Across the patio, they re-entered the museum at the Aztec Room. They passed jade figurines and terra cotta pottery and even crossed in front of the monolithic Aztec sunstone, an artifact that, until six months ago, Peet had known very little about.
They entered the Toltec exhibit where Frederico finally stopped. “Do you see anything familiar, Dr. Peet?”
Peet quickly scanned the room. He didn’t notice it right away, not until a family of Asian visitors stepped away from the central display. Peet recognized the location from the security camera’s footage, but more importantly, he recognized the dragon-shaped head there on display.
“The Effigy?”
In long, consuming strides he stepped up to the glass display case fashioned to an elaborate pedestal in the center of the room. The magnificent luster of polished jade and turquoise glinted like crown jewels within the thick glass casing. Deep, dark obsidian pupils winked within mother-of-pearl eye inserts. The dragon snarled at him with matched mother-of-pearl teeth.
Peet spun back to the curator. “Is this a replica?”
Frederico smiled and shook his head. “No. This is the real thing. It was returned to us just yesterday.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Archbishop of the Metropolitan Cathedral discovered it in one of the chapels, just before Sunday’s Mass.”
Peet was dumbfounded. “This doesn’t make any sense. John wouldn’t leave a valuable artifact in a cathedral. He’s not even Catholic.”
“Whatever the motives, we lucked out that the Effigy was returned to us unharmed.”
“And John?”
“He remains missing. We have not heard a word from him, but we had not expected to either.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He was taking a month off. He said he wanted to spend the holidays with his wife, back home in Utah.”
Metropolitan Cathedral
Peet was at a total loss when he slipped into his rental car and pulled away from the museum. Nothing made sense. John may have removed the effigy but how or why it ended up in the cathedral was a mystery. No harm no foul, he guessed. That probably explained the FBI’s lack of secrecy in their investigation.
But where was John? Peet quickly checked his cell phone. There were no missed calls. Evidently, John hadn’t returned home yet. Martha swore on her death bed that she’d call the minute he showed up. Peet was worried. If John wasn’t home and if he wasn’t on some dig someplace, where could he be?
He knew of only one other place to check.
* * * *
Churches had a way of intimidating Peet. He hadn’t stepped inside a sanctuary since the day he married Cathy. He couldn’t quite place his finger on what exactly repelled him from them. Perhaps it was the ritual of it all. After all, Peet was as fluid in worship as a dancer with two left feet. Perhaps the very idea of stepping inside a holy place held him back—he being a man who’d desecrated a number of ancient holy places in the name of archaeology. Even he could sense the hypocrisy in that.
There was also a touch of irony in his current situation. He’d always found his late wife’s neighborhood church daunting and yet, now he was about to stroll right through the opulent baroque doors of Mexico City’s Metropolitan Cathedral. The difference was his motive. Here he was at work, and work always made him more comfortable.
The cathedral was a Renaissance, Baroque and Neo-classic conglomerate, attesting to the centuries it took to complete it. Its towering spires and severe bell towers loomed over the Zócalo, creating an elegant profile intended to impress the most jaded of sinners. Maybe that was the point, he thought. Such extreme architecture could only serve to inspire, to lure, to offer a taste of heavenly wonders.
If the exterior was a mere taste, the interior was a lavishing feast. Peet followed a group of ogling tourists through the great portal of the main facade where statues of saints and the Virgin Mary lifted the eyes toward the extravagant clock tower, itself dominated by supreme bell towers from either side. Inside, Peet was struck by the openness and the religious grandeur that assaulted his vision.
While crowds of visitors stammered toward the lofty gilded altars of the central nave, Peet couldn’t help but stop and appreciate the robust columns and cascading chandeliers, all ornately decorated with detail upon detail that spilled onto the walls and archways of the interior. The cathedral didn’t just contain art, it was art itself.
“Profesor?”
Peet turned to find a little Mexican priest with hair as black as his clergy suit approaching. He had a round, imp-like face with a somber undertone, but his eyes were bright and welcoming. “My name is Father Miguel Hernandez Ruiz,” he said in surprisingly fluent English. “Thank you for giving us time to prepare to receive you.”
“I hope you don’t mind. Mr. Espanoza gave me your number.”
The priest smiled. “We are happy to oblige. You can imagine our surprise when we discovered the artifact. Please, follow me. I will show you where it was found.”
Peet turned and followed him down the eastern nave of the cathedral where the sunlight poured through the domed ceiling, highlighting the olive triangular accents above. They passed one gaping chapel alcove after another until half-way down the hall Father Ruiz led Peet through a red velvet rope strung across the nave to prevent visitors from going any further.
A little ways beyond they approached a small chapel with one immediate difference from the others. Its dim portal was enclosed with a heavy metal grill spanning from the immaculate floor to the blocky stone arch high above their heads. The top of the arch was extravagantly detailed with spires and flowing metalwork of its own.
“This is the Chapel of Christ of the Conquistadors,” Father Ruiz explained, unlatching the iron gate within the grill and permitting Peet to step inside the dim interior.
The room was dominated by a large Baroque altarpiece intricately carved with alternating foliage and angels. Small sculptures of saints occupied the chapel’s numerous niches with various images of Christ and paintings of martyred saints scattered throughout. The chapel’s only light came from a small window above the altar, which left many details masked in shadow, including those of a secondary altar standing along the right wall.
That’s where Peet found another priest standing in the deep shadows.
It took a moment to realize he wasn’t looking at a statue. The scarlet skullcap and cassock gave the man away, if not the pectoral cross hanging at his slightly rounded front.
Father Ruiz bowed respectfully and quickly introduced Peet before turning back to announce the priest. “Profesor, this is Cardinal Balbás, the archbishop.”
Cardinal Balbás was not at all what Peet had expected. On his way to the cathedral he envisioned a pope-like figure, aged and withering in flowing vestments. Instead, he was surprised to find the archbishop not too many years older than himself, even younger than Father Ruiz who must have been approaching sixty. Energy flashed in the archbishop’s dark Hispanic eyes while the slightest touch of gray flecked his glossy, raven hair.
“Father Ruiz explains you are antropólogo,” Cardinal Balbás said, stepping forward from his dim corner. “You excavated the Effigy of Quetzalcoatl, no?”
Peet nodded. “My student originally located it. I merely supervised the recovery. But I’ll have to give you credit for the Effigy’s latest recovery.”
The archbishop smiled. “We have something en común, it seems. It was an altar boy who discovered your Effigy here, not I.”
“So this is where the thief left it?”
“The artifact was not simply left,” Cardinal Balbás said. “It was intentionally placed.”
Father Ruiz stepped back. “We found it hanging upon this crucifix.”
Peet turned to find the elaborate crucifix Father Ruiz was studying. It looked old, as antique as the chapel itself.
“How was it hung?” he asked. The Effigy was one solid piece of pure jade with turquoise adornment. It was heavy and cert
ainly not intended to hang from anything, much less a fragile-looking relic like the crucifix.
“It was wrapped with wire in such a way that it could be hung like a picture frame on a wall,” Father Ruiz said.
“Why?”
The priest shrugged. “At first we thought it was an anti-Christ statement.”
“Anti-Christ?”
Cardinal Balbás cleared his throat. “En tiempos bíblico, la serpiente fue el el agente de Satanás.”
“We recognized the Effigy as a physical manifestation of the Feathered Serpent, Quetzalcoatl,” Father Ruiz explained. “You may recall it was Satan manifested as a serpent who convinced Eve to eat the forbidden fruit,” Father Ruiz explained. “However, Genesis 3:15 proclaims God’s triumph over Satan when the serpent is crushed by the heel of Jesus Christ. So to hang an image of the pagan feathered serpent in Christ’s place upon the cross is blasphemous.”
Peet considered the priest’s words a moment. Despite the museum’s evidence, John would never even consider using the Effigy to violate the chapel this way.
However, he knew someone who would.
“This reminds me of a religious experiment that was conducted in Salt Lake City,” Peet said. “Professor Matt Webb from Brigham Young University wanted to expose similarities between religions, so he took items of importance from different religious communities and scattered them amongst themselves. For example, he placed a Jewish Torah in a Muslim mosque, he put the Book of Mormon in a Baptist sanctuary. He even placed a Catholic crucifix in a Jewish synagogue. All to witness the reaction of each religious sect.”
“What were the results?” Father Ruiz asked.
“Just what you might expect. There were a lot of upset people, to say the least. Instead of bringing the religions together with their similarities, his experiment merely highlighted their intolerance for each other. The problem was, he went so far as to place a copy of the Koran in his own Mormon Tabernacle. That move cost him his job at BYU.”
“So this profesor could have placed an image of the Quetzalcoatl deity onto our crucifix?”
Peet shrugged. “It’s a long shot but there is a possibility. Matt was a professor in anthropology with a particular interest in the Mayan culture. He spends a lot of time digging in Yucatan.”
Father Ruiz shared a glance with Cardinal Balbás.
“So your friend has contacts among the Maya people, possibly?” Father Ruiz asked.
Peet frowned, confused. “I don’t know for a fact, but I would assume that he’s worked with the Maya as he studied their culture.”
“Senor Peet,” the archbishop said. “I wonder if you might ayúdeme, ah—assist me.”
Peet was taken aback. “You need my help?”
Cardinal Balbás swept across the enclosed chapel to a collection of small paintings near the main altar. “There are reliquias here dating as far back as this chapel’s construcción in 1615.”
“So the Effigy was left as a reliquary relic?” Peet asked.
Cardinal Balbás shook his head. “After the Effigy was returned to the museo, one of the auxiliary bishops re-sanctified the capilla. It was then that he noticed something amiss with one of the reliquaries on the predella.”
The archbishop removed a small painting, revealing a hidden compartment behind it. “This reliquia is vacant, no? No cruz.”
Despite the poor lighting, Peet could see that indeed, the small, dark compartment was empty.
“Could it be your profesor friend traded the Effigy for the reliquia cross? Maybe he plans to deposit the cross elsewhere?”
Peet felt hesitant. “You’re missing a cross and nothing more?”
Again, the priest caught the archbishop’s eye. “Nothing more.”
Peet shrugged. “I suppose its possible Matt may be extending his religious experiment here, but you must receive a lot of visitors. A tourist could have just as easily taken your cross as a souvenir.”
The archbishop shook his head. “Impossible. This is one of the few capillas we do not allow turistas. It remains locked. Only I have the key.”
“Could someone have picked the lock?”
“The engineer,” Father Ruiz interrupted.
Peet hesitated. “An engineer?”
“Structural engineer. Much of Mexico City is built over a dry lake bed. The catedral rests on an island where the Aztec capitol of Tenochtitlan once stood. But the ground is soft and the catedral is sinking. Major work has been done to stabilize the foundation and one week ago, a crew of engineers came to inspect for weaknesses in the foundation and walls. Under my observation they checked this chapel. Nothing was taken.”
“And they didn’t leave the Effigy.”
The cardinal held up a finger. “Two days ago un ingeniero returned to check a measurement. We let him go. The capilla was locked, as always, and he took only minutos.”
“But long enough to drop off the Effigy and take your reliquary cross, if he had a key.”
“Sí. We cannot explain exactly how he got in. But the cruz is most important.”
“Was the engineer American?”
“No,” Father Ruiz said. “But he wasn’t Mexican either. He looked very much native. Possibly Mayan.”
“Wait a second. Are you suggesting Matt set up one of his Mayan friends to enter this chapel and make the trade?”
“It only makes sense, no?”
Peet shook his head. What kind of mess had he gotten into? First the Effigy, now a reliquary cross. In the middle of it all John Friedman had disappeared and now Matt Webb was vaguely in the picture, with a native posing as an engineer. It all sounded too far-fetched and yet, there was a nagging possibility to it all. And only Matt Webb would find more interest in the Effigy’s religious value than its monetary value. Any other thief would have sold the Effigy for its riches. But Matt wasn’t crafty enough to steal John’s security codes to get into the museum, unless he found another friend to do his dirty work.
A friend like John.
Matt and John were once close friends—two Mesoamerican anthropologists working out of two universities that shared the same town. But could Matt really convince his colleague to rob the museum of the very object that had possessed John for over a year?
It may be possible—if John knew the Effigy would be recovered.
“Let me get this straight,” Peet said. “You want me to track down Matt and get your reliquary cross back.”
The archbishop’s eyes sparkled. “Sí.”
“What if he doesn’t have it?”
“We will worry about that when the time comes. There is much reward for you if he does have it.”
“You mean, if I can get the cross back.”
“If you get it back, there will be mucho recompensa.”
The Ladybug
“When I brought you to Mexico I didn’t agree to no Jesus revival on my plane!”
KC jerked the tie free from the underside of the Twin Commander’s overhead wing. She heard Peet step into The Ladybug’s shadow behind her. The warm Mexican sun had climbed ever higher in the sky, bringing with it a mild temperature inversion that resulted in wind gusts swirling around them.
“He’s just one priest,” Peet reasoned.
“Yeah, and the next thing you know he’ll want to convert us into pious Jesus freaks.” She unhooked the strap from the anchor loop sunk into the tarmac and threw it over her shoulder. The heavy metal latch swung around, missing Peet’s face by inches. “I won’t put up with that. Not on my plane.”
KC had no love for religion. It was bogus. Worship to a god of any sort was comparable to a child keeping an invisible friend. Oh, she’d given religion a try once but it did nothing for her except open her eyes to the hypocrisy of it all. The very advocates of forgiveness, love and morals were the first to criticize, condemn and justify the laws they themselves couldn’t follow. Religion, KC discovered, was nothing more than a feel-good mask to hide the true character inside.
It reminded her of men.
>
If there was anything KC distrusted more than the gods, it was men. The past twenty years had nothing more to show than a long lineup of disappointments. So many men unwilling to commit, who loved her until she peeled away the layers of their own masks and discovered who they truly were. She’d dated Navy pilots, bar flies, a rodeo stock contractor, a business executive and everything in between. She even dated a golf pro once, but every one of them had one thing in common—underlying egos demanding fulfillment of their own needs and outcompeting KC’s longing desires.
Perhaps that’s why she felt safest with her last relationship with a Methodist elder who’d just moved to town. His stability was intoxicating, his tenor voice, seductive. He was real and his openness about the Jesus in his life made him appear vulnerable, and vulnerability implied exposure of the deeper self.
Little did KC know that vulnerability itself was a mask that could cover a man’s mid-life crisis, not to mention the wife and children he left back at home in Memphis.
That was nearly two years ago. After that, KC swore off men but she quickly realized that it was nothing but a mask she had chosen for herself. Deep down inside, there was still that void longing to be filled by a man, a real man who had nothing to hide. Despite the hardened facade she’d perfected externally, inside that yearning was still open to any man who dared look for it.
She hadn’t realized just how open it was until Anthony Peet came along.
There was an instant attraction to him. Something primal within her autonomously reached out for Peet’s subtle masculinity. At first KC tried to ignore it, annoyed at another opportunity for disappointment. But during the flight to Mexico, his presence consumed her. There was an awareness of just how small The Ladybug was and when the anthropologist dared to take a seat in the co-pilot’s chair, KC’s world constricted to that short space between them. It was as if the cockpit of the Twin Commander was compressing around them, intensifying the pull from the man sitting next to her.
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