Age of Blood

25

The Knights called a three-hundred-year-old shoe factory home. Although it hadn’t manufactured shoes since Pancho Villa rode a horse, it was still structurally sound and had been retrofitted with enough rooms to house the members of the monastic order and their guests, when they had them.

Navarre had returned after his reconnaissance. The town was a madhouse, but since the procession was moving back and forth along a different road, their journey to the safe house would only take twenty minutes, if that. Everyone piled into the three cars and drove into Alamos.

Navarre, Holmes, and one of Navarre’s men were in the first car. J.J. and Laws were in the second car, and Walker, Yank, and Ramon were in the third. Walker was behind the wheel, and as he drove into town, he recognized the difference between Cabo San Lucas and Alamos immediately. There was no dichotomy between the haves and the have-nots here. Or if there was, it was undetectable from an outsider’s point of view. One of the things he noticed was the lack of foreign tourists. This was a Mexican town for Mexicans, not for tourists. The streets were clean. The buildings were free of graffiti. Many of the buildings were older than America, or at least as old. Two-, three-, and four-story whitewashed colonial buildings lined the streets. Families moved together dressed in colorful clothing on wide sidewalks. They passed numerous open-air markets, vegetables gaudy with their healthy color.

The SEALs circled the Plaza Principal Alamos, which was ringed by towering royal palm trees. A gazebo was set in the middle, much like in an American park, from which a norteño band was playing ranchero music. The plaza was framed on one side by the Iglesia de Alamos, the great church with a seven-story-tall steeple along one side. Made of hand-cut stone, this was the home of the Virgin of Balanera.

They headed south about six more blocks. Walker saw Navarre’s man wave him into an alley. He turned in, drove about ten meters, then turned again into a private lot behind an immense U-shaped building which had to be the old shoe factory. Walker left the keys in the car. He and Ramon exited and moved quickly inside.

They were led to a large room on the first floor that seemed to be both a common area and an area of worship. At one end of the sixty-by-thirty-foot space was a raised dais on which a shrine was built. Walker only glanced at it, but was still able to make out many different paintings of a Virgin inlaid in the wood. Instead of taking the time to examine the shrine, he was more interested in the men arrayed before it.

He counted roughly thirty men of all ages. They were as different as could be, but the one thing they all shared was a fire in their eyes. They didn’t wear a uniform, but several wore the same necklace—a stylized cross and sword encircled with what looked from his vantage to be barbed wire.

“Is this all of them?” one asked Holmes. Rail-thin, the speaker had the stature of a military officer. His head was shaved and he had tattoos on his neck descending past his collar, disappearing beneath his shirt. His skin was dark like a mestizo’s, or perhaps, thought Walker, an Aztec.

“This is it,” Holmes said.

The man turned toward the SEALs, J.J., and Ramon. He gave Roman a long hard look, then smiled the sort of smile a man wore who was unused to humor. “Welcome to our, how you say, military camp… no, castle. Yes, welcome to our castle.” His English was rough, but understandable. “We are the Cuadrilla de los Caballeros Sagrados de la Virgen de Valvanera.”

“Order of the Sacred Knights of the Virgin of Valvanera,” Laws translated.

The man nodded. “I am Colonel Inquisidor Juan Francisco de la Vega and these are my caballeros.” He turned to point to the men, who in unison slapped their chests with an open hand and saluted in the British style.

The members of SEAL Team 666 snapped to attention and returned the salute in the American way. They held it for as long as the caballeros held theirs; then as one, everyone returned to ease.

“Today mi casa es su casa,” Vega said. “You’ll forgive me if we cannot be of much help. My men have been guarding the Virgin.” As he said the word, he and his men crossed themselves. “We have two more days and then we can help you. But for now, please be at home.”

Then he turned, said a quick word to Holmes, and left. Most of his men left with him, except for a handful. These came and introduced themselves, but Walker didn’t remember their names. They showed the SEALs to their quarters and then left them alone. Holmes gave them about half an hour to wash and relax before he had everyone meet in the common room downstairs.

“Here’s where we’re at,” Holmes told them. “SPG is inbound along with YaYa and Hoover. They should get here within the next three hours. During that time, we’re going to try and find the leprosos.”

“Any news on who they might be?” Walker asked.

Laws and Holmes exchanged glances. Laws answered the question. “Yes. Vega knows of a group operating in Alamos. Since the group doesn’t seem to be posing a threat to the Virgin, the Knights have left them alone. Still, they know who the leprosos are and why they’re here.”

“So who are they?” J.J. asked. When everyone looked at him, he spread his hands. “What? Am I the only one who wants to know?”

“They are called Los Desollados. They are neo-pagan Aztec worshippers.”

“What does ‘Los Desollados’ mean?” Yank asked

“It means the Flayed Ones,” Ramon interjected. “I should have known.” He shook his head. “Those putas are bad news. They worship Xipe Totec,” he said, making the X sound like an S. “They believe that all the bounty comes from their god and by him giving his skin to them for sustenance, they are then able to live.”

“They. Eat. Skin?” Yank asked, pronouncing each devastating word carefully.

Ramon nodded. “And they wear skin, too—but not their own. This is why the facilitators probably thought they were lepers. They were wearing the skin of the dead and much of it was probably falling off.”

Walker shook his head in disbelief. He’d seen enough to where this sort of thing shouldn’t faze him. But cannibalism, especially the eating of a person’s skin… it just seemed so absolutely primitive that he felt himself becoming sick at the notion.

“The idea as I understand it is for the Flayed Ones to wear the flesh for the period between the new moon and the full moon as it rots. During the full moon they step free from the skin, symbolizing rebirth and shifting from the old to the new.”

“And these are the ones who have the senator’s daughter?” Yank asked.

“We’re going on that premise,” Laws said. “The good news, if there’s any to be had after Ramon’s explanation, is that we know where the Flayed Ones are headquartered. They’re holed up in an abandoned asylum on the western edge of town.”

“Of course they are,” J.J. said, frowning. He repeated the words “abandoned asylum” before shaking his head.

“Walker and Yank,” Holmes said, pointing at the pair. “You’re currently the only ones with a full kit. I want you on site and ready in case the Flayed Ones decide to move before our new gear gets here.”

“Clear, sir.”

“And the rest of us?” J.J. asked.

“We need to come up with a plan of attack. I have some rough schematics of the building. If Emily Withers is in there, we might only have one chance at getting her out safe. We’re not going to turn this into another Waco. We’ll get information, then act.”

Laws nodded as he made eye contact with each and every member of the team. “Getting her out dead is the same as not getting her out at all.”