"I like to see it as the second temptation. But, yes, I know you're eager to ask if there will be a third, of course. And I can bet my NetEase shares that you will give in soon enough. So now tell me what I need to know."
Eric turned back to the map spread across the table and peered at the painting through the magnifying lens in his hand. He moved the lens slowly across the map while Harry watched him keenly.
Then Eric gasped. Harry pretended not to hear him and continued sipping his champagne.
"I think y-you have to see this," Eric stuttered excitedly.
Harry feigned disinterest and didn't move a muscle. It was a tactic he used in many business deals. People always put in more effort or divulge more information than required to get you interested.
Eric moved with the painting to get closer to Harry, but Harry feared Eric might get clumsy and ruin the painting, so he reluctantly went over to Eric's side.
Harry stared at the painting for a few seconds.
"Here," Eric said, handing him the magnifying glass. "Have a better look."
Sure enough, there was a heart surrounded by flames. Harry could swear it was beating, but that could be due to the almost empty glass of champagne.
"This flaming heart right here"—Eric pointed to a figure on the painting—"can be said to represent the undying love of the savior who gave his life for the sinful world. The thorns epitomize his suffering, his patience with humankind who meted out so much suffering to him and even to themselves…" Eric's voice trailed off, and he swallowed uneasily as he was overwhelmed with emotion.
Harry snorted and took another sip from his glass. He walked over to Eric and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. The older man pursed his lips as he checked his emotions.
Eric looked up at Harry with his rheumy eyes filled with deep empathy.
"Love so amazing, so divine. All from a heart that still beats for you and me." Eric's voice took a slightly higher pitch at the end of the sentence. His eyes were fastened to Harry's face waiting for that door to open.
Harry sniffled and stared at his drink for a moment. He looked as though he was struggling with a tough decision within himself. Eric winced as Harry's grip tightened on his shoulder.
"Tell me what that heart is doing right there in the painting." Harry's tone was not exactly menacing, but Eric knew what Harry wanted to hear this time.
"The symbol represents a beating heart, the very essence of life. In ancient times, the heart was ripped out from the chest of living victims and was sacrificed to the gods. Therefore, the heart must be from very healthy and strong victims. The executioners usually presented the hearts with the blood still pumping out of the aorta."
Harry's grip loosed on Eric's shoulder, his hands fell to his side, and he sat on the table with a faraway look in his eyes.
"I'm sorry if you found the brief narration rather unsettling," Eric said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. However, Harry soon deflated his short-lived victory as he paid him no heed.
There was a ruthless glint in Harry's eyes; Eric thought it was scary and shuddered a little.
"They believed that without the sacrifice, sunrise would cease, and there would be an apocalypse," Eric continued.
"Now, keep looking for answers, Eric. Otherwise, that apocalypse will happen faster than you expected," Harry retorted.
A slight frown crossed Eric's face. He was somewhat disturbed by Harry's words but not as much as the puzzle before him.
"I must say I find it rather unusual that Thomas Well is included in the painting. It's like someone is trying to say something…."
"Which is what I called you to find out," Harry cut in impatiently.
"There is certainly a connection between the well and the heart. But, I'm afraid I will need some more time to figure it out," Eric stated.
Harry sighed and poured himself another drink.
There was a gentle rap on the door followed by a push.
"Dad?" April called from the other side of the door. "I know you are busy at the moment, but I'd like to talk to you about something important."
"Can't it wait until later?" Harry asked.
"Please, Dad."
Harry was at the door in two strides. He let April in and moved to the farther end of the table to talk in private.
But as soon as April stepped into the room, the older man seated with his shoulders hunched over the table caught her attention. As she drew closer, she could not recognize the man because he sat with his back to her, and she could not see his face.
She was curious to see what he was doing, and she strode towards her father. As April walked past the older man, her eyes fell on the painting, and for a moment, she stopped in her tracks, too surprised to move.
Eric was disrupted by the shadow that had fallen over the table, and he lifted his eyes to see a young woman staring at the painting. There was no doubt she was related to Harry; the hair and the stubborn chin were hard to miss. Yet, there was that ruthless confidence about her, just like her father's.
April gave him a very brief smile and a nod before joining her father.
"I take your surprise as an insult," Harry remarked as soon as they were seated.
April knew her father had strong connections in high and deep places, but she was not expecting to see the painting again so soon. Her father wasn't particularly interested in art as a business or hobby either. Sometimes she felt her father lacked any sense of aesthetics, there were only four or five paintings in the house, and one of them curiously was the painting of the first mouse they had found in the place.
"Yes, April. You wanted to discuss something important with me." His sarcasm was rubbed off on April, who was distracted by Eric's mutterings.
"Sculpen..disque lapidibus. Sculpendisque lapidibus?" he muttered to himself.
"What's that?" April asked excitedly.
Eric looked up from the painting. His gaze moved from Harry to April, unsure if he should be talking to April about the painting.
"What are you saying, Eric?" Harry asked.
"There is an inscription here that says, 'Sculpendisque lapidibus, XXXI dash V dash Ex.' It looks so familiar yet so strange. I don't know if it's a reference to another painting or a book."
April went over to Eric's side. Whatever she had come to see her dad for could wait. First, she wanted to get as much as she could about this curious painting.
"Maybe it's a signature or the date it was acquired," she proffered.
"I have no idea what that means. I can't help but remember something a certain Alejandro told some newspaper reporters about two decades ago. I think the journalist who wrote that report was thirsty for news probably because his job was on the line. The article was filled with some mythical nonsense Alejandro had narrated to him. Alejandro was too stunned, and perhaps he had his head bumped against a stone when he gave his report. No one believed him anyway, and no one ever has," Harry explained.
"What happened to Alejandro?" April asked.
"He was working at a mine when it collapsed, and he barely made it out alive. He kept talking about strange things that had happened in there in the mine. But it was hard to know if he was telling the truth because he was found in the most disheveled state. At first, he was barely coherent, and then he started to mention stuff that sounded delusional."
"Any idea where the Well of Thomas is?" April asked Eric.
He shook his head slowly from side to side. He had a feeling Harry didn't want April in this, but the girl was equally bending his arm just like her father.
"Dad, where did you say this man, Alejandro, worked as a miner?"
"In India," he replied.
"So why can't we go to India and find out if the report was true?" April suggested.
Harry wished he had not spoken. Once an idea was stuck in April's head, it was hard to get her to forget it.
"We cannot go to India, April. I have a business to attend to," Harry replied.
"You don't know what you
might find there," April persisted. "If we can find Alejandro or even possibly go to India, it would answer a lot of questions."
"April, I would like to talk to Eric alone," Harry said.
April quietly moved toward the door. She stood at the doorway for a moment, hoping her father would change his mind and call her back, but he insisted she should leave.
Harry gave Eric an icy stare, and Eric shrugged with resignation.
"I couldn't help it, but the truth is that's as much as I could decipher at the moment. I will need some more time to look into this. But I will advise you to leave it well alone," Eric said.
"I didn't call you into this to tell me when and how to give up on a good cause. If I needed that advice, I could have asked for it decades ago when I came to a dead end."
"I'll let you know what I find," Eric muttered.
"That's better. If you don't mind, I have a business lunch, and I don't like to keep others waiting. Thank you for coming."
Harry carefully put a cover over the painting.
He would lock it up in his safe later.
Harry gave Eric some money before he shook hands with him and led him to the door. As Harry pulled back the double doors, April stepped away quickly. She flicked her hair behind her ear nervously and looked elsewhere. It was evident that she had been there long enough to hear everything.
Harry gave her a stern look and walked down the hall with Eric.
___________
Sugarland Regional Airport
Houston, Texas
The car pulled up close to the runway, and April quickly got out while Bernice held her father back in her clutches. She had seen enough of the syrupy nonsense that played out in the backseat, and she could not spend one more minute in the car with them.
April went over to the trunk of the car and picked up her hand luggage. The chauffeur would come with the rest later. April looked through the window and saw Bernice kissing her father. She rolled her eyes in disgust and made her way to the private jet waiting on the runway. On days like this, April was grateful that her father had his airstrip too. She could have the privacy she needed to steam in peace.
She was met by a beautiful air hostess at the top of the stairs when she got onto the plane. April noticed she had not seen her before; she knew almost all the air hostesses and pilots who flew her father's jets.
"Welcome on board, Miss Wordsworth," the air hostess said with a smile, as she took April's hand luggage and put it in an overhead compartment.
"Thank you."
April settled herself into one of the seats by the window. She could see her father's car from there. She watched as her father stepped out of the vehicle, followed by Bernice, who clung to him like a leech. She could imagine Bernice in her fake high-pitched voice trying to convince her father to take her with him.
Harry finally got away from her, and he was moving toward the jet when April noticed Bernice turn around to the trunk and later appeared with a suitcase. There was horror written all over April's face. How on Earth was she ever going to get rid of her father's clingy fiancée?
Bernice was tossed back into the car with her luggage in a couple of minutes, and as the car sped off, April could see her frantically waving out of the window.
"Thank you, Dad," April said as her father got into his seat at the other end.
Harry gave her a quizzical look, then when he realized what she meant, he chuckled.
"She would soon grow tired of me and my money. If I am not mistaken, I am her sixth fiancé in two years. But never mind, that's a talk for matured minds."
"Dad?" April protested.
Her father never stopped reminding her that she was still too young to talk about romantic relationships or have a boyfriend. Her friends had been in two or three relationships, but her father wouldn't let any man near her. Not until she turned twenty-two, he had said. April had always felt he wasn't protecting her heart from being broken into tiny pieces as much as he was keeping gold-diggers from using her as bait.
Harry worked away on his computer, so April busied herself with taking pictures.
"No pictures, April. I did not bring you onboard my private jet to show the world how they could get to me. So, wipe those pictures off your phone."
"But Dad—" April started.
"Now."
April reluctantly deleted everything. She was in a sour mood for some time and made a mental note not to travel with her father in the same plane next time, but the delectable breakfast soon lifted her spirits again.
April wiped her mouth and fingers with a napkin. The langoustine and ossetria caviar appetizer was a delight anyone could ask for at 30,000 feet. She twirled the mother-of-pearl spoon in her hands, and a victorious smile played at the corner of her lips.
She was not new to the luxuries in her father's private jet, but it was a privilege to fly in this particular one because she rarely got the chance to travel with him, even on holidays.
Bernice had not been too happy that she was left behind, and April was glad they did. Tagging her along would have been more baggage than the overhead compartment in a Boeing 747. Through her half-hearted suggestions and tips on having a great father and daughter time, it was easy to see through her recommendations and advice on having a great father and daughter time. April thought her father could have chosen any of the exquisitely beautiful women who fought for his attention. Even one of the hostesses aboard the flight would make an excellent choice.
April picked a grape and popped it into her mouth as she stared outside the window. The view was breathtaking, and the weather so perfect. It had not been easy convincing her father to get on this trip.
Although Harry had mentioned the possibility of Alejandro's mythical story having some truth in it, he was very reluctant about going to India.
April couldn't understand why her father could not just follow his heart and do the search. He had said everything was a calculated risk, and he could only spend money if there were more significant financial rewards.
While Harry feared it might be a wild goose chase, April thought it was a chance to go on some adventure. She looked forward to sampling the spiced curry dishes she had heard so much about and try out the best saris she could find. She couldn’t resist the thought of making an impression on Raja’s sson. Or figure out ways to get rid of Bernice while meditating in a temple.
She could take all the pictures she wanted and dance with the maidens at the traditional weddings if she wanted to, without her father breathing down her neck.
Harry reclined his seat and settled into a much-needed nap. But, unfortunately, he had been awake the previous night with some serious business. Harry heard about an untapped market in India, and he planned to spend more time fishing out the bigwigs to get a leg in that market.
___________
Omaha, Nebraska
Eric’s aerophobia made him spend almost two days traveling by train. Iin his days as a priest, he popularized the saying, ‘there’s no olympic medal for the dead that got there on time.’ He said the same thing to a fellow passenger in his 50’s that sat across from him, and they laughed about it. The passenger who later became his friend told him a story of how he once embarked on a journey to Houston via train, wearing only his pajamas. He was so anxious to propose to the love of his life that he forgot everything else but the road to the train station. They laughed about it, and shared more tales about their aviophobia.
His next stop was at a veterinary clinic. An old time friend owned, but unlike him, he had workers that managed the place for him. At the desk, he met a young man in his early twenties who had shaggy hair that had refused to conform to the rules of gelling. He was nothing like the sweet old lady who had taken to the chipmunk at first sight. Eric had had a feeling when he dropped off his pet that the lady wanted the chipmunk to herself.
The man with the shaggy hair was deeply engrossed in whatever he was staring at in his phone. Eric tapped the desk to get his attention.
"Hello, I would like to pick up my chipmunk, please." He brought out a card from his pocket and placed it on the desk.
The young man looked at the card and looked him over, then soon his head.
"I dropped my chipmunk here with some lady. Mrs. Svensson was her name," Eric insisted.
"Oh, that's right. Mrs. Svensson couldn't trust anyone else to take care of your pet, so she went home with it. I'm sorry about that. Could you come back tomorrow for it? I'll also get across to her so she can call you as soon as possible to come and pick it up."
"Thank you," Eric replied.
He wasn't happy that he couldn't pick up his pet, but he was glad it was in safe hands.
Eric hailed a taxi and made straight for his cottage. He felt a little uneasy and asked the driver to stop at a restaurant so he could grab a bite. Eric had a feeling that someone was closely watching him. After his meal, he took another taxi and made for his cottage. His pets were so happy to see him on his arrival, and Eric was glad to be back home too.
"Hey buddy, how have you been?" he asked his macaque as the animal climbed all over him. "Sorry, some old lady is fascinated with the poor chipmunk so I couldn't bring him home today."
Eric thought he heard a noise outside his door and went to check through the window, but he didn't see anybody.
After playing with his pets, Eric settled down at his desk with the picture of the relics and symbols, trying to make meaning of them. He knew Harry was expecting an answer as soon as possible.
Some names that popped up under his magnifying glass weren’t Italian or Spanish. He looked up the origin of the name Xipil Tezcacoatl and discovered that it had Aztec origin.
“Wait a minute. I could be staring at the only proof of a lost treasure here.”
Eric was surprised to learn that more than two thousand people were already trying to figure out the symbols too. Harry’s daughter must have revealed too much information in her blog.
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Chapter Four
The Lost Treasure of the Aztec Kings Page 3