Aztec Treasure

First Husband Andrew Kettering’s POV

Chevy Chase Club, Maryland

I couldn’t find a fairway with a guide dog today.

My tee shot on thirteen had gone into the trees on the right near the boundary fence. “Dammit!”

“You just don’t have it today,” Senator Fairchild said with a laugh. “Drop me at my ball, then meet your detail in the woods. Maybe they know where it is.”

I slammed my driver back in my bag. Five hundred dollars for that piece of ham on a stick that was supposed to cure my slice, and it was as worthless as the last three. Maybe the golf pro was right. I’d asked for a lesson at the range while we were warming up, and she had watched me take a couple of swings. “I’ve got good news and bad news for you, Mr. Kettering.”

“Better give me the good news first.”

“You have fantastic hand-eye coordination for a man your age,” she said.

“And the bad news?”

“With that swing, you need it.” I rolled my eyes, then ignored her recommendation that I leave the driver in the trunk and carry a trouble-seven wood instead. “You’ll never keep that in the fairway, and you aren’t strong enough to make the driver a better choice than a three-wood.”

Well, if I did that, I might as well put on a skirt and swing from the Ladies tees. She did give me some advice; I wasn’t as limber as I had been a decade ago, and when I tried to wind up for a big hit, I’d lift my head. Focusing on keeping my head still helped, but it cost me distance, and I couldn’t abide that. By the fourth hole, I was trying to kill the ball again. My drives started right and kept going. If I aimed down the left side to compensate, they didn’t stay on the fairway. One time by some miracle, I hit it straight and long, but I was aiming so far to the left that I went straight into a fairway bunker.

The Senator had his ball just off the fairway on the left side, so I left him there and drove across to where my Secret Service detail was sitting in their golf cart. “Did you see it, Jack?”

“It went into those bushes,” he told me. The detail worked in teams of two, the second trailing behind us. One guy watched the surroundings while the other watched me.

I was lifting some branches when I heard a POP POP POP. “GUN!” I looked over to the lead cart just in time to see Jack’s head explode into a red mist; his partner tried to get his weapon up, but he took two in the chest. I dropped to the dirt as the gunfire continued, watching in horror as the two trailing agents fell to the ground.

The sounds stopped, and I heard footsteps approaching. I saw a man coming my way, and he was scary as hell. He grabbed my belt, hauling me to my feet, and shoved the hot barrel of a rifle into my back. “MOVE,” he said.

I moved. My kidnapper pushed me to the fence and through a hole cut through the chain link. A plumber’s van was waiting by the street; he tossed me inside, then stabbed me with a needle before closing the door. I felt myself getting dizzy before I blacked out.

I had no idea how long I’d been out when I woke up. I was cold, hungry, sore as hell, and I smelled blood and urine. I had a cloth gag in my mouth and handcuffs on my wrists. There was no light; I lifted my hands to find I was in a coffin-sized box. I couldn’t move my elbows out or up, and my knees could only go up a foot or so before they hit metal. I could feel a sharp pain from my left collarbone, and I realized he’d found and removed the tracker the Secret Service implanted there.

If they couldn’t track me, I was screwed. I could be anywhere by now.

I knew from the road noise and vibration that I was in a vehicle, but I had no idea where. I screamed into the gag and pounded on the metal until I sensed we were slowing down and coming to a stop.

I heard the sound of latches before the top opened on a side hinge. I was inside a van, and it was dark out. I could see only the shadow of the man who captured me as he unzipped his white coveralls. “Who are you,” I asked.

“My name is Julio Salazar,” he said as he stepped out of his clothing. “And your wife has offended me.” A moment later, a large cat stood in his place, big white teeth bared at me as he growled.

I promptly wet myself, then tried to turn away, but I was still in the box. My shoulder exploded in pain as the teeth bit down. I screamed into the gag until the bite stopped. I was breathing hard when I saw him again, now back in his human form with my blood on his lips and teeth. He held up a syringe, plunging it into my neck, and it was lights out again.

I woke up once, and this time he didn’t say anything as he injected me again.

It was noticeably cold in the box the next time I woke up. I’d learned my lesson; there was no point in making noise. No one could hear me anyway, and it would only get me a shot. My shoulder ached, but the bleeding had stopped. I tried not to move, knowing any motion could rip the scabs open again.

I tried to focus on any clues as to where I might be. The cold was one big one; I wasn’t in the DC area. The road was smooth, with regular expansion joints, so it was probably a freeway.

I had no idea how long I’d been awake when I figured out we weren’t on a freeway anymore. It sounded like I was in a city, then we were driving fast again.

I was hot, and I knew I was coming down with a fever. The big cat bit me, and I knew what that meant. With werewolves, you’d get a fever within 24 hours, leading to a painful death. Alpha Chase and his people figured out a way to save a couple of people, but it wasn’t easy. The werejaguar must be the same.

I started singing songs in my head to pass the time; I was about one album in when we turned onto a road with stoplights again. I was sweating profusely and getting the chills, making it difficult to concentrate. Twenty minutes later, after making slow turns at much lower speeds, we came to a stop, and Julio put the van in park.

The lid opened, and Julio looked down at me. He was holding a strip of cloth. “Resistance would be both futile and painful,” he told me. “Sit up.”

My body wouldn’t cooperate, so he reached down and grabbed my shirt, pulling me to a sitting position. My shoulder was in agony, and I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out. He let go and pulled a bandana out of his pocket, tying it as a blindfold.

I heard a door open then he pulled me out of the box and out. I felt the cool breeze on my face as my feet touched pavement; my body was sore, and I had trouble standing. “Listen carefully, and you’ll be free. Stand here and count to five hundred. When you finish counting, remove the blindfold and walk down the hill until you find help. If I see you peeking, I’ll shoot you in the head. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I said through the gag.

“Start counting.” I heard him get into the van and drive off by the time I got to twenty-five. I kept counting until I reached five hundred, then pushed the blindfold off with my thumbs and untied the gag. I was in the woods, and I could see a lake ahead of me. The sun was just below the horizon, but I didn’t know if it was morning or night. I started walking downhill slowly as the feeling came back to my butt and legs.

I could see some homes to my right, but I kept going towards the stop sign at the bottom of the hill. I could see and hear people to the right side as I got there; looking over, I was shocked to see a news van with the satellite dish up. “HELP! HELP ME!”

One of the men standing outside the van turned my way; he stumbled a bit as he saw me. “HEY! CALL FOR HELP!” A few people came running, and the driver turned his lights on to illuminate me better. “IT’S THE FIRST HUSBAND!”

I got plenty of help, and three cameras were rolling live as one of the men sat me on the back of his truck. “He needs an ambulance,” he said to the driver.

“Ambulance is fifteen minutes out,” he called back.

He shook his head. “Arrowhead has a nurse and a clinic. Call them now!”

I looked at him in amazement. “Arrowhead? Where am I?”

“North of Duluth in Minnesota, sir. We’re outside the Arrowhead Pack entrance.”