by Michael Cole
Often times she was lonely and yearned for the companionship of people her own age, but it was a small price to pay for the security Phillip provided her. She knew her situation could not go on like this indefinitely, but she wasn't ready to take steps to change it.
When her plane touched down at Los Angeles International Airport, she was pleased to see Phillip's chauffeur waiting for her. It was just like him to be so considerate. Eager to delve into the mystery surrounding the aryballos, she called the museum to see if the package had arrived. She wasn't surprised that after her call had been transferred to three people, she was no closer to receiving an answer.
"I'd like you to stop by the Getty," she told the driver. Finally, after what seemed like an interminable amount of time, one of the assistant curators whom she had met at a party found it in the mail room. "I hope this is what you were looking for," he said, handing her the familiar package which she had wrapped herself. It took all the willpower she could muster not to unwrap it right then and there, but she decided it would be best to break the seal of the aryballos in the privacy of her home.
Ensconced in the back seat of Phillip's Rolls, Catalina felt the car's soft glove-like leather as its new car smell permeated the air. She never ceased to be amazed at the limo's quiet ride. No. She was not ready to give this up. The luxuriously appointed sedan glided silently through traffic, and soon the massive wrought iron gates to Phillip's property parted, allowing the Rolls to enter.
A multitude of flowers lined the serpentine drive leading to the mansion; hundreds of marigolds, snapdragons, and daffodils in a myriad of colors were in full bloom. It appeared as if nature had just performed one of its miracles when in reality Phillip's gardeners had planted the flowers to the exact specifications of a landscape architect. Phillip never left anything to chance. His house reminded her of an Italian villa she'd once seen in a travel brochure. There was a majestic fountain in the middle of the circular drive, and beneath the fountain, dozens of large koi were swimming lazily in a circular pond.
Phillip came out personally to greet her. As he approached, she kissed him on the cheek. Instead of reciprocating with his customary peck, he gave her a hug.
"Where is the butler?" she asked.
"There was a family emergency. The agency sent over a replacement, but he didn't work out. Harry will be back in a couple of days, so in the meantime we'll just have to rough it."
Catalina could picture Harry's replacement doing something trivial that had most likely annoyed Phillip, and with Phillip Nash, no one received a second chance. "Don't worry, I'll cook for you," she said.
"Will you? Aren't you the dear." Leading her back to the house, he asked, "How about if the two of us go riding? I think Mistanesian missed you. He looked so forlorn when I was at the stables."
"Oh, I was kind of looking forward to solving the mystery of the aryballos."
"By the way, how did that go?"
"I think Marcelo led me to something special. Would you like to see it?"
"There's plenty of time for that. Let's not waste a beautiful day."
Disappointed, Catalina knew better than to argue. Phillip would just resort to pouting until he got his way.
"Oh, all right. I'll ride with you, but only if you promise you'll let me work this afternoon."
Phillip beamed. "You have a deal. By the way, I've made plans for us to go out to dinner. You'll need to be ready by six."
Catalina had hoped to grab something quick so she could continue working on the aryballos. "Why don't we have a pizza delivered?" When she saw the look of disdain on his face, she realized the suggestion had been a bad idea.
"I don't much care for pizza. Too many calories. Besides, I've planned a wonderful evening for us. Do you mind?"
She didn't dare disappoint him. "Of course not. If you want to go out to eat, then that's what we'll do."
Satisfied, Phillip said, "Why don't you go put on some riding clothes, and I'll meet you at the stables."
Phillip had converted the guesthouse into a private suite for Catalina. Although it had all the conveniences of her condo, she only used it as an office. He had remodeled the living room into a studio, which contained a computer, a library, and a large workbench that she used to piece together pottery shards.
Once she was in her studio, she removed the aryballos from its shipping crate and placed it on the workbench. Again, it took all the willpower she could muster to turn away from it. Rummaging through the closet, she found a riding outfit she had never worn before. Knowing there wouldn't be time for a shower, she slipped out of her clothes, put it on and rushed to the stables.
Phillip had surprised her with Mistanesian. They'd been to a horse show where she'd seen the beautiful Arabian mare. All she'd done was comment on the animal's grace. Several weeks later he had presented her with the mare for her birthday. It even had little red bows tied to its mane.
They began riding in silence. Then, Phillip asked, "Want to race to the end of the trail?"
Without waiting for her to reply, he snapped his whip against the horse's flank and galloped away. Catalina could never refuse a challenge. "You're on." They raced neck and neck when Catalina consciously shortened her grip on the reigns. The action hadn't been noticeable to Phillip as he inched past her by less than a horse's head. Catalina could see it pleased him to win, but she was angry with herself for allowing him to do so.
* * *
When Catalina returned from her ride, she handed Mistanesian to one of the grooms. "Brush her down, will you, Charlie?"
"Sure thing, Miss Catalina. Don't you worry none. I'll take care of the filly."
Catalina headed toward her studio. She glanced at the aryballos. Although she was eager to break the seal, the archeologist in her prevailed. What's your rush? The aryballos isn't going anywhere. As she studied the artifact with a magnifying glass, she spotted another Quechua word she recognized. Writing "Verde" on her notepad, she placed an equals sign to the side of it and followed up with an English translation. Verde means green, but what does that have to do with derrotero?
Because Verde appeared after the word derrotero, Catalina completed the translation as, "instructions green." No. That doesn't sound right. Reversing the order of the words, she wrote, "green instructions." That sounds better. The word verde still didn't register with her. She also didn't understand why it had been capitalized. Examining the older Tokupu text, she jotted down what two of the words stood for. She was fairly certain that Latacunga and Ambato were ancient towns, but she wasn't sure of their location.
Catalina glanced at her watch. It was almost three. She decided it would be best to take the aryballos to her condo where she could study it at her leisure. She laughed at the thought. Leisure, my foot! Phillip said six o'clock. At most I'll only have a couple of hours to work on it before he calls on me. She wished she had more time to research the mysterious artifact, but that was not to be. The minute she unlocked the front door to her condo, she unraveled a large map of South America. Catalina wondered why anyone would find it significant to mention two obscure towns, villages really. She couldn't find Latacunga or Ambato on the map and was beginning to think they never existed. Nonetheless, she tried to connect their significance to the two words she had translated earlier, namely "green instructions."
She had wanted to share this moment with Phillip, but unable to wait any longer, she took a pocketknife and, ever so carefully, broke the artifact's seal. She had been right. There was no liquid inside. Of course, the aryballos was small and at most couldn't have contained more than a liter of fluid. Placing the aryballos on its side, she somehow managed to worm a small pair of pincers into the container. It was slow going because she had to be careful not to tear whatever was in the jar. Finally, the pincers found some cords which she gingerly pulled from the jug.
Her heart gave a lurch. "This just can't be!" she exclaimed out loud. To the Incas the color of the cords was significant in that it represented the item to be invent
oried. Red equated to the "number of warriors" in a particular locale and yellow stood for "gold." There were numerous knots tied to the yellow cords. Could her eyes have betrayed her? It finally came to her. She was actually holding a quipu, a mnemonic system the Incas had developed. They used it much like the Chinese use an abacus for counting. Her instincts told her this was no ordinary quipu. She remembered from her studies that the closer the knot was to the top of the cord, the higher its number. Once she counted all the knots, her excitement mounted. With trembling hands and her heart imploding in her chest, she extracted a crinkled piece of parchment from the ancient jar. Examining it carefully, she marveled at its remarkable condition. Under normal circumstances, parchment yellowed with age, but this one looked almost new. She couldn't believe that as old as it was, the jar's seal hadn't cracked. If it had not been airtight, it would have been impossible to read the message.
She jumped when her cell phone rang. "It's me, Catalina. I just wanted to let you know I'm in the car and on my way. I should be in front of your place in another twenty to twenty-two minutes."
Catalina had been tempted to feign sickness, but then thought better of it. Trying to keep the irritation out of her voice, she said, "I'll be ready by the time you get here." Curse him anyway, she thought. It's just like him to give me the time of his arrival to the nearest two minutes. Why in hell does he have to be so precise?
She was confronted with a choice. If she stopped what she was doing, she could take a quick shower, change clothes and be ready by the time Phillip arrived. Or, she could spend a few more minutes on the aryballos. Even though she knew she'd incur Phillip's wrath if she was late, Catalina decided to spend another five minutes with the artifact.
Returning to the task at hand, she was now convinced the word, "derrotero," which she had translated to mean "guide text," in reality meant directions. The possibilities raced through her mind. She scanned the rest of the parchment quickly. Someone named Valverde had signed it. Suddenly it dawned on her, now fairly certain there was no mistake. If she was right, people would murder for what she had in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled. "It's the original Derrotero de Valverde!"
No longer able to contain her excitement, she rummaged in the far corner of her room, desperately searching for a reference book that was somewhere on the floor in one of the stacks of books she had been meaning to place on a shelf. She was going to be hopelessly late because Phillip would be ringing her doorbell at any moment, but she just had to validate her find. If she was right, what she had discovered inside the aryballos could change the course of her life forever!
CHAPTER 11
Phillip Nash was as nervous as a schoolboy. He'd been planning this evening ever since Catalina had flown to Manaus. Wanting to make it really special, he'd rented a private jet to fly them to San Francisco. Even he had flinched at the exorbitant cost. They were to have dinner at Robaire's, a classy French restaurant he'd discovered on his last trip to the romantic city. After dinner there were tickets to Beach Blanket Babylon, the most popular political satire in town. He'd remembered Catalina telling him she wanted to see it.
He opened the safe, removed the jewelry box containing the engagement ring he had purchased, and placed it in his suit pocket. He could have spent a lot less money for a ring of that size, but it wouldn't have been perfect. The thought of Catalina wearing a diamond with a flaw was abhorrent to him.
Phillip smiled to himself. All Catalina knew was they were going to go out to dinner as they always did on Fridays, but she had no clue as to where. The jet he had rented was waiting for them on the tarmac at Long Beach airport. He had specifically chosen that particular airfield because it was much smaller than L.A. International, which made it easier to get in and out of. He figured the flight to San Francisco would come as a complete surprise. His driver pulled up in front of Catalina's condo. Phillip checked the time. It had taken twenty-one minutes exactly to drive from his place to hers.
He decided to call a second time. With an aircraft that was costing him close to two thousand dollars an hour, he figured he'd better make sure she was ready. The one thing that bothered him most about Catalina was her inobservance of time. He prided himself on being punctual while being on time simply was not in her nature. He sometimes wondered if it was just Catalina or if all women were that way.
* * *
In her rush to find the reference book, Catalina knocked over a small terracotta statue she had acquired for Phillip just two weeks before. She picked it up, placed it in her purse, and hoped she would remember to give it to him later that evening. Scanning for the reference book one more time, she finally found it. Just as she grabbed the volume, she heard the phone ring. Damnit. That had to be Phillip!
Catalina placed the book aside. Instead of answering the phone, she quickly ran down the stairs, unlocked the front door, and disappeared into her upstairs bathroom. Minutes later, still dripping wet, she could hear Phillip's voice from the foyer. "Catalina, are you upstairs?"
"I'm almost ready. Fix yourself a drink if you like. I'll be down in a jiffy."
"We don't have time for me to have a drink," he said curtly.
Catalina literally jumped into her dress, took a comb to her hair, threw a pair of earrings in her purse, squeezed into a pair of pumps and started down the stairs.
She saw him pacing in the foyer. He was impeccably dressed in a tuxedo. Damn. It was a good thing she decided to wear a long dress, the one he gave her several months ago, which she had been meaning to wear.
* * *
Phillip loved the way Catalina always paused and rested her hand on the balustrade before walking down the stairs of her two-story residence. He admired the green velvet dress she wore, the one he had made especially for her by a famous couture in Paris. He could see she had chosen a pair of gold pointed shoes, the ones he thought were so fashionable. She was wearing her hair loose, which made her look even younger than she was. He immediately noticed the brooch. Decorated with diamonds and pearls, it had been his mother's. She wore only the slightest amount of makeup, but her eyebrows were accentuated, which gave her almond-shaped eyes a Eurasian appearance.
As Catalina approached him, Phillip took her hand. He imagined what the ring would look like on her finger. He envisioned her look of surprise once he presented her with the sparkling jewel. She reached into her purse and extracted the terracotta statue. "I've been meaning to give this to you. I purchased it at one of Christie's auctions two weeks ago and had forgotten all about it."
Phillip's eyes were on her and not on the statue. "I would prefer not to deal with it right now. The limo is waiting. Shall we go?"
"Where are you taking me?"
"It's a surprise."
"Listen, Phillip. I have to tell you what I found out about the-"
Phillip's voice had a tone to it that a parent would typically use on a child. "Can't we talk about it later? I told you I have a special evening planned, and it's really important we get under way."
As usual, Catalina acquiesced. She gave him that mischievous little-girl look, which he adored. "Won't you give me a small hint?"
"I'll tell you later. Right now we must get in the car, or we'll be late for our dinner reservation."
Once she was inside Phillip's limo, she tried to contain her exuberance. The special evening you have planned won't hold a candle to what I'm about to tell you, she thought. At first, she had been eager to tell Phillip about her amazing discovery and was disappointed when he had cut her off. She could tell he was excited and wondered why the chauffeur was driving along the tarmac of an airport. When she stepped out of the Rolls, she was surprised to see a private jet waiting for them. As Phillip guided her toward the plane, her eyes focused on the red carpet that trailed up the ramp of the sleek-looking aircraft. No sooner was she ensconced in a plush leather seat, than a flight attendant approached. "Would you care for some champagne and caviar, Miss Rivera?"
Before Catalina had a chance to respond,
Phillip asked for a bottle of Rene Lalou.
"Certainly, sir. I'll be back in a moment." When the attendant returned, she placed two crystal glasses and some caviar on a tray next to their seats.
Catalina marveled at Phillip's thoroughness. He knew Rene Lalou was her favorite champagne, and she knew how difficult it was to find. Toasting Phillip with her glass, she leaned her head back in the seat. Here she was drinking her favorite champagne, savoring Beluga caviar, and still not knowing why. "What's the occasion? I know you said you had a surprise, but I thought we were going out to dine?"
Phillip smiled like a Cheshire cat. "We are, my dear. We're having dinner in San Francisco. I've made reservations for us at Robaire's. I know how much you enjoy French food. You'll love the place."
Knowing Phillip as well as she did, Catalina envisioned that he must be up to something or why else would he charter a jet to fly them five hundred miles just to have dinner? However, once the plane left the ground, she relaxed. She tried to broach the subject of the aryballos once more, but Phillip appeared disinterested and into his own thoughts. Because the dialogue was one-sided, she decided it would be best to remain silent. Phillip was usually quite interested in what she had to say so she was now convinced he had something special in store for her.
Instead, of conversing with Phillip, her thoughts drifted back to Valverde's derrotero. There was no question in her mind that the derrotero and the quipu inside the aryballos were genuine. If she could follow the directions, she was certain the ancient guide text would lead her to a fabulous hoard of treasure.
* * *
Phillip, who normally had no trouble maintaining his composure, tried to keep his hands from shaking while using his fork to remove a piece of lamb from a bone shank. They were finishing their wine, opting to pass on dessert, when he reached into his suit pocket and felt around for the small box containing the ring. Should I bring out the box and just hand it to her? Or should I tell her what the ring is for and then wait and see if she will accept it? This was not working out the way he had imagined. He had practiced over and over again what he was going to say. He'd planned to tell her about his sexual dysfunction. After all, how could he propose without letting her know the truth? It would be immoral not to disclose his impotency, but no matter how much he wanted to, he didn't think he'd be able to get the words out of his mouth. Not only was Phillip unable to share with her his deepest and darkest secret, but he also found himself unable to speak. He finally decided to just give her the ring. "Close your eyes and give me your left hand."