by Guillou, Sue
They stepped into the room that looked like a museum with it numerous pedestals and large glass display cabinets. As always, Richard was fastidious. Large racks dominated the right side of the cavernous room and each rack represented a letter of the alphabet. For example, any archaeological items Richard had found in Australia where on the first rack whilst Canada was on the third and so forth. The most precious items of his collection were in individual glass cases that littered the room, each with their own specialised security and alarm system. Richard had left nothing to chance.
Gillian went immediately to the ‘M’ aisle, representing Mexico, and reached for a container that had Teotihuacán written in a black smudge-proof marker on the front. Inside was a box about the size of a biscuit tin, wrapped in bubble wrap. She lifted it out and placed it in a leather carry bag Richard had lying on the nearby examination table positioned against the right wall.
‘Are you sure it’s the right one?’ asked Dale as Gillian nodded definitively. Richard had given clear instructions that it was ‘on his shelving under M’. This was the only box shaped object there.
‘Good. Let’s get out of here,’ said Dale, the urgency in his voice not missed by Gillian. He was eager to get back to the safety of the helicopter.
They hurried back the way they came with Dale having to assist his daughter up the last flight of stairs. Gillian ensured that all doors were properly sealed on their way out, but when they reached the study, Dale hurriedly put his hand over Gillian’s mouth. He gestured to her to be quiet. Gillian nodded; she had heard it also. Someone was at the front door and although Richard and Gillian could not see them, they could hear the keypad click in an attempt to gain entry. Clearly frustrated at their inability to crack the code, the person swore before placing something up against the door.
Gillian immediately realised that they were going to resort to explosives. She was infuriated but recognised the need to get out as quickly as possible. Richard needed her to save him. Putting her life at risk for his possessions was not an option.
‘Is there another way out?’ Dale hissed.
‘Yes, the laundry door, but it leads to a solid walled courtyard and I don’t think there’s a rear exit,’ replied Gillian.
‘It’ll have to do,’ whispered Dale as they rushed through the kitchen and into the side room at the same time a small explosion rocked the house. It was not loud enough to alert the neighbours, but it created sufficient shock to duplicate the shaking effect of a mild earthquake.
Dale yanked at the rear door, exiting just as the voices of two people registered in the hall.
The courtyard replicated the garden of a French provincial home with box hedges, topiary and a centre water feature. On initial inspection it appeared impassable, but it soon became evident that the small garden shed was about the same height as the cream painted walls and as luck would have it, a garden ladder lay discarded on the otherwise neat paving.
Placing the ladder against the side of the shed, they both climbed onto the roof and jumped over the wall.
The adjoining alley was used only by residential traffic and was the dumping ground for discarded rubbish. It was littered with old boxes that Gillian and Dale used to soften their fall.
‘Shit!’ swore Gillian as she jarred her foot, bringing about a jolt of pain that brought her to a grinding halt.
‘Sorry, love, but we can’t stop,’ insisted Dale, lending Gillian his arm as she hobbled down the cobblestone alley to the waiting chopper.
‘Almost there,’ he added as the school came into sight and they both visibly relaxed. The helicopter was only around the corner and Gillian was suffering from exhaustion and pain. She longed to rest even if it was only for the hour back to Houston. She was also eager to study the box and sighed in relief as the rotor blades came into view.
Scaling the low boundary fence with renewed enthusiasm, they ran to the waiting Black Hawk, their progress terminated as the helicopter burst into flames before their eyes.
The explosion was deafening, the disbelief and absolute shock of witnessing the loss of Georgio and their opportunity to escape stopping them in their path. Totally dumbfounded and with their voices caught in their throats, Dale and Gillian dropped to the ground in an automatic reaction to avoid the flames and a deluge of falling debris. The sky had lit up with an eerie red glow that radiated for miles and it was only moments before the neighbouring community and the local fire brigade was alerted to the commotion.
‘Oh, my god!’ exclaimed Gillian as she glanced at her father. The colour of his face had drained completely, leaving an ashen complexion as he gazed at the scene unmoving. She understood what he was feeling, but it would do them no good to stay here. It was clearly not an accident and with her father’s revelations about the widespread drug ring, the strange actions of Samuel and the break-in at Richard’s home, she realised that the perpetrators were likely to be hunting them.
‘Come on, Dad. We’ve got to get out of here.’
‘No. I must go and see what happened. We were on an official mission and it’s my duty to report this loss, especially to Georgio’s family,’ his voice wavering in despondency.
‘You can do that later, Dad, but right now we still have five people relying on us to rescue them.’
‘To be honest, Gillian, right now I don’t give a damn about your friends or any mission we were on. My friend has just perished in that explosion and I owe it to him to at least find out what happened,’ he retorted angrily, his reaction not unexpected or unwarranted.
Gillian did not respond. She had seen him like this before after the death of a couple of close comrades. It was his way of coming to terms with his loss and she had to let him do what was necessary regardless of the consequences.
Dale went to stand, his body almost fully upright when someone leapt on him from behind. Neither Gillian nor Dale had seen the person approach and their first reaction was to fight. Dale rolled and tried to tackle the intruder to the ground whilst Gillian went to pull him off.
‘You bloody idiots. What must a man do to get the attention of his friends? I tried whistling and waving, but you’re both as blind as bats.’
‘Georgio, my friend, you had me half scared to death. I was sure you died on that chopper.’ Dale hugged his friend in delight, the display of emotion catching both Georgio and Gillian by surprise.
‘My god, he does have a heart after all. I would never have known,’ chuckled Georgio as his expression turned serious.
‘I’d just stepped outside for a wee when I saw them approach. Five of them, I reckon, but it was hard to tell. Thankfully the grass was high and I hid whilst they searched the plane. I would normally have expected them to come looking for me, but my guess is that they thought this was the getaway vehicle and decided to blow it.’
‘Shit, so they know we’re here,’ replied Dale.
‘Who’s they?’ asked Gillian as both Georgio and Dale glanced at each other in a unified understanding.
‘The same people who are after that tile,’ said Dale as they picked themselves up and hurried to the side fence where they were afforded cover from the large overhanging trees. Dale immediately rang Fort Sam Houston and reported the helicopter accident, knowing that it would be in the news the following morning. His secretary would take care of all the details for him, coming up with a suitable explanation for the explosion if necessary. He then requested a backup vehicle which was promptly dispatched from Houston, arriving at the school only a few minutes later.
Dale would normally have been concerned about the criminals trailing them, but the explosion had brought out nearly every fire engine and police vehicle available in the area. It had created a virtual no-go zone and they were safe for the minute.
CHAPTER FIVE
Thirty-five minutes later Dale, Gillian and Georgio were delivered safely to Georgio’s brother’s house in Houston. His brother was currently away on vacation and had predictably left a spare key under a nondescript moss-cove
red rock in the garden bed. Unlike Georgio, who was a security freak, his brother cared very little about alarms or deadlocks and it had taken a good deal of convincing just to get him to hide the key.
‘There’s not much furniture,’ observed Gillian as they walked into a small lounge with pale yellow walls and brown carpet.
‘My brother is a bachelor.’
‘Ah … that says it all,’ laughed Gillian as she placed the plastic container she had retrieved from Richard’s home onto the small stained and dinted coffee table.
They opened it carefully, the well-packaged item causing Gillian to wonder what damage the intruders had done to Richard’s home. She hoped it was minimal, but she feared that would not be the case.
Once the plastic container had been removed, Gillian unpacked the bubble wrap and lifted the contents from its protective covering. It was a plain box made of solid obsidian, the very simplicity of the object giving the first clue that it had been carved by a master at the height of his craft. It was perfectly symmetrical and square, faultless to the last inch.
In the centre at the top was the word ‘zip’, accompanied by the matching Mayan hieroglyphic.
Richard had been right to connect the two.
Georgio whistled in appreciation. ‘Today’s manufacturers could learn a thing or two.’
The lack of outward decoration drew the eye to the highly polished volcanic glass that glimmered in the light. It was not marred by a tool mark or line and it took Gillian a few minutes of careful scrutiny to locate a small notch three-quarters of the way up one side.
As careful as a jeweller handling a diamond, Gillian ran her nail through the centre of the groove and discovered an almost indistinguishable ridge. She levered this up only to find a second box snugly positioned inside. Following the same procedure, she found a third box that had a visible seam running lengthways across the top and a square indentation in the middle.
Above and below the central decoration were the words ‘Way B’alam’, engraved in Mayan hieroglyphs. This translated to mean ‘the spirit of the jaguar’, a common description given to the leaders of the Mayan world who considered the jaguar to be the holiest of all creatures. To be compared to the jaguar was the highest acknowledgement of all.
Gillian reached into her pocket as Georgio and Dale looked on in utter fascination. She withdrew the tile Richard had given her and placed it in the indentation. It fit perfectly although she had to ensure that the grooves on the back of the disk were in line with the ones carved into the box. Twisting it gently to the right, the two halves of the lid clicked and sprang open.
They all bumped heads in their eagerness to look. ‘Do you mind?’ chastised Gillian in good humour as they grinned sheepishly and withdrew.
Gillian looked for a second time and was confused.
At the base of the box, in the same condition as it had been created, was a singular sheet of lime-covered vegetable fibre paper with an exceptionally preserved coloured drawing of the Calendar Round. It was glorious and they all gasped in unison.
‘Well, it’s not the cache of jewels we were expecting,’ commented Gillian before her green eyes lit in deliberation. ‘Dad, do you have that picture of the woman with the tattoo I was looking at on your desk?’
‘Hmmm … yes,’ he muttered as he took it from his wallet and handed it to her.
‘The drawing is similar to the tattoo, but there is one major difference. Both the tattoo and common illustrations of the Calendar usually show it as having a solid centre although you will occasionally see a picture of it with a circular hole.
‘This drawing is really left of field. I have never seen the Calendar Round with a hexagonal core. In fact, the hexagonal shape is so unusual that I cannot help but draw a similarity to the hexagonal ruby Julia pressed to activate the trap at Tikal.
Gillian sat silently for a moment
‘I have an idea although I’m not sure how proficient it is. What we have is an unusually detailed drawing with a hexagonal centre, a hexagonal ruby and the common denominator of the same creator. Surely the scarcity of such a shape confirms they are connected.’
‘That’s all good and fine, but now what? I can’t see how paper is connected to a real jewel,’ said Dale as Georgio interrupted.
‘Perhaps this drawing is a clue in itself. Perhaps it’s a drawing of a real calendar round.’
‘There’s an inscription on the inside of the second lid,’ his words taking a couple of seconds to sink in before Gillian diverted her attention and followed his gaze.
‘I didn’t see this,’ she muttered as she began to read the lines of Latin text. ‘The real treasure depicted in this box belongs to my true heir. The one I cannot claim as my own although he is of my blood.’
‘That’s rather sad. Whoever carved this wanted to leave his treasure to his child although it seems that the child did not know who this person was,’ mused Gillian as Dale scowled irritably.
‘Who cares. That was fifteen hundred years ago. All the inscription means is that there is a real treasure out there somewhere. So, if you want to save your friends, we need to find the disk depicted in the drawing and I haven’t the faintest idea where to start. For all we know, it’s buried under centuries of dirt.’
‘Any thoughts, Georgio?’ asked Dale.
‘The Internet is as good a place as any. You never know what you might find on it. Only last week I managed to find a rare cricket card to finish my collection,’ chuckled Georgio in an attempt at humour.
No one was laughing.
‘You and that bloody Internet. I don’t know what you see in it. Whatever happened to the good old book,’ Dale replied.
‘He might have a point though,’ said Gillian as they turned and looked at her in amazement.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ said Dale as Georgio stood up.
‘Follow me.’
Gillian stood up and followed him to the only expensive electrical item in the entire house – a desktop computer and a scanner.
Georgio logged on and deftly entered the words ‘ancient jade disk’. It bought up numerous entries, but the most interesting was an auction item on Ebay.
‘Come and look at this!’ he hollered.
Dale rushed to their side.
‘It’s definitely similar,’ pondered Gillian as the picture downloaded onto their screen.
‘I reckon it’s identical,’ added Dale.
‘Bloody right. It’s one and the same, listed by someone called Adam Housner only a half hour ago in Australia,’ spat Georgio.
‘Shit. And he used his real name … brainless fool. And it’s my bet that we’re not the only ones to have discovered it,’ said Dale, shaking his head in disbelief at the man’s stupidity.
‘How will anyone else know about this? We’re the only ones with this paper,’ queried Gillian.
‘Yes, but this disk is a very important symbol for Arun’s and treasure hunters in general. They will come for it even if only for that reason,’ said Dale.
‘We need to get to him before someone else,’ contributed Georgio as Dale stood up and left the room.
Gillian looked questioningly to Georgio. ‘Your father has many contacts. He’ll ensure he reaches Adam Housner before Arun’s men.’
Gillian nodded. She observed her father’s rigid posture and knew he was asking for a favour. Georgio grinned. ‘If he stiffens up any more, he’ll turn into a statue.’
Gillian laughed and waited patiently for her father to return.
‘It’s all sorted. My friend Air Chief Marshall Harris Barnes from the Royal Australia Air Force has sent someone to pick him up and they have kindly offered to bring him to us aboard an F-111 as it seems they have also been trying to break the same ring of criminals as us. With a speed of 1660 miles per hour and an approximate distance of 8938 miles, I would expect that he’ll be here in approximately eight hours, allowing for the time it will take to find him in the first place. In the meantime, we need to get back to San
Antonio. We’ll be expecting the plane to arrive at the Brooks City-Base.
‘See? That’s why you’re the General and I’m not,’ said Georgio, grinning at Dale’s elongated and comprehensive speech.
Dale frowned at the realisation that he was being mocked.
Gillian laughed. When her father was on a roll he could out talk and out ‘statistic’ the best of them.
They moved back to the lounge as the distinctive sounds of a helicopter hovering outside shook the glass in the window frames.
‘Ahhh, they’re here to pick us up,’ said Dale as both Gillian and Georgio stared at him in confusion. ‘What, did you both think we were going to walk back to Sam Antonio,’ Dale chuckled as Gillian snatched the obsidian box from the table but dropped it in her haste.
‘I’ll get it,’ offered Georgio as he leant over and paused for a moment. ‘I didn’t see this before,’ he noted as he handed Gillian the box, noticing that the inner compartment had been dislodged and a false base revealed.
Her heart missed a beat in excitement as she took out the loose substructure and found what seemed to be a diary. This was fantastic, her feelings akin to a child receiving a pile of presents on Christmas morning. She longed to read it, but the time was not appropriate, so she placed it back into the box for safekeeping. She decided to read the script when she returned to San Antonio. She would have a few hours to herself until the Australian arrived.
Gillian limped out onto the road and paused for a moment, turning to look at the house they had just left. She could not put her finger on it but felt that someone was watching her. Seeing no movement, she presumed it was a figment of her imagination, most likely as the result of exhaustion. She needed to rest.