Shell Game (29 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Before Alan went over the cliff at La Laguna, Brand made a phone call from a restaurant just down the road. We suspect he was calling someone to make sure the scuba divers were in place. We tracked the number to its owner. The man's name is Carlos Valendez, and he lives in Cabo San Lucas. He's our connection to Edward Brand.”

“So that's the person I'll be approaching,” Ricardo said.

“Yes.”

Ricardo nodded and raised an eyebrow. “That's good. Then once I've pitched the idea to Carlos, he goes to Brand and sells him on it. That's very good.”

“Thanks,” Taylor said.

“Okay, you've removed us one layer from Brand and you know a lot more about him than he is aware of. That's one thing. You said there were three things—what are the other two?”

“Brand has an FBI agent on his payroll. Brent Hawkins is the guy. He's based out of San Francisco, and he's probably the resource Brand is using to watch me. But they have no idea we've managed to link the two.”

“You know for sure this Hawkins fellow is dirty?” Ricardo asked.

“Positive. Because they don't know that we know, we can manipulate him.”

Ricardo's arms uncrossed, and he leaned forward. “How do you manipulate an FBI agent?”

Kelly answered. “By giving him classified information on the Monte Alban excavation that no one else is privy to. Details of the American government's discovery of unrecorded ruins at the site—ruins that are still overgrown with dense jungle. Satellite information showing new formations, gravity and magnetic studies pinpointing exactly where these ruins are. Then a report by a clandestine CIA operation showing exactly where an undiscovered tomb is located and what is inside.”

“And what
is
inside?” Ricardo asked. “A wonderful cache of gold and gems?”

“Precisely.”

Ricardo shook his head. “Is what you're saying true? Is there such information on the American computers?”

“No.”

“Then this doesn't work. It's impossible.”

“Not really,” Kelly said.

“Why?”

“Because of the third little trick up our sleeve. I work at the National Security Agency.”

A slow smile spread across the handsome Mexican's face. His gaze flickered back and forth between Taylor and Kelly. Finally he said, “You can make this data appear on the CIA database?”

Kelly nodded.

Again, the smile. He picked up his coffee cup and drained the last of the dark roast. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Then maybe what you are planning is possible.”

“Maybe,” Taylor said. “Keep in mind one more thing.”

“What's that?” Ricardo asked.

“Determination. Getting this guy is high on my list.”

“Motivation is important.” Ricardo pursed his lips and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. “Yes, motivation is very important.”

Taylor stared straight into his eyes. “I won't be denied, Ricardo. I'll get this son of a bitch.”

“Perhaps,” Ricardo said slowly. “That remains to be seen.”

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-TWO

Taylor and Kelly flew Aeroméxico from Mexico City to Oaxaca City on Saturday, December 23. They found a taxi near the front door and gave the driver the name of the hotel, marveling at the drive through Oaxaca City. The pale green stone used in the construction of most buildings, including the cathedral, reflected the midday light, giving the street scenes a surreal feel. Colonnades lined
zócalo
, the main square, which was busy with locals shopping at the colorful kiosks, most set up under large acacia trees that provided shade from the hot sun. Mariachis played on the street corners. The people were dark skinned and mainly of Indian heritage—Zapotec and Mixtec the dominant ancestry. Tributes to Benito Juárez, the Oaxaca native who was the first full-blooded Indian to achieve the presidency of the republic, were everywhere. Restaurants were just gearing up for
comida corrida
, the traditional midday meal, and children excited by the prospect of Christ's upcoming birthday skipped over the cobblestones. It was a series of scenes out of a glossy tourist brochure.

Their driver deposited them at the Camino Real Oaxaca, which was at one time the Convento de Santa Catalina de Siena, and which still retained the original charm and simplicity of the convent. They checked in using Kelly's credit card. The front desk clerk was a dapper man in his late sixties who spoke passable English. He had one of the warmest smiles Taylor had ever seen. When they requested separate rooms, he gave them a look that was easily interpreted as
youth is wasted on young people
. He had a young boy, no more than twelve, carry their bags to their rooms. After they washed up and finished lunch in the attached restaurant, they flagged down a passing taxi and told him they wished to visit Monte Alban.

The road to the site of the ancient Zapotec ruins was narrow and winding, rising to a plateau overlooking the Oaxaca Valley, where Yagul and Mitla, two other archeological digs from the second century, were situated a few miles to the south. The view from atop the 5,000-plusfoot plateau was stunning, the arid valley floor snaking between the mountain ranges to the far horizon. They drove past the museum and into the parking lot at the north end of the excavation, and their driver parked in a spot reserved for taxis. Kelly asked the man to wait, and he simply nodded, switched off the ignition and pulled his hat down over his eyes. He was asleep before they were out of the parking lot.

They stopped in the museum and picked up a couple of glossy books, one of which gave an accurate plot plan of the known ruins. They followed a well-worn path to the north mound, close to where the sealed tomb of Tumba 7 was located. To their right was a series of four buildings called the north palaces, and stretching in front of them to the south was the central plaza. Sketchy grass eked out an existence on the hard, rocky ground, and a solitary tree grew opposite the Juego de Pelota, or Ball Court, where the ancient tribes had held a game in which the losers were sacrificed to the gods. The Zapotecs had built the complex following an orderly north-south axis. Remnants of the buildings, most of them pyramids of stone with inlaid stairs, covered a rectangular area about six hundred and fifty yards long and three hundred wide. Under the barren rock, almost devoid of topsoil, was a series of intricate tunnels, linking the different buildings and giving access to many of the subterranean tombs. The majority of the tunnels had yet to be excavated. The most celebrated building, the Galería de las Danzantes, or the Dancer's Gallery, was two-thirds of the distance to the south, close to the massive south platform that dominated the excavation. The walls of the gallery were engraved with hundreds of figures, their faces twisted in grotesque agony—tortured captives of the Zapotecs. The ones used for the ritual human sacrifices.

Taylor and Kelly walked the site, taking their time to get the lay of the land. Small stones crunched under their boots as they strolled across the same sacred grounds that had felt bare Zapotec and Mixtec feet some two thousand years ago. The complexity of the construction and its ability to weather the elements for so many centuries wasn't lost on either of them. Monte Alban was an amazing testament to the ancient tribes who had cut the stones and painstakingly placed them atop each other.

“What do you think?” Kelly asked as they finished touring the entire site and stood again at the north end. “Where's the best place to put our newly discovered tomb?”

“I don't know. It's so wide open. It's going to be difficult to hide what we're doing. The guards will see us.”

“There are a couple of things we know for sure,” Kelly said, looking back over the complex. “Tumba Seven was the most prolific tomb discovered on the site, and it's here, at the far north end. It would make sense to pick a location somewhere close to that. The only problem is that the north end of the complex is the busiest.” He pointed to the parking lot and the museum, which were a short distance from the closed tomb. “Lots of people about.”

“True, but when we have Brand show up to remove the treasure, we'll do it at night. So we don't have to worry about tourists milling around. Just the guards.”

“I wonder how well patrolled this place is at night,” Kelly said.

“My guess would be one or two men. I mean, it's not like they're guarding a stack of gold. All that's here is a bunch of ruins. Anything of value is inside the museum, and it'll be locked up tight at night. There is no gold or jewels in the museum, just masks and stone artifacts.”

Kelly nodded. “So it should be fairly easy to distract the guards. We arrange for some sort of commotion at the far south end of the complex. They hustle down there, which gives us at least ten minutes by the time they get to the far end and back.”

“A fire?” Taylor offered. “There's some sagebrush and dry twigs down at that end that could burn if we gave it a little incentive.”

“That's a good idea. So the guards are gone, down at the other end of the complex. Then what?”

“We need to know exactly where we want the fake tomb to be. We need to have the electronic gear in place to track his account numbers when he makes the call to transfer the money to the Mexican official.”

“Ricardo will supply the official,” Kelly said. At their meeting in Mexico City, Ricardo had indicated he had two men who could help work the scam. One would watch the
Mary Dyer
in its berth in Puerto Vallarta; another would pose as the Mexican official who needed to be bribed in order to get the treasure out of the tomb. Ricardo had dug into the personnel files of the Department of Antiquities in Mexico City and determined which name to use. It was Manuel Sanchez, Director of Antiquities for the Mexican government. Sanchez was out of the office for the first week of January, not uncommon as many employees were off on holidays over the Christmas break. That worked well for them. Ricardo had also begun the procedure of getting the false identity card in Sanchez's name. In return for assuring these two men, Taylor and Kelly had bumped Ricardo's guaranteed dollar amount to a quarter million. Ricardo himself would work the Cabo San Lucas angle and hook Carlos Valendez. Then, with Valendez vouching for him, Ricardo would meet Edward Brand in person. At that point, the success of the con rested entirely on Ricardo's shoulders.

Taylor pointed to the north edge of the plateau. “All the houses where the population lived and most of the tombs were dug into the sides of the mesa. Let's have a look over there and see if that would work.” As they walked, she said, “What do you think of Ricardo? You think he's trustworthy?”

Kelly shrugged. “We need him, or someone like him. He's the only guy we know. He's well connected, very suave and likes the idea of pulling a few million dollars out of this. I don't think we're going to do any better.”

“So you're saying you think he's a good choice.”

“I am. I like him. I think I trust him. Remember, he has to trust us as well. If we manage to get Brand's account number and his password, we've got the money. We're nowhere in sight. He and two of his men are the ones with their asses on the line. We could just leave them hanging and take off with the money.”

“We'd never do that,” Taylor said, as they reached the edge of the plateau, the valley stretching northward beneath them.

“We know that, but he doesn't. He's trusting us more than we're trusting him. Keep in mind that he has to meet Brand face-to-face and sell him on the idea. As I see it, we've got the good end of the deal here. Ricardo's the one who stands to lose the most.”

“You thinking that Brand might kill him?” Taylor asked.

“In a second. If Edward Brand thinks he's getting screwed, he'll react. He won't think twice about killing Ricardo and everyone working with him. Think back, Taylor. We both know Edward Brand. We've both sat across the table from him. We've looked into his eyes. He's not a nice man.”

“He's ruthless,” Taylor agreed. “His eyes are cold.”

“Ice,” Kelly said.

They peered over the edge. There were a few well-worn but treacherous trails leading down the mountainside. They started down, careful with their footing. The stone stairs were carved into the solid rock and grooved from the impact of millions of feet over the centuries. Zapotec mothers and fathers and children returning to their hillside homes after visiting the sacred plateau. Centuries ago. A people now long dead, only their architecture remaining to tell the world of their culture. Taylor led the way, clutching the rock wall on her left where possible. A tumble over the edge would be painful, bouncing off a few rocks before becoming embedded in one of the many crags lining the hillside, possibly even fatal. Caution was the word of the day.

They crisscrossed the rocky slope for an hour, amazed at the complexity of the caves and tombs embedded in the stone. Many had been pried open and excavated, but there were sections of the mountainside that could easily hold hidden entrances to undiscovered tombs. Selling Edward Brand on the existence of a tomb laden with treasure somewhere on this site was no long shot. In fact, if it were not for the moratorium placed on further excavations by the Mexican government, Monte Alban would most likely be a busy place. The treasure removed from Tumba 7 was legendary, and the monetary value of the artifacts in the tens of millions of dollars. For their purposes, Monte Alban was perfect.

“What about this?” Taylor said, standing on an exceedingly narrow stretch of smooth rock. Next to her was what appeared to be a huge boulder fitted into an opening in the stone wall. At the foot of the boulder was a small hole, just large enough for a person to crawl through. Kelly peered in through the hole. It was too dark to see much, but there appeared to be a cave of some sort in the cliff. Lying parallel to the sheer wall, he dropped to his belly and slithered through the opening and into the cave. Taylor waited on the ledge.