Clive Cussler - The Eye of Heaven

“Perhaps. But I want to do a careful inspection of the interior. Just as the information that led us here was overlooked in the López Mateos tombs, my sense is it’s too early to assume we’ve cracked this nut.”

Antonio stepped forward.

“Of course we’ll do a detailed analysis of the find and go over every inch of it. We’re all after the same thing, and I think Lazlo’s instincts should be respected. It’s always possible that there are more secrets here and that Quetzalcoatl hasn’t revealed them all to us yet.”

When they were back at ground level, Antonio placed calls to arrange for more security as night fell. They wanted to take no chances with a room that contained gold and priceless artifacts. In a rural area of Mexico well away from the reaches of the police departments, Antonio was naturally cautious — enough of the workers had seen what lay in the chamber for rumors to begin and an armed presence was the sensible precaution.

Antonio’s cell phone chirped and he excused himself. He listened for a few moments and his face went white. When he returned, he looked shaky.

“What’s wrong, Antonio?” Remi asked.

“It’s … They found Carlos’s body.”

They fell silent, the excitement over the find now muted by the reality of their colleague’s violent demise. Antonio shared the slim facts he’d been given, which explained nothing. Another senseless death in a brutal world and a good man taken from the Earth for no reason. As the daylight waned, a hot wind blew across the ruins like the breath of an angry god, moaning through the surrounding structures, a funeral dirge for their departed friend. After contemplating the news of Carlos’s passing, Sam and Remi packed their backpacks as the siblings issued instructions to the two security men. When Antonio was finished, he approached the Fargos, his mood somber.

“I’m going to stay here until the additional security shows up. I’ve asked for a contingent of soldiers from the nearby military base.” He checked the time. “They should arrive in an hour. Are you leaving?”

“We’ll come by tomorrow to see what’s being unearthed, if that’s okay,” Remi said.

“It would be my pleasure.”

They followed the last of the straggling tourists down the Avenue of the Dead, moving toward the entry gates on automatic pilot. Remi and Lazlo were quiet on the way back to the motel.

The next morning Lazlo, Remi, and Sam rode an INAH-supplied golf cart toward the Pyramid of the Moon. Antonio’s SUV was parked near the research tent that was being erected by a sleepy crew. When they approached, he was giving an orientation to a group of earnest-looking students. Maribela stood at the edge of the gathering and her eyes brightened when she saw them roll up.

“ Hola! You’re here early,” she called out as she walked over to them, her stride as fluid as a dancer’s.

“We wanted to get a second look at what we found,” Sam explained.

“Very good. We’re just going over the protocols with the team. We’ve been assigned a dozen helpers. We want to ensure we don’t harm anything as we document the contents of the crypt.”

“We’d like to spend some time inside, photographing everything as it was found before it all gets shifted around.”

“Of course. Come this way and I’ll get you some gloves and brushes in case you spot anything you want to clean off.”

“Thank you, but we’re mostly interested in the carvings. We’re hoping to find something that will shed some light on why Quetzalcoatl was described in a number of accounts as a tall, bearded white man. The mummy is anything but …”

“Ah, yes, the legends,” Maribela said.

“It never hurts to be thorough,” Remi said, her voice even, her tone firm.

Lazlo sensed a rising tension between the two women and moved quickly to diffuse it.

“How much longer before your brother’s done with the lads?” he asked Maribela.

“He’s been at it for fifteen minutes, so I think he’ll be finishing up pretty soon.”

Antonio joined them once he wound down his orientation and greeted them like visiting royalty.

“There they are! Come to celebrate?”

“We wanted to get photos of the find before everyone really gets to work.”

Sam glanced at the six soldiers standing in a loose ring at the site perimeter, their M4 rifles hanging from shoulder straps, not one of them more than nineteen.

“I see you’ve got the big guns in. Literally.”

“It wouldn’t do to have Quetzalcoatl’s treasure walk off, would it?”

The day went by in a blur of photographs and dusting of carvings to get all the detail. Sam finally came up for air, done with the crypt. Remi joined him under the tarp, where Lazlo was methodically poring over the photographs on the big monitor with rapt concentration, seemingly oblivious to the noise around him.

“Did you get everything you wanted?” Sam asked.

“I think so, although I was struck by the same sensation I had yesterday. Not much of a treasure, really, compared to some.”

“The Toltecs probably weren’t a rich people.”

“True. But the legend just seems so overblown compared to what’s down there,” Remi said, her fingers brushing her gold scarab. “Maybe it’s just my lucky charm sending out skeptical vibes.”

“I’d say it’s been pretty lucky so far. Still, vibes or no vibes, I’d count it as a win. We solved another of history’s riddles. Not a bad day’s work.” Sam glanced at Lazlo. “You about ready to pack it in, Lazlo?”

Lazlo seemed only then to register them. “We’re missing something. I don’t know what, but we are.”

“I start to get worried when you and Remi agree on so much,” Sam joked. “But, come on, it’s been a long day. The photos will still be there tomorrow and your eyes must be burning out of your head by now. You hungry, Remi?”

“When am I not? But you look like you could use some freshening-up.”

“You haven’t looked in a mirror lately, either, have you?”

They said their good-byes to Antonio and Maribela and, having checked out of the motel that morning, took a taxi to the St. Regis in Mexico City, first dropping Lazlo off at the clinic. They agreed to regroup the following morning and drive out to the site together, once they were rested and fortified, the hard work now done.

Teotihuacan was deadly still at three a.m. The towering pyramids were almost invisible against the deepening vault of the night sky, the ancient city’s wide boulevard an inky strip devoid of life. A sliver of moon peeked through the patchwork of clouds, giving barely enough light for the soldiers guarding the newly discovered crypt to see one another’s faces. A hardened sergeant roamed the temple perimeter, ensuring that his dozen men were alert and vigilant. Although they were only twenty-five miles from the hum of Mexico City, this was another world, the glimmer of lights from the nearby town of San Martín de las Pirámides as unlike the capital’s neon brilliance as water and wine.

A corporal stood near the barricade that had been erected to make the excavation area more manageable, telling a joke in a low tone to one of his men. He stiffened when he saw the sergeant approach and fell silent — their commander was known as a hard case, a career soldier who’d spent fifteen years in the service stationed all over Mexico during the upheaval of the drug wars. He took this dull guard duty dead seriously, whereas his men, most of whom were barely old enough to shave, viewed it as yet another in a long string of boring postings that seemed random and pointless.

The sergeant opened his mouth to speak, a look of reproach on his face, when his cap blew off along with half his skull. The corporal took a second to register what had happened — the final second in his short life as a tiny red dot danced over his sternum and then two rounds slammed into his chest. The private he’d been telling his story to was swinging his weapon up to fire at the invisible assailants when a slug tore through his throat and he collapsed in a heap, his dying breath gurgling as he shuddered, his rifle now lying uselessly by his feet.