by A D Davies
“Careful, Toby.” Charlie helped him with the shape, the depression forming a circle with an approximate two-foot radius. “It’s literally a key in this case.”
Toby brightened. His feet wanted to dance. “Hidden for all this time, just waiting for someone to reunite these and return.”
“But what is it?” Father Pandi demanded.
“Everyone back,” Toby said. “Film this, one of you.”
“I’ve been filming since we got down here,” Harpal said, indicating a Go-Pro type body cam that Toby hadn’t noticed until now.
All backed away, leaving Toby alone at the wall. He grasped the bangles, half-inserted into the corresponding holes.
“Careful,” Charlie urged.
Toby looked down at his feet. He recalled the time Charlie tried to a “pick” a lock similar to this one, which triggered a mechanism that caused the floor to fall away. This chamber had been mapped dozens of times, though, including by echolocation, which indicated no such cavities.
Toby’s heart raced. “Okay. Let’s see what you’re hiding this time.” He twisted the key clockwise.
It didn’t budge. He tried counterclockwise.
A tiny shift.
He strained, and it budged only another half-inch. “Dan?”
“Sure.” Dan strode forward and added his strength to the exercise.
The circle defined in the stone wall turned with a grinding scrape, resistance kicking in as an unseen mechanism engaged. Toby pictured cogs sculpted from stone or treated wood.
The wall before them cracked. Spiderwebs ruptured out from the center, the disc in which the bangles were inlaid.
“Back,” Charlie said. “Now.”
Toby didn’t need telling twice. He snapped out of his reverie, rushing back with Dan, and retreating farther with the others. Father Pandi’s eyes were wide, his mouth open in fear rather than amazement.
“It can’t be a trap,” Toby said. “It can’t be—”
The wall before them juddered, then started to crumble. Parts of it turned to sand and pebbles, before the entire mass disintegrated in a fluidic cascade and dropped into a pile, like snow sliding from a rooftop. Dust clouded the air, a fine fog pluming in the dwarf arc lights.
All wafted their hands in front of their faces, the four better prepared people pulling the snoods up from their necks to filter the detritus, while the priest whipped out a handkerchief and pressed it over his mouth and nose.
It took several silent minutes for the air to clear.
When it did, the first noise might have been considered blasphemous were it not uttered by a man of God. “Holy mother of Jesus…”
The destruction had unveiled a fresco, a mural spanning an area the size of a double-decker bus. Faded by time and the fine layer of dirt, the images were of a landscape, a desert to the left, merging with fields in the center and jungles on the right. Only the disc in which the bangles rested remained from before.
Toby breathed, his words almost a gasp. “A journey…”
All were now standing in a row, unable to look away.
On the desert section, lines of 2-dimensional people marched from a point in the distance where a cross-legged god resembled the picture they’d shown Father Pandi up in the nave. The characters were big, led by a man in profile, carrying a curved, rectangular shield which he held horizontally behind him, sheltering those nearest from the sun. The man was far taller than those he protected, and a glowing ball seemed to descend from the sky towards him.
The desert section merged with the fields of green and crops where the larger human figure, a whole torso and head taller than the nearest people, again held out his shield. This time he was sheltering them from rain and lightning. One bolt struck the raised circle at the shield’s center.
In the final third, the man stood before women and children, his shield outstretched, fending off an army of spear-wielding warriors.
“From the Codex,” Toby said, “this giant offered his services to those who needed him most. His only fee was food and somewhere to sleep until the danger passed. He helped migrate people from one place to another, or deflect rocks hurled by the gods. He sheltered worthy communities from poison from the sky and from hordes of barbarians.”
“Like the A-Team,” Dan said in a way that suggested he thought he was offering a clarification.
Toby ignored him. He’d said the same thing as a joke back when he and Charlie interpreted the manuscript for Alfonse Luca, their benefactor who reluctantly agreed to fund this trip. They weren’t only seeking a fresco, though.
“Does this guy have a name?” Harpal asked.
Toby approached the section of wall where he had unlocked the false facia. “We believe he may the forbearer of the Aztec god Huitzilopochtli.”
Dan gave one of his customary frowns and leaned in as if Toby hadn’t already explained this before. “Hoo-wetz-i-what-now?”
“It is pronounced Weetz-ee-loh-posht-lee,” Father Pandi said. “I am a student of the history of the region. But Huitzilopochtli is always depicted as a birdlike deity. The patron god of the Aztecs, worshipped by warriors and citizens alike. He received much blood in the form of sacrifices.” Father Pandi paused, as if he had made some sort of point. “Catholicism requires no such sacrifice, so perhaps we were more welcome than you realize.”
“Yes, yes,” Toby said. “Huitzilopochtli was the patron god of the Aztecs. During the great migration from Aztalan, he told the people where they should establish their capital city—Tenochtitlan. He even has a shrine on top of the pyramid of the Templo Mayor in Tenochtitlan. It’s decorated with skulls and was originally painted red to represent blood. And please, nobody snore.”
“I wasn’t snoring,” Dan said. “Were you?”
“Wasn’t even thinking about it,” Harpal said.
For a second it seemed as if the pair were about to commence bantering like they used to, but they lapsed into silence.
“So, where is it?” Charlie asked.
Toby again touched the disc in which the bangles were embedded, half-hoping for some sort of psychic revelation. “I don’t know.”
“If we come home with just a video of a painting, Alfonse won’t be happy.”
“That’ll be three-for-three,” Dan added.
Toby waved them off. “Yes, yes, I know. We have had little in the way of success lately.”
“There are giants in the Bible,” Father Pandi said. “Not just the one felled by David.”
“There are giants everywhere in fables, legends, and myths,” Toby said. “We see many hoaxes to that effect. Just twenty-five years ago, Texas excavators recovered bones supposedly from a thirty-foot human. They were shown to be a mix of bones from ice age creatures, a cache of bodies washed down here from the great melting period.”
“Wait, are you saying this is real?” Harpal asked.
“Not literally,” Charlie said. “But this shield… It features in more than just our codex.”
“Is that what you are investigating?” Father Pandi demanded. “Some sort of treasure? Are you grave robbers?”
Toby rounded on him, swallowed back his annoyance. “We do not rob graves. We are interested only in the historical record. This shield may have its origins in legends that have made its way into classic literature. How much do you know about the voyages of Odysseus? The battle of Troy?”
“Children stories. I know of children’s stories.”
Toby gripped the pair of bangles that had formed the key. He tried to turn it further, with no luck. Dan added his own muscle again, with the same result. When Toby checked on Charlie, she was carefully leafing through other pages.
She said, “I wish Bridget was here. I can’t make sense of the rest.”
Father Pandi offered to look, and nobody objected. He read the new page, the browned ink slightly smudged, like the rest of the book. “It is a puzzle. ‘Respect for the Guardian must be shown, or the place of rest will take its revenge. Leave your offering,
in blood or stone, and gaze upon his magnificence.’ This is very odd.”
“Yes,” Toby said. “We interpreted ‘the Guardian’ as being a proper noun or title, and offerings at the time were not necessarily sacrificial animals. But then we don’t know who wrote the passage. It could have been the author of the book, or he may have transcribed it from an older source.”
“So, it could have been an Aztec ritual,” Harpal said. “It might be asking us to slaughter a virgin goat or something.”
“Been over that,” Dan answered.
“Leave your offering…” Charlie mused. “Blood or stone. Or.”
She unsheathed the knife from her hip, a snub-bladed military weapon, a replica of the one she lost on the mission that bequeathed them the Aradia bangle. She used the point to nick a dot of blood on her fingertip.
“What are you doing?” Father Pandi asked. “You cannot believe a drop of blood will do anything.”
“I’ve seen weirder stuff than this,” Charlie replied, ushering Toby out of the way.
“This is like some pagan ritual.”
“As we’ve established,” Toby said, “just because something is pagan doesn’t mean it is anti-Christian. Please, let us do our work.”
Perhaps he was still stunned from the cascading wall, but the priest stayed quiet.
Charlie extended her hand, leaving a dot of blood on the disc that had triggered the wall’s demise. Nothing happened. She smeared a little more on the pair of bangles embedded in the lock.
Again, nothing.
Charlie stepped away, brow furrowed, obviously considering the passage, and whether this had all been a waste of time.
“Maybe the blood should be on the inside,” Dan suggested. “That way, it gets into the guts of the machinery.”
Toby shook his head. “I doubt—”
Dan reached for the bangles.
Charlie lunged to tackle him. “No! Don’t—”
But her warning came too late. Dan snatched the bangles and withdrew them from the grooves. Immediately, a shuddering groan sounded from behind the mural. Dust rained from above.
“Out, now,” Charlie ordered.
Crunching surrounded them, the rending of stone. All five dashed for the base of the ladder.
“What is it?” Father Pandi demanded. “What have you done?”
“Leave your offering in blood or stone,” Charlie repeated. “We should have left the bangles in place.”
They urged the priest to ascend first. As more cracks and crunching grew louder, there was no time to argue. He scrambled up the initial rungs.
“Now you,” Toby said, tapping Harpal on the shoulder.
“No way,” Harpal replied. “I’m the one filming. If this place is coming down, we need as much footage as possible.”
“If you’re injured, Colin will sue the hell out of us,” Charlie said.
“Glad you’re worried about me. But look.” He pointed.
Part of the fresco had fallen away, a slab large enough to carry an SUV through. Beyond was another room. The dwarf arc lights penetrated deeply enough to see through the falling debris, where Toby could just about make out the end of a sarcophagus of a simple design, square with a domed top.
“Oh my.”
For several seconds, Toby forgot about the impending destruction, and trotted forward. Harpal joined him, although it was unclear whether he was urging Toby back or if he was desperate to film what Toby was viewing.
The new angle revealed the coffin to be at least fifteen feet long and six feet high, with plates of gold and electric blue metal adorning the perimeter. It was a coffin big enough for three men.
“You don’t think…?” Harpal started.
Two hands grabbed them roughly from behind and dragged them backwards. The view they’d had died as more of the wall collapsed in front of them. The hands belonged to Dan, which shoved them both towards the ladder.
“Out. Now.”
Toby was nearest, so with Charlie already racing upward, he gripped the cold metal, braced himself, and climbed. Behind him, the two men argued about who was next.
Harpal said, “I need to film this.”
“There’s nothing left,” Dan said in a growl. “And if you’re going to come back and work with Toby and the rest of us one day, you’ve got to be alive to do that. This is my job. Now get your ass up that damn hole.”
They exchanged no more words, and Toby doubted he would have heard them anyway, as the crashing and banging of ancient stone rose in volume. Above, Charlie and Father Pandi were already at the surface, calling to the trio bringing up the rear.
Although his lungs burned with the exertion of rushing up a humid hole, Toby pressed on. The air grew cooler, and the two men behind him made enough noise to show they were still alive. At the top, Charlie helped Toby out, where he lay on his back, soaked in sweat.
Harpal came up next, followed quickly by Dan, standing aside from the hole in the floor. A final clap of thunder echoed from below, leaving only a fog of dust to chase them out.
Toby propped himself up on his elbows. They were all gray in the face and hair.
“This is your job?” Father Pandi said.
Panting, Dan answered, “Yeah, sometimes I question it myself.”
The priest got to his feet, trembling with what may have been adrenaline, fury, or a mixture of both. “You people destroyed a piece of history today.”
“We revealed a piece of history,” Charlie corrected, rising to meet him. “You got the images, didn’t you, Harpal?”
“The SD card is all yours,” Harpal said. “Part of the service.”
Toby sat up straight, cross-legged, still catching his breath. “Unfortunately, we aren’t as well-equipped as your regular employer.”
“You aren’t suggesting he sends this to Colin, are you?” Dan said.
Toby sighed and considered getting to his feet but chose to rest a little longer. “He can excavate. Or arrange it. Hopefully, the sarcophagus is intact, and whatever is inside can be examined. That’s not a task we can manage. Unless you know something I don’t.”
Charlie and Dan exchanged glances, sadly shaking their heads.
“We’re fine,” Charlie said. She indicated her ear. “Phil. He’s been badgering me for an update since we evacced. I told him on the way up, but he wants us all to check in.”
Father Pandi had been stewing in silence, but he made a decision. “All of you, get out. We must close this site until we can be sure the foundations are still intact. I will petition the Cardinal in Mexico City to complain most strongly to whoever issued the order from Rome. You are not welcome here.”
Toby struggled to his feet, facing the priest as he offered calming hands. “We will be leaving without question. But the orders still stand. Our intent here was always twofold. The first was, as we showed you, an exploration of the Aztec cavern beneath your cathedral. The second is more delicate. But I believe you received this instruction in writing.”
Father Pandi might have paled if he wasn’t already covered in dirt. “You cannot expect me to just hand it over. Not after this.”
“I’m afraid I must insist.” While Toby hated strong-arming people, he was more than capable of it. He wasn’t always a freelance archaeologist. “The order came from the Holy See. If you wish to argue, we will wait outside while you make that call.”
Harpal asked, “There’s more? What was this, a warm-up?”
“A second codex,” Charlie said. “The conditions negotiated were that if we proved there was more in in the Aztec cavern than the church knew about, then they would lend us the other codex. The one Father Pandi guards in the safe under his own quarters. It’ll lead to what Alfonse funded us to bring home.”
Through gritted teeth, Father Pandi said, “I will abide by the terms. But first I will report what you have done and allow the Holy See to decide if the contract still stands.” He tensed, smoothed his robes, which released a cloud of dust, and marched out, leaving them
in the gloom of the fake oil burners and their head torches.
“What now?” Harpal asked.
“Well,” Toby said. “If you’re free for another week or so, I would very much like to retain your services.”
“As long as Colin won’t need me here, I’m all yours.”
“In that case, we need fast, budget travel to the United States. And tourist visas for everyone except Dan.”
“Anywhere in particular?”
“First, New York City, then we’ll see.” Toby nodded towards the interlaced bangles still in Dan’s possession. “I have a feeling we might need someone else to come back into the fold if we’re to locate what we promised.”
Chapter Three
With his gun drawn and pointed at the ground, Jules Sibeko peeked around the corner of Kwong-Luk Wholesale Storage. He jerked back. In the quarter-second he exposed his face, he had taken in enough to see there was, indeed, a robbery in progress—a 10-30, as they had reported it over the radio. He retreated to a distance where subdued voices wouldn’t travel.
“Officer Sibeko, call it,” Massey said.
Jules’s training sergeant was a gruff veteran of the NYPD, and although it plainly irritated him that Jules remembered every teaching from the academy, he’d been patient with Jules in relation to his real-world weaknesses. Mainly, Jules’s preference to solve a problem via his instincts rather than hold back and consider the procedures drilled into all new patrol officers. His brain still worked in a way that had kept him alive during far more dangerous encounters than what street-level criminals posed and tried to apply his lifelong intuition over measured thought.
“Three white men, one black,” Jules replied. “The two with ski masks are armed for sure, others are loading boxes, but they’re wearing jackets. One black suspect, one white, both with ski masks rolled up. Two potential hostages, face down, hands zip-tied.”
“Let’s assume they’re all armed.”