The Copper Egg

by Catherine Friend

  That morning she looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t see her green eyes or her frustratingly straight hair. All she saw was an idiot—a stupid idiot.

  Why? Because yesterday she didn’t kiss Sochi, who was worse than a skittish cat around Claire. She didn’t blame her. Kissing was probably the wrong move for both of them.

  But a kiss might have shown Sochi that Claire really wasn’t a bad person. It might have reminded her of the good times. Most of their three years together had been great.

  Claire dragged herself down to Las Dulces, no longer even pretending to be searching for the tomb by combing the countryside with Denis’s maps. She suspected that even her three tails had given up, since she didn’t see them. They’d probably figured out Claire wasn’t going to find the tomb. No, her only goal now was to repair things with Sochi.

  What did that mean—repair things? Did she want them to be friends? Yes, that was it. She didn’t dare hope for more.

  “Ms. Adams?”

  Claire looked up into the round face of a dark-haired woman wearing ill-fitting slacks and a polyester jacket. She dropped her huge felted bag onto the ground and sat down. She pulled a small notebook from the bag.

  Crap. A reporter. Why was she surprised? “Look, I don’t talk to reporters.”

  “I’m Luisa de Salva. I write for Las Noticias.”

  Claire drained the last of her tea. “Going now.”

  “Wait.” She stopped Claire with a touch to her arm. “Is it true that you no longer hear voices, but that you now have visions?”

  Her brain spun. Who knew about the visions? Denis did. He would never say anything to the press. The shaman did. And Sochi did. Claire’s jaw tightened. No, Sochi wouldn’t say anything. She hadn’t the first time. She shook her head sadly; apparently, the shaman couldn’t be trusted.

  “I’m not saying anything.”

  “Ms. Adams, I’m going to write something. It might as well be the truth—your truth—instead of lies. I feel badly about how my colleagues attacked you when the news of your ‘voices’ broke. I’m not like that. But you’re news. You’re in Trujillo looking for Chaco’s tomb.”

  Claire leaned back in her chair and rubbed her face. Maybe it was time to go home. Mac joked about the company falling apart with her gone, but the longer she was gone, the more likely he’d realize he didn’t need her. This was the reason vacations taken in the United States had dropped—everyone was terrified of being found redundant.

  Claire thought for a minute, then folded her hands on the metal table. “Yes, I am here seeking the tomb. And I may or may not be having some…paranormal experiences. But I can’t have this written about while I’m looking. Too many people are breathing down my neck; the less they know about what I’m doing, or how I’m doing it, the better.” Luisa nodded, her pencil poised above the notebook. “If you wait until I’ve either found the tomb, or given up, then I’ll give you an exclusive to all that’s been going on. Write one word about my ‘visions,’ as you call them, and I’ll close up tighter than a clam.”

  The reporter sat back, dark brown eyes considering Claire. “An exclusive?”

  “How about this? Once I’ve found the tomb, you’re the first person I’ll call.”

  Luisa dug out a business card and slid it across the table. “It’s a deal. I won’t write a word about your visions until you call.”

  *

  Claire stopped by the CNTP office, but Sochi had taken the day off, so she took a taxi to her house, asked the driver to remain for ten minutes, then she knocked on the bright yellow door.

  When Sochi opened the door in baggy shorts, a faded Beatles T-shirt, and mussed-up hair, Claire momentarily forgot how to breathe. God, she was beautiful. “I need to tell you something. It won’t take long.” She nodded toward the taxi. “He’s going to wait for me.”

  Lips pressed together, Sochi opened the door wider to let her in. She looked worried, as if Claire might try to kiss her again.

  “I just spoke with a reporter at Las Dulces. She wanted to know about my visions.”

  Sochi’s eyes widened. “But I didn’t say—”

  “I know you didn’t. That’s what I came to tell you. The instant she said that to me, I ran through the list of people who knew about the vision. It’s a short list—Denis, the shaman, and you.” Claire held both of Sochi’s hands. They were cool and smooth. “I wanted you to know that I am changing. I didn’t for one minute think it was you, and I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion before.” She squeezed her hands. “You would never, ever do that to me. I know that now.”

  Sochi struggled, swallowing hard, unable to speak.

  “I think you should know that I’m about to hug you, so prepare yourself.” Claire carefully slid her arms around her. At first, it was like hugging a tree, but Sochi gradually softened in her arms until Claire had no doubt she was hugging a woman. They rested their heads on each other’s shoulders. Sochi’s chest heaved as she silently cried against Claire, who fought her own losing battle with tears.

  Finally, Claire pulled back and wiped her eyes. “I can learn to trust again. I hope you can, too.”

  Sochi touched the amazonite teardrop around Claire’s neck, then smiled with such tenderness Claire thought she might melt right there. “I wonder if Mima’s stone has begun to work.” The stone was meant to calm Claire’s soul, to give her compassion.

  Claire wiped a tear from Sochi’s check. “We can only hope.”

  With another squeeze of Sochi’s hands, Claire hurried to the taxi before she changed her mind and kissed her.

  Halfway home Claire noticed the blue pickup was following her. The sudden urge to confront someone was strong, so she asked the taxi driver drop her off three blocks from the hotel. Then she walked slowly, anger and frustration bubbling up through her chest. This would force the man to get out of his pickup and follow her on foot.

  She turned down the next street, then down an alley. After passing a wall of thick bushes, she turned left and nearly ran into a stucco wall. Heart pounding, Claire pressed herself back into the bushes as the steady footsteps approached. Surprise was her only weapon.

  When the man passed her, she leapt out and grabbed him by the jacket, then spun him around and slammed him against the wall.

  “Who are you?” This was the man she’d seen at Mardinio’s wake, but who’d disappeared before she could confront him.

  The guy was built like a Chimú warrior, blocky and strong. His copper face was chiseled into high, flat cheekbones and smooth forehead. He let her press him against the wall, even though he could have easily picked her up and tossed her over the wall.

  “Why are you following me?” she practically growled.

  His black eyes gave nothing away.

  “Did you send me the eggs? Is that why you’re following me?”

  “Eggs?” His eyebrows shot up in alarm.

  “Why did you send them to me?”

  He shook his head. “My jefe…she wants to find Chaco’s tomb, that’s all.”

  “Your boss? She.” Claire snorted. “You work for La Bruja. No wonder. God, I hate looters.” She released the man’s jacket. “What will you do when I find the tomb? Cut off my fingers?”

  “What?”

  “That email must have been sent by another of La Bruja’s men, I suppose. Look, tell your jefe that once I find the tomb, it will be guarded day and night. She’ll never get her greedy, thieving hands on any of the treasure. You got that?”

  The man clamped his jaw shut and refused to speak.

  Even though Claire blocked his way, he could have knocked her aside as easily as if she’d been papier–mâché. Clearly, he was reluctant to hurt her.

  “You give her that message.” Claire stepped back. With a curt nod, the man turned into the alley and strode away.

  Her quest to find the tomb was beginning to feel out of control.

  *

  That night, Claire lay in bed, unable to sleep. What was she still
doing here? The treasure hunt was a bust, so she should really go home. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of Sochi in her arms, and knew exactly why she remained in Peru.

  When the floor outside her room creaked, Claire sat up, startled. The door handle rattled. Shit, it had to be the guy coming to cut off her fingers. Asshole. Did he think she’d leave the door unlocked? Heart pounding, Claire slid from the bed and took up her position behind the door, where—the day she’d received the threatening email—she had moved a heavy, narrow plant stand made of wrought iron. She grasped the stand by its legs—even though it made an awkward weapon—and waited. She longed for the baseball bat she kept in her front closet at home for this very purpose.

  The handle rattled again, then someone pushed against the door. Now there was a light clinking as the person inserted something into the lock and began moving it around. Not only did Claire wish for her baseball bat, but a chain across the door would have been nice, or maybe a deadbolt. She resolved to speak with Señora Nunez about the hotel’s lax security. The legs of the stand slipped in Claire’s sweating palms.

  The lock clicked. She held her breath as the door slowly crept open. When a man’s head appeared, Claire swung the plant stand back and hit that head as hard as she could. He yelled and staggered back so she went on the offensive, bashing the iron stand against any part of him she could see. He fell, scrambled to his feet, and ducked as she just missed his head. He came for her again, but this time she connected with a dull clank. Yelling again, and now clutching the side of his head, the man staggered down the hallway. She followed. “You didn’t like that? Want some more?” Aware she wasn’t at her smartest when incensed, Claire chased him until he disappeared down the stairs. His footsteps echoed in the empty courtyard as he fled.

  Shaking like a dog at the vet’s, she returned to her room and closed the door, leaning against the wall until her pulse dropped out of heart attack range. Then she moved the dresser, one table, and the stuffed chair in front of the door. Tomorrow, she would buy two chains and install them herself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Claire

  Thursday, April 6

  When Claire awoke the next morning, the dresser and table blocking the door convinced her the attack hadn’t been a nightmare. She rose, stretching out her aching fingers, then noticed she’d managed to scrape the skin off a few knuckles during the struggle.

  Wearily, she pulled on her cargo shorts. Her life had attracted far too much excitement these last few days. Her parents were into wild adventures, not her.

  The phone call came as Claire finished dressing. The connection was so garbled it took her a minute to figure out it was Joselyn, her boss’s assistant.

  “Mac’s been shot!”

  “What?”

  “Some crazy guy came into the office last night and shot him.”

  “Oh, my God. Is he okay?”

  “Two bullets to the chest, both missed his heart and lungs. But the guy stood there, about to shoot him dead for good, when Bob saved the day.”

  “I’m sorry. Did you say Bob?”

  “I know, right? Yes, Bob. But here’s the thing you need to know. When the guy was shooting Mac, he yelled that this was a gift from you.”

  Claire’s stomach did that thing it had done the last time she’d had the stomach flu—it flipped, sank, and threatened to eject all its contents. After a quick thank-you to Joselyn, Claire called Mac’s cell phone.

  His voice was weak. “Hey, Peru.”

  “Holy shit, Mac. Are you okay?” This was all happening so fast she couldn’t process how upset she was.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s hard to kill me, apparently. But they won’t let me out of the hospital yet.”

  Claire squeezed her eyes shut, horrified. “Mac, Joselyn said the gunman mentioned my name.”

  “Yeah, that was a surprise. Said the bullets were a gift from you.”

  “Higuchi, that fucking asshole. He hired the hit on you. Mac, I’m so sorry that my shit put you in the hospital.”

  The chuckle was faint, but kind. “Well, it would have been the morgue if not for Bob.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “He came by just as the guy was taking aim for the kill shot. I don’t remember much, but Bob said I was on the ground, leaking an impressive amount of blood, and the guy had the gun pointed right at my head.”

  “What did Bob do?”

  “He used the only weapon available, the Ming Dynasty vase he was carrying.”

  “Christ. Seventeenth century?”

  “Fifteenth.”

  “Ouch.”

  “That’s what the gunman said when Bob smashed it over his head.”

  Claire laughed appreciatively, but her insides had begun to boil. She was going to fucking kill Carlos Higuchi.

  “Mac, this wouldn’t have happened if I’d taken your advice to get my ass out of Peru.”

  “Yeah, well, forget that advice.” Medical machines beeped in the background.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Stay there and take this motherfucker down.”

  She inhaled, shaking with emotion. How could she possibly do that? “You got it, boss.”

  *

  Claire’s Internet search revealed two offices for Higuchi International. The main office was in Lima, with a branch in Trujillo. Given what was going on, she knew he had to be in Trujillo.

  It was a four-block walk to the modern looking, twelve-story Edificio España. Higuchi International was on the top floor. When the elevator opened with a gentle ping, Claire strode toward the reception desk, an impressive short wall of curved wood and glass. “I am here to see Carlos Higuchi,” she snapped.

  The receptionist calmly asked if she had an appointment, but when Claire said no, the woman’s eyes flickered just for a second to her left. That must be the direction of Higuchi’s office, so away Claire went.

  “Señorita, no. You cannot enter.”

  Two security men in dark gray suits moved up behind her, but she began to run.

  The wide double door with intricate indigenous carvings had to be Higuchi’s office. She pushed her way inside.

  Higuchi sat at his huge glass desk, talking on the phone. She reached him with the security guys right on her tail. Higuchi held up his hand. “Thank you, gentlemen, but I think I can handle Señorita Adams without help.” The bulky men scowled but closed the door as they left.

  She stood there, almost panting from her run, while he finished his conversation and hung up. “Claire Adams. A rare pleasure.”

  “Bite me, Carlos.” She leaned over the desk, grabbed his $200 silk tie, and yanked him forward. “You crossed a dangerous line, asshole, having my friend Mac shot.” They were so close she could see flecks of gold in his brown eyes. He smelled of Altoids.

  He couldn’t have looked more delighted. “You received my message, then.”

  Claire pushed him backward so hard his chair rolled back a foot. “What the hell are you hoping to accomplish by harming my friends? You think that’s going to make me find the tomb any faster?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “Did you send that man to my room last night?”

  “What man?” His confusion was genuine.

  “Why is it so damned important that I find the tomb so quickly?”

  He laced his fingers together, looking smug. “It’s all part of my plan.”

  “Your plan? To take over the universe by tying a little old lady to a chair and dumping her on the side of a mountain?”

  He laughed.

  “Maybe it’s to take over the universe by tying up a woman on the beach just before high tide? Frankly, your plans make me sick.”

  Higuchi stood, fingertips on his desk. “I cannot believe I am saying this, Claire Adams, but I really like you. I respect you. No one stands up to me anymore, not even my son.” He moved away from his desk to look out his window, a perfect view of downtown Trujillo. “You are a breath of fresh air.”

&n
bsp; “Seriously, what plans are you talking about? None of this makes any sense.” She joined him at the window.

  “I’m calling it My Plan of Ultimate Retribution.” He sighed happily. “Have you ever met someone capable of destroying an entire country like Peru? You are standing next to one such man.”

  “Talk about an oversized ego. Are you and Donald Trump related?” She no longer cared that she stood in the office of the most feared man in the entire country. “Peru is your country. Why destroy it?”

  He nodded. “You guessed my motivation the last time we talked.”

  “The internment in the U.S. of Japanese-Peruvians?”

  “My grandfather was devastated. The police burst into his home in the middle of the night and arrested everyone—him, my grandmother, my father and aunts, and sent them to a horrible camp in Texas. All in exchange for some tanks, planes, and ammunition.”

  She sighed. “Look, we’ve been over this. What my country did to the Japanese-Americans totally sucked. What we did to the Japanese in Peru was equally as horrible.”

  “My grandfather lost his business—he sold men’s clothing in his own upscale shop in Lima. The country never compensated him. In fact, when the war was over, Peru refused to even recognize him as a citizen. It took him five years to save enough money to move his family back here.”

  “I get that you’re still pissed. I don’t blame you. But one person can’t destroy an entire country.”

  His grin froze her veins. “I control most of the cocaine exports in this country. What do you think will happen when those exports cease?”

  “The poor people growing it and transporting it will be out of a job.”

  “Yes.”

  “Punishing the people who are already poor—nice. Really sends a great message.”

  “Oh, I plan to destroy all levels of the economy. Do you know the major exports of Peru?”