“His administration and his Presidente will look like they are winning the drug war, we get rid of much of our competition, and they agree to recognize the importance of our ‘contributions’ to the good of the nation. Another step in our gaining recognition and legitimacy, and one step closer to my ultimate goals.”
“You are a patient man brother,” Miguel interjected. “You know I have always favored a shorter path. Perhaps an accident and then a coup, seize power quickly and decisively rather than tiptoe with these baby steps.”
“Miguel, it is not just legitimacy we seek in the eyes of the Mexican people, we are steadily gaining that. It is in the eyes of neighboring countries and on the world stage. Otherwise the grand design will be stillborn.” Eztli said, carefully looking at everyone gathered in turn. “I need all of you to play the long game with me, great glory ultimately awaits not only each of us, but all of Aztlán,” Eztli said, invoking the mythical homeland of the Aztecs.
He rolled up his sleeve and showed a tattoo for emphasis, and heads nodded. After all, part of their initiation was to have that very image branded on the right bicep, sort of their secret handshake to one another. It also served another darker purpose, being easy to hide with a t-shirt, but readily visible when pointing a gun at someone so they would know who was delivering the killing blow.
Other business was discussed in the same way any board meeting would have unfolded, with updates of the cartel’s business and a final summary by Eztli himself. It was an honor for the lieutenants to have been invited to the great man’s home and was a signal they were part of the trusted inner circle. They were all made men and were being groomed for greater things.
Once the remaining business was concluded, everyone was dismissed, except for Miguel. Eztli nodded to him, and they went inside after all the others left, and took the elevator to the basement. Miguel noticed the new addition to the skull rack and raised an eyebrow as he smiled at his brother.
Eztli shrugged as if to say, ‘these things happen.’
“What news do you have of the rabbit,” Eztli asked as they walked into the conference room and sat.
“The rabbit evidently has been busy. It seems this Nick went to Seville, did some research and returned. He and his Navajo whore went through customs at El Paso and are headed north,” Miguel replied.
“Interesting, that means he found something, and he is on the trail. He is tenacious, I will give him that. He doesn’t suspect we are tailing him? No? Good. If you don’t mind my asking, how did you find out where he went?” Eztli inquired. After all, one didn’t survive in this cutthroat underworld without having your finger on the pulse and always knowing the details.
“As you taught me, find the weak spot. The man who assisted Nick here at the National Archeology Museum has only one parent, his mother. We showed this peon photographs of the inside of her home with her asleep in bed, so he would know we could take or kill her anytime we choose. After that he became most cooperative, and that is how we found that gringo went to Seville to do further research. And we also have a well-paid Americano on the inside at customs, it was a simple matter for him to check the database to catch the license plate coming through. Nick is being tailed now, very discretely.”
“Nice work hermano.” Eztli got up and clapped him on the shoulder, then paced as he thought, as was his habit when he was on the cusp of making a critical decision.
“I have a very important task I need you personally to take care of. Keep eyes on him, but he can’t know we are on to him, not yet. Take four of your best men and go through the border separately, then pull your team back together. This is what I want you to do to gain me the leverage I need over our wandering gringo treasure seeker.”
Eztli grinned and gestured animatedly as he outlined his plan to Miguel, whose face betrayed an increasingly satisfied and sinister glare.
Driving well into the evening, the closest lodging Nick could find was nearly 20 miles outside of the Gila Cliff Dwellings. He pulled into an inconspicuous motel with a vacancy, decided it didn’t look too decrepit, and paid cash. Heck, it even featured a continental breakfast, pretty high living according to Soba.
The next morning they were up early and arrived at the Gila Trailhead Museum as it opened, where they were greeted by Nick’s good friend Killian. Soba giggled as the boys exchanged some sort of exotic secret college handshake from their past days together and gave Killian a hug and greeting. They wandered down the trail toward Cliff Dweller Canyon, seeking space for a private conversation away from the early morning tourists and hikers. They stopped at a scenic overlook and admired the timeless view of the cliff dwellings off in the distance, with the Gila River winding quietly below.
“Did I tell you that four mummies have ‘officially’ been found here over the years, not including the one I showed you? But who knows how many others were found and looted, they were a pretty big deal to private collectors.” Killian said as he sipped a cup of coffee in a beat-up travel mug.
“The initial rumors were that an extinct race of dwarf cliff dwellers used to inhabit the area, and a small mummy was supposedly in a glass display at a general store over in Silver City. That was according to an 1892 newspaper account I came across. But no photos ever surfaced and that mummy mysteriously went missing. Finally, in 1912 the fourth one was found just over there and was sent to the Smithsonian. Turns out it was an infant, as the others likely were as well.”
Nick smiled at his friend. “Of course they were infants. But dwarf mummies make a better story, better for tourism and business. I suspect the best mummified remains from this area are long gone, like you said. Tell me, what became of the ‘Misplaced Padre’ mummy you found and showed us?”
“After I stabilized him, he was taken up to Albuquerque, examined by a forensic archeologist. They did a detailed examination, including a CAT scan and then an MRI. Turns out he was remarkably well preserved. It’s not like he had his internal organs removed as the Egyptians did, it was just the natural drying process of this arid part of the country. About what you would look like if you crawled in that cave over there, and we found you 500 years later.”
“Thanks for that visual, remind me not to hike with you,” Nick joked. “What about establishing provenance, did anything else come out about when this was, or where he came from?”
“Yes, some interesting details have emerged. First off, he had no eyes.”
“No eyes?” Soba said, somewhat taken aback. “How can anyone have possibly survived in this country with no eyes back then?”
Killian paused as a well outfitted older couple trudged by, their hiking poles clicking in rhythm on the hardpan surface of the trail.
“Well, he had no eyes, at least not then. Evidently they had been burned out, the sockets were cauterized, healed over. I don’t know, maybe he was a prisoner or a slave of some sort, but that doesn’t jibe with him being buried with a silver cross and chain. And he was shrouded and carefully positioned, I suspect that whoever put him where I found him went to great lengths to pay him respect and carefully hide him.”
Nick looked up and down the path to see if anyone was coming. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound much like a slave to me, why go through the trouble, much less leave him with anything of value like that large silver cross he held. You kill or trade captives here, this wasn’t exactly a land of plenty. Anything else?”
“Yeah, follow me, I think you’ll find this intriguing.” Killian led them back to the museum, and to the same room where he had shown them the mummy. He unlocked the door and went over to one of the file cabinets. Digging around, he pulled a box out from the very back recess of one of the drawers.
“After they took the mummy away to examine, I went back to where I had found him, and did a thorough examination of the area. I found some artifacts buried in the dirt right around where he was. Here, take a look. Obsidian arrow heads, a broken sword, two gold rings, and what looked like part of a broken Spanish breast plate,” Killian replied.
Nick carefully examined each item in turn and took detailed photographs of them. While he was doing this, Soba touched an arrowhead, then picked up the broken sword. She closed her eyes in quiet contemplation, and then slowly opened them.
“Two worlds,” she said.
They both looked at her with puzzled expressions.
“Don’t you see? They paid him honor by the way they consecrated him,” Soba observed. “He may have been a Spanish Friar or priest or whatever, but he earned the respect of those who brought him here, at no small effort. Perhaps, even without his eyes, he had vision that was helpful to them.”
She paused for a moment, slowly turning over the sword in her hands, and then continued. “They didn’t bury him, animals would have dug him up. They didn’t burn him, that would have been against his religion. So they did the best they could to honor him in their own way, to preserve him and prepare him for his spiritual journey. They symbolically put things from the worlds he inhabited to be with him in the next life. Things from both the Old World and the New. Two worlds.”
Killian and Nick stared at her for a moment, then looked at each other. “I told you she was a voodoo shaman Kill Devil. Never question her intuition,” Nick laughed. “Hey, you didn’t per chance find any petroglyphs near any of this, did you?”
Dinner that night was out at Killian’s trailer, nestled off a remote road on the edge of the Gila National Forest, overlooking the Apache Reservation to the west. Killian lived there with his two brothers, one who worked for the Park Service, the other as a professional guide.
“Somewhere my tribal elders are cursing me, entering the home of a Chiricahua Apache,” Soba softly laughed as Nick led her in.
“My brothers, let me introduce my colleague Nick, and the nicest Navajo I have ever met, Soba.” The brothers shook hands and introduced themselves, and then headed out for a little late-night hunting. They both stepped warily around Nanook on their way out, not quite sure what to make of him. Killian took the offered gift of a large bottle of wine from Soba and poured all around.
“Hunting off season and at night, that’s called poaching back where I’m from,” Nick teased, looking into his glass as he swirled the deep red liquid around.
“Around here we call it survival. Or at least supplemental. Believe me, we eat what we kill. I had to get my brothers off the res, life is no good there. Our parents are gone, but we still have lots of relatives living there. We’ll stock our freezer and bring the rest to them.”
“Cheers to that,” Soba toasted. “Same as it ever was.”
Wine flowed, stories followed. Killian and Soba started bonding at Nick’s expense, his idiosyncrasies laid bare to their mutual amusement. They found they shared much more than just their native roots.
Nick took it all in good fun, even when some of the joshing hit a little too close to home. “Hey, I’ve got feelings you know,” he finally exclaimed, to much laughter.
Nick’s frailties eventually exhausted, the conversation drifted back to the day’s events. Nick explained to Killian that a similar hidden cache of items had been found further north on the Zuni Reservation.
“But why no pieces of eight in either?” Killian wondered aloud, feeling a little buzzed. “If they were leaving them talismans from the Old and New World, that would have seemed appropriate.”
“It would have, if they had any with them, and perhaps they didn’t,” Nick replied, frowning. “Or, depending on timing, it might have predated the minting of coinage here in the New World. The Spaniards didn’t start stamping coins in Tenochtitlán until well after the conquest. Which means, if both these caches are at all connected, they might be from the same, pre-conquest journey.”
Taking his time, Nick explained what he had uncovered in Seville, and how he believed Coronado received information that put him onto something, although eventually he had lost the actual scent. A scent Nick was now hot on the trail of.
Saying their goodbyes late into the night, Killian walked them out, and gave Nick a bro hug and Soba a heartfelt embrace. “Ah, my favorite Navajo, so tell me, why do you put up with this knucklehead?”
“Same reason as you, my now favorite Apache,” she smiled warmly. “The fates seem to have ordained it.”
Nick didn’t drive far after departing with Killian, as it was pitch dark, he didn’t know the roads, and the wine had settled in. He chose to stay within the friendly confines of the Gila National Forest and pulled over near Apache Creek. The fork on the road it sat on would provide options of which direction to head the next morning.
As they lay next to each other in the back of the pickup in the predawn twilight, Soba rolled over into Nick’s arm. “Zuni is the next stop, right? I’m missing home, and it’s just past there. It will be good to see everyone again. I have to admit I might be a little homesick.”
Nick leaned up on one elbow and checked for messages on his phone. “It will be, I’ve got some catching up to do with Bidzii and the boys too. But first we have a little detour to make.” He showed her the message on the phone, and she smiled and cuddled back into him.
They stood beside his truck, now at the Albuquerque airport, patiently waiting in the pick up zone. Soon they were able to see Charlie in a small crowd exiting the terminal and waved when he caught sight of them. As he approached, Nick reached out for his brother, who instead handed him his hiker’s backpack, pushed him away and turned and embraced Soba.
“So you are the she-devil my brother can’t stop talking about,” Charlie said, and stepped back and looked at her appraisingly. “You overachieved here Nick, definitely out of your league.”
Soba blushed slightly, happy to finally meet Charlie after all she and Nick had been through. “Nice to meet you Charlie, I’ve heard so much about you. I feel I already know you.”
“Yeah, well lies, all lies I can assure you. But let me tell you some stories about my little brother, things you should know, things you can use.” He grinned mischievously at Nick, and then finally grabbed him by the back of the neck and embraced him.
“Yeah, missed you too, you big lug,” Nick mumbled in his ear.
They had two and a half hours to catch up on the ride as they headed due west to Zuni. Soba squeezed over to the middle of the worn bench seat of the pickup, while Charlie sat with his arm hanging out the window. Nanook poked his head in from in back and gave Charlie an approving sniff and lick. Charlie jumped at first, intimidated by the size of the head on Soba’s shoulder, but calmed down and smiled when he heard Nick and Soba cracking up.
Nick pointed out the window as they whizzed past a turnoff sign to the Acoma Pueblo. “We whites call it Sky City, it’s one of the oldest, continuously inhabited places in the country, for over 2,000 years. An interesting place, still looks much like it did when the Spanish first encountered it, isolated on top of a small mesa.”
Soba noticed Nick was peacefully content on the ride and couldn’t decide if it was because he was happy his brother was with them, or because he enjoyed showing her off a little, or because he was ever closer on his quest. Perhaps a bit of each she finally settled on, listening with amusement as the brothers good naturedly traded barbs and bantered back and forth.
“OK, I appreciate the update bro, you’ve covered a whole lot of ground and are hot on the trail. That’s fantastic news, I’m excited as you to put this to bed, one way or another,” Charlie said, gazing back out the window. “Oh yeah, per that message you left me, I’ve been doing some research of my own, and I’ve got to tell you what I’ve uncovered. Some of it’s pretty gritty, sure you want Soba in on all of this?”
“No secrets here Chuck, she’s as much a part of this as any of us. We’re like the three musketeers now. All for one . . .”
“And one for all,” Charlie rejoined.
He proceeded to reveal that he had utilized the sophisticated and yet discrete resources of the multi-billion hedge fund he worked for. Their expertise was in evaluating potential threats to their multin
ational investments from an economic and geopolitical perspective, taking into account transparency and accuracy of financial information, stability of government, political unrest, human rights record, key players, etc. He had first honed in on all of Central America, and then Mexico in particular.
“We handicap risk, and right now Mexico is trending poorly. Not like its Venezuela, which is imploding, but it’s definitely getting dicey down there. The current administration is viewed as increasingly powerless and corrupt, and is losing the confidence of the masses, mainly due to its inability to control the cartels and mass killings within its own borders. That is scaring off needed investment, both foreign and domestic, so the standard of living further erodes, and it wasn’t great to start. They are caught in a self-fulfilling prophecy that is hard to break out of. Ineffective government leads to social unrest, which leads to a change of regime, who line their own pockets as the expense of the masses, which leads to more social unrest . . .”
“Yeah, the more things change, the more they stay the same,” Soba added.
Charlie looked at her and nodded. “You’ve got that right sister. But of all the power brokers behind the scenes, it’s the drug cartels with the most to gain or lose. They are pretty fragmented, but one cartel has quietly risen in power the past few years by quashing then absorbing many of their competitors. They are called the Texcoco Cartel, and from what I’ve seen, are not to be messed with.”
“Interesting name, Texcoco,” Nick observed. “Back in pre-colonial times, that was the name of the lake that the Aztec seat of power sat on, the island city of Tenochtitlán. A modern spin with Tex, as in Aztec, and coco, as in cocaine. Clever.”
“Yeah, well you don’t want to be messing with these guys. They bribe, intimidate, torture, and kill to get what they want. Literally leave a trail of dead bodies in their wake. Rumor has it the head of this cartel brands all members with an Aztec symbol so they can never hide their affiliation, and puts them through a bloody initiation ritual, like making your first kill by cutting a heart out,” Charlie said, wringing his hands. “The cartel makes more money than some countries. They launder it through a series of shell companies and then set up legitimate businesses with the cleaned money. Which ingrains and endears them to the locals. Pretty efficient when you think about it.”
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