‘Oh for God’s sake!’ she snapped. ‘You told me to come.’
Paulo made a sort of shrugging ‘hmm’ sound as if weighing up an argument, then added, ‘You are late.’
‘You’re lucky I made it at all after you sent that creepy doctor to find me at the airport.’
‘Did you read the report I sent you, my dear?’
‘I am not your dear.’
‘The artefact we found has been made from a significant quantity of gold. I have submitted a request for military protection for the site due to its value. Do not be alarmed if soldiers arrive today.’
Unable to summon a coherent response to this revelation she grumbled to herself and tried her best to catch up with Paulo over the uneven ground.
The clearing was no larger than a couple of tennis courts, and the hole was about the right size and depth to swallow a family car. Trees had been felled to make space for a Faun ATF-60 mobile crane, a JCB excavator with tracked wheels, and an elongated flatbed truck. But no one was there. Ruby wondered if the workers had returned to Flores for lunch and a siesta. Paulo looked at the deserted equipment and tapped his watch impatiently, sighing at Ruby. The site was not far from the ancient Mayan jungle city of Tikal, but at a kilometre outside of the protected Maya Biosphere there was no evidence of any temples here. Unexcavated temple mounds were easy to spot, appearing as small hills, usually grouped together, protruding from relatively flat land like turtles on a beach. There was no such evidence of previous habitation around this clearing; the only mound in the vicinity was a fresh pile of soil.
She approached the muddy edge of the hole and peered down, holding on to the top of the aluminium ladder that had been placed there. The sides of the pit had been mechanically scooped to create a sheer cut through the clay soil. About ten feet below ground level was a thin stratum of crystals that sparkled in an almost perfect ring. Immediately beneath the crystal layer was the object that Paulo had been so keen for Ruby to investigate.
It was a convex metallic shape, badly dented by time, nature and the teeth of the mechanical digger that had uncovered it. Parts of it had been polished clean of mud to reveal that gold was its principal constituent. The object filled the pit entirely and appeared to continue further underground in all directions. Ruby had never seen a Mayan artefact on this scale before. She didn’t know what it was, or how far it extended under her feet. The only thing she was sure of was that they were going to need a bigger pit.
‘Have you ever seen an object so beautiful without looking in a mirror?’ Paulo asked, snapping Ruby back from her reverie.
‘What do we know about it?’ she asked, ignoring his sledgehammer charm.
‘Only what we see. Just some gold sheeting. We don’t know what is beneath it.’
‘How was it found?’
Paulo seemed uncomfortable at being asked this question. He waggled his cigar in his mouth, mumbling something which sounded to Ruby like ‘I’m not at liberty to say’.
‘But it was found accidentally, right? I mean, those teeth marks from the digger must have been accidental? From now on we’re going to be digging by hand with trowels, obviously. I’ll need a university team as soon as we can get one over here. At least eight people, given the size of the hole. And the project could last several weeks so we’re going to need a toilet and cooking facilities. Could do with a Bimini cover to keep the sun and rain off. I’ll work out a budget tonight.’
Paulo puffed on his cigar, saying nothing.
‘Why have you got a crane here already?’ she asked, suddenly aware of the collection of specialist vehicles. ‘And the flatbed truck? Those things are normally rented on a daily basis, but not until you need them. We’re weeks away from being able to lift this thing out. Do you want me to budget for them standing idle all that time? This could waste the funding we need for other projects. And while I’m on the subject of funding, when are we going to get a proper office? I’ve been working from my hotel room since I arrived in this country, and you keep saying we’ll be getting offices soon. You haven’t even introduced me to the other people in the department yet. And in any case, the whole department is useless until our scanning gear arrives, and what are you doing about that? Paulo? Are you listening?’
She walked over to the crane. The window was smashed on the driver’s door. She looked in and saw an ugly crimson stain on the seat. She turned to the adjacent JCB excavator. The door to its cab showed signs of forced entry. Next, she examined the cab of the flatbed truck. Its door was missing altogether. Things were sometimes rough and ready in this country, but these vehicles were worth over a million dollars between them and a rental company would normally take far better care of them.
‘Where did you rent this equipment, Paulo? A scrap yard?’
Paulo checked his watch again.
‘Ruby, my dear, some resources I requested have not arrived. Time is short today. I need to make some calls, but there’s no signal here so I’ll try from the road. Why don’t you have a dig around? I won’t be long.’
She put her bag back over her shoulder and climbed down the ladder, descending deeper into history with every rung. The gold surface held her weight. She crouched down and flicked away some soil with her trowel, exposing more seamless flat gold to the sunlight. There was, as yet, no hint that she was anywhere close to the edge of this object, this structure, this enigma. No hint as to its overall size or shape or purpose.
The brightness dimmed. She looked up and saw the silhouette of an unshaven man peering into the hole. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder and was wearing a tatty uniform, but it was not that of the Guatemalan army. More men joined him, similarly dressed. Ruby climbed out and squinted. Through narrowed eyes she could see a familiar, worrying logo on their arms. These men were part of the guerrilla forces that had caused such mayhem in Guatemala City that morning. They were the men with whom she thought she would never have to come face-to-face. These can’t be the soldiers Paulo requested, she decided. They were from the wrong army. A responsible United Nations official like Paulo wouldn’t hire rebel fighters or mercenaries.
A loud diesel engine thudded to life. The business end of the mechanical digger squelched as it cut mercilessly through the soil, enlarging the pit one scoop at a time. This was a rough, mindless desecration of an important archaeological site, and it was her job to stop it.
She strode boldly up to one of the soldiers and shouted in Spanish that the excavations must cease. The man shoved her aside and briefly pointed his rifle at her. She scurried away and thought of Matt. For the first time in weeks she wished he was with her. For all his faults, he could make her feel safe. She waited at the edge of the clearing for Paulo to return, sickened by what these men were doing. She was only in Guatemala for one reason: to make detailed three-dimensional records of Mayan archaeological sites that could be used to reconstruct or repair them in case of war damage. It was a role in which she was failing utterly.
* * *
In the southern district of Guatemala City, a man in a striped blazer was marching conspicuously along an avenue, carrying a heavy stone tablet under his scrawny arm. He repeatedly looked back over his shoulder as he strode purposefully – yet nervously – towards the airport. He seemed to flinch frequently as if he thought each passing car would deliver a hail of bullets into his back.
His stately pile would have to be saved some other way. And if he couldn’t save it, well, he would just have to take whatever the courts threw at him. He was beaten. It would be enough just to escape this mess with his life. Ruby had implied that to sell his stele would have been wrong. Extraordinarily wrong. Three hours drinking gin and tonic in an underground bar had given him the clarity to see that she was right. He now needed to get on a flight. Any destination would do.
Ratty recoiled again as a car sped past, followed by another. His nervous system was on full alert, exhausting him physically and mentally. He paused in the shade of a ceiba tree next to a public fountain in one of G
uatemala City’s more attractive avenues and looked up and down the road. It was time to ditch the striped blazer. He would never look entirely indigenous, no matter what his apparel, but resembling a lost extra from Brideshead Revisited would only hinder his chances.
Moving on again, now less encumbered by unnecessary attire, he would have covered the distance with relative ease had it not been for the dead weight of the stele. He switched it from one arm to the other as he walked, but it was undeniably tough going. How he was going to get on to a flight with this relic he wasn’t sure. The importation paperwork was still in Otto’s villa. Normally customs men were awfully strict about undocumented Mayan items leaving their country. It was all so much easier in great-great Uncle Bilbo’s day.
An ash grey Mercedes S Class motored almost silently from the north, and it seemed to be slowing down. Probably not a taxi offering him a lift to the terminal, he figured. Probably not a chauffeur asking for directions. Probably not good news at all. It stopped beside him and the rear door began to open. The omens were grim. He should have listened to his inner Eurylochus, warning him of unpropitious gods that whip up trouble from nowhere. He resigned himself to the idea that his personal odyssey was about to be forcibly and prematurely terminated.
As two burly men advanced towards him from the Mercedes, followed by a relieved-looking Otto, Ratty came to an unanticipated realisation. This did not have to be the end of his odyssey. He could choose to continue. He could refuse to be bullied. He could avenge the objectionable manner in which he was being treated. He could fight back.
But not immediately. This battle was lost, but he convinced himself that the loss was a strategic move that would ultimately win him the war. He would not let the stele out of his possession for long.
‘Time has transfigured them into Untruth,’ he told himself. He still didn’t know what it meant, but he now knew that it was the engine that powered his determination. As the stone was grappled from his hands, and into his empty palm an envelope was unexpectedly shoved, he made the decision not only to bring his stele home again, one day, but also to gain possession of the other half. He would live a life worthy of great-great Uncle Bilbo, worthy of the descendants he was yet to spawn. He would be admired and respected by the as yet unborn ninth Earl, and the tenth and the eleventh. His place in his family’s history would be a talking point, rather than an uneventful and mostly unsuccessful caretaking of the stately home. It was as if the sun had punctured an overcast afternoon. His whole being lit up with a positive energy that he had never before experienced. As the stele was bundled into the back seat of the Mercedes and driven away at a speed that would have raised the eyebrows of a police officer – had there been any on the streets today to witness such an affront to the traffic laws – Ratty knew that his life finally had a goal, a purpose, a new odyssey.
He returned to the cooling generous shade of the ceiba tree and played with the envelope in his hand. It was a standard little envelope for letters. Nothing was written on the outside. It didn’t feel as if there was much inside, either. He carefully tore it open along the top and removed the single piece of paper. There was writing on one side of it only, partly printed text and partly handwritten.
He realised he was looking at the short contract of sale that Otto had drawn up in anticipation of a legitimate transfer of the stele that morning. Where the sum of money was meant to be entered he had inserted a zero by hand in scarlet ink. Down the bottom of the page was a paragraph written in the same scarlet script.
‘Lord Ballashiels,’ it said, ‘it is with regret that I obtain this artefact in circumstances that are an affront to the sense of propriety and dignity with which I normally conduct my affairs. Be assured that the use to which the stele is to be put is of significance to the state of Guatemala and to history. To that end, I understand that you may have family documents that can illuminate the context in which this stele was originally located, documents for which I am prepared to pay a fair price. I hope you can overlook the unseemly manner in which I behaved today and see fit to meet with me for a more civilised discussion tomorrow. You have my number. Otto M.’
That Otto chap was certainly pushing his luck, thought Ratty. There was no reason to believe him after what had transpired today. Ratty was always happy to trust a true gentleman: anyone born into sufficient means to be able to avoid the degradation of having a proper job, coupled with an expensive upbringing that valued culture and refinement, would automatically earn his complete confidence. For all his superficial formality and politeness, however, Otto was no gentleman.
Ratty drank some water from the fountain and considered the horror of a second meeting with Otto. There might be more needles, more ruffians. It was not an appealing prospect, but perhaps it could be turned to Ratty’s advantage. It could give him a chance to get close to the stele, a chance to recover his property and fulfil his personal quest. A plan began to form.
* * *
By the time Paulo returned to the clearing, the pit was fast approaching twice its original size. One side of the golden artefact had been revealed, though its overall shape was still unclear. The rebel soldier operating the yellow JCB excavator was doing his best to avoid causing damage, but every now and then the awful sound of metal scraping against metal made everyone cringe.
‘Paulo, make them stop!’ Ruby shouted as soon as she saw him, all her pent-up fury released in a single eruption. ‘This isn’t archaeology – this is vandalism!’
‘These are exceptional times,’ mumbled Paulo. ‘Things will become clear to you, but I cannot explain right now.’
‘Explain what?’
‘It is a kind of emergency situation.’
‘You’re not making any sense. And you said soldiers were coming to protect the site – these are guerrilla fighters. Are you crazy?’
Paulo replied only with an infuriatingly incomprehensible waggle of his cigar.
Down in the rapidly expanding pit the outer edges of the golden object had been located. End to end it was almost thirty feet and was roughly triangular in shape – though with all of the damage caused by the digger and the natural distortion that came with years spent beneath tons of soil it was difficult to be sure of its intended outline. A soldier jumped down onto the top of the artefact with a thud that was muted by surrounding mud. He was holding a portable oxyacetylene cutter which he ignited and began searing a rough line through the gold and whatever lay beneath, tracing the outline of a trap door.
Paulo marched around the clearing, observing everything, looking satisfied, unaware of Ruby’s concerns that this mockery of an archaeological dig would result in endless paperwork, committee hearings, disciplinary action and possibly the end of her promising career. She followed him to the edge of the now gargantuan pit. Inside it was an object larger than any she had uncovered on previous digs, unlike any Mayan relic she had seen before. Unlike any relic she had seen anywhere before.
Two soldiers stood on top of it. They wrapped cloths around their hands and gripped the edges of the hatch that had been cut into the gold.
‘We’re ready for your input now, Ruby,’ said Paulo. ‘Would you mind giving us an assessment of what you see when they lift up that hatch?’
‘The UN will fire you, Paulo. And me. Just tell me why this has to happen.’
Paulo shook his head and pointed down into the pit. She gingerly positioned herself close to the unstable edge of the pit and watched the two soldiers lift up the golden square, leaving a hole large enough to climb into. But Ruby couldn’t see a thing: it was too bright outside and too dark in the hole.
‘Perhaps, my dear, it is better if you climb down to take a closer look?’
‘For the last time, Paulo, I am not your sodding dear. Shut it.’ Boss or not, she didn’t care. Their professional relationship would inevitably end today. His actions had proved to her that he was not worthy of his position. She couldn’t go on working for someone she didn’t respect. But she climbed down the ladder. Howeve
r legally and morally and scientifically wrong this dig was, she could never resist the chance to see into a space that had been lost for millennia.
She knelt down at the edge of the jagged opening. It was still hard to see inside. Her hands shielded the glare of the sunlight reflecting off the surrounding gold surfaces. Slowly her eyes adjusted. The inky nothing took on shapes, tones and shadows. There was depth. Colours emerged. Finally, the items beneath her took on meaning.
The void into which Ruby was peering comprised only a fraction of the total size of the artefact. Either the soldiers knew exactly where to cut the opening, or, more likely in Ruby’s opinion, this artefact contained dozens of chambers of similar size and they could have cut the opening anywhere with the same result. This thought gave her comfort; the sparks from the torch and the lumps of molten metal had speckled the chamber with contaminants and damaged its delicate and precious contents. If there were as yet undamaged sections inside the artefact she might later get the chance to open them up under controlled conditions. Thoughts of her forthcoming resignation began to dissolve.
She looked up into the brightness once again. Paulo was standing at the edge of the pit, steadied by the ladder.
‘Would you like to tell me what you make of that, Ruby?’
‘Paulo, it’s incredible. It looks like some kind of gold sarcophagus. There are two sets of bones in this section. The skeletons are not in good condition, but that’s possibly due to the way you let these thugs rip it all open.’
‘How old would you say those bones are?’ He was toying with her. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to test her.
‘From the decomposition I would guess we’re talking Pre-classic Maya at the latest, possibly even from the Archaic period. If it wasn’t for the metal construction I’m standing on I’d even say they were from the Lithic period, but I know that’s impossible.’
Ruby was thrown on to her back by a sudden strong vibration, narrowly missing the ragged metal hatch next to her. Concerned that this was the start of an earthquake, she spread her weight and tried to cling on. Several voices, heavy with ridicule, suggested that she was over-reacting.
The Sphinx Scrolls Page 4