Antonio let him be. He was not important. As he scanned the skies, he saw that helicopters circled above, braving the rain. Strangely the lightning had ceased its dramatic striking, as if considering its job accomplished. The choppers drew closer.
They were even now broadcasting this sight to all Mexico. Well, Antonio would give them a sight to remember the rest of their days. He faced his loyal cohorts.
"My Juarezistas, approach with me. The Azteca revolution is over. Their idol walks no more. We are in command now. Let us demonstrate this to a fearful Mexico."
The Maya approached, walking as if on eggshells.
"We must topple this usurper so that she breaks into many pieces," Antonio explained. "It will be a political statement that will prove for all time the righteousness of our cause."
"How?" asked Kix. "It is so big."
"See how the monster balances on one foot? Let us push her in one direction, all of us, so that she loses her imperfect balance."
The Maya shrank from the fearful task. "Show us, Lord Verapaz. Guide our hands that we may do this."
Laying down his AK, Antonio placed both hands on the lifted elephantine foot of the Coatlicue monster. Why not? Was it not dead?
The foot was not cold as he expected. Nor was it hard. In fact, it felt weirdly fleshy to the touch. Instantly his hands recoiled.
His Maya recoiled, too.
"What is wrong?" Kix hissed.
Antonio rubbed his fingers together. They felt wet and clammy, as if they had come in contact with the cold clay of a great dead corpse. "You do it. For as a true indio, it is your honor to topple the rival god."
"But you are Kukulcan. "
"And as Kukulcan, I offer the honor to you."
Kix looked doubtful but, urged on by the others, he approached the inert thing. He laid hands upon the upraised foot. To judge by the expression that came over his face, the sensation of moist, dead flesh was very distasteful. But nothing happened to him.
Emboldened, Kix said, "Help me, O brothers."
Others gathered around. They got behind the fat ankle and attempted to push this way or that way. But the bulk of the creature was too vast, too obdurate to move. Her eyes regarded the Maya as if they were but ants at her feet.
While they considered the situation, an army utility helicopter dropped out of the sky to land at the roadside. As it drew closer, a man dangling off one skid released his grip so as not to be crushed.
REMO CALCULATED THE DROP, let go of the skid and rolled out of the way of the landing chopper.
When it settled, he opened the door. Winston Smith, Assumpta and Chiun started to get out. Remo pushed Winston back in.
"Look, let me handle this. Okay?"
Winston eyed the monster dubiously. "What's to handle? Looks like the party ended before we got here."
"You don't know what's going on."
"I can see what's going on. Nothing. That hulk is just standing there, collecting raindrops."
"Just leave this to the experts, okay? Chiun, watch them. I don't want any more problems with these two. If something goes wrong, take off."
Chiun nodded. "Be careful, my son. Take no chances."
Winston blinked. "He's your son?"
"In spirit."
And the Master of Sinanju put his face to the cockpit bubble, the better to watch his pupil.
REMO APPROACHED. The rain was still coming down. There was an adobe church beside the drooping cypress. Its white facade was streaked blackish gray with precipitated volcano ash.
From inside, a priest emerged. He carried a cross of gold. He, too, approached the monster.
Remo intercepted him. "You'd better stay clear, Padre. This isn't over."
"God has struck the monster blind and dumb, but it falls to his children to exorcise the demon that motivated it."
"Just the same, leave this to the professional monster slayers."
The priest fell in behind Remo. Considering the circumstances, he didn't seem very frightened.
A handful of Juarezistas blocked the way. Remo knew they were Juarezistas because in their brown polyester uniforms and black ski masks, they looked like the Serbian Olympic ski team.
"Come no closer," one of them commanded in good English. "We are about to blow up the demon Coatlicue for all the world to see."
"Over my dead body. He's mine."
"This is our monster. We have vanquished him. And it is a she, by the way."
The speaker was taller than the others. A shortstemmed pipe was clenched in his teeth. He also had green eyes.
"You Verapaz?" asked Remo.
"I am Subcomandante Verapaz. Who are you?"
"Monster extinguisher," Remo said.
"What nonsense is this?"
"This is my monster. I saw him first. Just step away and let me handle it."
Verapaz snapped impatient fingers. "Over my dead body."
"Thanks for the invitation," said Remo, who began disarming Juarezistas in a novel fashion.
Two opened fire on him. Remo moved in as if to meet the bullets halfway. That was how it seemed to the men behind the triggers and the priest who dropped to the ground and covered his head with his hands.
In fact, Remo's blurred hands pushed the rifles straight up so the bullets discharged harmlessly into the lowering sky. Then he stepped back, folded his lean arms and waited.
While the guerrillas were bringing their weapons back in line for follow-up bursts, the bullets reached the apex of their climb, where they seemed poised momentarily. Gravity brought them back down.
They perforated the tops of several skulls, and when the bodies crumpled, other Juarezistas moved in to replace them.
"Can you say 'blunt trauma'?" Remo said.
Remo moved in on them. He didn't have a lot of time, so he just grabbed two by the hair, masks and all, and spun in place.
Whirling combat boots collided with the incoming troops, knocking them down. Remo released the hapless pair whose scalps were inexorably separating from sagittal crests. They skidded some five hundred feet in opposite directions before coming to rest in the form of brown polyester sacks filled with bones.
Subcomandante Verapaz had his AK up to his shoulder and was looking down the barrel at Remo.
"Come no closer, yanqui. "
Remo kept walking.
"I mean business!"
Remo watched the middle knuckle of Subcomandante Verapaz's trigger finger until it went white. He stepped out of the path of the bullet stream. One burst. Then two. He didn't have to count the bullets. So many AKs had been fired at him over the years he could instinctively gauge when the clip had run dry.
Knowing that, Remo was able to walk right up to the smoking barrel without fear and twist the muzzle out of shape.
Verapaz stepped back, his green eyes widening in his mask. His pipe dropped from his mouth.
"What manner of man are you?"
"Can you say 'out-of-body experience'?" Remo asked.
"Yes. But why would I?"
Remo looked over his shoulder. In the resting helicopter Winston Smith and Assumpta sat placidly, their faces unreadable through the falling rain. His orders were to make Subcomandante Verapaz's death look like natural causes. For that story to wash, there had to be no witnesses.
"Never mind," Remo said. "Just hang around until I figure out what to do with you."
Verapaz jammed his pipe back into his mouth. "You cannot order me about. I am a Mexican revolutionary hero. Men fear me. Women adore me. I am in all the magazines. I am the future of Mexico. Politically I cannot be killed, so I will never die."
Remo was about to deactivate the subcomandante's nervous system when he heard low muttering in what sounded like Latin behind him.
Turning, Remo saw the priest hovering by the foot of Coatlicue. He held his gold cross high and was intoning some kind of prayer. It sounded to Remo like an exorcism was in progress.