Clive Cussler - The Eye of Heaven

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Now, get back to work. You’ll never make it if you keep finding excuses to slack off,” Selma teased, and then without another word expertly turned her walker and slowly made her way back to her rooms with a familiar expression of determination on her face.

Sam exhaled noisily and stood, stretching his arms overhead and rolling his head to get the kinks out of his shoulder and neck muscles. Remi went back to her screen while Sam got his fifth cup of coffee and then pushed one of the glass doors open and moved onto the wraparound terrace for some welcome salt air. Gulls wheeled in the blue sky overhead, riding an updraft from the sea, and a few boats worked the edge of the kelp forest. Gluttonous seals competed with the anglers for the ocean’s bounty, and Sam watched as their oily black heads popped out of the water here and there before submerging again for another run at the fish.

Not a bad life, he thought. Simple. Go for a swim, fresh fish for lunch again, then maybe a siesta on a nice rock while the sun warmed you. The seals definitely had it figured out. Better than going blind staring at pictures of ancient ruins, trying to find clues to untangle one of history’s enduring mysteries.

With a final glance at the late-afternoon sky, he reluctantly returned to his computer and continued with his search for the meaning of the unintelligible carvings he’d been studying.

Two hours later, Selma emerged with a look of triumph on her face.

“Congratulations. You’ve been invited by the National Institute of Anthropology and History in Mexico City to study their inventory of Toltec artifacts. An old friend and colleague of mine, Carlos Ramirez, is in charge of the effort there. He’s the director of Antiquities and the cousin of one of the ministers of the interior, as well as being on the university board.”

“Selma! That’s wonderful,” Remi said, rising from her seat.

“He’s a very sweet man. We collaborated on some research years ago and I don’t think he’s ever forgotten how well we got along. Anyway, he’s got his hands full right now because after the big earthquake a repair crew fixing some broken pipes in the street discovered a new find — a series of subterranean vaults connected by a tunnel system that was exposed by the quake. They appear to be Toltec, but it’s all very preliminary because the area near the ruins is still in disarray. He invited you both to fly in and meet with his two senior researchers — and, if you like, to go through the new find together.”

“Selma, you never cease to amaze me,” Sam said, shaking his head in awe.

“Well, it’s not all that amazing. All I had to do was remember what the country code for Mexico was and call in a favor. Let’s not make it more than it is.”

“When can we go?”

“Apparently, most of the city is fine, but some areas were pretty hard hit and whole blocks were flattened. The quake measured a 7.8, but the damage was localized. He basically said you could come down whenever you want. Your reputation opens a lot of doors.”

“You didn’t tell him what we’re working on, did you?” Remi asked.

“No, I just told him that you were researching the Toltecs and Quetzalcoatl and how the Aztecs and later the Spanish twisted the Toltec legends. That gives you a pretty broad canvas on which to paint. But it will also explain why you might be more interested in some lines of inquiry than others.”

“You’re a genius,” Sam said.

“Seriously, this might get you closer than doing the digging online. As you know, that only takes you so far …”

Remi nodded. “And then you have to get your hands dirty. We know, Selma.”

“I don’t know what to do with myself when my hands are clean for this long,” Sam agreed. “I’d say it’s time to head south of the border. Ai yai yai! ”

Remi gave him a mock frown and shook her head. “I’m afraid he might have already been prepping for the trip by nipping at the tequila.”

“Nonsense. I’m sober as a judge,” Sam insisted.

“That explains a lot,” Remi countered, and they all laughed.

“Kendra? Looks like it’s time to get the pilots off the beach and warming up the plane,” Sam called out.

“When would you like to take off?” she asked from her workstation near the windows.

Remi and Sam looked at each other, and Remi shrugged. “Tomorrow morning? Say, at eight? That will put us in Mexico City by noon local time.”

“Will do. How about hotel?”

“I think last time we were there we stayed at the Four Seasons in the Zona Rosa district. As I remember, it was very good, and centrally located.”

“Consider it done,” Kendra said. She definitely shared the same orderly genes with Selma, they’d discovered, and with time they’d grown to appreciate her quiet, straightforward style. “Any special requests?”

“Selma will give you the rundown on the usual we like to take into the field on something like this,” Remi said. “It’s pretty basic. She’s got the list.”

“Great. Then I’ll get right on it.”

The rest of the day sped by as they prepared for their trip, and both Sam and Remi were more than ready for a final celebratory meal at their favorite restaurant in San Diego, an Italian place in the Gaslamp Quarter. They took Sam’s newest acquisition, a black convertible Porsche 911 Turbo 918 Spyder Cabriolet that he rarely had time to drive. He dropped the top, and Remi leaned back in the soft leather seat as the warm evening breeze blew through her hair. He worked through the gears with enthusiasm as the powerful engine catapulted them down the on-ramp and onto the freeway.

“Easy there, Hoss,” Remi cautioned as the downtown skyline rose ahead of them.

“Sorry. I keep forgetting how responsive the gas pedal is on this thing.”

“I think we already passed liftoff. You can ease up.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Sam slowed to a sane pace and soon they were handing the keys to a valet and entering the restaurant. The owner greeted them like long-lost relatives and escorted them to the private corner table they favored. His wife came over to say hello and suggested a special tasting menu of the chef’s specials for the night, paired with a bottle of 2009 Sassicaia — arguably Italy’s foremost Super Tuscan red wine.

The meal was relaxed, each dish perfectly prepared and presented, beginning with a bruschetta to die for, followed by braised sweetbreads, veal ravioli in a truffle sauce, and three preparations of shrimp. By the time Sam and Remi were sipping glasses of limoncello, they were ready to burst, and both agreed that they would sleep well after the wonderful meal.

The G650 descended through the cloud covering on final approach to Benito Juárez International Airport in Mexico City. When they broke through the last of the clouds, the city was a few thousand feet below them. Torrential rainfall blanketed the buildings and roads. As the aircraft touched down, its tires threw a rooster tail of water into the air, and then they taxied to the jet charter building. All around them vehicles raced through the downpour, headlights beaming and flashers blinking, bearing luggage and fuel and provisions for the outbound commercial jets waiting in line for their chance to brave the storm.

A black GMC Yukon waited for them outside the terminal’s glass-and-steel entrance. The driver held the door open for them, loaded the luggage, and then circled around to slip behind the wheel. Once they were in traffic, the streets were jammed with vehicles. Water rushed along the surface, potholes the size of televisions filled with ominous black water. The locals shambled down the sidewalks, wearing plastic parkas and toting umbrellas, as they picked their way along the uneven concrete. Outside of a discount pharmacy, a forlorn figure wearing a plush chicken suit stood under an overhang, waving a yellow foam sign with Abierto printed on it in large red letters.