Aztec Gold

TWENTY FOUR

The canyon soon began to widen, Crouch marveling at the emerging layers of sandstone that continued to make a miracle of the surrounding rock. The miles lay behind and before them, but despite their lack of rest none of them complained of weariness. Yes, the treasure had been waiting five hundred years, and no it could not wait a moment longer. Crouch kept in touch with their benefactor via satphone, carefully arranging their protection and cover for, if and when the find was made — another secure measure in place to negate the effects of Greg Coker and his trailing band of mercenaries.

They negotiated some large boulders that had all but blocked the canyon at some time in the past; an obstruction that might put off all but the most ardent of explorers. Beyond the boulders the slight trail grew into the closest thing yet that resembled a path, twisting away from the broken walls of the Paria and on into the distance. The path turned and bowed but always came back upon itself, following Crouch’s line closely enough that he didn’t feel the need to call a detour. Canyon walls rose and fell to each side; buttes and washes dotted the way, natural springs burbled along time-bled stitches in the rock.

Alicia saw the mushroom-shaped rock first. She stopped and pointed to the right and at the same time Crouch gestured to the left.

“Is that—” Alicia began.

Crouch stared. “A mushroom shaped hoodoo!”

The formation stood hundreds of yards off their track, spiraling up through the wilderness. Nevertheless, a side canyon slid through the rock towards it. Both Healey and Russo started down the narrow ravine, but a few words from Crouch stopped them.

“It’s not right.”

Caitlyn frowned. “Because it doesn’t follow your path?”

“Exactly.”

Now even Alicia felt a touch of frustration. “Michael, it may not be arrow straight. The hoodoo is exactly what we’re looking for. Let’s check it out.”

Crouch wrestled with the problem, a dozen emotions crossing his face. “Damn. All right. Let’s take a look.”

The team threaded their way through the high rock walls, Russo taking the time to watch their backs. “Coker’s men could trap us down here, guys, if they wanted to. It’s a great place for an ambush.”

Alicia grinned. “Sure, John Wayne. Just lead on.”

It took almost a half hour to reach the hoodoo, the shape lengthening and rearing up higher with every step they took toward it. The narrow canyon gradually widened, its walls spreading out as its floor lost much if its steepness.

“Bloody hell,” Crouch moaned. “We’re nearing the valley floor.”

“If that’s the hoodoo,” Caitlyn pointed out. “Then where’s the ‘warning’?”

Alicia recalled the poem. Heed our warning that leads to the mushroom rock.

The team stared into the extensive wilderness, so great that all four directions blended into one gigantic expanse. Alicia circumvented the bulky spire, studying its rocky surface and the floor to all sides. If there had been other boulders or twisted formation close by, she would have examined them also, but the hoodoo stood in its own splendid isolation.

“There’s nothing,” Healey murmured, following her around. “Just… nothing.”

Crouch turned to gaze back up the canyon they’d traversed. “And nothing the way we came,” he said. “No wall writings. No caves. Is this where it ends then?”

Alicia squinted at him. “That doesn’t sound like the Crouch I know and love.”

“To put it bluntly — we’re winging it here. One wrong step and the entire mission is thrown out of whack. What if this is that step?”

“We go back to the last place we’re sure of.” Caitlyn said. “The rock waves.”

“If we’re thrown off the path this easily—” Crouch paused.

“Just remember the arches,” Lex said with a shrug. “We didn’t find just one. I’m damn sure there are a hundred of these friggin’ hoodoo things out here.”

Crouch stared at him. “I guess you’re right.”

Alicia noted the downcast faces, the questioning frowns and saw for the first time, a pall of uncertainty and doubt falling across her team. “It’s ultra-important now that we stay strong,” she said. “Keep to our faith. God knows how many times I’ve said that to myself over the years, but belief is everything. Right now. Right here. If we trust in ourselves that we can do this, we will do it.”

The team chalked it up to a misstep and scrambled back up the canyon, this time going against the slope and finding progress hard. Russo and Healey ranged ahead, alert for any sign of Coker’s men. By the time they reached the spot where they’d strayed from Crouch’s ‘perfect’ line, they were sweating and irritable.

“The next person who says we don’t follow the line,” Crouch growled. “Stays in the desert. We follow the age-old philosophy: ‘Your best guess is always your first’.”

Alicia didn’t respond, and was glad to see Caitlyn holding her tongue. The team took a short break for water and a quick scout of the terrain toward their rear and then started forward once more, following the twisting path. The ridge line dipped and rose, wound left and right, led them past breakneck plunges and across narrow rims. The canyon wall widened and narrowed with every turn, constantly undulating, until even Crouch himself began to wonder if this were the correct path. Twice more he took out his improvised map, doubting himself, wondering where they could possibly have gone wrong.

Perhaps the rock waves weren’t in fact part of the land formation they’d already found. What else?

Then, an abnormality in the rolling formation of the canyon walls caught his eye.

“Look here,” he murmured.

The team gathered around. Crouch indicated the canyon wall to his left. A series of orange figures had been carved into the dark brown wall; men, women and animals with curved horns drawn all in a row. The people had arms outstretched and bent at the elbows, the bodies elongated and the legs strangely short. Other creatures may have existed there at one time — faint depictions of turtles, dogs and snakes that had all but eroded by now. The row of figures led directly toward an altar where a figure lay prostrate, a priestly man with a dagger upraised above him, blood running from its blade.

“A warning?” Healey wondered.

“That leads to the mushroom rock.” Alicia drew their attention to the formation ahead. “This, more than anything yet proves we’re back on the right track.”

Crouch eyed her speculatively. “We hope.” The man’s confidence had taken a severe beating after their wrong turn.

The rock arrangement was called a hoodoo — a thin upstanding spire, narrower through the middle, carrying a wider, almost block-like structure at its apex. A mushroom pillar. It rose out of the lands below, impossibly balanced, both a testament and a defiance of the elements that formed it.

Crouch and Caitlyn barely gave it a glance. “Then beyond the known territory of the braves,” they said in unison. Crouch gave the surrounding lands a shrewd frown.

“All this rock,” he said. “Is known as Navajo limestone. The Colorado Plateau, this part of Arizona, is made up of it. All the lands around here once belonged to the Navajo Indians — whose warriors were often known as braves. The Aztec warriors themselves would have respected the title.”

“Going back to the petroglyphs.” Caitlyn nodded at the rock drawings. “The Aztecs are notorious for their belief in human sacrifice. To them it was a religious practice, simply the cultural tradition of the peoples of Mesoamerica at the time. It might not mean anything.”

“Priests.” Russo shook his head. “Always blood-letting at the heart of religion.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Not true. If you’re referring to today you’re referencing gruesome fanatics twisting religion to accommodate their vile needs. In ancient days the priests believed the gods sacrificed themselves so that man may live. The Aztecs, under pain of death, said ‘Life is because of the Gods; with their sacrifice they gave us life… they produce our sustenance… which nourishes life’. What they’re saying is that ongoing sacrifice sustains the universe.”

“Sacrifice in all its forms.” Alicia surprised herself by joining in the debate. “Not just physical.”

Crouch pointed past the mushroom hoodoo. “Navajo. Hopi. Beyond those lands and past the terraces the old map changes its measurements from the Aztec representation of passing days to one of footprints.” He smiled even wider. “We’re almost there, my friends.”

“But how far do the Indian lands stretch?” Lex asked, the ever-present worried expression turning his young face into a middle-aged man’s.

“Not far.” Crouch checked his maps. “I have current and past versions right here. Beyond the flatlands there, where the ground starts to rise.” He pointed at the middle distance. “That’s where they end.”

“Doesn’t look very hospitable,” the biker grumbled.

“All uninhabited,” Crouch affirmed. “No roads. Barely a trail. We’re already past any known site previously claimed for Montezuma’s treasure. Seems the old prospectors didn’t look far enough.”

“Or deep enough.” Caitlyn thought about Lake Mead and then shrugged. “But not to worry about that, eh?”

The team trudged on, dropping further into the lowlands with every step, now being pounded by the rising sun and lack of shade.

“Just great,” Lex complained. “Perfect. We get the high cold mountains at night and the low hot desert during the day.”

“Stop whining,” Alicia sizzled back at him. “Unless you want me to spank you in front of all these folks.”

Lex blinked quickly and shut up, savvy enough to take Alicia at her word. Crouch grinned at them both.

“Smart man,” he said. “I wouldn’t put anything past our Alicia.”

“Sun’s not fully risen yet,” Russo pointed out. “If we hoof it we can probably get among those small mountain rises ahead before it does.”

Crouch led the way, picking up the pace as they entered the expanse of flatland. Green and brown shrubs dotted a hundred twisting sandy paths. In one place a tiny river turned into a mini-waterfall as it suddenly fell into a round man-sized hole cut into the rocky ground — just another remarkable natural spectacle.

As they approached the rising mountains, Crouch slowed and stared at his map. “So we’re nearing the end of the lands of the braves. Up next we have ‘among the terraces’. Out here… ” he scanned their surroundings. “I’m lost.”

“Great observation.” Alicia bobbed her head, blond hair flying. “Out here — everyone’s lost.”

Russo passed among them. “We have company.”

“What?” Lex almost turned to scan their rear but Russo, thinking him the one most likely to turn and give the game away, placed a huge arm across his shoulders.

“Don’t be a dick.”

Alicia also hugged into Lex. “Big unit?”

“One man.” Russo shrugged, almost lifting Lex off the ground with the simple action. “Must be a scout.”

“But he’ll be in radio contact.” Alicia said, thinking about what had to be done. Ahead, Crouch stared up at the layered mountain as it rose up out of the desert, each fifteen-foot-high level a large step of pure jagged rock jutting toward them in wedges.

Alicia knew they had to draw the scout in. If he was any good he’d be in constant contact with Coker, have eyes on all their party in case someone suddenly vanished, be fully armed, and might even have a secondary spotter further back.

“No choice.” Crouch also seemed to be computing the scenario as he stared up at the multi-ridged mountain. “We have to capture him. It’s the only set-up that buys us time.”

“How long would the cavalry take to get here?” Caitlyn wondered. “If you pushed the button now?”

Crouch smiled at her. “Out here, Caitlyn, that’s a beautiful analogy. They used to film all the old westerns here and over near Kanab.” He seemed lost for a moment, the sentimentalist in him taking over. Alicia imagined what it must have been like watching the legendary Audie Murphy, John Wayne and Alias Smith and Jones gracing the silver screen.

“Michael?” she prompted gently.

“Oh yes. Well, it would take them an hour to mobilize and reach us. But I can’t push the button until we find something definitive. The resources involved in steaming to our rescue in sufficient force are tremendous and it’s not just about money. Entire units and groups of men and women have to literally put their lives on hold to make this happen properly.”

“I get it,” Caitlyn said. Alicia knew Crouch wasn’t just talking about cops or soldiers, he was referencing Aztec specialists around the world, important security professionals that couldn’t afford to order an operation on bad information, key members of the World Heritage Committee, even Interpol would have an interest in Coker and his boss and were ready to lead an operation of their own in conjunction with the United States.

“Oh my God,” Crouch suddenly breathed, still staring up at the ridges rising out of the desert, and then repeated more slowly. “Oh… my… God.”

Alicia raised an eyebrow. Crouch wasn’t exactly known for his proliferate cursing. Now what?

“It’s the mountain,” he whispered. “It’s formed of fucking terraces. Look!”

Alicia looked up. Something that had been staring them in the face all the way across the flat desert now became apparently obvious. The line of the poem ran through her mind — among the terraces — making her heart soar as yet another clue presented before them.

Lex grunted. Alicia realized it had actually been an exuberant shout but thanks to Russo’s arm — as thick as an anaconda — the cry had escaped as little more than a mumble.

Crouch almost fell to his knees, the only thing stopping him the knowledge that Coker’s scout was undoubtedly watching them. He knew they’d already lingered too long. “Drink break,” he said. “I need some time. Just grab a perch and take a break.”

He refrained from breaking out the map, its contents already committed to memory. Still, he wanted to. He was a man of paper and files, and pen and ink; pre-Android. Yes, he could navigate his way around a mainframe universe with the best of them — but he didn’t really enjoy it. Comfort was holding the evidence physically in his hand, not something encased in plastic, metal or rubber.

Among the terraces,

Look between Hummingbird and the Ritual for your final guidance.

The guiding line he’d drawn, now firmly in his mind, dissected the cliffs in half. They should stay on track. He would leave the problem of Coker’s scout for Alicia and her crew to take care of. He took a swig from a water bottle and motioned Caitlyn across. “Any ideas?”

“Only that the Ritual clearly points toward the Aztec belief in sacrifice. Ritual bloodletting was an accepted norm at the time, as customary as vacation time and Sunday trading hours are to us.”

Cruz took over, remembering his lessons. “The Ritual stems chiefly from their primary god, Huitzilopochtli, god of war and symbol of the sun, built around a belief that every day the young Aztec warrior must banish from the sky the creature of darkness using the weapon of sunlight. But every evening he fails and the creatures are reborn. He needs sustenance for his fight and his diet is human blood.”

“And the people accepted this?” Caitlyn wondered. “Their fathers. Sons? Daughters?”

“The priests were a powerful ruling body,” Cruz said. “As were the kings. As the Aztec empire grew it ensnared more captives for human sacrifice. The increase in captives led to the need for more war. And retellings of gruesome, bloody ceremonies strikes terror into the hearts of their enemies.”

“A long-used method in the art of war,” Crouch said.

“Indeed. I have read that when the great pyramid in Tenochtitlan was enlarged in the fifteenth century the resulting ceremony and celebration comprised of so much killing that the lines of victims stretched out of the city and the massacre lasted four days. You think the Spartans were hardened and bloodthirsty? They had nothing on the Aztecs.”

“Non-stop sacrifice,” Crouch said. “And all to their gods.”

“But how does the Ritual help us now?” Caitlyn wondered

Cruz shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps we’ll find an altar up there. But an annual reaping of twenty to fifty thousand victims clearly means something to these people. And with most of them being sacrificed to Huitzilopochtli, the sun god, it is he who is of most importance.”

Crouch eyed the rising sun. “I have a feeling we should hurry. What more do you know of this sun god, Jose?” The boss rose, packing his water bottle away.

“My Aztec knowledge is unfortunately limited,” Cruz admitted. “Gleaned through only a few months of lessons under Carlos, browsing and speed reading. The Nahua tribe and their old ancestors are not my only job function, you know. And they had so many gods—” He shook his head. “Only a professor that devotes his life to their history would know more than a smattering about all of them.”

Crouch gave Caitlyn the eye. “Perhaps you could help?”

The young woman produced a tablet computer. “Equipped with the best signal boosters money can buy, though no doubt we’ll get a better signal out here than in Marble bloody Arch.”

Crouch shrugged into his pack. “Ready?” he called out, enquiring with that one word as to how they were planning to deal with the scout.

Alicia gazed on ahead. “He’s about thirty feet behind us. Used our snack time to creep up. He’s good, but not as good as us. Start climbing those… terraces, sir. We’ll bag him.”

Crouch set off, eager to stay well ahead of Coker. The rocky terraces didn’t pose a problem to the climbers, despite jutting out one above the other and rising for hundreds of feet; their sides were crumbled and eroded, and angled to provide enough purchase for scrambling — a technique not without its hazards but not terribly dangerous.

Crouch went first, pointing out the safe purchase points. Caitlyn paused in his wake, allowing tumbling rocks to pass her by before starting up. Lex came next, employing a similar tactic, and then Cruz; leaving the three soldiers to bring up the rear. Laughing aloud, Alicia shoved Russo ahead with an ass-jab that made the big man squeal. Healey declined her gracious extended offer and motioned for her to precede him. The scout behind would have no idea they knew of his presence.

On the first terrace, Alicia confirmed their suspicions were real. As they moved from its front to its back where the mountain rose, they effectively passed from the scout’s sight. Three terraces and they had carefully monitored his progress, learning his habit. On the fourth Alicia spoke quickly.

“Who wants to do it?”

Excitement lit Healey’s eyes and even Russo’s. Good soldiers. Alicia felt a similar eagerness to enter the fray. The battle called to her as much as it had to the ancient Aztecs. Maybe soldiers never changed.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Healey suggested.

Alicia groaned. Out here, among the stone terraces, on the trail of Aztec gold and with armed enemies at their back, the youngster wanted to play a game. So be it. Quickly she thrust her hand out three times and then held it palm down, the accepted sign for paper. Both Healey and Russo held out clenched fists.

“Whoa,” Alicia said. “I think we found our first battle contest. And I won.”

“Not next time,” Healey said a little hotly. Even Russo looked like he wanted to complain.

“Tell you what,” Alicia said sweetly, patting Healey’s cheek. “Complain to your relevant politician. But don’t mention his expenses.”

With that, counting in her head, she pulled on the rope attached to the piton they’d fastened into the rock wall to double-check its safety, and then ran hard toward the edge of the terrace. Without a sound she leaped into thin air, sixty feet above the desert floor, and used the rope to swing out then back in toward the lower rock wall. A brief memory flashed through her mind — about the last time she’d fought using ropes during the Bones of Odin quest against Matt Drake — and then her body was jockeying to change the position of her flight as her feet kicked out, slamming into the chest of the stunned scout. The man folded instantly and stumbled back into the mountain, not even a grunt escaping his broken chest. Alicia let go of the rope, landing lightly and at a run, reaching him before he had a chance to draw a weapon.

“Surprise!”

She hefted him over her shoulder and threw him back toward the cliff edge. The man landed in a tumbling heap, reflexes finally catching up to his predicament and arresting his roll. By then Alicia was on him once more, lifting him by the straps of his utility jacket until she could stare into his eyes.

“Radio?”

The scout struggled in her grip, surprisingly strong. Twisting sideways he moved until the rising sun flashed and blinded her, pushed away and drew a knife.

“Won’t matter,” he said in a thick South African accent. “Boys are coming.”

Alicia heard the scramble as Healey and Russo made their way down the slope from the terrace above. She debated waiting until the sheer force of numbers intimidated the scout into submission then decided it just wasn’t in her nature.

“Let them come,” she said, striking at the knife-hand with one arm and the neck with a flying foot. “They’ll last about as long as you.”

The knife hit the gouged, rocky floor with a clatter; the neck jerked sideways. The scout fell to his knees, grasping for the deadly blade. Alicia drew one of her own.

“Come nicely,” she said. “Or I’ll feed your carved bones to the coyotes.”

Healey and Russo arrived, the latter bouncing off the rock wall, the former staggering as his foot caught in several deep channels cut into the ground. Exposed up on the terrace, Alicia had no time to dither. Her peripherals also noted the arrival of Crouch, Caitlyn and the others but her concentration focused solely on the scout and his whirling blade. The first thrust went under her arm, the second across her chest, missing by less than an inch. Alicia stepped in and broke the arm, now hitting hard with her own knife, jamming it into the soldier’s ribs to the side of his vest. Eyes opened wide, still uttering no sound, still coming at her, she drove the knife in again for good measure.

This time he staggered.

Alicia let go, allowing the body to fall heavily away. Healey and Russo raced up.

“Took your damn time.”

“It was that or fall off the bloody rock,” Russo returned, indicating the edge.

Crouch arrived with a worried frown plastered across his face. “I’m seeing bodies.”

Alicia stared out across the open plain, toward the distant hills where they had traversed Paria Canyon. There, antlike, were Coker’s crew, heading this way, purposeful and plentiful.

“I guess an hour, maybe more,” Crouch said. “Depends on how much this guy managed to tell them. We’re nowhere! We’re here, but we’re nowhere. Might as well be trolling around Vegas.”

“Hey,” Caitlyn called, staring down at them from the ledge fifteen feet above. “According to the Aztec scholars Huitzilopochtli was the god of war and the sun. Remember the greatest Aztec treasure — the Wheel of Gold shaped like the legendary Pieces of Eight. Well, that was a representation of him, that obviously upped its value. Huitzilopochtli required a blood sacrifice, not always in the form of human martyrdom. Sometimes a ritual bloodletting was used.”

Crouch stared up at her, the rising sun at his back. “What does that tell us?”

“The Aztec’s also called him the Hummingbird.”

Crouch swallowed drily. The poem’s last line stormed through his head — look between the Hummingbird and the Ritual for your final guidance.

The sun god and sacrifice.

Slowly, he turned around, saw how the rising sun developed, extending its rays in piercing beams, spectacular in the dawn. He saw how the fiery blush of the sun played against the walls of the mountain as it rose, marking a straight line as perfect as the one he’d drawn on his map.

Oh my God.

The straight and accurate line, their headstrong route of travel, had been a clue.

Then his mind switched to the Ritual and immediately sent his gaze downward to where the scout’s body lay at their feet, bleeding.

Blood trickled along rivulets that had been carved into the rock floor, seeping toward the mountain’s rock wall.

“Between the Ritual and the Hummingbird,” he said. “I know where the treasure is.”