The Death Mask Murders

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘You have been busy.’

  ‘The archaeological find of the century waits for no-one.’

  ‘I suppose so. Thanks for waiting for me.’

  ‘We wouldn’t leave without you, Jack. Not after what we’ve been through in those salt mines just to keep you alive. Ready?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Then let’s go. Lola, ring the airport.’

  Isis stood up and looked around. ‘Boris, where are you?’

  Heart Island, somewhere in the Caribbean

  Celia Crawford, a senior correspondent at the New York Times who knew Jack and Isis well, was pacing nervously up and down in front of a sleek motor yacht moored in Havana Harbour. It was the spot Isis had designated for their meeting. Celia had dropped everything after receiving Isis’s cryptic phone call earlier that day and, after speaking briefly to her editor in New York, she’d headed straight for the airport. When Isis called and promised the story of the century, Celia came running.

  They should have been here by now, she thought. When she looked again at her watch, she noticed a huge red convertible – a 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air – coming towards her. Someone in the back seat was waving furiously and the horn began to blare as the car came closer, almost mounting the kerb before coming to a sudden stop.

  ‘I should have known,’ said Celia, laughing. ‘The whole gang.’ She embraced Jack, who got out of the car first. ‘You too? I thought you were in France working on your book.’

  ‘I was, until yesterday. Then Isis called in the middle of the night and here I am.’

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ said Isis, kissing Celia on the cheek. ‘Where were you when I called?’

  ‘In New Orleans doing an interview about cyclones.’

  ‘Lucky. Quite close then. We could have picked you up on the way. Lola would have loved that. Anything to do with flying, she’s your girl. Do you like the car?’

  ‘Fabulous. Typical Cuba.’

  ‘Sure is. They have sixty thousand of these beauties on the island. It’s a classic car paradise.’

  ‘What’s all this about?’ asked Celia, linking arms with Jack. ‘Where are we going; do you know?’

  ‘Let’s get on board first,’ said Isis, pointing to the yacht. ‘And then Jack will tell you the whole story. It’s best if you hear this from our resident storyteller; isn’t that right, Lola?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Lola and followed Isis up the gangplank.

  Half an hour later, the powerful motor yacht left the Bay of Marimelena and headed out of the harbour into the Gulf of Mexico. As they were leaving the narrow entry into the harbour and approached Morro Castle, Jack joined Celia on deck.

  ‘Isn’t it spectacular?’ he said. ‘All these fabulous fortifications are still intact. That over there is Morro Castle. Have a good look at it because it played a major role in the story I’m about to tell you.’

  ‘You and your stories, Jack,’ said Celia, shaking her head. ‘I can’t believe we are doing this. First the Stolzfus matter earlier this year, and now this … whatever “this” is.’

  ‘Brace yourself. It’s quite a story.’ Jack pointed to the massive fortifications extending right down to the water’s edge, as they passed Morro Castle. ‘On the morning of seven July 1664, there was a public execution over there in front of the castle. Mad Dog Regan, a notorious pirate, was hanged.’

  ‘Fascinating.’

  ‘It is, because that hanging put a series of unique events in train that have a direct bearing on what we are doing right now.’

  ‘Seriously, Jack, no wonder your books are so successful. You’re a born storyteller!’

  ‘Coming from one of the most celebrated and acclaimed journalists in the US, that’s quite a compliment.’

  Over the next two hours, Jack told Celia the whole story of the Death Mask Murders, Landru, and the Llanganates treasure. Beginning with The Navarro Chronicles, the Morales khipu, and the Rodriguez Letter, he told her about James Mascarino and the amulet with the engraved map, Baudin, and the golden burial mask showing the way to the wreck of the San Cristobal off Heart Island.

  ‘Come on, Jack, are you suggesting that all of this is real, and not just a romantic tale of lost treasures and pirates fit for a thriller and a great movie with Jack Sparrow?’

  ‘It’s real all right,’ said Isis, who had overheard the remark as she joined them on deck. ‘I must admit it sounds a bit like fact stranger than fiction, but you know us well enough by now, Celia. We wouldn’t be here if this was merely fantasy, or chasing some shadow from the past.’

  Shielding her eyes from the glare, Isis looked out to sea.

  ‘Well, in a moment you can judge for yourself. We are almost there. That’s Heart Island over there, and that’s the Triton vessel doing the salvage right now.’

  A very excited Profesor Chavero, a man in his sixties sporting a spectacular moustache, met them on board the salvage vessel and took them straight to the control room to introduce them to the captain in charge of the salvage.

  ‘I have been in this business for almost thirty years,’ said the captain, ‘but I haven’t seen anything like this before. This is history. What is down there, is almost unimaginable.’

  ‘Let’s show them,’ said Chavero.

  The captain walked over to a table by the window and pointed to a steel box. ‘This has just been recovered this morning,’ he said. ‘Come, have a look.’ The captain opened the lid and stepped aside.

  Isis gasped.

  Holding his breath, Jack stared into the box as Celia squeezed his arm so hard, he almost cried out.

  In the centre of the box was a crown of solid gold fit for a king. Next to it were several exquisite gold and emerald necklaces, pectorals, ear plugs and heavy gold bracelets. But the most stunning item by far was a golden mask of great beauty that had once covered the face of an Inca noble, preparing his passage into the afterlife.

  ‘There are thousands of items like this down there, and fortunately for us, not in very deep water. To appreciate the scale you have to go down and have a look,’ said Chavero.

  ‘Could that be done?’ asked Isis.

  ‘Yes. In the submarine,’ said the captain. ‘I can arrange it right now, if you like. Interested?’

  Isis turned to Jack standing next to her. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’m in,’ said Jack.

  ‘So am I,’ said Celia.

  ‘You can’t leave me behind,’ said Lola.

  ‘You have your answer, Captain. Let’s do it!’

  The compact, state-of-the-art submarine looked like a curious puffer fish with huge eyes surveying the deep. Instead of fins, it had retractable robotic arms that allowed it to retrieve objects from the ocean floor with surprising agility and precision. Sitting next to the captain at the front, Lola, as a pilot, was particularly fascinated by the controls of this unique vessel, which had great manoeuvrability and a diving capacity to great depths. On this occasion, however, the shallow dive with excellent visibility was more of a sightseeing trip than an expedition to the bottom of the sea.

  ‘I feel like Captain Nemo,’ said Jack, as the vessel glided slowly through the water towards the wreck of the San Cristobal resting on a reef nearby.

  ‘You’re in for a big surprise,’ said Profesor Chavero. ‘There she is, well preserved as you can see.’

  ‘This must have been a huge ship,’ said Isis, pointing to a jumble of massive, barnacle-encrusted timbers illuminated by a shaft of sunlight from above. While most of the ship had fallen apart, it was still possible to make out its overall shape and dimensions.

  ‘Look, there!’ said Celia. She was pointing ahead as the barrel of a massive eight-pounder gun came into view. Tiny, colourful fish darted in and out of the safety of the barrel, looking for food. ‘And over there – more guns!’ continued Celia excitedly.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Chavero as the submarine slowed down and, hovering just above the wreck, almost came to a stop. Three divers were working on a sectio
n of the wreck below that had once been the huge cargo hold of the galleon. ‘The artefacts you saw earlier were in those trunks you can see over there. There are dozens down here, all filled with priceless solid gold pieces. Some of the trunks have fallen apart and there is gold everywhere you look.’

  ‘This is like a dream,’ said Jack, looking at the surreal scene in wonder.

  One of the divers looked at them and waved. Then he reached into the trunk in front of him in slow motion and pulled out what looked like a golden cup. Swimming towards them he stopped in front of one of the large circular windows, and held up the cup with both hands like a trophy. With his face only centimetres from the window, Jack could make out embossed shapes of faces and strange-looking animals decorating the cup. Then the other two divers arrived, each carrying a golden artefact in what looked like some strange underwater ballet.

  Isis turned to Jack sitting next to her. ‘Congratulations, Jack, you found the Llanganates treasure.’

  ‘I didn’t find it, we did. This was a team effort.’

  ‘Perhaps. But what comes now, definitely will be. In many ways, this was the easy bit.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The big challenge now is to decide what to do with all this, and how. A find like this will make headlines around the world. It will cause a media storm and attract competing claims of ownership. The salvage is well underway and in expert hands with Profesor Chavero and Triton. But what comes next will be a legal minefield—’

  ‘That’s correct,’ said Chavero. ‘I’ve been in similar situations before, but nothing on this scale.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve asked me to come along?’ said Celia.

  ‘That’s certainly part of it. We have to plan this very carefully. It will be a balancing act between the media, and our legal team. Public opinion is a powerful tool and, of course, so is a court of law,’ said Isis.

  ‘Legal team? What do you mean?’ asked Jack.

  ‘We’ll need a team of maritime law and international law specialists to deal with this explosive situation, and I know just the man who can help us there,’ said Isis.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Charles, of course. I had a long discussion with him already and he has some excellent suggestions. But we have to move fast. I asked him to come here and see it all firsthand, but he declined. He said he was much more effective with both feet planted on terra firma. He also said that the only way to keep a clear head was to keep it above water.’

  ‘I know what he means,’ said Jack laughing. ‘You told him about the salt mine?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘That’s Sir Charles all right. Typically English. He doesn’t want to get his bow tie wet, I suppose. So, what’s the plan?’

  ‘He will meet us in Havana. In fact, he should be at our hotel when we get back,’ said Isis.

  ‘I’ve booked rooms for us in the Hotel Ambos Mundos,’ said Lola.

  ‘Excellent choice. Hemingway lived there for several years,’ said Jack, ‘in room 511, and began writing For Whom the Bell Tolls in that room in 1939.’

  ‘You are well informed,’ said Celia.

  ‘Hemingway’s one of my favourite writers. He spent a lot of time at the Ritz in Paris, as well. During the war. Madame Petrova actually met him there.’

  ‘I chose the hotel because I knew you would like it,’ said Isis. ‘And besides, I think it will be the perfect place to discuss the Llanganates find, and what to do with it.’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ said Jack. ‘You’ve really given this a lot of thought already, haven’t you?’

  ‘Come on, Jack, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. We’ll make history with this, can’t you see?’

  ‘And I will help you write some of it?’ said Celia. ‘Is that why I’m here?’

  ‘You will; trust me,’ said Isis.

  ‘Hm. You obviously have something quite specific in mind,’ said Jack. ‘Can you tell us what it is?’

  ‘Later. Look, we’re going back,’ said Isis, changing the subject as the submarine began to rise slowly, leaving the divers behind at the bottom. ‘We must return to Havana as quickly as possible. Every hour counts.’

  Hotel Ambos Mundos, Havana

  Located in Old Havana, the Hotel Ambos Mundos was popular with tourists mainly because of its famous long-term tenant, Ernest Hemingway, who had lived there for seven years in the 1930s. He’d enjoyed the views over Old Havana from his room on the fifth floor, and the proximity to the harbour where he kept his yacht, Pilar.

  It was already dark by the time they arrived at the hotel. Dressed in his customary dark-navy pinstriped suit, white shirt and bow tie, Sir Charles was waiting in the bar on the ground floor.

  ‘You do get around, Jack,’ said Sir Charles, shaking Jack’s hand. ‘Last time it was MI5 in London, and now this. I love this hotel. I’ve been here several times before. Great history. Wonderful location. Drink? You should try the rum.’

  ‘Before we get too comfortable,’ said Isis, ‘may I suggest we go up to the terrace on the top floor? We can have dinner there, and the view is to die for.’

  ‘Great idea,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Airline food just isn’t my cup of tea!’

  Jack turned to Isis standing next to him. ‘You seem to know this place well,’ he said on their way up in the lift.

  ‘I came here often with my grandmother,’ said Isis quietly. ‘She loved this place, especially the food and the music.’

  ‘Ah, Dolores Gonzales. She was a formidable lady.’

  ‘She certainly was that, and you discovered secrets of her past just before she died and gave her peace. And for that, I will always be grateful, Jack. And a lot of it had to do with Madame Petrova and the Ritz in Paris you mentioned earlier. Strange, how everything is so interconnected, don’t you think? Serendipity?’

  ‘Tristan would call it destiny.’

  ‘And you? What would you call it, after all we’ve seen today?’

  ‘Destiny, of course, what else?’ said Jack as they stepped out of the lift.

  After a fabulous dinner of traditional Cuban fare including tostones rellenos and ropa vieja, a popular entree blending Cuba’s Spanish and African influences and flavours, and plenty of fresh seafood ordered by Isis, who knew all the dishes well, everyone began to relax.

  ‘As the submarine left the wreck of the San Cristobal this afternoon and returned to the mother ship, Jack asked me a question,’ began Isis, introducing the subject that was on everyone’s mind: what to do about this extraordinary find on Heart Island. ‘Do you remember what it was, Jack?’

  ‘Sure. You said that retrieving the Llanganates treasure was the opportunity of a lifetime and that we would make history. It was clear to me that you had something quite specific in mind. I asked you to tell us what it was, but you said you would explain it all later.’

  ‘Exactly. And sitting here with you right now, looking across to Morro Castle just over there where Mad Dog Regan was hanged, is the right place, and the right time, to tell you what I have in mind.’

  Isis looked pensively across to Morro Castle lit up in the distance like a stage set for a play. ‘As you know, I have a great interest in Mesoamerican and South American civilisations and indigenous cultures. The Llanganates treasure we have just discovered inside the wreck of the San Cristobal belongs to the people it was stolen from, no-one else. It can never belong to an individual or a corporation, not even a museum. What I think we should do, is return the treasure to where it belongs.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I have discussed this with Charles already. I believe that the treasure should be returned to Cajamarca in northern Peru, where Atahualpa was captured and murdered by the Spanish invaders. After all, it was assembled by his people as a ransom payment for a humiliated and defeated king. It was about to be handed over by Ruminahui, his faithful general, when Atahualpa was brutally murdered by the Spanish conquerors. Because of this treachery, the treasure was
hidden by Ruminahui somewhere in the Llanganates Mountains and disappeared – until now.’

  ‘Do you think that’s possible?’ asked Jack quietly, breaking the silence.

  ‘I will let Charles answer that,’ said Isis. ‘Charles?’

  ‘The greatest piece of luck in this extraordinary saga so far, is the fact that the find is in international waters, and the treasure had obviously been stolen by the Church, as there is no trace of it anywhere in any of the historical records we could find, like a ship’s manifest or similar. The Spanish were usually very meticulous with their record keeping, especially when huge amounts of money were involved. This has significant legal and practical implications that should help us. Tiny Heart Island is more like a reef than an island, and with global warming and rising sea levels it will most likely disappear altogether in the not-too-distant future. I have already retained legal experts in the US to begin preparing a submission.’

  ‘What kind of submission?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Our strategy will have several parts: the legal matters speak for themselves. They will start almost immediately, and unfold in the background. As you will see, they have a momentum of their own.

  ‘Then we’ll have the all-important media. That’s where you come in, Celia. Just as you’ve done so effectively with the discovery of lost Monet, the return of the sacred icon to Russia, and more recently the Stolzfus matter, your articles – strategically released – will not only create huge international interest, but also set the scene for what we have in mind and are hoping to achieve.’

  ‘And what exactly is that?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Just as Isis said, the return of the treasure to where it belongs. And the book you are writing about this right now, Jack, will add further gravitas to our arguments. Why? Because it will explain the extraordinary journey of the treasure and the circumstances of its creation and discovery, which you will no doubt present to the world in your inimical style. Just as you’ve done with the lost symphony and the Russian icon, and their return to where they belong. It will be a bestseller, for sure. And then, of course, there’s Isis’s tour.’