Clive Cussler - The Eye of Heaven

“I anticipated your request. If you’ll pop into your e-mail account, you’ll find a list, with photos. Although some of the documents have degraded pretty severely after being stored in a dungeon.”

“Is everyone a complete idiot on that side of the pond? Why on earth would they house something valuable in a room where it would rot?”

“Apparently, they’ve got their hands full carrying on with the noble Communist Revolution.”

Janus grunted. “Very well. I’ll look it over and get back to you.”

He punched the call off and continued pacing, his stomach churning as he weighed his options. He’d heard from his Mexican contact earlier: the Fargos were back in Mexico City and had spent the day at the Institute, where at least he could keep a better eye on them. They hadn’t spotted the surveillance, likely because the Mexicans were using a larger team. He made a mental note to caution his Mexican conduit to avoid doing anything to make them suspicious.

Janus entered his lavish office and checked his e-mail in-box and read the inventory list with interest. Something had been worth risking everything for.

No matter. Unbeknownst to even Percy, he had a secret weapon. One he had cultivated with care and which looked ready to finally pay off. He was confident he’d know as much about what the Fargos were working on as they did, just as he’d been able to track them around the globe.

Janus shut down his computer and rejoined his brother and the entertainment up on the pool deck. For this trip, he’d arranged for five stunning Spanish models, three of whom were blondes. He knew his clients’ tastes well and blondes always eased the way for difficult decisions to be made about expensive ordnance. He ascended the stairs to the upper deck, his handcrafted Italian moccasins soundless on the hardwood steps. Janus approached the table, arms open, a beaming smile on his face, as he eyed the young beauties, his to do with as he pleased before his clients arrived in a few hours.

“Ladies, please. It’s rude to keep all the fun to yourselves. Slide over. The captain wants to spend some time with his new friends.”

The girls tittered nervously at his sudden appearance but relaxed when they saw his face. They were experienced and they knew that expression well. An unthinking hunger that was their stock-in-trade.

As old as the Greek hills they were steaming toward.

Maribela and Antonio gazed at the Fargos’ Cuban photographs in disbelief, having stopped at the Institute that morning before making their way to the crypts, where excavation was under way.

“Absolutely remarkable. How on earth did you get these?” Antonio asked.

“Apparently, friendly persuasion works wonders. You just need to know the secret password and the Cubans couldn’t wait to give us photos,” Sam said. They’d agreed to show Maribela and Antonio the snapshots of the artifacts but not the manuscript.

Remi sat nearby, her face impassive.

“Well, you have a career as a politician ahead of you if you want,” Maribela said, the admiration in her smile a little too warm for Remi’s liking.

“I’m not nearly unscrupulous enough, I’m afraid.”

Maribela’s musical laugh was like nails on a chalkboard for Remi and she all but groaned as she got to her feet and moved next to Sam.

“What do you make of the pictographs?” she asked.

Antonio edged nearer and studied the images. “I’d say definitely Toltec, but the images are unlike any I’ve seen. We’ll need to study them further, of course, but I’m sure.”

“Is there anything about the subject matter that strikes a chord?” Remi asked.

“Not really,” he said. “A procession. Quetzalcoatl. Priests or dignitaries. The usual jaguars and eagles. The most unusual is the depiction of the pyramid or temple.”

“But it doesn’t mean anything to you?” Sam asked.

“Part of the problem is that much of what we believe is really interpretations, which are subject to change based on new information. We’ve already made some discoveries in the crypts that have us reconsidering our earlier assumptions about the Toltecs.”

“We’d love to see what you’ve been up to in our absence,” Remi said.

Antonio nodded. “Of course. We’ll be heading up there after this meeting. You’re welcome to come along.”

“It’s still quite grim,” Maribela said, “but now that water service has been restored to some of the affected area, the tension level has receded since you were last there.”

“Then it’s a date,” Sam agreed, and quickly busied himself with his notes until he caught Remi glaring daggers at him.

When the siblings had departed to their office, Remi moved away from Sam, her shoes clicking on the linoleum floor.

“What is it with you every time Maribela’s in the room?” she asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Fargo.”

He shrugged. “No, really, I don’t.”

“She opens her mouth and it’s like you’re a teenage boy at the prom.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Why, Remi, is that the green-eyed monster surfacing? You? Really?”

“Don’t try to deflect. I see how you’re behaving.”

“You mean how I keep pawing at her?”

“It’s not funny.”

His expression softened. “You should know by now it’s you and nobody else.”

She eyed him distrustfully. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“If I was, whatever I said would also be to make you feel better. So if I said no, it wouldn’t be the truth.”

“See? That’s what infuriates me about you. You can never give me a straight answer.”

“I just did. Now, can we return to the treasure of a lifetime? Not that I mind living in a Mexican soap opera or anything …” Sam pretended to twirl a nonexistent mustache, and, in spite of herself, Remi laughed.

The ride to the site took forty minutes through the city’s bustling streets. When their SUV pulled up to the crypt entrance, a different contingent of soldiers was guarding the opening. The familiar formality of handing over identification was repeated and soon they were underground, where a dozen earnest students were whisking at pottery with brushes and photographing the finds.

Antonio led them through the passageway to the largest chamber. “You know, one of the carvings you showed me reminds me of several here. I didn’t want to say anything until I saw them again, but I’d be interested in your opinion.”

As they arrived, he said something in Spanish to three students who were tagging artifacts. They promptly left, making room for the four of them.

“Which carving?” Remi asked.

“I think … Yes, here it is. Right here. It’s quite small, so you’ll have to get close to see the detail,” he said, tapping an area of the pictograph with his finger.

Sam and Remi drew near and studied the area he’d indicated. A group of warriors and priests were paying homage to a pyramid. Above it, a cloud hovered.

Maribela squinted at the carving. “I could go either way on that. It’s inconclusive.”

“Looks like some sort of devotional or prayer-related motif,” Sam said. “You can see where the gathering is supplicating, bowing to the pyramid. Is that type of thing typical of Toltec art?”

Antonio shrugged and frowned. “No more than in Mayan or Aztec. Although we have far more of both of those to evaluate than we do of the Toltec.”

Remi peered at the pyramid for another moment and then stepped back. “Let’s assume for the moment that this representation is recording the same, or a similar story, to the Cuban carvings. What would that tell us?”

“Unfortunately, nothing.” Antonio paused. “Except that some unknown party almost five hundred years ago felt there was significance to the depiction. That’s about it.”