The Emperor's Treasure

by Daniel Leston

  The many difficulties of establishing themselves back then had been challenging, but their youth and determination prevailed over every obstacle, the accretion of good memories eventually far outweighing the bad. Within these modest walls they’d built a satisfying life, raising a family in which they took great pride. But those happy years were now irretrievably gone.

  Yet the memories still persisted.

  By his recollection, forty-nine summers had come and gone since they reached this low valley at the command of Xaca—and it was on this very spot only a short period after completing their initial shelter that Terzi gave birth to her firstborn. It was a robust and healthy boy, one who entered this world on a most auspicious day. An unexpected rainfall—one they soon learned was a relatively rare occurrence here at any time of the year—had begun falling when she went into labor, continuing unabated until well after the child was safely delivered.

  Considering this to be a favorable sign, Chimuli chose to name his son Tlaloc, giving due honor to the ancient god of rain. Being himself but fifteen, his pride was boundless in his new fatherhood; and over the ensuing years, Terzi presented him with two additional sons, Eztli and Yaotl, each as fine-featured and strong as their elder sibling.

  However, the couple’s good fortune didn’t continue unbroken, for two years after the birth of their third son, Terzi suffered through what rapidly became an extremely difficult pregnancy, one that ended much too early. The tiny child, a girl, never lived beyond her first day.

  Nor was Terzi capable of ever again conceiving.

  But all of this occurred long ago—so far in the past that their two eldest sons were now both wedded and parents themselves. In point of fact, Tlaloc’s eldest daughter was herself soon to give birth, a baby destined to be Chimuli’s first great-grandchild. Unfortunately, it would be a child he was fated never to see, let alone ever hold in his arms.

  Once again he felt the weight of the utter silence surrounding him.

  How his heart longed to again hear the familiar chatter and laughter that once filled this home—yet he likewise knew that it was solely because of him that this could never be. His extended family was no longer here. They were all of six days gone, having secretly left the village in the dead of night and now making their way to a distant destination chosen by him. Though it was an additional sorrow that his children and grandchildren weren’t here to honor Terzi’s passing, such was the price he willingly paid to have them safely gone and out of harm’s way.

  His recent premonition of a great danger soon to descend upon this village made his strong admonition for all of them to gather their belongings and quickly leave most convincing. As the revered head of his extended family, Chimuli’s words had always carried great authority with his sons and were never known to be without wisdom. Giving further impetus to his adamant insistence was his description of a lush river valley lying well off to the northeast. Scarcely populated, it was a place where they could then establish themselves free of the hated Spanish.

  By itself, the latter prospect held considerable appeal.

  Roughly twenty years earlier a vast territory in which their tiny village was just one of many came under the direct control of a former conquistador named Alejandro Ruiz. The term estancia had no real meaning to the local native population, but what it entailed was nothing short of direct subjugation to the hated foreigners who now firmly controlled their land from one end to the other. Though the rule of the original Ruiz and that of his eventual successor, Hernando, had been relatively tolerable, it was now the brutal policies of Alejandro’s grandson Diego that had recently alarmed Chimuli to the point of desperation. Unlike Diego’s immediate predecessors—who were content to simply tax their subjects a portion of their annual produce—it was now rumored that he’d begun extending his rights to include the capture of eligible males within his domains to work in his newly-opened mines as slave labor. Fearing the worst, Chimuli knew his family must leave without delay.

  Also, he felt obligated to finally disclose his great secret to his firstborn.

  Thus he took Tlaloc aside on the warm afternoon preceding his family’s clandestine departure, telling him in detail of the sacred mission he’d undertaken fifty years earlier for his emperor in Tenochtitlan. As proof that his story wasn’t merely the ramblings of a senile old man, he showed him the meticulous, vellum map he’d long ago painted outlining his yearlong journey from the Aztec capital to the site where Lord Cuitlahuac’s hoard of gold was successfully buried. Upon learning of the fall of Tenochtitlan prior to their return, his mission commander decided it wise for him and Terzi to come settle in this distant village, here to await orders regarding the eventual retrieval of the map. Needless to say, he told a stunned Tlaloc, no word or instructions ever reached him. What fate befell Xaca and the others could only be surmised

  When finished with his story, it became a point of pride to the old man that the questions his son then asked of him concerned only Chimuli’s early life inside the royal palace and his description of the famed Aztec capital before its eventual destruction. If Tlaloc harbored any secret interest in the gold itself, it wasn’t the least bit apparent on his face.

  Only when convinced that Tlaloc fully understood where he must lead those in his charge did Chimuli give him the smaller painting he’d long ago created for his own pleasure representing the ‘hill of the eagle’—not just to mark the general location of their resettlement, but also as a visual remembrance of what he’d once accomplished for his emperor. This done, he embraced his son, wishing him into the care of the gods, for Tlaloc now also had an important mission to fulfill.

  Six days had since come and gone since their departure.

  With the burial of his beloved Terzi, Chimuli understood there was but one final task still remaining for him to perform. The elaborate map he’d so closely guarded over his long lifetime must now be destroyed. It no longer held any real purpose—nor had it over the past many decades. In retrospect, he recognized its continued preservation spoke more of his own innate pride in its creation rather than the dictates of common sense.

  But he suddenly learned that fate had other plans.

  What he intuitively knew to be the ominous drum of hooves reached his ear as he scrambled back to his feet—and this followed almost immediately by a series of high-pitched screams piercing the morning air. By the time he threw open his door it was all-too-evident what was happening.

  May all the gods forgive him, he’d foolishly delayed for far too long!

  A considerable number of armor clad Spanish cavalry had encircled the village and were already methodically pulling whatever able-bodied men and boys they could find from their homes. Those who resisted were being brutally clubbed and tied, their frantic womenfolk forced to watch helplessly as the hated foreigners gathered up all of their meager belongings before setting the thatched roofs ablaze.

  Chimuli’s mind swirled in growing panic.

  Thick black smoke billowed upward into the sky as two invaders with drawn swords now advanced in his direction.

  Everything was happening too fast!

  Unable to conceal the map as the men entered, he was instead caught clasping it protectively to his thin chest.

  The lead Spaniard scowled in disappointment to find but a single elderly man within—yet was straight away curious of what such a one might believe valuable. Snatching the vellum painting from Chimuli’s grasp for examination, he then reared back in surprise as the old man actually attempted to reclaim it. Though he grinned at this amusing display of impudence, he nonetheless responded by driving his steel blade through the frail figure’s narrow middle, then disdainfully shoving him to the floor.

  Chimuli felt more shock than actual pain.

  As his life’s essence steadily slipped away, he watched through half-lidded eyes as all of his possessions were quickly ransacked and tossed outside.

  But of these things, he cared naught.

  When the flames erupted over h
im moments later, he was already dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Graveston Industrial Park. North San Antonio.

  “It might as well be a fucking fortress,” said a discouraged Torres. Sitting on the passenger side of David’s rented Ford Edge SUV, he removed his sunglasses and tossed them onto the dash. It was late afternoon, his protective lenses no longer serving any purpose.

  “Unless you see something I don’t,” he continued in rising frustration, “our getting inside tonight is going to be one helluva challenge. Quite frankly, I doubt we can pull it off—and even if we do, the fact is we’ve no idea how many men are living in there.”

  David silently concurred with this dismal assessment as he pulled off to the side of the service road. For the past several hours they’d patiently studied the block facility from every conceivable angle, trying to devise some means—any means—of gaining entrance. So far they’d observed nothing the least bit encouraging.

  So what were they not seeing?

  David shook his head, thinking Torres was right about the building resembling a veritable fortress. One hundred feet by two hundred feet, the twenty thousand square foot facility looked impervious to any kind of surprise entry. Though there were four large overhead doors spread across the southern end, binoculars confirmed that all were heavily padlocked. Regarding the rest of the facility, no windows existed anywhere—not even at the single, designated delivery entrance on the east side. There, closed circuit television cameras were installed in full view and apparently monitored and controlled all admittance. Beyond this, the only normal sized entry door to be found was at the north end—and it was definitely designed with full security in mind. In addition to all this, one could only conclude that the entire building was also covered by a high-tech electronic alarm and surveillance system, one doubtless motion activated at night to work in conjunction with the array of outside lighting.

  All things considered, their prospects appeared bleak.

  As for Torres’ concern about how many men lived inside, David’s own best estimate was that it was probably no more than five—hopefully even less—and this including the man purportedly in charge of the operation who Ted had earlier identified as John Marino. David based his guess on the living quarters he and Torres had observed in the En-Tex Environmental compound before the explosion. This seemed only logical. After all, he reasoned, what would be the cause for involving more people unnecessarily? Only the location had changed—not the building’s true function.

  He glanced at Torres’ disgruntled profile, believing the younger man was fast reaching the conclusion that they must recognize the inevitable and take their case to the police. They both knew that would likely lead nowhere, but what else remained to them? The proverbial clock was running—and any chance of them covertly breaking into this building and rescuing Pilar just didn’t seem to be in the cards.

  But the acceptance of failure was contrary to his nature.

  Not prepared to admit defeat, David restarted the SUV. By his watch it was already past 5pm, leaving time for at least one more unobtrusive circuit of the facility—and he later thanked God that he did so, for three quarters of the way around, he suddenly spotted a possible solution to their predicament shaping up directly in front of them.

  Torres quickly grabbed for his binoculars. It was a tan, commercial delivery truck pulling into the designated entrance area on the east side—the only such vehicle they’d seen all day. Moments later, an overhead door opened and gave it admittance.

  David again eased off to the side, this time leaving the engine running.

  “Did you catch the company name on its side?” he asked. “I thought it read Frontier ‘something or other’ . . .”

  Torres had jotted the name into his small pad.

  “I made it to be Frontier Equipment and Supplies,” he said, “and with what looks like a local address. Kind of came out of the blue, didn’t it? Do you figure this might be something we can work with?”

  David’s brain was already racing through various scenarios.

  “Perhaps so,” he eventually said. “Other than this we’ve got zip. When the driver comes out, we’ll tail him back to his place of employment.”

  “Then what? You got a plan in mind?”

  David gave an encouraging nod.

  “At least the beginnings of one. It’ll take some tweaking. Like you said, we probably don’t have a prayer in hell of successful breaking in tonight—so maybe the answer is for us is to simply wait and drive in tomorrow morning. With Pilar’s life on the line I hate to postpone things, but our best bet at a successful rescue is to wait until we can gain entrance unannounced.”

  “And just how do we manage that?”

  David stroked his chin thoughtfully, saying, “Actually, it might be easier than you think.” He paused as his vague idea continued to coalesce into something feasible. He then looked pointedly at his partner. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Russ, but you did say you brought along one of your police uniforms, right?”

  Pilar was convinced that the following day was likely to be her last one on earth. All of the telltale signs now pointed ominously in this direction. Within just the past number of hours it had become apparent that changes in her treatment were rapidly taking place—and definitely not for the better. By her calculations, she would soon be starting her third day in captivity.

  Keeping track of time was proving exceedingly difficult. Since her locked room had no window to the outside, it was near impossible to differentiate between day and night with any degree of certainty. Nor did it help that the high florescent light over where she lay handcuffed to a metal cot was never extinguished. She believed this was intentional—an initial attempt to both deny her sleep and gradually abrade her nerves.

  And it was working, the negative effects becoming accumulative.

  Beyond this, however, no real physical abuse had taken place—not even after she’d refused to answer the questions posed to her by the man who tricked her into opening the hotel door. His brief interrogation occurred roughly twenty-four hours ago and had yet to be repeated. Now she doubted it ever would—for it was immediately thereafter that her sole keeper became a heavy-set man called Kurtz, someone whom she now believed would soon be her executioner. His hard features bore the chilling aspect of a natural born killer.

  Further evidence for this assumption was instinctive; a gut feeling reflected in the predatory cast of his eyes on the two occasions when he removed her handcuffs allowing her access to the toilet and sink. Like a reptile silently contemplating its prey, he stood watching her throughout, his menacing gaze never straying from her exposed body.

  The vivid memory of this experience still haunted her. There was little doubt in her mind that Kurtz was the one who tortured and murdered Peter, which now only reinforced her determination to somehow strike back at first opportunity.

  But how?

  Though she accepted there was no realistic chance of escaping this nightmare, an attempt had to be made. No way in hell was she going to meekly surrender her life without a fight! She owed this much to Peter and her unborn child—and even if her fate was truly sealed, then let the consequences be damned! If Peter bravely died protecting her as she now believed, then his final act of love for her must not have been in vain!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Following Morning. 10:38am.

  Ruiz sat across from Marino in the latter’s air-conditioned office, so taken aback by what he held in his hands as to be almost at a loss for words.

  “I really must say, John,” he finally managed, “this is absolutely exquisite. And most unexpected. It’s quite the best Pre-Columbian piece I’ve ever laid eyes on. I can assure you that Isabella will be more than thrilled to receive it.”

  Still captivated by the exquisite beauty of the ancient necklace, he fanned it out in his fingers, the better to appreciate the subtle intricacies of its design. The linked chain was finely wrought in bright gold, as wer
e the mountings surrounding three suspended jadeite stones. Each was of equal size and highly polished, all an intense emerald green, the color most valued by Aztec nobility.

  “I thought she might appreciate it,” Marino replied offhandedly as Ruiz placed the artifact carefully back on the desk.

  “Oh, she will, believe me. The craftsmanship is extraordinary. If I had to guess, my first impression would be to say it’s probably from a slightly later period. Yet in view of where it came from, that’s evidently not the case.”

  Marino shrugged in a self-effacing gesture, an acknowledgment that such things were outside his range of expertise.

  “I knew your anniversary was coming up,” he said. “Though I’m no authority on such things, it struck me when our people first brought it to my attention that it’s rather unique; a piece of jewelry I figured a modern woman might actually wear. It was my intention to pass it along to you when you were here the other day—but with everything else going on, it completely slipped my mind.”

  “Understandable, my friend . . . ”

  As a pleased Ruiz reached for his lit cigar, Marino wrapped the necklace in a soft, linen cloth and re-deposited it into a narrow, shoe box size container. He chose a moment when the older man wasn’t closely watching, then depressed a tiny button in the false bottom with his thumb before securing the cardboard lid with a strip of masking tape. With the hidden timer now activated and silently running, he stepped over to his office window. Spotting Hogan, he tapped on the glass with his knuckle and gestured him inside.

  “Take a minute and run this out to the helicopter,” he instructed.

  “Right away, boss.”

  Marino shut the door after him and returned to his desk, feigning an expression of mild satisfaction to have this minor business removed from their agenda. “Okay, now where were we?” he asked. “You said you wanted to discuss a few matters before heading down to your estate?”