The Eye of Heaven

by Clive Cussler

  Remi’s eyes lit up. “Why, Lazlo, that’s wonderful. Do you have a written translation for us?”

  “Of course.” He slipped her a folded piece of paper. She slid it into her rear pocket and exchanged a conspiratorial look with Sam.

  “Lazlo, we’re going to bow out, claiming stomach problems. You’re welcome to stay or you can join us back in Mexico City while we research this.”

  “Much as I enjoy standing in the sun turning into a lobster, I think I’ll err on the side of caution and accompany you. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  Sam and Remi moved back to the staging area and, after a brief discussion with Antonio, begged off the media circus in favor of returning to their motel. Antonio had one of his assistants drive them back, and by noon Lazlo was back at the clinic and Sam and Remi were checked into the St. Regis.

  Sam’s first call once they had settled into their room was to Selma, who agreed to stand by for receipt of the translation so the team could go to work on locating the area. Remi quickly typed it into her computer and sent it off, and as she watched the confirmation of receipt appear in her in-box, smiled at Sam.

  “It’s only a matter of a few days before Antonio and Maribela get around to translating the inscription, you know.”

  “Yes, but nobody has the message from the longboat except us.”

  “What about Antonio and his sister? How do you feel about involving them?” Remi asked.

  “I think once we have an idea what we’re looking at, we can make that call. Right now, the fewer people with all the puzzle pieces, the better. There have been too many leaks already. Why tempt fate?”

  ISLA MUJERES, MEXICO

  Janus Benedict carefully lit the Cohiba cigar he’d been saving for after lunch and puffed contentedly, taking in the turquoise waters off Isla Mujeres from the lower deck of his yacht. The glass-and-steel buildings of Cancún’s skyline sparkled in the distance. A steward approached with a cell phone and, after apologizing for the intrusion, set it on the teak table and disappeared. Janus lifted the phone to his ear.

  “Yes?”

  “The Fargos have managed to pull yet another rabbit out of their hat.” The speaker went on to describe the Viking find, culminating with the news conference that would be broadcast later that afternoon.

  Janus processed the information in silence and, after blowing a cloud of smoke at the sky, issued a set of instructions. When he was finished, he hung up, his face untroubled, to all the world a man with no cares.

  With the find at the Pyramid of the Moon, he knew the Fargos well enough to understand that if there were treasure to be hunted, they would do so with the tenacity of leeches. All he needed to do was be patient and remain vigilant. From his current position he could be anywhere in Mexico in a matter of hours, and when he was alerted that the Fargos were on the move, it would be child’s play to intercept them.

  Reginald was still in Mexico City, where his quarry remained. Janus would watch and wait, allowing the irritating pair to do the work for him. A relatively simple scheme had already been made far more complicated by his brother, and Janus didn’t want to involve him again unless absolutely necessary. Guerrero’s participation as more than a hired gun was an irritant and subjected Janus to undue risk, but there might come a time in the near future when his brutal approach would come in handy.

  Janus looked up at a pair of pelicans circling off the transom, eyeing the surface of the sea for any signs of bait fish. Predators feeding. The natural order of things.

  An immutable law of nature that the meddlesome Fargos would soon experience firsthand.

  MEXICO CITY, MEXICO

  Selma reached Sam the next day. Her voice sounded stronger than it had over the last few weeks—the old Selma, brimming with efficiency and stamina.

  “We’ve been working on the landmarks you gave us, and we’ve narrowed it down to several likely areas. One’s on the Caribbean coast, near Belize; the second is in the Yucatán north of Cancún; and the third is north of Veracruz, on the Gulf of Mexico.”

  Sam closed his eyes, envisioning the geography. “How many miles from Teotihuacan is the one by Belize?”

  “About seven hundred fifty miles.”

  “Mostly jungle, I’d guess.”

  “It would be, yes.”

  “What about the Yucatán location?”

  “A little farther.”

  “I can’t see a group of Vikings traveling that distance overland, through jungle, can you?” Sam asked.

  “Anything’s possible, but I’d say they would have needed a pretty good reason.”

  “Hmm. And how many miles is the Veracruz spot?”

  “About a hundred seventy. But there’s a mountain range between Teotihuacan and the coast, a natural barrier of sorts.”

  Sam thought for a moment. “I can see them crossing the mountains with a guide. I can’t see them trudging through dense jungle.”

  “Then the Veracruz location is your baby . . .”

  “I hear a but in your voice, Selma.”

  “Well, there is a small wrinkle.”

  “And what’s that?” Sam asked.

  “It’s on or near the grounds of a nuclear power plant.”

  The silence stretched over the line as Sam absorbed the information. “You’re kidding.”

  “You know I don’t kid.”

  Sam sighed. “I suppose I do.”

  “Depending on the precise location, it could be just outside the perimeter security area. But there’s no way of knowing until you’re on the ground. I looked at all the satellite footage and it’s inconclusive. The only way to tell for sure is to go there.”

  “Well, at least it’s not too far.”

  “That’s a positive. Although it’s also in a region that has a lot of security issues.”

  “More than Mexico City?”

  “Oh yes. There’s only one highway north along the coast from Veracruz—the main port on the east side of the country. Which is also, not coincidentally, where much of the cocaine from Colombia enters. So that area is the primary distribution artery for trafficking cocaine north to the border states—which until recently were considered outside of the government’s control, effectively operated by the cartels.”

  “Tell me this gets better.”

  “I figured you’d want to know what you were looking at.”

  “Thanks, Selma. I’m guessing it would be pretty close to impossible to slip in there without a permit and dig around, what with the nuclear power plant.”

  “That’s probably a safe assumption.”

  Remi returned from the spa an hour later and Sam filled her in, pointing out the area on their laptop.

  “Look at the bright side. At least we’ve got a likely spot for the temple,” she said.

  “Sure. Crawling with cartel killers and nukes. And we can forget about secrecy—we’re going to have to bring Antonio and Maribela into this if we’re going to get a permit.”

  Remi sat on the bed and brushed her fingers through her auburn hair. “Doesn’t sound like we have much choice. I mean, we don’t have to tell them that we think the Eye of Heaven’s there. Just that we have a lead and want to look for ruins in that area.”

  “A lead on what?”

  “Well, on something related to the Vikings. That based on information we gleaned from the longship, we believe that was where they came ashore and that there might be some evidence. Keep it vague.” She rose. “I’m going to take a shower. Think about it some and then we can call Antonio. After discovering Quetzalcoatl’s tomb, I don’t see how he’ll say no.”

  “I don’t, either. But I also don’t see how he won’t want to accompany us. It’s relatively close and he’s been with us so far.”

  “You’re probably right. And that means his sister, too.”

  “They seem to come as a pair.”

  “No comment.”

  Antonio was polite but cautious when they spoke on the telephone that afternoon.
He was still in Teotihuacan, where he would remain until he was satisfied that the excavation was well under way and a team leader had been put in charge.

  “I’ll have to check to see what restrictions there are. We’re dealing with the nuclear regulatory authority and they’re a law unto themselves. Part of the power company, but because of the risk posed by reactors . . .”

  “I understand, Antonio. It would really mean a lot to us.”

  “I can tell you that if it’s on their grounds, it will be much more difficult. Imagine if you wanted to conduct archaeological research on the grounds of one of your nation’s reactors . . .”

  “Well, let’s hope that it’s not. There’s no way of knowing until we go out there. Maybe we should assume that it’s not within their perimeter fence—would that make a difference?”

  “It might. Let me make some calls and see what we’re up against.” Antonio hesitated. “How important is this? Is it something urgent?”

  Remi laughed, hoping her light tone would disarm him. “Well, we’d like to knock it out while we’re still in Mexico. I would consider it a huge favor if we could.”

  “Well, I hate to disappoint a lady. I’ll get back in touch when I know more.”

  “Thank you, Antonio.”

  Remi hung up and smiled at Sam. “He’s going to do everything he can.”

  “No surprise there.”

  She considered him for a moment. “Why, Fargo, is that a hint of jealousy?”

  “No. My stomach’s still uneasy from the food poisoning.”

  “That was an invention.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Remi slid next to where he was sitting on the bed and took his hand. “You’re the only globe-trotting treasure hunter for me, Sam Fargo.”

  “You probably say that to all the adventurers.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Only the ones willing to wear chicken suits.”

  “At least I’ve got that going for me.”

  She kissed him again. “That’s more than enough.”

  VERACRUZ, MEXICO

  The Gulfstream’s wheels touched down on the runway of Veracruz International Airport and taxied to the private terminal at the southern end of the runway. Lazlo smiled at Maribela, who was seated across from him. She looked out the window at the morning mist hovering over the airport instead of returning the smile. Antonio caught his eye and shrugged. Sam and Remi unclipped their seat belts as the plane coasted to a stop and, moments later, they were inside the terminal. Antonio spoke into his cell phone briefly and then turned to them.

  “The cars should be here in five minutes.”

  “‘Cars’?” Maribela asked.

  “Ah, yes. Well, a concession I made with the power company was that we would be accompanied at all times by three of the local police force. It’s for our protection, as well as to ensure we don’t trespass on their property. If we determine that we need access within the plant’s perimeter, that will be a different discussion.”

  “That’s not a problem as long as they can keep quiet about what we’re doing,” Sam said.

  “It wasn’t negotiable. And frankly, with all of the violence lately, it’s not a bad idea.”

  Lazlo looked uncomfortable. “I say, did you just mention violence?”

  Remi nodded. “It’s not that big a deal, Lazlo. They’ve just had a few beheadings recently.”

  “And gun battles,” Sam confirmed.

  “Oh, and the grenade attack. Or was that somewhere else?” Remi asked innocently.

  Lazlo blanched. “I do hope this is all for my benefit. Jolly good. Quite amusing, I assure you.”

  “Come on, Lazlo, you only live once,” Remi joked.

  “Which I’ve grown quite fond of in my own way, even if dry as the desert wind. I’d hate to have my winning streak ended by a machete blade.”

  Antonio waved at them from the glass terminal doors. “They’re here.”

  Two silver Chevrolet Suburban SUVs sat at the curb. Three uniformed police officers stood by the vehicles, submachine guns dangling from shoulder straps, deployed as though they were expecting to be attacked at the airport. Everyone’s demeanor grew serious as the reality of the danger there was driven home by the men’s alertness, and any urge to joke about it further died at the sight of their weapons and the flat look in their eyes.

  “I’ll ride in the lead vehicle with the officers and Lazlo,” Antonio directed. “Maribela, you ride in the second vehicle with the Fargos.”

  Their baggage and equipment was loaded and they were out of Veracruz, on the coastal road north, within fifteen minutes. Shimmering fields of tall green grass undulated in the light breeze as they rolled past. When they left the city limits behind, the landscape transitioned into farmland, with acres of crops stretching to the base of the foothills in the distance. Half an hour from Veracruz, a massive array of mocha sand dunes lined the coast.

  “That’s amazing. It looks like the Sahara,” Remi said. A four-wheel-drive dune buggy shot over the crest of one of the nearest dunes, throwing a cloud behind it as it tore along parallel to the highway and then raced back toward the sea.

  Ten more minutes and they passed a lagoon, the rippled emerald water dented by the wind, ringed by palm trees and brightly painted cinder-block buildings with thatched roofs. Lazlo pointed off to their left at a peak, jutting into the sky like a monolith.

  “That’s promising. I seem to recall that described rather well, actually. Looks perfect for rock climbing, if that’s your thing, what with the sheer face and all.”

  Maribela glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “That’s El Cerro de los Metates. It’s well known in Veracruz. There are Totonac tombs nearby in Quiahuiztlan, along with substantial ruins on the hill. Let me know if you’d like to see them. The turnoff is up ahead.”

  Remi shook her head and Sam shrugged. “Maybe once we’re done looking around on the coast. Would there have been Totonac settlements around here at the time Quetzalcoatl arrived? Around A.D. 1000?”

  “Without a doubt. The region has been inhabited for thousands of years,” Maribela confirmed.

  “Interesting. For whatever reason, I imagined this stretch as relatively desolate back then,” Sam said.

  “Well, it’s more a question of semantics. There were definitely cities in the area, but they were small compared to modern standards.”

  “So this would still have been remote?”

  “Except for fishing camps, I’d say that would be correct.”

  Four miles farther north, the brick-red towers of the Laguna Verde nuclear power plant came into view. Maribela turned her head slightly toward the rear seat.

  “Our destination is on the other side of the plant. As you can see, it’s a large complex. It’s been in operation since the mid-nineties.” They passed the buildings, and Maribela pointed at a deep teal lagoon on their right, between the highway and the Gulf of Mexico. “That’s Laguna Verde—the ‘green lagoon’ the plant gets its name from. The road we’ll take runs north of it to the shore.”

  The lead Suburban’s brake lights illuminated and signaled a right turn. Dust rose into the air as it turned onto the dirt track, and their SUV followed. They passed several homes and then made another right and followed the road until it became little more than a trail. Antonio’s SUV stopped by a dense thicket and he got out, along with the armed escorts, and waited as the driver parked.

  Everyone gathered next to the rear cargo doors and waited as Antonio pushed aside the assortment of picks, shovels, pry bars, and lamps to get at the smaller items and hand them out. Sam hefted a machete and regarded the blade before sliding it back into its canvas sheath.

  Antonio cleared his throat. “All right. The police will stay with the vehicles to ensure nothing happens to them in our absence. You all have canteens and machetes—my only word of warning is about snakes. There are plenty of rattlers around here, so tread carefully. And do not be in a hurry. They should be more afraid of you than you of them,
but you never know, so best to give them plenty of warning that you’re coming.”

  “Nobody mentioned snakes, either,” Lazlo reminded Sam, who shrugged.

  “He just did.”

  Remi took over from Antonio. “We’re looking for the ruins of a temple. Exposed to the weather, it may be only remnants. I’m not sure, but if you come across anything that appears man-made, yell. I’d suggest we spread out, ten meters apart, and work our way south from this point.”

  “Again, how do we keep from being bitten by snakes?” Lazlo asked.

  “By moving slowly and watching your step,” Antonio said.

  “Prayer might also help,” Sam added.

  “Ready?” Remi asked.

  They began working their way up the rise toward the summit, accompanied by the sound of the surf crashing against the rocks at the base of the cliff ten stories below. The brush was thick and untamed, covered by a canopy of tree branches, nourished by the plentiful rain and sun. Late morning transitioned into afternoon, the sun beginning its slow descent behind the Sierra Madre Mountains, when Remi called out from the edge of their line.

  “I found something!”

  “On my way!” Sam yelled as he moved toward her.

  “It’s overgrown, but it looks like part of a wall.”

  Lazlo joined Sam and they hacked their way toward Remi, Maribela and Antonio approached from the inland side, and soon they were all standing by a rise from the natural terrain.

  She tapped it with her blade and the steel clinked against rock.

  “I scraped away a foot of soil in a couple of places and it’s stone underneath. Looks like it rises about fifteen feet above the surrounding area.”

  “Which would be more than enough for a small temple,” Antonio confirmed. “After a thousand years of storms and runoff and soil buildup, you’d expect it to be a big lump—exactly like this is.”

  Sam stepped forward and dug at the dirt after pushing away the tangle of plants growing out of the sloping face. “We’re going to need those shovels and picks from the trucks.”