Clive Cussler - The Eye of Heaven

“Rubin Haywood? Good idea. I’m sure the CIA has a whole wing devoted to it.”

The SUV hit a particularly nasty bump, jostling them. Remi clutched the seat for support and moved her free hand to the gold icon at her neck. Sam waited as the call rang and whispered to her.

“We could use some of that scarab luck right about now. Can you rub it and make a genie appear?”

They laughed, and then Rube’s distinctive voice came on the line.

“Rube. It’s Sam. Your old buddy and pal.”

“Sam! Long time. What, are you in D.C.? Want to buy me dinner?”

“Have to take a rain check on that, Rube. No, this is more of a fact-finding call.”

“What is it this time?”

Sam took him through what he was looking for, and Rube remained silent for several seconds after he finished.

“It might take a while, but I can put an analyst on it. I hear they can do some amazing things with computers these days.”

“Data’s only as good as whoever fed it in.”

“Ain’t it the truth. So that’s it? You want to know about any Cuban archaeological caches in Morro? Kind of an obscure area of inquiry, even for you …”

“I’m just trying to keep our relationship fresh and spontaneous.”

“ Ahem. I’ll have you know I got a promotion.”

“Really? Congrats.”

“Thanks. I’d tell you my new title, but then I’d have to kill you, so best to not ask.”

“Good to know.”

“All right, buddy. I’ll put the elves to work. Still got the same e-mail?”

“Some things never change.”

When Sam hung up, Remi slid closer. “What did you think of our new associates? That Maribela is a stunner, isn’t she?”

“Who? Oh, the sister? I hadn’t noticed.”

Remi elbowed him. “Did you know when you’re lying, your eyes give a telltale flicker?”

“Who are you going to believe, me or my lying eyes?”

“I was just saying … She’s not what I expected.”

“Neither’s the brother. Not as ugly as the sister, but still.”

They rode past the colorful façades of stores and apartments in silence, both lost in their thoughts, which now centered around a mythical ruler and his final burial place and the hurdles they would have to surmount to have any chance at finding it.

A slate sky drizzled on the windshield of Antonio’s Suburban. The morning mist was a regular occurrence that time of year in Distrito Federal, or DF, as the inhabitants referred to Mexico City. Traffic was a snarl as they made their way north of the city center into the impoverished colonia of López Mateos.

Antonio turned, and a block up they found themselves facing two military vehicles flanked by heavily armed soldiers, their M4 rifles at the ready.

“This is our protection,” Antonio explained as he slowed the SUV. “The police requested backup from the military when shots were fired at them last night. Probably just kids, but everyone’s on edge.”

He pulled up onto a crumbling curb next to a corner market covered with spray-painted gang tags. Heavy grids of rebar were bent across its broken windows. A soldier bearing sergeant’s stripes approached as Antonio opened the driver’s door and presented his identification to the hardened veteran, who peered distrustfully at it before waving him forward. Maribela turned to look at Sam and Remi.

“It’s showtime — isn’t that how they say it?”

“Indeed,” Remi said.

Yellow tape cordoned off a brown-dirt slope leading into a chasm beneath the street. Sam and Remi held their breath at the stench of accumulated sewage as Antonio disappeared into the gloom. The distinctive roar of a gas generator started up, and two portable lights flickered to life inside.

“Come on. It’s about fifteen feet farther in,” Maribela called.

Remi swallowed hard, almost gagging, and then followed the two Mexican archaeologists, Sam immediately behind her.

Ahead was a breach in a stone wall, where the rocks had collapsed inward into the space beyond. Antonio climbed through the opening and the three of them followed. Another light was set up on a tripod positioned at the junction of three passages.

Antonio waited until they caught up with him and then explained, “Each of these passageways leads to a burial vault. Probably the most significant one is just ahead. You’ll see the pottery and other items — they’re numbered, and we’ve left them where we found them so we can do a more careful examination in the next few days. Be careful as you walk — the floor’s uneven.”

They approached the first crypt as a group, their footsteps echoing in the confined space, the air filled with the scent of wet earth and decay. Antonio bent over and flipped a switch box lying by his feet. A bank of work lamps illuminated the end of the tunnel, their eerie glow reflecting off the chamber walls.

Remi gasped as a root brushed her shoulder.

Sam took her hand. “Little creepy, isn’t it?”

The room was small, no more than twelve by twelve, with a stone podium that had been the final resting place of a Toltec dignitary at the far end. Pots, ceramic figures, masks, and obsidian tools lay strewn on either side of it, with grid lines of white twine now strung over them to accurately map their positions. The most striking feature was the pictographs that covered every inch of wall space — the entire room was a Toltec art treasure. Sam stopped short of the pedestal, taking in the breathtaking display, and felt Remi inch closer, as their eyes roved over the tableau.

Maribela said, “These possessions were likely collected in an orderly pile, but, over the centuries, earthquakes have had their way with them. Although the crypt is in remarkably good shape, what’s most surprising are the carvings. Very much like the other Toltec sites we’ve mapped … but I’ve never seen them in this abundance.”

Sam and Remi approached the nearest wall. Sam took a small flashlight from his pocket and twisted it on.

A somber face glowered back at him, an elaborate headdress atop its head, a stylized club in one hand and a serpent in the other. Sam moved to another, where a jaguar stood ready to pounce in front of a depiction of a temple. Next to it, a procession of warriors. Below it, men leading animals on leashes. Figures constructing a towering pyramid. On and on, scene after scene.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Remi whispered. “The condition’s remarkable.”

Antonio nodded. “We’re hoping that as we excavate, we’ll find even more. The mud you see on the floor is from leakage over time, which is inevitable. But most of the area is as pristine as I’ve ever seen.”

“What’s your theory on who the mummies were?” Remi asked.

“Probably priests, but very highly placed — possibly the religious leaders of their era. Why they’re buried south of Tula is a mystery.”

“Was it customary to entomb the religious leaders in such elaborate crypts?”

“Little is actually known about their civilization, so there are still more questions than answers. It will take many months, if not years, to fully document this find — assuming that the city doesn’t shut us down. The street running overhead is a problem, although we can probably buy one of the nearby buildings and create an entrance there. But that takes funds …”

They moved to the other crypts, which contained more carvings and more artifacts. Remi took photographs of all the images for later study, amazed by the sheer quantity. The amount of work involved had to represent years of skilled artisan time.

After three hours of exploration, Antonio signaled that they were going to take a break and return to the surface.

Maribela led the way.

“We have a group of students coming in this afternoon to help us with the excavation. You’re welcome to stay, if you like, but it will get crowded. And, frankly, you’ve seen most of what there is to see so far. Perhaps you’d like to spend some time at the Institute with the artifacts there?” Maribela suggested. “I can drive you while Antonio takes care of things here.”