them. When they reached the junction, Cristo took the second tunnel on the left, which then curved away toward the right and branched off again in several different directions.

Vargas was already confused and decided that Cristo must have some super sense of direction to be able to remember the correct path. The boy traveled effortlessly, without thought, as if he’d done this hundreds of times before. Which, Vargas knew, he had.

Then, about a good hour into their trek, they came to a small cave, where Cristo stopped near a pile of large fallen rocks. Gesturing for help, he began pulling the rocks away, and the others joined in until an opening in the cave wall was revealed.

The opening was large enough for Cristo to easily crawl through, but the others had to remove their backpacks and pass them to the boy before squeezing through themselves.

Once on the other side, they found another pile of rocks and stacked them up to hide the hole.

They were now inside another small cave, and Cristo pointed to a tunnel on the right.

“Through there,” he said. “We go straight for a while, then make two lefts and a right, and we are beneath La Santa Muerte’s compound.”

“And where’s the Great Chamber?” Beth asked.

“You will know as soon as we get there. Just follow the others.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Ortiz said. “Don’t you think we’ll stick out a little?”

“People from all over the country come here for the Holy Night. Besides, we will be wearing masks, and robes.”

“I didn’t see those on the supply list.”

“They are provided for us. I will show you.”

“No, Cristo,” Beth said. “I can’t let you go any farther. I’d never forgive myself if you were hurt.”

Cristo gestured to the scars on his neck and arm. “What could they do to me that is worse than this?”

He was right, Vargas thought. Any kid who could go through what this one had and come out of it still sane was not someone you needed to be worrying about.

“They could kill you,” Beth said. “I can’t let you do it.”

“And how will you find Jennifer and the baby?”

“I’ll find them.”

“No, they keep them in a special room before the ceremony, where they prepare them for the fire. If I do not show you, it may be too late.”

“Tell me something,” Vargas said. “Why the baby? Why would they sacrifice an innocent child?”

Cristo looked at him as if this was a silly question. “It is tradition,” he said. “He is the firstborn male.”

And with this, Cristo crossed the cave and stepped into the tunnel on the right.

“Cristo, no,” Beth said.

But the boy ignored her, once again signaling for them to follow.

94

Beth

W
HEN THEY DREW
close to the compound, Cristo told them they would have to turn off their flashlights. The tunnels were lit by torches after the next turn.

Beth was surprised. With the kind of money El Santo had to be making through his drug and prostitution rings, you’d think he would have wired the place for electricity.

But since the cult seemed to be living in a kind of netherworld between the old and the new, basing their lives on traditions and rituals that were modeled after some ancient pagan society, maybe torches was the way to go.

What would a good old-fashioned cleansing or ritual sacrifice be without the proper ambiance?

“Wait here,” Cristo said, and started to leave.

Beth grabbed his hand. “Where are you going?”

“I come back soon,” he said, pulling away. Then he darted through the tunnel, stopped at a junction to peek around the corner, then continued on, disappearing from sight.

Beth had butterflies in her stomach. The plan, they had decided, was for Beth to find Jen and the baby and get them out of there as quickly as possible before the ceremony began.

Meanwhile, Ortiz and Vargas would go to the cages and release any women who might be held there, then round up as many of the children as they could find and take them all to safety.

It was an ambitious and maybe even a foolhardy plan, but they thought they might be able to pull it off while all attention was centered on the festivities in the Great Chamber.

Even the guards attended these festivities, Cristo had told them. So if all worked out right, they’d have plenty of time to do what they needed to do and remain undetected.

Maybe.

Based on the story Cristo had told them earlier, it was painfully obvious that such plans didn’t always work.

After several nervous minutes, Cristo returned carrying black hooded robes and gold skull masks and handed them out. As Beth put hers on, she suddenly remembered a Stanley Kubrick movie she’d seen a few years back, where Tom Cruise and Sydney Pollack dressed up in robes and watched people have anonymous sex in a New York mansion. The filthy rich caught up in a decadent fantasy.

It wouldn’t surprise her, she thought, to discover that many of the people who attended this shindig were equally rich—and emotionally empty. People who rationalized their callous indifference to the suffering of others by wrapping it in pseudo-religious hokum.

It would almost be laughable if it all weren’t so deadly serious.

Nevertheless, Beth felt ridiculous wearing this thing. But she had to admit it was a great way to enter the place undetected.

Their backpacks, which were filled with the Jarrito bottles, would have to be left behind. So Vargas and Ortiz stuffed their pockets with as many of the bottles as they could fit. Which wasn’t many.

“Where’s
your
robe?” Beth asked Cristo.

“The children do not wear robes,” he said, then showed her his skull mask, which was white instead of gold. “Come. The ceremony is about to begin. I show you where they keep Jennifer.”

Feeling the butterflies fluttering away, Beth followed him.

95

A
S THEY TURNED
the first corner, the tunnel started to narrow slightly and, as promised, its walls were lined with torches, lighting their way.

Beth heard the buzz of conversation ahead, and when they turned the next corner they stepped into yet another cave, this one at least twice the size of any of the previous caves. It was filled with two or three hundred people, standing shoulder to shoulder, every one of them wearing a black robe and gold skull mask.

Beth, Vargas, and Ortiz followed Cristo into the crowd, Beth suddenly feeling exposed, waiting for someone to point a finger and shout,
Stop her! She’s not one of us!
 

But as they continued through, there were no shouts, no accusations, only the excited hum of spectators waiting for the show to begin.

All eyes were fixed on the front of the cave, which was dominated by several large stone statues of La Santisima Muerte, a huge, circular slab of intricately carved stone at their feet, looking like something out of an Aztec nightmare. Flaming torches lined the circle, throwing light on the focus of everyone’s attention: a large fire pit with a crude stone chair standing at its center. And high above it was a man-made wind tunnel, carved into the roof of the cave, where smoke from the torches funneled into the night sky.

Beth stared at the stone chair, knowing that if they didn’t work fast, Jen and little Andy would soon be sitting in it, waiting to die.

Cristo cut abruptly to the right. Beth turned quickly to make sure that Vargas and Ortiz were behind her, then followed the boy out of the crowd toward yet another tunnel.

Stopping at the mouth of the tunnel, Cristo waited for Beth and the others to catch up, then pointed past the crowd toward a small stone archway on the far right side of the sacrificial altar.

“In there,” he said. “She will be alone with the baby. Given a last moment of reflection before the final walk.”

Moving deeper into the tunnel, Cristo shoved a large rock aside and came away carrying another black robe and gold skull mask.