Torrent (6 page)

"2012?" Beverly frowned. "That was a long time ago."

"It takes time to plan an expedition. Anyway we started analyzing satellite images of this region. We identified over a dozen locations where Hope might've crashed. We did some more work and eventually narrowed it down to this part of the jungle. We located the plane a few days ago. We were able to link five separate artifacts to Hope. So, as you can see—"

"Wait." Beverly held up a finger, demanding silence. Then she tilted her chin to the sky.

A distant, chopping noise caught my ears.

I looked at Beverly. "You know what that is, right?"

"Yeah." Her jaw tightened. "And it's heading toward us."

Chapter 15

"Wait," Miranda shouted. "Don't …"

Her voice faded away as I ran through the muck. My arms pumped. My legs churned. I was running fast. And yet, it didn't seem fast enough.

I raced through a patch of bushes. Thorns tore at my pants and ripped into my flesh. Gritting my teeth, I powered through the pain.

I ran into the clearing as the last vestiges of daylight started to slip from view. Graham, surrounded by tools, knelt in front of Eve. A forlorn expression adorned his face. Off to the side, Miranda's team crouched in front of the sarcophagus. Their flashlight beams illuminated its ornate lid.

"Hey Cy," Graham lifted his head. "Can you—?"

"Turn off your light," I hissed loudly. "And get your gun ready."

The sky cracked. Wind whipped across the clearing. A large helicopter appeared directly overhead, its blades chopping at the air.

As it drifted downward, it pulled a cloak of darkness along with it. Glancing to the horizon, I caught one last look at the sun before it dipped out of sight. It was red as blood.

Beverly darted out of the jungle, just moments behind me. Her gaze flew upward. "I only know one person who likes to make secretive helicopter trips to remote archaeological digs."

"Me too." I steeled my jaw. "Votan."

Chapter 16

The helicopter settled into the clearing. It was large, exactly the same size as that flown by Votan. And yet, it was painted differently. His helicopter had been painted black. The one before me was white with blue trim. Of course, that didn't mean anything. Votan might've repainted it to throw off the authorities.

Debris spat into the air. The two dogs, barking loudly, ran to the edge of the clearing. Shielding my eyes, I retrieved my pistol and took cover behind my truck.

The helicopter's engine ceased. Its exterior lights blinked off. Its blades slowed to a halt.

Miranda jogged out of the forest. Bending over, she heaved for air. I tried to get her attention, but she didn't see me.

The cabin door slid open. A single individual, dressed in outdoor clothing, hopped to the ground. His face was stern and rugged. His skin was drawn taut, with deep lines etched across it. "Where's Reed?"

I tightened my grip on the gun. "Who the hell are you?"

"Adam Crowley. I handle personal security."

"For Votan?"

"No. Place your gun on the ground."

"Not a chance."

"I'm not going to ask twice."

"Then don't."

He walked around the truck. I hesitated, unsure of whether he was friend or foe.

His right arm twitched. The air cracked.

My neck twisted as his fist slammed into my jaw. I dropped the gun and fell to a knee.

"Now, you must be—" Crowley cocked his head and I saw an earpiece lodged in his ear. "What was that?"

Breathing rapidly, I gathered some strength.

"But he's carrying … listen to me, Emily. We can't take—"

I sprang to my feet. My left arm circled his waist. He gasped as my shoulder smashed into his belly.

He swung his fist at me. I grabbed it. Pushed it into the air.

Grunting loudly, he tried to spin away. But I held on tight and dragged him to the ground. He went for a knife. I grabbed my machete.

Uneasily, we stared at each other. Then a faint whisper emanated from his earpiece. Moments later, he shoved the knife back into his belt. "You can keep your weapons. We're done … for now."

"Not quite." I swung my free fist. It crashed into his stomach and he inhaled sharply. "Now, we're done."

He took a few breaths. His eyes glinted dangerously. "This isn't over."

"I'm not going anywhere."

His gaze hardened. Then he took a few steps back and walked away.

Graham hobbled to my side. "What the hell was that?"

I picked up my gun. "I think we're about to find out."

The chopper door opened again. A woman emerged. She was a few inches shorter than me. Her dirty blonde hair was tied tightly behind her head. Her shoulders were shapely and symmetrical.

She wore black leggings, which showcased her toned legs. A long sleeve white shirt, topped off by a short sleeve black shirt, covered her torso. Underneath her clothes, her body looked ultra-tight. A trail runner perhaps? Definitely an athlete.

She hopped to the ground with ease. As she walked toward me, I saw she had a tiny nose and big brown eyes, which gave her a pixie-like look. "Hello, Cyclone."

It was the old
I know your name and you don't know mine
trick. I'd used it once or twice myself. "Call me Cy."

"I'm Emily Foxx." She spoke fast and easy, with no sign of an accent. "I'm the founder and Chief Executive Officer of Arclyon Corporation."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"I'd be surprised if it did."

"Well, I don't care who you are. This is an archaeological site and your little machine here," I nodded at the helicopter, "threatens the integrity of the dig."

Her eyes flitted to the collapsed tomb. "Integrity, huh?"

"This site is under the jurisdiction of the INAH," Graham said. "Unless you've got permission to be here, you'll have to leave."

"I've got permission. After all, this is my dig."

I arched an eyebrow.

"You look skeptical."

"That's because I am." I nodded at Miranda. "It's her site."

"She might be in charge of it. But she works for me."

I glanced at Miranda.

"Remember that diary I mentioned?" Miranda said. "Well, she owns it."

"Hope's diary has been passed down in my family for years," Emily said. "I got it when I was a little girl. I used to read it every night and wonder if this place really existed."

I recovered quickly from my initial shock. "Well, now you know."

She smiled lightly.

I glanced at Miranda. "So, how do you fit into this picture? Wait. Let me guess. The INAH is stingy over dig sites, especially with outsiders. That's why Mexico's got hundreds of unearthed ruins. Everyone knows where to find them, but no one's allowed to dig them up. The two of you came to an arrangement. She agreed to fund the excavation. You agreed to get it past the INAH as well as manage it."

"You're close," Miranda replied. "But I only agreed to work for her after she reached an agreement with the INAH."

I swiveled toward Emily. "They gave you access?"

"They usually do for friends of the
Presidente de los Estados Unidos Mexicanos
," she replied.

"You know President Bustamante?"

"I dined with him last night at
Los Pinos
."

Los Pinos was Mexico's version of the White House. I gave Emily a close look. She didn't seem like the political type. Nor did she appear especially wealthy. Her clothes were stylish but not expensive. She didn't wear jewelry. And her manicure was neat but imperfect. Definitely not a professional job.

On the other hand, she possessed a helicopter. She'd hired the world's foremost authority on the Classic Maya civilization. And she claimed to be friends with the President of the United Mexican States.

"Miranda called me after the tomb imploded." Emily's eyes lingered on the ancient stone coffin. "She told me you saved the sarcophagus."

"I had help."

"Why don't you stick around for a bit? I might need you again before we're done here. I promise to make it worth your while."

I hesitated, but only for a moment. "I suppose I can do that."

"Good." Her smile widened and I saw her blazing white teeth. "Who knows? It might be the best decision you ever make."

Chapter 17

"Well, what do you know?" Dr. Qiang Wu poked his flashlight into the damaged end of the sarcophagus. "There are two sets of bones in here."

Emily frowned. "Are you sure?"

From what I'd gathered, Dr. Wu was Emily's personal physician as well as her pilot. His most prominent features were a pair of small eyes and an upturned nose. His black hair trailed down his puffy cheeks, forming an impressive set of sideburns. "There are two skulls and at least three femurs. Also, there's—"

"What about the gold plates?" Miranda said impatiently. "How do they look?"

"Nonexistent."

"That isn't funny."

"I'm not joking."

Miranda frowned. "Let me look."

The doc stood up. Miranda peered into the sarcophagus. Then her shoulders slumped. "Hope must've moved them."

"Or made them up," Graham said. "It wouldn't be the first time someone exaggerated a treasure trove."

"I doubt it." Emily's hands vanished into her bag. When they emerged, her fingers held a piece of cloth.

I took it from her. The cloth wasn't heavy but it felt substantial in my hands. I slowly unwrapped it and feasted my eyes on a sparkling object.

It was a thin triangular-shaped gold plate, measuring several inches on each side. Two of its edges were sharp and straight. However, the third edge was crimped, as if it had been removed from a larger object.

"Where'd you get this?" I asked.

"It was passed down with the diary." She pointed at the crimped edge. "See that? I think it was cut from a larger plate. Hope must've sliced it off before he left here."

I noticed markings on the plate. "These look old."

"The Maneros—those are Miranda's language experts—confirmed them as Maya hieroglyphics. And based on tiny particles embedded in the gold as well as other features, Rigoberta concluded they were carved sometime around 800 AD, give or take a century. That places it at the end of the Classic Maya era."

I turned the plate over and studied the hieroglyphics on the other side. They looked completely different. "Why'd the Mayas write on this?" I asked. "They knew how to make paper. They called it
amatl
."

"We don't know," Miranda said.

"I didn't even know the Mayas had gold. I thought they valued jade above other metals."

"They did. But they also owned gold as well. They appear to have held it in rather high esteem."

I handed the plate back to Emily. "So, what do the hieroglyphics say?"

"Enough to convince me this was a worthwhile investment," she replied.

I gave her a curious look. "What kind of company is Arclyon?"

"We invest in highly complex, unusual projects."

"Such as?"

"Mostly little-studied protosciences like oneirology, artificial intelligence, and astrobiology. We pride ourselves on being ahead of the pack."

"Why is a firm like yours interested in some old gold plates?"

"Have you ever heard of
Ayahuasca
?"

I shook my head.

"It's a hallucinogenic drink. For hundreds of years, shamans in the Amazon have used it to cure all sorts of diseases."

"Sounds like a scam to me," Graham said.

"It's not. Ayahuasca works. It kills worms and tropical parasites. It also induces vomiting and diarrhea, which expels still more parasites."

I smiled. "I bet it's a blast at parties."

"In its best-known form, Ayahuasca is brewed by boiling two separate plants. This creates a mixture containing a powerful hallucinogenic known as DMT along with a secondary substance that orally activates it. The plants only work in synergistic fashion. So, how did ancient people know to use those two specific plants, out of the more than eighty thousand catalogued plants living in the Amazon Jungle?"

"Luck?"

"No one knows. But somehow, they figured it out." She looked around at the trees. "The Amazon doesn't have a monopoly on natural resources. I believe there are lots of remedies in this jungle, just waiting to be discovered. They could save millions of lives."

Her true intentions started to dawn on me. "And make you a lot of money too."

"Yes, that too. Does that bother you?"

"No. But it might bother the locals. They tend to frown on biopiracy."

"I'm not a biopirate. I'm a bioprospector."

Beverly gave her a skeptical look. "What's the difference?"

"Biopirates gather knowledge from indigenous people and use it to develop products. But I'm not interested in current knowledge. I'm interested in
lost
knowledge."

"What kind of lost knowledge?" Graham asked.

"Ancient Maya shamans were masters of the Lacandon Jungle. Over the course of many centuries, I believe they discovered dozens of natural remedies using widely scattered medicinal plants and herbs. If Hope's diary is correct, that information should still be available today."

"In what form?"

"Ancient books written by the Classic Maya civilization. All their secrets, all their history." She gave me a sly grin. "In other words, I'm searching for the lost Library of the Mayas."

Chapter 18

"That's impossible," I sputtered. "The conquistadors destroyed all the old Maya texts."

"Actually, it was Bishop Diego de Landa," Miranda said. "He burned more than forty Maya codices back in 1562 during his Inquisition. Only three of them escaped the flames, possibly four if you count the Grolier Codex."

"There you go. The books are gone."

"
Those
books are gone," Emily said. "But according to the etchings Hope copied from the tomb, the Library of the Mayas was hidden centuries before the Spanish arrived in the New World. More specifically, around 830 AD, the twilight of the Classic Maya civilization."