Clive Cussler - The Eye of Heaven

The two bodyguards, uncertain what had amused their boss, grinned, but didn’t dare go as far as laughing. Guerrero was notorious for mercurial mood swings. If he imagined an insult from a subordinate, it could be a death sentence. And his volatility wasn’t improved by his prodigious cocaine and methamphetamine intake, making him as dangerous as an armed grenade.

Guerrero nodded slowly and Reginald ventured a wan smile, choking back the tremor of unease that the cartel killer’s gaze induced. “Good show, then. I’d say wait until the end of the week, then do what you like with his body.”

“No problemo, jefe,” Guerrero said, his tone now neutral.

“Quite.”

Reginald paused by the door and one of the gunmen pulled it open for him. As he walked back to the SUV that Guerrero had thoughtfully provided for his use, he weighed strategies for keeping his latest scheme from his older brother, who would be livid if he found out about the kidnapping. Janus was too conservative, Reginald thought, and sometimes it was best to adapt to a situation on the ground as it developed. If things had gone as planned, the permit they’d applied for would have made it through the system while the Fargos’ application languished, and they’d have been able to supervise the dig themselves.

As long as Guerrero didn’t speak to Janus about it, he saw no downside. And his brother wouldn’t have any appetite for discussions with the homicidal sociopath who ran the Mexico City Los Zetas. Reginald would bring his brother a price for approval that included the discount he’d promised and assure him that was the best he could do — after trimming off a few thousand quid for his own bank account, of course. Janus was family, but he treated Reginald like a petulant child, as he had most of his life, and the resentment ran deep.

He stepped outside of the darkened warehouse. He slid his sunglasses on and waited for his eyes to adjust to the bright light as he studied his slightly swollen knuckles. With a glance at his white gold Patek Philippe World Timer, he approached the Lincoln, humming a song that the mariachis had played the evening before while he was entertaining the sixteen-year-old dancer Guerrero had arranged for.

It looked like it was going to be a beautiful afternoon.

Antonio and Maribela entered the Fargos’ work area two days later, beaming like they’d gotten raises.

“The permit. It’s done. We can start whenever we want,” Maribela announced, waggling a single sheet of paper in the air.

“That’s wonderful, Maribela,” Remi said. “Will you be working with us on this?” she asked, her doubts about Maribela lingering.

“Of course. It’s too important a potential find to entrust to anyone else.”

“But what about your new one? The crypts?”

“That will be months, possibly years, of painstaking effort. We’ve got one of our trusted associates heading up the team. So we’re all yours,” Maribela said with a good-natured toss of her incredible hair.

Remi fingered the gold scarab dangling from her neck and offered a wan smile, which Antonio returned. “That’s a beautiful necklace. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it,” he said, eyeing the pendant.

“Thank you. It’s my lucky talisman. From Spain,” she said lightly.

Sam cleared his throat, not delighted with Antonio’s admiration of Remi’s bauble. “Let’s get this show on the road. I’ll arrange to have some money wired immediately. We’ll need to make a list of equipment and personnel we’ll want. If the wire goes out today, we should be able to source whatever we need tomorrow and be at the site by the following day.”

“That’s great,” Remi said. “It feels like we’ve been waiting months. I know it’s only been ten days, but still …”

Antonio nodded. “Yes. I just wish Carlos were here. He would have made an exception to his schedule to participate in a dig of this magnitude.”

“Has there been any news?” Sam asked, choosing his words carefully.

“No. Nothing. It’s taking too long. His wife’s out of her mind with worry. As you can imagine.”

“Is that kind of delay unusual?” Remi asked.

“Yes. Most criminals want their money as quickly as possible,” Maribela said. “Waiting does them no good and increases their risk. So it’s most unusual.”

A tense silence hung between them, and then Antonio rubbed his hands together. “No point in dwelling on what we can’t affect. Better to focus on what we can, eh?”

“Indeed,” Sam said, staring at his iPhone’s screen. “I’ll make the call on the money. I still have the account information Carlos gave me.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it.”

The remainder of the afternoon was spent making lists and outlining the best approach to the dig. They were eager to excavate but had to proceed cautiously to ensure they didn’t damage any artifacts.

Two days later, they’d slipped out of the Four Seasons, taking a side entrance, before ducking into a waiting car driven by one of Ferrer’s people. They’d checked into El Oasis, a motel six blocks from the ancient city. While the accommodations were primitive, the air conditioner and shower worked, if grudgingly, which was more than they’d expected. Now they were standing beneath a tarp that provided welcome shade. The rear of the Temple of Quetzalcoatl pyramid loomed before them.

Lazlo had joined them on his first outing from the clinic and seemed relieved to be out of the controlled environment, obviously preferring being in the field. The late-afternoon sun beat down on them as workers dug along a forty-foot section of the pyramid’s base. The laborers earned their meager pay, working ten hours and moving a surprising amount of soil.

The foreman was about to wrap it up when one of the men, his yellow T-shirt soaked through with sweat, called out. Everyone rushed to where he was standing, in a deep trench a full story below ground level. Remi held her breath for a few moments when she saw what he’d hit with his shovel — the unmistakable shape of a man-made stone surface.

“This is it,” she said in a whisper.

Sam moved to the crude wooden ladder that stood nearby. All five of them lowered themselves into the trench and Antonio barked an order. The man carefully scraped more dirt away, and he was quickly joined by two more laborers.

An hour later, a ten-foot section of what was clearly the arched roof of a chamber stood revealed, the workers now leaning on their shovels, panting from exertion.

“It will be night soon. We can continue tomorrow,” Maribela said, but Remi shook her head.

“No, the men can go. They’ve earned their rest. But we’ve come this far, and I know I won’t be able to sleep if we don’t at least try to find a way in.”

Sam nodded. “We can handle it without the workers. We’ve got some small experience with this kind of thing,” he pointed out.

“Very well,” Antonio said. He had a quiet discussion with the foreman, who stood like a supplicant, straw hat in his hand. The crew scrambled up the ladder, taking their shovels with them. Sam studied the stone surface and then raised his gaze to the darkening sky.

“Can we get a few of those work lights turned on?” Lazlo asked.

“Of course,” Maribela said. She quickly ascended the rungs to ground level and spoke with the foreman, who was talking to the security guards.

Sam called up from the excavation, “Oh, and we’ll need flashlights, pry bars, and rope.”

Ten minutes later, they were feeling along the mortar seams of the large stone bricks that formed the structure’s roof, looking for a way to work one loose. Antonio called out from his position at the edge and they moved to where he stood, looking down.