Aztec Treasure
Todd

Former CIA Station Chief Richard Todd’s POV

Sault Area Hospital

Everything had gone to shit in a heartbeat.

Somehow, the FBI had learned of our secret accounts and activities, and they were arresting people left and right. The television news was full of my friends being frog-marched to jail, and they weren’t fucking around with the charges. Murder, Attempted Murder of the President, and Treason? Fuck them. I got a warning call from my contact at Echelon’s Canadian headquarters and implemented my escape plans just in time.

I’d managed to stash almost ten million in a numbered Cayman Islands account for just this reason. I registered this Honda Accord to the new me, with a Canadian passport and driver’s license. The cabin in the woods outside Ottawa I’d hidden was also in that name. I knew enough spycraft to change my appearance. I’d left my old life and all my property behind in an instant. Any Federal agent who came after me would replace smoke and a vapor trail.

Two days ago, I’d parked near a Tim Horton’s thirty kilometers away to use their wifi. I took precautions against identification, swapping out license plates and wearing a hat and fake beard despite the window tinting. I’d logged into my offshore account to transfer funds to the Bank of Montreal in an account tied to a debit card I’d use for expenses. I just about screamed when I saw the account was frozen.

I quickly logged off and started driving, heading back to my cabin to think. The account wasn’t traceable to my new name since I’d never made a transfer from there into my BMO account. I headed inside, pacing as I tried to calm down.

I was in big trouble. With the numbered account gone, so was my escape plan. I didn’t dare try to access my previous bank accounts. If the Feds hadn’t frozen my bank accounts, it was because they were flagged and would lead them to me. My friends in the Company wouldn’t help; the close ones were in jail, and the rest wouldn’t risk it.

And all because of that fucking SPIDER MONKEY and the Arrowhead Pack. The FBI might have convinced Mexico to freeze the money, but only a hacker would steal a billion dollars from the Cartel.

And there was my answer. I needed money, and the Arrowhead Pack had loads of it.

It didn’t take long to replace social media posts that showed where they were. The fools were on a motorcycle tour of Canada! Tourists pictures of wolves running along a beach with two jaguars in the mix, an adult and a cub. Last night, I checked the encrypted chat room my Canadian Intelligence contact used to pass information. Echelon had a flag on Maria Meztli, and it got a hit after an accident north of Sault Ste. Marie. Drunk driver versus motorcycles, and the truck won. Maria and another rider went by ambulance to the Sault Area Hospital.

I took a chance they would still be there in the morning. Driving all night, I’d arrived at the hospital parking lot at six in the morning. Checking with the desk, I found out Maria was not there, but her fellow biker Lana Black was. I found a spot in the corner of the parking lot and waited.

It was just after nine when I saw a luxury RV pull into the back of the lot and stop. A man got out, one I recognized from the beach pictures on social media. He came back out a few minutes later, so I waited.

Just before ten, another man came out and set up a wheelchair. Soon after, the first man exited, carrying Maria Meztli in his arms. I could see a wrap on her left knee, and her left arm was in a sling. Good; an injured jaguar would be easier to handle. I watched as the three went inside, giving them a few minutes to make sure they didn’t come back out again.

My plan was simple; I’d wait for them in the RV, subdue them, and hold Maria for ransom. I checked my Colt 1911 was cocked and locked before sliding it into the holster behind my right hip. I grabbed my Kronos electric lock picking gun out of the glove box along with a pair of Mechanix gloves and a half-dozen fast-acting sedative autoinjectors. I was wearing a sweatshirt and a thick leather jacket, which should be enough to protect me from wolf bites.

I started the car and pulled it a few spots away and parallel to the big RV. I released the trunk latch and got out. I made sure the trunk was empty of anything helpful and cut the emergency trunk release pull with my knife. I put a pillow in and unfolded a sleeping bag in the bottom in case it got cold.

Walking to the RV door, I stopped and listened before trying to pick the lock. I heard little kids laughing, an adult female talking to them, and a movie playing. How perfect could this be? Maritza was left with her nanny while they went inside. This kidnapping would be easier than I thought.

I reached for the handle to replace it open. Drawing my 1911, I pulled the door open and jumped up into the kitchen area of the RV. I heard a scream from my right; two women moved between the kids on the couch and me, while the other shifted into a wolf.

“FREEZE,” I said as I pointed my gun at the wolf, but it was too late to stop her leap. I fired once, hitting her in the shoulder, but it didn’t stop her from trying to reach my throat. I put my gun arm up to ward her off, and she latched onto my forearm and bit down HARD, causing me to drop my gun. I heard a bone crack as her weight pulled me to the ground. I landed on top of the wolf and heard ribs cracking underneath me, but she didn’t let go of my arm.

I managed to get an autoinjector out and plunged the tip into the wolf’s neck. The drug knocked her out in seconds. I rolled off the wolf, pulling my arm free as she panted and bled on the floor. I reached out and grabbed my pistol just in time to stop a woman from kicking me.

That was when I felt a sharp pain in my right ankle. Looking down, I saw a small jaguar form biting me through my sock! I kicked hard, tossing her into the cabinet under the sink and stunning her. I grabbed her by the scruff and picked her up, ignoring her hissing and her attempts to claw me. “Sit DOWN,” I told the other two middle-aged women who had gathered the remaining kids in their arms. I moved towards the door, setting the gun on the counter and reaching into my pocket. I tossed two more autoinjectors on the table. “This will knock you out for a few hours. Inject each other, or I start shooting.”

They did what I told them. Both passed out on the bench seats.

I tossed the struggling cub into the trunk of my car and closed it up before she could stand. I ran around to the door, getting in and pulling out of the lot seconds later.

It was likely that someone heard the gunshot or saw me leaving the RV holding the cub. Stupid criminals race away from the crime scene. Smart ones change directions a few times and obey the speed limits, so I forced myself to be calm as I put distance between me and the crime scene. I found an empty parking lot a kilometers away and pulled in; taking a cordless screwdriver out, I swapped my license plates out in seconds. If someone remembered it or the security cameras caught it, they might not stop me now.

I’d noticed a bracelet on the cat’s rear paw. It was probably a tracking device. I went in the back, taking side cutters out of the toolbox on the floor and grabbing a blanket off the seat. I brought it with me to the rear of the car. Opening the trunk, I used the blanket to capture the hissing jaguar cub, holding it up with one hand like it was in a sack. I felt around until I had the paw with the bracelet. I set the blanket down while holding the leg, exposing it long enough to cut the anklet off. I threw the pieces on the ground, tied the blanket in a knot, and closed the trunk lid again.

When I got back in the car, I checked the tiny puncture wounds above my ankle. They were still bleeding, so I stuffed a handkerchief inside my sock to put pressure on it. Heading north, I put the city behind me and started thinking about the next move.

Maria and Chase would pay a lot of money to get the only jaguar cub left in the world back. I smiled, knowing I’d get my money and my life back now.