Aztec Gold (3 page)

Cynthia didn’t know which was worse—the pollution along the congested roadways of Mexico City or the jungle air that seemed to clog the lungs and pores with its dense humidity.

Day two into the exploration and her clothes were perpetually drenched with a combination of her own sweat, the intense damp of the jungle and the rains that settled over them each afternoon. Today’s rain was luckily just a fine mist, although the remnants of yesterday’s heavy downpour had left the ground beneath their feet sloppy, making their path sometimes treacherous.

As her one foot sank an inch or two into the mud of the jungle floor, she yanked the other foot upward and a loud sucking sound filled the air as the thick soil pulled at her boot before releasing its hold.

“This reminds me of a trek I did a couple of years ago. Rained for days,” Dani complained from behind her, slogging noisily across the wet, uncertain ground.

“Hopefully this mist will let up soon. It would be nice to reach the village before nightfall.” Cynthia released her grip on the straps of her knapsack, wanting her hands free to break her fall in case the precarious footing sent her tumbling.

“This is a cakewalk compared to my last gig,” Rogers tossed out from in front of them as he plowed forward, seemingly unfazed by the conditions. He was a tall man, well built for his fifty-something years and with a head of dark hair beginning to show a hint of distinguished silver at the temples. He seemed to be bearing the weight of his heavy pack with little effort.

In front of him was the team leader—Hernandez—with one of the native travel guides. Hernandez was about a decade younger and devilishly handsome. Shorter than Rogers, but with thicker powerful-looking muscle.

Bringing up the rear was Booth with another group of locals who herded two small burros that were carrying their heavier equipment and supplies.

If there was a runt to their litter, it was Booth. Not much taller than Cynthia and Dani, he was sandy haired and slight of build with an almost elfin look about him. It made him appear younger than his thirty-something age.

She glanced over her shoulder at Dani and rolled her eyes as Rogers continued to pontificate about his earlier travels. Since Director Gardner’s announcement of the team and who would be heading it, Rogers had made it a point to bring up his past experience at each and every turn. His presence close to Hernandez was another action intended to assert a claim to the leadership of the team, but Cynthia had chosen to ignore his games.

When the time came for the decision making, she was sure Hernandez would remind one and all who was in charge.

Dani, however, appeared to have no reticence in setting Rogers in his place. “Those hardships must be rough on a guy your age. You’re lucky that Dr. Hernandez understands the benefits that being older can bring.”

With an annoyed huff, Rogers focused his attention on the path before them.

Cynthia shot her friend a grateful smile before likewise concentrating on not only her footing, but the landscape around them, which grew lusher the deeper they traveled into the jungle.

According to the first team sent to track down Rafe and his group, as well as the many people she had spoken to during the months she had spent searching for information on Rafe, he and his team had made it to the initial settlement where they would camp that night. Led there by their Mexican guides, Rafe’s group had rested overnight and then had gone on alone for the last segment of the trip. Neither the guides nor any of the villagers would dare to enter
la selva del Diablo
—the Devil’s Jungle.

Cynthia and her team members would venture into that area in the morning, hopefully with a better outcome than that of Rafe’s team. They had planned more cautiously and with safety in mind given the disappearance of their colleagues. Maybe even possibly due to Cordero’s admonishments about the demon. Part of that prudent preparation included taking additional satellite phones together with a compact shortwave radio in case of any emergencies.

They were also better armed. All of their guides carried rifles or pistols, as did each of the team members. As Cynthia’s hand shifted over the small pistol in the holster at her hip, she hoped she wouldn’t have need of it. If she did, however, the training her father had given her during their many travels would finally come in handy, as would the self-defense classes her mother had insisted on when she was younger due to her petite size and the remote locations they often visited. Add to those skills the ones she had learned in the survival course she had taken with Rafe, and she hoped she was set.

Of course, she also wished that none of those precautions would be necessary and that Rafe’s disappearance could be explained by something other than an ancient Aztec demon goddess.

They reached the settlement at the edge of the Devil’s Jungle when dusk was about to fall. During the course of the day the sun had risen high overhead, drying the soil and making their footing more stable but increasing the heat and humidity. Every bit of clothing on Cynthia was soaked and the fabric dragged and pulled with every step.

The sight of the small but carefully tended village was a welcome one.

The
pueblo
had been built in a narrow valley created by volcanic explosions that had occurred millennia earlier. The eruptions had formed a squat ridge of rugged hillsides that sprang up out of the jungle. At the farthest end of the valley, the land flattened once more and heralded the start of the Devil’s Jungle.

A collection of two dozen or so adobe homes with thatched roofs surrounded a
zocalo
—a town square—in the center of the valley. In the middle of the
zocalo
sat a rough-hewn stone fountain. Cynthia’s mouth watered at the thought of a sip of what she hoped would be clear, cool water from an underground spring.

The hillsides of the valley had been cleared of the thick jungle vegetation and planted using terraces cut into the ridges to increase the arable land and prevent mudslides during the rainy season. The practice was one the ancient Aztecs had used successfully centuries earlier.

To the farthest side of the village spread a flat area that had been cleared for sporting events. A rectangular field of packed dirt had two large stone rings at either end. A group of boys was kicking around a soccer ball, and as Cynthia watched, one of them sent the ball sailing through the stone ring.

Tlachtli
, she thought, recalling the name of the ancient Aztec ball game as they continued toward the entrance to the village.

At the group’s approach through the mouth of the valley, a half a dozen or so villagers set out from the settlement and met them halfway. Hernandez seemed to have quite a rapport with the settlers. He had explained to his team during the trek through the jungle that many of the villagers had left their European ways back in Mexico City to embrace the culture of their Aztec ancestors. They referred to themselves as the Mexica people, refusing to use the name Aztec to identify themselves since it was given to them by the men who had stolen their land.

As Hernandez explained to the settlers in Spanish that Cynthia was familiar with their language and ways, a striking middle-aged man who had led the settlers faced her way and held out his hand. “We welcome you to
Quetzalxochitl
and hope you will have a comfortable night here before going on your way,” he said to her, but not in Spanish. Instead he used one of the Nahuatl variations that had survived the Spanish conquest of the indigenous tribes.

He wore a cotton loincloth and a cotton wrap around his shoulders. The fabric was decorated with bright colorful geometric motifs that identified him as the
calpulli
, or leader, of the settlers. The others behind him also wore loose, flowing cotton clothing in deference to the heat and humidity. The men were in loincloths and wraps, while the women dressed in sleeveless blouses and loose wraparound skirts.

Cynthia bowed her head respectfully to the
calpulli
and responded in kind, dredging up the Nahuatl words she had learned during her years of study. “We thank you for your assistance and understand your desire that we not intrude.”

His manner relaxed somewhat, and with a hint of a smile he released her hand and motioned for her and Hernandez to walk with him.

She fell into step beside the two men while the rest of their group brought up the rear. As they began their walk, the
calpulli
addressed her once again, this time using Spanish. “I assume you are more comfortable in this than our Nahuatl tongue.”

With a deferential nod, she said, “I am comfortable in either, but my team prefers English if that does not bother you.”

“What difference the language of one conqueror over another?” he said to her in English spiced with the exotic qualities of both his Spanish and Nahuatl tongues.

“Very true, but we are not here to conquer—”

“You are here for your friends and for the City of Gold, but I doubt that you will find either,” he said and increased the pace of his strides, almost racing down the path leading to the village.

She and Hernandez chased after him. “Is there some rush, Mr.—”

“Just call me Yolotli Yaotl. I no longer answer to any of the colonial names with which my spirit was imprisoned.”

“Heart of the Warrior,” she said, translating his name. “Why do I sense that you are not happy with—”

He stopped short, nearly causing Hernandez, who was following close behind him, to run him over. From behind Cynthia, Dani jostled her thanks to the abrupt stop.

The Mexica leader faced her and the only emotion evident on the broad planes of his face was fear. “There is talk from the other nearby villages that there is unrest in
la selva del diablo
. My people fear that the unrest has something to do with your friends. That if you stay here too long, the troubles will spread to
Quetzalxochitl
.”

She shot a look over her shoulder at Dani and then back to Hernandez before addressing Yolotli Yaotl once again. “Do you believe our friends are alive?”

“Pity them if they are. Now hurry. You must be safely settled before night comes.”

With a quick burst of speed, the
calpulli
rushed ahead down the dirt path, leaving her staring at his retreating back.

“What do you make of that?” Dani asked as she swung around and took a spot beside Cynthia for the remainder of the short walk to the village.

Booth leaned forward, sticking his shaggy-haired head between them. “I think that he believes Santiago and the rest would be better off dead than being held captive by whatever has them.”

“You mean ‘whoever’ has them?” Rogers said, jostling Booth aside with an elbow and earning a shove back from the younger and slightly homophobic curator.

“Boys,” Dani admonished, a chuckle escaping her before Cynthia shot the two men a warning glare.

“I would suggest you keep your antics under control. Once we leave here, we need to be alert.”

“Who died and made you boss?” Booth chided with a boyish grin that made it hard to get mad.

Rogers mumbled his acknowledgement and then rushed ahead to join Hernandez and the guides much as he had for most of the journey.

Cynthia hadn’t known what to expect once they reached the heart of the village. She had hoped for some friendliness, but what they got was a guarded reception from the settlers who were obviously leery of any outsiders. They apparently had an ongoing battle with the Mexican government about the lands on which they had staked a claim. Because of that, they viewed outsiders as potential spies who would report back any problems that the government could use against them.

Possibly due to the villagers’ suspicions, Cynthia’s group was shown to a clearing far off to one side of the settlement where they pitched their tents and made camp for the evening. As night fell and they gathered around a small campfire to cook some food, some of the more friendly villagers ventured over with fruits and freshly made
txalcalli
, a corn pancake similar to modern-day tortillas. But after the exchange of food and some pleasantries, the villagers hastily fled back to their homes, murmuring concerns about being out too late at night.

Cynthia tried not to read too much into their fears. It was impossible, however, to forget the
calpulli
’s comments about Rafe as night fell.

Almost complete darkness swallowed them up except for the flickering golden light from the campfire. It was an eerie and unnatural kind of gloom to someone who had grown used to the lights of the city. It roused memories of some of the nights she had spent with her parents out in the jungle as they did their research.

It was on a night like this one that they had died, she recalled painfully, and the thought dragged a shiver from her. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the sensation the dark created.

Dani noticed and playfully nudged her, trying to settle her nerves. “Weird, isn’t it? This is the fourth trek I’ve been on and I’ve yet to get used to it.”

Cynthia looked upward at a night sky that was so black, it seemed empty. Only the brightness of the North Star and a few other constellations broke the vast expanse of ebony heavens. The thought came too quick for her to stop it.

Was this the last thing Rafe saw before he died?

Dani knew her too well. “Don’t think about it. Think about finding the temple and what that will mean. Personally. Professionally.”

Professionally?
Cynthia thought. There was only one thing that mattered to her.

“All I want is to find out what happened, Dani. And even though I pray Rafe’s still alive, I need closure if he isn’t.”

Dani tossed a small twig into the campfire. “Don’t give up hope. That’s not like you.”

“Face it, ladies. If Santiago and his team were alive, they’d have been found by now,” Booth said and rose, stretching his arms overhead. Without a good-night, he stepped away from the campfire and toward one of the tents, then slipped inside. The zip of the tent closing was loud in the quiet of the night.