The Third Antichrist (8 page)

Abi puffed out his cheeks. ‘Okay. I’m sorry I said that. It was out of line. But I’m feeling a tiny bit pressured up here. If this thing doesn’t work out, I’m not going to sit up here and conduct an autopsy on it. I’m going to dive back into the cenote.
Capish?
’

Abi tied one end of the tow rope loosely around his waist. Then he let the jack dangle down below him. Slowly, steadily, he extended the tow rope until he had maybe twenty feet of line swinging, like a pendulum, in a tight arc to the cliff face. The further he swung it, though, the more the rope began to swing him.

Abi soon realized that he would need to take action pronto if he wasn’t to launch himself like a rocket off the ledge, with the rope, the jack, and the extinguisher acting as a convenient sheet anchor for when he struck the water and went under.

On the third swing he twisted his arms up and over in order to give the tow rope a modicum of centrifugal throw out. The jack looped up towards the summit of the cliff. At the very last moment Abi rammed himself back against the cliff face and jerked the rope forwards, timing it so that the jack would get a precious extra bit of lateral leverage. The jack pitched onto the ground above him with a dull thud, and the rope went slack in his hands. Abi stood on the ledge, breathing deeply.

‘You realize when I pull on this, and when the jack doesn’t snag on anything, it’s going to topple off the edge of the cliff, hit me on the head, and pitch me into the water?’

‘Not if you pull hard enough. That way the jack will fall clear of you. Then all you have to do is not let it unbalance you when the rope tightens on the way down. It’ll give you a second bite of the cherry.’

‘That’s okay then, Nawal, is it? That’s all clear? I just yank for all I’m worth, and hey presto?’

‘Yep.’

‘Can anyone think of a prayer?’

‘Just pull it, Abi. Let’s get this over with.’

Abi gave the rope a yank. The jack came skittering over the edge of the cliff and launched itself into the void.

‘Fuck!’

The extinguisher missed Abi’s head by a foot or so. At the last possible moment he threw himself back against the cliff face and braced himself for the shock of the rope straightening. But instead of dragging him over the side, the dead weight at the end of the rope merely scythed across below him, dissipating much of the energy of the drop.

‘Jesus, Joseph and Mary. I thought it was going to jerk me off.’

‘Abi, if you don’t manage to swing that thing up there and get it to snag, I’m going to jerk you off.’

‘But, Nawal, you’re my sister.’

‘Enough with the jokes, Abi. You know what I mean. Don’t be so gross. We’re living on borrowed time down here. At least you’re free of the water. Believe me when I say it’s getting harder and harder to keep ourselves afloat. If you don’t succeed with this, I shall drown myself. It’s a better bet than slowly starving to death. Or dying of exposure.’

‘Okay, Nawal. I get the point. I’m going to give it another shot.’

‘Check the tyre irons first.’

‘To hell with the tyre irons. This time it’s going to work.’ Abi began the second swing. The tow rope jerked into pendulum effect. Abi gave it a lot more elbow grease this time around, swinging as hard as he could on each extension, and forcing himself tightly back against the cliff face so that he wouldn’t overset.

At the last possible moment he hauled upwards and outwards. The weighted jack twisted at the end of its extension, and drifted over the lip of the cliff.

The moment he heard the jack landing, Abi dragged downwards with his hands. He expected the jack to come swooping over the edge of the cliff again, but this time the jack snagged onto something solid. Abi didn’t know what it had snagged on. A body, maybe? But the rope felt taut in his hands for the very first time.

‘Right. We’ve got a response. I’m not going to jerk it anymore. I’m not going to test it. I’ve only got so much strength left in me, so I’m going to give it my best shot before I lose faith.’ Abi swarmed up the rope. He could feel his crotch tightening in anticipation of the fall he figured for a near-to-odds-on certainty.

Six feet into his final climb, the rope slipped a little, as if whatever it was biting into had moved.

‘Oh, Christ.’ Abi hung for a second in mid-air. Then he restarted his upwards ascent. He could see the lip of the cenote maybe four feet above his hands.

‘Go on, Abi. You’re nearly there.’

‘The fucking thing’s moving.’

‘Ignore it, Abi. Keep climbing.’

Abi scrambled up the final four feet. He made a wild grab for the cliff edge just as the rope and anchor broke away from whatever it had snagged on. Abi was left with one hand gripping the ledge, and one hand still on the rope.

He dropped the rope and lunged for the cliff edge with his free hand. He was now attached to the cliff by the tips of six of his fingers.

‘Grab the rope again.’

‘I can’t. It’s come free.’

Abi tried to drag himself the final few feet, but he had no strength left in his hands. He just hung there, attached to the cliff edge by his fingertips.

‘If you fall, we’re all dead. Just one more effort, Abi. Come on. Don’t give up on us now.’

Abi dragged air into his lungs. He knew he was finished if he let go. He tightened his grip and lunged upwards with his left knee. This put extra pressure on his fingers. He knew he had only seconds to go.

He scrabbled with his feet against the flat surface of the rock. Slowly, painfully, he made a little headway. At the very last moment he broke connection with his previous hold and threw both hands forward, lunging with his knees and feet. His shoes were the only dry thing left on him, and he was counting on their rubber soles to give him a little purchase.

This time around he managed to apply a bit of extra leverage with his forearms. Lunging upwards, he got his chin onto the edge of the rock. Now he had both forearms and his chin in contact with the ledge. He shunted himself forward like a lizard. Then, using the traction afforded by the dirt, he got his elbows onto the ridge. He could hear shouting from below him, but he couldn’t make out what anyone was saying through the buzzing in his head.

He dragged himself forward, using one elbow, then the other. First his chest was on the ledge. Then his stomach. Then his thighs.

Once he got his knees onto the ledge he knew that he was home free.

14

Abi lay on top of the cliff and tried to snatch his breath back. The shouting continued below him, but he ignored it.

His hands were bleeding, as were his forearms and elbows. The rest of him felt as if some sadist had given him a full body massage with a belt sander.

When his breathing steadied, Abi eased himself onto his knees and checked the surrounding area for movement. Nothing. Not so much as a swaying blade of grass. The sun was beating down on the blue agave plantation so hard it was putting a crease into the light.

He turned his head and checked out what his botched jack-and-extinguisher device had snagged on. Yes. Just as he thought. The narco-
cacique’s
body. Which had then snagged onto another body, slowing down its movement towards the cliff edge. He’d been absurdly lucky that the two bodies hadn’t simply rolled over each other and across the edge of the cliff, taking him with them. Rigor mortis had set in during the night, leaving both cadavers a jumbled mass of protruding arms, legs, and knees – perfect for slowing down a roll.

Well. You needed luck sometimes. The Corpus had been having a bad run of it recently, and now maybe things were set to change.

Abi lurched to his feet. He took a few steps and then stood swaying, as if he had vertigo. Hunger was making his stomach clench – it felt as if someone had caught him unawares with a rabbit punch.

Abi’s mind was cutting loose on him too. He caught himself wondering how Aldinach and Athame were doing over in Europe, following up on his orders. Whether they’d managed to find and execute their sister, Lamia, for her betrayal of the Corpus with that motherfucker Sabir. Whether they’d identified and killed the Gypsy girl who was meant to be the future mother of the Second Coming. All these things had seemed so damned important a day or so ago. The central facts of his life. Now he found he didn’t care much either way.

Abi laughed and shook his head. He sucked air into his lungs like a man getting his first taste of the sea, and lurched forwards. Talk about a dysfunctional family. God had really messed up when He’d allowed Abi’s mother, the Countess, free rein in choosing her adoptive children. Still. Even freaks had to have a place to call their own.

Abi focused on the problem in hand. The dead
cacique’s
Toyota Roraima was parked twenty yards back from the lip of the cenote. Abi stumbled across to it and looked inside. No keys. But there was a three-quarters full bottle of water stuck into the service tray. And a box of half-eaten tacos on the passenger seat. And the passenger door was open.

Abi ate the tacos and drank the water.

The shouts from below him were getting louder. Abi pushed himself away from the Land Cruiser and walked to the edge of the sinkhole. ‘Can it for a minute, will you. I’m just working out how to get you all back up. There are no keys in the Toyota so I’m going to have to find them. Then I’ll attach this length of hosepipe I’ve found to the tow bar and lower it down. You can attach yourselves to it somehow or other, and then I’ll ease the car forward and haul you out. None of you will be strong enough to shin the fifty feet up here on your own otherwise.’

Abi didn’t wait for their reply but walked directly over to the
cacique’s
body. He was feeling stronger by the minute. Just so long as the
cacique
didn’t have a chauffeur who had pocketed the keys, and who was now lying at the bottom of the cenote with the rest of the skydivers, thought Abi.

Abi felt around in the
cacique’s
pocket. The man was already ripe, thanks to the action of the sun. Swarms of blowflies were busy in the collection of bullet holes scattered about his body.

No keys.

Abi shook his head. The Corpus’s rental cars had been parked too near to the crystal meth factory. They would almost certainly have fried when the place went up. And the Hummer in the basement would have fried too. Abi didn’t feel like walking out of the plantation and then another ten miles into the nearest town. And no way did he feel like bodily dragging his siblings out of the cenote via a hosepipe. It occurred to him that the
cacique’s
henchmen must have arrived in cars, but he would be faced with a similar problem there – no one in their right minds would leave a car unlocked near a public road in Mexico, and certainly not a habitual criminal. With his luck, the keys would all be down in the cenote. And there was no way on earth he was diving back in there to collect them.

He grabbed a fallen hat from near one of the stiffs and put it on. Then he walked back to the Toyota and felt underneath the front seat. No go. He walked around the car and tried under the passenger seat. Nothing.

He thought for a moment and then flipped the lid for the vanity compartment. There was a pistol inside, but nothing else. Abi pulled it out. It was a Beretta 92FS semi-automatic. What the US armed forces called the M9. Abi checked the load and then slid the weapon into the back of his trousers, so that it snugged between his skin and his shirt.

Keys. No. Wait a minute. No keys. A sensor. Abi knew a thing or two about Land Cruisers. And this Roraima was a Land Cruiser under another name.

Abi remembered that all top-of-the-range Land Cruisers had Smart Entry. Meaning the doors would open at the touch of a hand if the sensor was brought close enough to the vehicle. And all these doors had opened. Meaning the sensor was still around here someplace. Meaning the Smart Start would work as well, so long as the sensor was still hidden somewhere inside the car.

Abi sat in the driver’s seat and pushed the button. The Toyota thrummed into life. Abi grinned. He closed the doors and switched on the climate control. The tank was full of gas. He checked around for anything else to eat, but there was nothing.

He waited patiently for the climate control to lower the inside temperature to eighteen degrees.

Then, when he was feeling comfortable for the first time in more than twenty-four hours, he engaged the automatic shift and drove down the track and out of the plantation.