"Okay." I held up my hands. "You win."
"I don't mean to come off as rude. But I take this subject seriously. There's much that modern society needs to learn from the Mayas. Otherwise, we'll repeat their mistakes." She forced a smile. "Well, did you have any trouble getting here?"
"Our boat nearly capsized halfway down the Candelaria River."
She cringed. "That's too bad."
I'd only spent a few minutes with her, but I'd already noticed something curious. Despite her reputation as an environmental guru, she seemed somehow out of place in the jungle.
"Well, we're obviously the salvage experts." I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. "That's Beverly Ginger. The older gentleman—and I use that term loosely—is Dutch Graham."
She nodded at each of us in turn. "I know you don't do this type of work anymore. So, thank you for making an exception in our case."
For the last couple of years, I'd worked as a treasure hunter and salvage expert. But four months ago, I'd quietly pulled myself out of the field.
"No problem," I replied.
"Do you have anything you need me to sign?"
"Not unless we accept the job."
"I thought you'd already accepted it."
"You thought wrong."
"But you came here. We paid your way."
"And I appreciate that. But I'm not going to accept your job until I see it with my own eyes."
"I guess I can understand that." She put her hands on her hips. "Well, what do you need from me?"
"Do you have your INAH paperwork?"
All excavations on Mexican soil required permission from the INAH, or the
Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia
. Most archaeologists praised the organization for protecting Mexico's many unexcavated ruins. But having run afoul of it in the past, I saw things a little differently.
The INAH provided a favored group of people—professional archaeologists—with a monopoly on dig sites. Everyone else was left out in the cold. Even landowners weren't allowed to excavate their own properties.
But while I didn't care for the INAH, I wasn't about to cross it. The punishment for doing so was steep, up to twelve years in prison.
"Yes," she said. "Everything is in order."
"Good." I nodded at her two comrades. "Who are they?"
"Rigoberta Canul and Jacinto Pacho. They've worked with me for years. If this site bears fruit, they'll be responsible for the actual excavation."
Miranda was the archaeological equivalent of Alexander Dumas. Dumas had employed a team of assistants to help write most of his works. In fact,
The Count of Monte Cristo
, one of his most famous creations, was actually the brainchild of Auguste Maquet.
Like Dumas, Miranda employed assistants. They managed her various excavations throughout Central America. When she wasn't writing books or giving interviews, she traveled back and forth between her excavations, providing management and oversight.
I turned toward Rigoberta. She was well nourished, but not fat. Her smooth complexion gave her a youthful appearance, but her demeanor and slow reflexes suggested an older age.
I shook her hand. "And who is this?" I asked with a nod at the tiny Chihuahua cradled in her arms.
"Yohl Ik'nal," she replied happily. "She's named after the first known female ruler in Maya history."
Pacho was much younger, probably in his late twenties. Thick glasses obscured his hazel eyes. His face was etched in a permanent scowl.
He shook my hand with a firm grip. "That's not the only dog around here."
I followed his gaze to a large tree. An old American foxhound napped beneath it. His coat was a fine mixture of black, white, and bronze. "What's his name?" I asked.
"Alonzo."
"He looks tired."
"Nah. He's just lazy."
A few voices drifted into my ears. My gaze shifted to three people standing about twenty feet away from Alonzo. One man stared into the jungle. Meanwhile, the second man and a woman argued loudly. "Who's the loner?" I asked.
"Carlos Tum," Miranda said. "He's sort of an archaeologist."
"Sort of?"
"He doesn't have a degree. But he knows this jungle and its ruins better than anyone. We actually grew up together. I left to pursue archaeology. He stayed behind in order to master the family business."
"What kind of business?"
"Shamanism."
My eyes widened.
"The couple is Dora and Renau Manero," Miranda continued. "They specialize in deciphering ancient Maya hieroglyphics."
"Do they always fight like that?"
"Pretty much."
I studied the clearing. A single dome-shaped tent with multiple openings occupied one end of it. It housed a long table as well as two racks of shovels, trowels, and other tools. A large yellow tractor was parked nearby.
"So, when did the flooding start?" I asked.
"Eighteen hours ago. The tomb has held up so far, but I don't think it'll last much longer."
"Show me."
She walked to the dig site. It had been sectioned off into a neat grid. A single layer of topsoil had been stripped from the earth and placed into metal buckets. Those buckets now sat under the dome tent, waiting to be sifted.
Miranda was one of the most celebrated archaeologists in the world. But since she split her time between multiple dig sites, I'd wondered about the quality of her work. I was pleased to see the site was in excellent shape and the excavation appeared to be proceeding in an efficient manner.
She stopped next to a large breach in the ground. A thick slab of weathered rock, ten feet square, rested just outside the site. "It's a tomb," she said. "Based on some of the markings we've uncovered as well as the initial stratigraphy tests—"
I held up a hand to stop her. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not here for a lecture. I'm here to see if I can help you. Nothing more, nothing less."
"But—"
"Just tell me about the layout."
Miranda sighed, clearly frustrated. She was used to dealing with careful, methodical people. People who took weeks to make decisions, months to act on them. That wasn't me.
Not in the least bit.
"We used ground penetrating radar to map the subsurface," she said after a moment. "This shaft goes down about twenty feet. The ruins of a stone staircase occupy one side of it. At the bottom, a tunnel branches off to the east. It leads to a large chamber."
"What's inside the chamber?"
She hesitated.
"I need to know what's at risk."
"The tomb is of Maya origin. But its exact contents are a mystery."
I nodded. "Tell me about the cave-in."
She pointed at the slab. "Until eighteen hours ago, that rock covered the shaft. We thought it was just a normal part of the tomb."
"What happened when you removed it?"
"Stale air rushed out of the interior. We heard gushing sounds. Then water appeared and flooded everything. So, we lowered Pacho on a rope to check it out. He reported a collapsed wall inside the tunnel." Miranda stared into the shaft. "We've done our best to monitor the situation since then. Based on the rate of deterioration, I figure we've only got a few more hours before the whole thing collapses."
I glanced into the shaft. Water shimmered and flashed in the blazing sunlight. I was tempted to dive in, anything to relieve the heat. "Why us?"
"Who else was I going to call?" She shrugged helplessly. "We're not trained for this type of work. And our civil servants are inept. Not to mention poorly equipped and greedy. Even if they got here in time, they'd either destroy the tomb or loot it."
I arched an eyebrow.
"Anyway the fewer people who know about this site, the better. This part of Mexico is mired in poverty. Thieves are a major risk."
"I understand why you didn't want to hire anyone else," I said. "But why call us?"
"Dominga Hoil recommended you."
I winced.
"She said you were a treasure hunter. But a good treasure hunter. A man who could recover anything from anywhere under any conditions."
"Did she tell you what happened?"
"Four months ago, she was excavating a small cave in the Maya Mountains," Miranda replied. "A minor earthquake struck the region, causing a partial collapse of her dig site. She said you managed to save some fine examples of Preclassic Maya pottery."
"That's not what I mean."
"I know what you mean. Those deaths weren't your fault."
"Agreed. But they still happened."
"Dominga told me you saved her life and her dig. Votan would've killed her and everyone else if you hadn't stopped him."
Votan was the moniker adopted by a ruthless treasure hunter. For the last six years, he'd ambushed remote archaeological digs throughout Central America, stripping them of valuable artifacts. Other than his name etched on rock, he left nothing behind.
Including survivors.
Until four months ago, just one individual had managed to flee his wrath. That person had reported extensive details to the media. So, when the black helicopter had opened fire on Dominga's dig site, we'd known it was Votan. Before we could react, he'd slaughtered two of her workers. We'd fought back, gunning down several of his men. Eventually, Votan had chosen to retreat.
Miranda gave me a hopeful look. "Will you help me?"
I glanced into the shaft again. After receiving her initial call, I'd thought about turning her down. For all intents and purposes, I'd retired from treasure hunting and salvage work.
And yet, here I was.
"Yeah," I said after a moment. "We'll take the job."
Chapter 2
"Yes, we're treasure hunters," I said. "But for the time being, think of us as salvage archaeologists."
Rigoberta gave me a skeptical look. "How do you figure that? Salvage archaeologists work ahead of new construction, racing to save artifacts from bulldozers."
"We do similar work, but we specialize in extreme salvage jobs. The ones where artifacts are in imminent danger."
"And you're good at that?"
"I like to think so."
"Hopefully, you won't have to excavate anything," Miranda said. "I'd just like the site stabilized. If it collapses, we could lose the context."
For the typical archaeologist, an artifact was a means to an end. A conduit to study an ancient civilization. But an artifact by itself had only limited use. It was often the context—the artifact's physical location and the composition of that location—that provided the greatest insight.
"Don't worry," I replied. "I get it. Your tomb is more than just a tomb. It's an event in time, a preserved piece of history."
Her face softened. "That's right."
"We'll do everything possible to minimize damage to your site. But I can't promise absolute satisfaction. Everything we do will cause some kind of contamination. Make no mistake about it. We're a last resort."
She sighed. "Unfortunately, this is a last resort kind of situation."
"Okay, we'll dry the site, clear the tunnel, and bolster the walls. If a collapse proves unavoidable, we'll remove as many at-risk artifacts as possible, along with the surrounding context. Is that satisfactory?"
She nodded.
I tilted my head at Graham. "He's got the contract. Beverly and I will start setting up while he takes you through it."
As she walked away, I knelt next to the shaft. The water probably originated from the nearby Candelaria River. By removing the slab, Miranda's team had broken a pressure seal, causing the river to flood the tomb. It was an ingenious trap. Simple, yet effective.
Devastatingly effective.
I groaned.
Can this get any worse?
Miranda could only offer us a small sum for the job. When all was said and done, we'd be lucky to cover our expenses. Also, the water had already wreaked havoc on the tomb. Artifacts and context were most likely damaged, if not outright destroyed.
"Cy?"
I swiveled my head toward Miranda. "Yeah?"
"There's something I didn't tell you about the tomb."
"What?"
"We believe it belongs to a man named Xbalanque."
"Does that matter?"
"He lived in the Maya city-state of Palenque during its twilight years."
"Then why was he buried out here?"
"I'm not certain. But he was the chief scribe for Wak Kimi Janahb' Pakal, the last known ruler of Palenque. It was around Pakal's reign that the Mayas started to abandon the southern lowlands."
I frowned.
"I have reason to believe this tomb holds definitive, primary source evidence for what caused the Classic Maya Collapse."
My frown deepened.
"It could be the most significant archaeological discovery in history. If you can save the tomb, you'll be a hero. If not, well …"
Icicles jabbed at my heart.
Yeah, it can get worse. A whole lot worse.
Chapter 3
My hands felt clammy as I shimmied down the rope into the dark abyss. I smelled muck. Tasted musty air.
My legs slid into cold liquid. My boots touched stone. I let go of the rope and moved out of the way, splashing through the two-foot deep water. The rope twisted as Beverly grabbed hold of it.
I took a flashlight out of my satchel. I pointed its pale beam around the space, past a pair of noisy pump hoses. Like the slab that had covered it, the shaft was roughly ten feet long by ten feet wide. The remnants of a steep half-landing staircase clung to its walls. Most of the steps had crumbled to dust and rubble.
A tunnel, lined with stone, ran to the east. Eight feet inside the tunnel, the south wall had collapsed into a giant pile of stones and mud.
Water splashed. Rubber soles thumped against rock. I didn't bother turning around. "What do you make of it?"
"Looks like you were right." Beverly turned on her flashlight. "We've got bubbles and froth along the south wall. A separate channel must connect this place to the river."
"Can you seal it without damaging the stonework?"
She grinned. "What do you think?"
Beverly had spent several years in the Marine Corps as well as at a private military corporation named ShadowFire. During that time, she'd mastered numerous skills, including construction work.