Clive Cussler - The Eye of Heaven

“Then let’s stake out an area to clear.”

A huge backhoe arrived at two and worked till nine, doing so by the glow of the work lights once the sun set. Sam, Remi, and Lazlo left when the operator did and took a taxi to the restaurant where they’d eaten the prior night. The food was good and the mood excited, the sense of having made significant progress palpable, as they discussed the project in hushed tones.

The next morning the excavation started at eight and by two-thirty the entire back section of the pyramid base was ready for the waiting men to begin the more careful digging with picks and shovels. The crew went to work, continuing till dark.

They resumed the following day, clearing the dirt under the relentless glare of the hot sun. At six p.m., one of the picks broke through the hard clay into a cavity below. The hole was widened enough to allow entry. This time, Remi insisted on being the first one in, and after similar warnings as Sam had gotten before, she was lowered into the opening with a high-powered portable light and a radio.

“What do you see?” Sam asked after thirty seconds.

“It’s a crude tunnel. It goes under the temple.”

“How far?”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” Remi said, her tone short. Sam decided to leave her in peace and allow her to explore until she felt a desire to communicate. After a long pause, the radio crackled again with her voice. “There’s an entryway. Stone, and carved far more elaborately than any we’ve seen before. But it’s blocked with smaller rocks mortared in place. We’ll need something to break through. And it would probably be a good idea to shore up the tunnel, although if it hasn’t caved in over the centuries, it’s probably okay for now.”

Sam passed the information on to Antonio, who was standing by the opening with Lazlo, staring into the void. He ordered the men into action. The foreman brought a tall ladder, and three workers dropped into the dark. The rest stayed above and passed down wooden beams and boards to build primitive shoring.

“I’m coming down,” Sam said, and after the first wave of workers was clear, he descended, a pick in his free hand, followed by Lazlo, Antonio, and Maribela, all carrying heavy iron pry bars. Their flashlight beams played along the clay walls until they saw Remi around a bend in the tunnel, facing a crudely mortared rock wall framed by carved stone — the carvings much like those they’d all seen in the crypts at the find in López Mateos.

“Look. The pyramid with the moon,” Remi said, pointing at the procession depicted at the top of the doorway. “This is it. It has to be.”

Sam nodded. “Stand clear,” he warned. “Let’s see if we can get through this rock, shall we?”

Everyone stepped back. He swung the pick and it connected with stone. A chunk of mortar flew off. He swung it again and another, bigger piece dropped at his feet. “This will work. It’ll just take a little time.”

“Let’s have the laborers do this,” Maribela suggested.

Sam shook his head. “No way. Just give me a few minutes.” He continued beating at the wall, and, after several dozen blows, one of the rocks fell into the empty space beyond. “We’re through! I’ll knock out a few more of these and then let’s put those crowbars to use.”

Two crudely squared stones collapsed inward after his next blow, then another on his next. He dropped the pick by a side column as Lazlo and Antonio moved in with their crowbars, the area too limited for Remi or Maribela to help. More of the rocks dropped into the space, and then the lower part of the wall collapsed in a heap of rubble. A dust cloud rose from the pile.

“I think Remi should do the honors,” Sam said.

Antonio motioned to her with a small bow of assent. “Absolutely. Señora?”

She lifted the bulky portable light and held it in front of her and then leaned into the newly open area and glanced around. “It’s a vault.”

Remi climbed through the opening, light in tow. They heard her gasp, and a shiver of fear went up Sam’s spine.

“Are you okay?” he demanded, shining his flashlight into the dark.

“Perfect. I think it’s safe to say we found the tomb.” She paused. “There’s a body covered in jade on a stone platform, and several mounds of offerings around it. They’re dusty, but I see some glinting, so probably gold. And jade masks.”

“Gold? The Toltecs didn’t have any gold,” Maribela said.

“Perhaps they traded for it? Obsidian, too. And Toltec pottery. Ceramics.”

“Any reason I can’t come in?” Sam asked through the hole.

“No, but be careful. This will be a significant find and we don’t want to crash around like buffalo.”

Sam eased himself through the gap. Maribela and Lazlo followed him in, trailed by Antonio.

They found themselves in a twelve-by-fifteen-foot chamber of carved stone walls. Remi stepped gingerly around a pile on the ground and leaned down, holding the lamp in front of her. The LED bulbs illuminated the interior of the crypt in an eerie white glow. She lifted a small figure from the mound and held it up. “Gold.”

Sam and Lazlo were standing by the figure on the platform. The mummy’s skin was desiccated, the color of coffee and the texture of beef jerky. Lazlo peered at it and did a quick calculation. “Looks like he was no more than five feet tall, so clearly indigenous. Not exactly the tall, imposing, bearded figure of the legends, is he?”

Maribela moved to his side, gazing down at the body. “But the robe is consistent with the stories. White, or what was once white, animal hide. The robe of a prophet …”

“Or a god,” Antonio whispered.

“But no Eye of Heaven,” Sam said.

“Alas, probably part of the legend that grew over time,” Maribela said. “As you know, the enormous riches could have increased in these tales with the telling, along with Quetzalcoatl’s height.”

Remi had moved past the offerings and was studying the symbols on the wall. “Look, almost all of them are snakes. Quetzalcoatl. And here — the procession theme is reprised, but they’re carrying the body of a feathered serpent in this depiction. A funeral procession.”

They spent another hour inside the chamber as the workers continued propping wooden beams along the tunnel’s length, and then Remi set her dimming light down and brushed a hand through her dusty hair. “I think we’ve had a productive day, don’t you? It’s probably time to leave this to the experts.”

Antonio nodded. “It’s one of the most significant discoveries in the last hundred years. You should be very proud of yourselves. The discoverers of Quetzalcoatl’s final resting place. It’s an incredible honor to work with you both.”

Maribela smiled. “Yes. It’s a remarkable achievement. The Mexican people owe you a tremendous debt for restoring an important piece of their history to them. Another tremendous debt,” she added, referring to the Mayan Codex the Fargos had retrieved only months before.

“The honor is ours,” Sam said, “for being allowed to explore a sacred site. And you should be congratulating yourselves as well. This will be a huge event in the archaeology community. Quetzalcoatl’s lost treasure and his body all in one day. Most don’t have that kind of a find in a lifetime.”

Remi cleared her throat, the dust thick in the air. “What we’ve found we couldn’t have done without you,” she said graciously, although the truth was more complicated.

Lazlo was staring at the mummy, shaking his head.

“What is it, Lazlo?” Sam asked.

“We’re still missing something. I don’t know what, but we are.”

Maribela chuckled. “Lazlo, you did it. If the find isn’t what you’d hoped for, that doesn’t mean anyone’s missing anything.”