Abe snapped so fast that Lori scarcely realized what was happening when he moved. Without warning, the wealthy humanitarian snapped a flashy Sig Sauer pistol and pointed it directly into Laffy’s face, causing an immediate hush from the Canadian.
Lori was shocked speechless.
“We need to move fast,” Abe insisted behind his weapon. “I’m not asking to borrow your helicopter. I’m demanding it.”
“Whoa, wait a second,” Lori protested. “What are you doing?”
Abe turned a menacing eye to her. “We have no choice. If the Zapatistas catch Matt and find the Talking Cross, they will have direct access to God’s power. They’ll be an unstoppable force taking revenge upon a world they believe has neglected them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lori said. “The cross is nothing more than a relic.”
Abe’s voice grew more stern. “If that’s the case, then why is it hidden behind a trail of riddles and clues? Why are the Zapatistas looking for it?”
“We don’t know that they are,” Lori argued.
Tarah stepped in beside Abe, cozying up behind the pistol. “They’ve never stopped looking for it,” she said, her voice suddenly slithery.
Lori couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Was she being threatened too?
“It’s going to be dark soon,” Laffy dared to point out, his voice trembling. “We’ll never find that marker in the dark, not even with my helicopter.”
Abe lowered his gun, much to Laffy’s evident relief. Abe smiled. “There now. I knew we could press upon your cooperative nature.”
“He’s right,” Tarah interjected. “We won’t find the next marker in the dark.”
“And neither will the Zapatistas. That’ll buy us some time to prepare.”
Deception
Lori sat quietly in the front seat of the 4-Runner as Tarah drove them out of the jungle. Laffy sat sulking in the back. She couldn’t blame him. The whole scene back at the ball and pillar had been unsettling, to say the least. She didn’t like the way Abe immediately used his pistol on Laffy. In fact, she hadn’t even known Abe was carrying a weapon until that moment.
Why was a humanitarian aide worker so readily armed?
The small taillights of the Polaris bobbed a short distance ahead with Abe at the controls. Before he had pulled ahead so far into the twilight she’d noticed him fumbling with some sort of radio or satellite phone he’d earlier retrieved from the back of the 4-Runner. Who could he possibly be contacting?
Lori wasn’t sure if it was Abe’s pistol or the graying sky that sulled her mood but as they drove out of the jungle she couldn’t help but reflect upon the events that had led her to that moment. The hunt for Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl’s true destination. Dr. Webb’s disappearance. The cavern collapse and her fortunate rescue. None of it made any sense and yet, somehow it all fit together, sending her on a manhunt that may lead to nothing more than capture by the Zapatistas. She was becoming more and more certain of that grim and circumstantial prospect.
Then, as if she needed another reason to depress her mood, her mind suddenly flashed an image of Dr. Peet, sitting in the Mayaland Resort luxury suite. For all she knew, it could have been their last day together – she couldn’t recall quite clearly.
Had she only known what would happen.
The memory carried with it a despairing gloom. Lori’s head ached and her mood was as depressed as the hunkering stars slowly filling the placid sky. She hadn’t realized they’d reached Laffy’s trailer until Tarah’s headlights reflected off the windshield of a Jeep parked just ahead, projecting a bolt of pain through her head. Wincing, and with her fingers pressed against her temple, Lori suddenly realized there were more than a dozen vehicles parked around the trailer. Abe and the four-wheeler were nowhere in sight.
And that’s when she saw the guns.
They were everywhere, on everyone, strapped in shoulder harnesses, thigh straps and hip holsters. There were assault rifles cradled in arms and slung over shoulders. There were even a few propped up against the vehicles and who knew the arsenal count hidden inside them.
Lori’s heart stopped. They were driving smack dab into a paramilitary gathering.
The Zapatistas!
“They found us!” she gasped. “Turn around now!”
Tarah didn’t pay attention. Her eyes remained fixed on the scene before them, as if surveying their options. Lori slid down in her seat. Any minute now the Zapatistas might open fire on them.
“Tarah!” she implored. “Turn around.”
The 4-Runner came to a rolling stop and to Lori’s relief, Tarah finally reached for the gear selector.
And shifted into park.
* * * *
Abe abandoned the four-wheeler for the armed men milling around at the center of the parked vehicles. Their response time was impressive, beyond his expectations, actually.
Rafi was the first to spot him.
“Where have you been, Abe?” he asked. “We’ve been trying to call you.”
“I’ve been out of service,” Abe said, “chasing after puzzle pieces.”
Rafi grinned. “Well I think you’re going to like this,” he said. “We found the biggest piece of all.”
“So fill me in,” Abe said.
“Sonjay found the Jeep in the jungle about four hours ago. He left a patrol with it and came back to gather the troops. We were just heading back up there when you called.”
“Good timing,” Abe mumbled. “And there was just one vehicle?”
“Just the Jeep. It was empty. Not so much as a gum wrapper between the seats.”
They’d approached a small group still sporting their FN Scars. Sonjay had already spotted Abe and pulled out of the ranks. “You’ve never been very observant, Rafi,” he snarled. He grabbed Abe’s hand and embraced him briefly about the shoulder. “It’s about time,” he said. “We were afraid we’d be doing this without you.”
“What did you find in the Jeep?”
“The tailgate’s full of bullets. Then we found this beneath a seat.” Sonjay flipped a spent cartridge between his fingers. “.223 Remington,” he continued. “It’s one of ours.”
“Perfect,” Abe said. “If he’s come this far then he must have the cross.”
“Who has what cross?”
Abe spun around to find Lori fast approaching, hot on Tarah’s heels. A furrow deepened between Lori’s eyes.
Tarah passed an irritable look at Abe before turning back to the girl. “The Zapatistas,” she intercepted. “They must have the Talking Cross.”
By Lori’s steady glare, Abe could tell she wasn’t buying it.
“Who are all these people?” she asked in a tone of accusation.
“Protection,” Abe said simply as he turned to walk away. He didn’t have time for Lori’s questions. With every wasted minute the Talking Cross was one minute closer to The Calendar; one minute closer to God.
Within a couple of strides Lori was back at his side, matching him step for step. “This is a bit militaristic, don’t you think?”
Abe had reached Sonjay’s Jeep and just as he’d expected, his Scar waited for him there. He picked it up, pleased to find a loaded magazine already in place. “Did you honestly believe the three of us could take on the Zapatistas alone in the jungle?” he asked flatly.
Lori’s heels dug in even deeper. “So you’ve got a troop of paramilitaries of your own? These aren’t exactly locals you have here. They look more…Middle-Eastern.”
Abe checked the safety on his gun, silently cursing Lori’s scrutiny.
Lori’s eyes narrowed. “You’re looking for the Talking Cross, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Abe snapped back. “If the cross leads us to Matt Webb, then yes, I am looking for it.”
“What makes you think Dr. Webb has it?” Lori challenged. “We don’t know that he’s even found the fourth clue yet.”
Abe was getting irritable, a condition that only worsened when he realized Sonjay and Rafi w
ere watching him, observing how he was handling this aggravation.
He pulled the magazine from his rifle and feigned a quick bullet count. “Why else would the cathedral be missing a cross?” Abe snapped, slipping each bullet back into the magazine. “The fourth clue would be useless if he didn’t already have it.”
Lori crossed her arms defiantly. “I never told you about the missing chapel crucifix.”
Abe hesitated, checking himself. “Sure you did,” he growled. “Back in Tunkuruchu.”
Lori was adamant. “I only told you about the fresco I saw in the cavern,” she argued.
“You’re confused, Lori,” Abe said irritably. “Concussions have a way of confusing short term memory.”
Lori shook her head. The furrow on her brow deepened, her eyes became more piercing. “No,” she said. “You’ve been looking for the Talking Cross this whole time,” she accused. “That’s how you came to find me in the cenote, isn’t it? You were looking for the Talking Cross before you ever knew Dr. Webb was missing.”
Heat began to rise in Abe’s face. Lori was plucking his last nerve. He suddenly regretted letting her tag along. Sure, she’d decoded the clues that had gotten them this far but as far as he could tell her usefulness was about to reach its end. Not that he expected her cooperation from this point forward anyway. If his troops could reach Matt and his partner before the Zapatistas found them, he could just as easily use the scientists to decipher any more clues that may lay ahead.
“What does that pillar lead to, if not the Talking Cross?” Lori asked with a tone of distrust.
Abe couldn’t stand that smart look of suspicion smeared across Lori’s face. He spun on her but before he could train his Sig Sauer on her, Tarah came to his rescue. With Lori focused on him, Tarah easily swooped in from behind and slipped a black, plastic garbage sack over her head. Lori fought for a moment but Tarah easily dominated her, throwing her to the ground and tying her hands behind her back.
“Enough with the fifty questions already,” Tarah said quite collectively.
Lori spat something back from under the hood but Abe had turned away by then, retiring the pistol once again as he addressed Rafi and Sonjay.
“Tell the men to collect their gear,” he ordered. “We’ll pick up the trail from here.”
Olmec
The jungle was growing thicker and less predictable the further Peet led the group away from Matt’s Jeep. That was to be expected. At the same time the swarming insects seemed to be thinning. That was pleasantly unexpected. So far, fortune seemed to be in their favor for they quickly found a faint trail that made traversing the jungle a little easier. But the game must have been small for the trail often ducked under limbs and through brush that would have been impassible were it not for the machete wearing blisters into Peet’s palms.
Over the past few hours they’d quickly packed food and supplies and drove as deep into the jungle as the two-track roads would allow. By late afternoon they were well on their way, approaching the base of the volcano on what seemed to be a blind trek to find a needle in a haystack. As the jungle grew dense he realized they could easily miss whatever feature Matt was looking for by only a matter of yards. Nonetheless, having found no service for Matt’s GPS, they continued on by the guidance of John’s compass toward an ancient trading route he knew.
Matt followed close behind, readily available to share the clearing duties through the thickest jungle. KC groaned somewhere in line between Matt and Father Ruiz. She’d given up lamenting about her favor for the air and traded it for frustrated moans as she shifted the weight of her pack strapped over her sweat-moist shoulders. However, her complaints were quickly submerged by John’s speculations on the importance of Tacana’s cleft through Izapan cosmology.
“Clefts played a significant role in Mesoamerican cultures,” John said, dodging a limb that backlashed from KC’s passing. “They are a constant presence in Izapan stelae.”
Peet was familiar with Mesoamerican clefts. Whether represented by caves, the gaping mouths of animals, or the seats of enthroned kings, clefts were portals to the underworld.
“In early Izapan mythology, the cleft on Tacana was viewed as a creation place,” John continued.
Portals to the underworld and wombs of creation—the mystical dual purpose of Mesoamerican clefts.
“Sounds like the perfect location for the conception of the very first Long Count Calendar,” Matt offered.
“Maybe. But the significance of Tacana’s cleft goes way back to the Olmec culture,” John said. “In fact, Izapa was a culture in transition between the Olmec and Maya.”
“Because of the cleft.”
“The cleft is only part of the story,” John continued. “It’s not only a place of creation, but to the Olmec and early Izapan tradition, the sky above Tacana was the center of creation. After all, the North Star hovers nearby. The early Olmecs must have noticed the skies rotating around the North Star and therefore determined that to be the center of creation.”
“But the Tacana cleft is twenty-three degrees off from true north,” Peet argued as he took a slash at a tangle of vines.
“Yes,” John agreed. “However, consider the night sky on the December solstice during the seventh Baktun. To the Olmecs, the Big Dipper appeared to rise directly out of the Tacana cleft after sunset, traveled around the North Star and set at sunrise. This event was translated into Olmec mythology.”
“You’re talking about the reign of Seven Macaw,” Matt guessed.
“Exactly. For two thousand years the Big Dipper, representing Seven Macaw, reigned at the center of creation.”
“You mean it stopped?” KC asked.
The fact that KC was following the conversation at all surprised Peet. Of course, the conversation may have simply provided a distraction from her discomfort, but she’d lost that sarcastic tone that had dominated her comments back at the throne and pillar. Dare he suppose that she’d picked up an interest in Mesoamerican astronomy?
John sounded eager to educate his audience. “Beginning around 1000 BC, the Big Dipper started slipping away from the North Star due to precession.”
“Precession?”
“It’s the way the earth’s wobble causes the stars to shift out of alignment,” Peet explained, pausing at the top of an incline to allow the group to catch their breath. John wasn’t the only educator encouraged by an interested student.
“Increasingly since, the Big Dipper has been falling further and further away from the North Star,” John said.
KC slipped the pack from her shoulders and took a relieved sigh. She arched her weary back which effectively protruded her breasts against the damp front of her sleeveless shirt. Peet took notice, but he observed that Matt had too.
“So Seven Macaw is falling out of the center of creation,” KC clarified.
Peet appreciated her genuine interest, but found himself admiring too long for she caught him staring. He quickly turned away, but not before catching the grin she shot back at him.
It wasn’t until then that Peet checked himself. This wasn’t Lori he was esteeming, but a spark of that same level of regard had suddenly struck him like a bolt out of nowhere. Why now? Where did it come from?
For a brief moment he lamented that it might be a residue response left in Lori absence. He missed the connection he’d once had with Lori, but Lori had been a student. KC wasn’t. There was no need to hide a moment of admiration from her. And that’s when he realized that KC offered an opportunity that Lori couldn’t—a deeper connection that he’d denied himself for so long.
All of a sudden, surrounded by the enclosing jungle, he found himself standing in new territory. He faced a whole new world of thought in a wilderness he’d never before considered.
John didn’t seem to notice.
“The North Star turned out to be a deceptive center of creation,” he was saying, “with a deity that proved just as false.”
“So the Olmecs needed a new center of creation,
” KC said.
John smiled. “They needed a whole new way of thinking. You can imagine how alarming this would have been to them.”
Sierra Madre De Chiapas
Forget finding the forest through the trees, John thought as he stepped over a log swarming with ants and wood rot. It was the mountain he’d lost sight of. The truth was, he was too small to see it through the jungle mist. Thank God for his compass. He never did have a good sense of direction on his own and Matt’s reliance on modern navigational equipment was no help at all when the signal was lost in the trees. But the compass couldn’t fail.
Even still he felt less and less certain they were headed in the right direction.
The chit chat had ceased as their trek became more laborious, yielding his thoughts to inner regrets. He regretted receiving Matt’s call. He wished he hadn’t agreed to meet him in Izapa, but who would have known he’d find himself climbing a volcano? From his organized existence within museum life, John thought accepting Matt’s request would be a refreshing pick up from the holiday lull. The offer had been made even more enticing with the possibility of a new monument revealing more of the Izapan cosmology. The very idea brought back a sense of expectation that always came when approaching new frontiers—the desire that had driven him to first explore Mesoamerica in his youth. Izapa had been his first love and he still treasured it for its mysterious nature.
However, with the weight of his pack now bearing down upon his shoulders and digging into his back, that sense of nostalgia was as distant as those adventurous days of his youth. The insects were more severe than he remembered, the air more sticky, and his legs weren’t as willing to maneuver through heavy vegetation and dead fall. And as the canopy arranged consuming patches of shadow upon dense stands of trees, and every sliver of things between them, he was reminded yet again that his eyesight was nothing like it used to be either.
To make matters worse, he was following a colleague suddenly very unfamiliar to him.
Matt Webb—the man who’d shared a deep interest in Mesoamerican cultures, the man who’d swapped tidbits of knowledge across their respective campuses—that Matt Webb could not be the same man who’d possess enough stealth to cheat a museum’s highly sophisticated security system. This couldn’t be the same man that stole a pillar ball, much less the Effigy of Quetzalcoatl. What had changed? What kind of desperation would drive an archaeologist to such drastic measures?
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