Aztec Gold

SEVEN

The journey to the north did not start out as long or as arduous as Alicia imagined it might. The treasure hunters rented two four-wheel-drive vehicles, stowed their gear and their new guide, and headed out. The skies above were perfect blue, the clouds pure white and cotton-tailed. Alicia made sure the air-con was cranked up high before settling back into her seat.

“So,” she said to their guide who was seated behind her, alongside Lex. “How far?”

“Ten to twelve hours, depending on the roads,” Jose Cruz told her in perfect English. “You didn’t want to take the airplane, so it takes longer.”

“I get that,” Alicia said. “Planes attract too much attention. At least this way we can spot a tail.”

“Speaking of which,” Crouch said from the driver’s seat. “All well so far.”

“Are you expecting trouble?” Cruz asked with a touch of fear.

Alicia shrugged. “None more than usual.” Her mind flicked over the stash of old weapons they’d purchased before setting out. Nothing outstanding, but still nothing short of much-needed added protection.

She caught Crouch’s twitch of a smile. Yeah, he’s thinking ‘none more than usual’ could mean anything from a fist fight to an apocalypse. Shit, what a crazy legend I’m becoming part of.

The hours passed slowly, eased along by the incredible unfolding landscape. Jagged, vertical rock faces rose straight up out of the earth, the haunt of climbers from all over the world, and dark mountains towered in the distance. Turquoise blue rivers ran fast, circling toward the road and then away toward some distant ravine or cavern. Cruz spoke of great waterfalls and tremendous flocks of birds, stunning cave systems and great canyons. The highway became small and winding, occasionally perilous as they started to climb. The group stopped where they could to take on food and water, seeing no advantage in arriving at their destination worn out.

Alicia quizzed their guide as the hours ticked by. “Rivera mentioned that you would be known to these people. A friend? What is it that you do, Cruz?”

Their guide, a thin man with a shock of black hair and a tendency to sweat, tore his eyes away from the road ahead. “It’s not just a conventional job that I do. It is… moderation. I usually act as a go-between for the more secluded tribes and their supposed government. A referee at times. At others simply an intermediary. They trust me.” He shrugged. “I trust Carlos Rivera, who has taught me much of the Aztec legend, good and bad. Do not let either of us down.”

Crouch inclined his own head. “You have my word. You say he’s taught you much?”

“To help me in my work. To help me understand the people, yes. Now, I’d like to know what makes you qualified to find a mythical treasure where everyone else has failed.”

“Us?” Alicia smiled. “Nothing. Short of, we’re the real deal. Serious as a bullet. We don’t have time to waste. People like us, we’re normally off fighting bad guys and keeping the world safe. You’re actually very lucky we’re here.”

Cruz didn’t look convinced. “Okay.”

More climbing and they passed a group of life-jacketed people manhandling a kayak onto a stretch of water. Another clearing revealed several youths scrambling small ATVs across a shallow stream bed.

Cruz cleared his throat. “Before we arrive I want to give you a clearer picture of what you will find. The Nahua people living here are a simple race. If they want to earn and work for money they walk or take a bus to the nearest town — which takes sixty minutes in one direction. No more than sixty families live in this small mountainous village. An insignificant race, you might think, but then consider that the words avocado, chili, coyote and even chocolate and tomato have Nahua roots. You will see many coffee trees, amazing vistas, and even clouds filling the valley below. This is their life and it is enough. The wives try to support their families the traditional way — through weaving and stitching — but it is often a road to nowhere. Their husbands grow crops, potatoes, mushrooms and peppers. They are surrounded by old ruins and green hills with altars carved into their sides. A very religious people, their festivals are normally loud and colorful. They can, literally, dance for days.”

Crouch slowed as the road narrowed. “I think we’re close.”

Cruz pointed ahead. “Pull in over there. I hope you guys are ready for this.”

Cruz directed them through the small, clean village, all the time heading for a huddle of dwellings that sat on the outskirts, built up against a high stepped hill. Above the roofs of the dwellings and dotted up the hillside, Alicia made out the altars Cruz had mentioned — small niches carved out of the rock and adorned with colorful ribbons. Her eyes followed a sandy path that led all the way to the top.

She spoke quietly to Russo, who had been driving the second vehicle. “Any problems?”

“All clear,” he reported back. “Haven’t seen another car for hours.”

As they walked, the village quieted. Strangers were not unknown to these parts but were still rare enough to attract a little pall of uneasiness. Remembering Cruz’s words Alicia fought to keep her silence even when a small group of men started pointing at her. The path continued through numerous small dwellings and past well-ordered fields where men and children worked, even though the sun had begun to set to the west. Alicia kept a sharp eye in all directions, even as far as the tree line high above, but nothing untoward occurred.

Cruz chatted to the locals as he passed through. Everyone seemed to know him. The guy probably spent half his life visiting villages and townships such as this, but perhaps not for today’s unusual reason. Crouch followed and stored away his every move as if learning the ropes for some later visit. The man was nothing if not meticulous.

Cruz stopped before the huddle of dwellings. The rough poured concrete construction didn’t fit well out here where the new world hadn’t penetrated, but Alicia chose to see it as a verification of the wisdom of the village elders. As they waited, three men emerged into the sunlit evening.

Alicia stared. With only a small stretch of her imagination she could easily see them at that aforementioned battle of Tenochtitlan, fighting the conquistadors. Cruz approached reverentially and spoke for a while. Alicia understood none of it and kept her eyes sweeping the area, always alert.

After five minutes Cruz finally turned to Crouch. “It’s up to you now. I have done all I can and expressed Rivera’s wishes that they help. But you must convince them that you mean well, that you are the real deal. Otherwise,” he shrugged, “they will give you nothing.”

Crouch nodded, stepping forward. It wasn’t lost on him that the language barrier would severely dent the impact of his speech, but he hoped the sincerity in his voice would shine through in any dialect. He started out by explaining a little of his background, then quickly moved on.

“Carlos Rivera trusts us to do the right thing,” he continued as Cruz translated. “As does Mr. Cruz here. They would not help us if they didn’t believe in us. I have pulled together this entire team, professionals all, to help and we are funded by a man with major contacts inside the World Heritage Committee. Your priceless treasures, if found, would be displayed in a museum in their entirety, not sold off or smuggled away to a private collector as so many are these days.”

Crouch paused to let Cruz catch up, then continued.

“I realize most everyone that has approached you so far were not exactly… genuine, honest people. I can’t prove that we are any different save for the tone of my voice and my choice of words, but I can offer something that you already inherently know — your ancestors were not fools. They will not suffer fools to find their gold. Only a highly professional outfit, richly underwritten, can hope to stand any chance of succeeding. And then only with your help. Do you want your heritage back?”

Cruz’s voice persisted for a minute then fell silent. Alicia gazed into the faces of the elders, seeing nothing there. Not a flicker of expression. Not once did they turn to each other, as if conversing through mental telepathy. But after a while the tallest man with the most weather-beaten skin and deeply crinkled eyes started to talk.

Cruz translated. “Your words are welcome, but strangers are not. Any man can lie, and most very well. There is nothing for you here.” The guide looked a little crestfallen.

Crouch leaned forward. “Carlos Rivera, my friend, said that you might.”

The elder made no move, instead staring at Crouch without let up. Eventually Cruz said, “To me you are still a stranger.”

Alicia scanned the valley once more. It wasn’t that she was expecting trouble, it was that trouble was never far away during operations like this. Truth be told, trouble seemed to cling to her like a besotted high-school senior. In the twilight of her SAS days, and because it was new and cultish at the time, the guys had taken to calling her Veronica, after Kristen Bell in the TV series, because the two women looked so much alike and were beset with misfortune. But that was where the similarities ended. Alicia had escaped the hell of her home before college and even then she could have incapacitated a man with a double strike. It could be said that her formative years had shaped her for war.

The elder expressed himself again. “We have long accepted that our heritage is lost. Perhaps it is better staying where it is.”

Alicia picked up on the charged statement as quickly as Crouch. “Then it does exist? You have proof. Your people and certainly your ancestors would not have wanted it to stay lost. The plan was to return it, yes? Bring the caravans back after the Spanish left. They could not have foreseen what happened. Think carefully, my friend, because this is your chance. Maybe your best chance.”

The elders retreated then stopped in sync. Alicia thought their simultaneous movements a little unsettling. The crowd of villagers at her back continued to grow, men returning from the fields and women and children leaving their houses to examine the newcomers. A light breeze blew through the modest valley.

The elder finally betrayed an emotion, that of weariness, and turned to his fellows. Some rapid-fire conversation ensued which Crouch didn’t look to Cruz to provide a translation for. It would only show bad manners. At last the main elder turned his attention back toward Cruz.

“They speak of the great journey. Seven caravans leaving the capital during that ageless night, heading north.” Cruz’s eyes widened at that as he passed on the information. Crouch fancied the tribe had never imparted so much before. “With prodigious treasures aboard. They speak of the cartwheel, what many call the original pieces of eight, the pre-eminent Aztec treasure of all time and the main item the elders might really want returned. Primarily they speak of each building’s jewels, because as you know every structure was stripped of its underlying gold and jewels and packed separately. The horde, the value, must be immense.”

Crouch betrayed no emotion. “What else do they say?”

“They want us to wait. Wait here.”

Alicia glanced sideways at her team. Russo was as observant as she, constantly scanning the terrain. Healey bore a look of wonder on his face and the glow of fire in his eyes. That’ll do, she thought. Lex shifted his weight from foot to foot as if uncomfortable and no doubt bottling up some kind of complaint. She watched the elders retreat into their cluster of houses.

Crouch didn’t turn around. “Stay alert, people. One way or another we’ll be out of here shortly.”

Sometime later the elders reappeared, shuffling at a slow march, one after the other. The leader grasped something in his right hand, a metal box of the modern world, somehow seeming incongruous out here. With an odd kind of reverence he placed it on the ground at his feet and then knelt before it.

He looked up. Cruz translated as he spoke. “If you know your Aztec history then you will know what a codex is.” He added, “It’s a book written by the ancient Aztecs, largely pictorial but they can contain a version of the Nahuatl language too. The old pictograms can be translated into writing now that the Nahuatl language has evolved.” He smiled at the elder. “There are very few surviving codices from the pre-conquest era.”

“Any that describe their capital’s destruction?” Crouch wondered.

“No. But there are over half a dozen bound manuscripts in existence. The Codex Aubin, Codex Mendoza and Florentine to name a few. If this is a codex” — he indicated the box — “it represents a great treasure in itself.”

The elder opened the box very slowly, reached in and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Cruz’s sharp intake of breath was enough to confirm the man’s suspicions. Now, however, the elder again started to talk, this time with a gravity to his tones.

Cruz blinked, suddenly looking shocked. “What? Are you kidding?” he said in English, forgetting himself before reverting to the elders’ language.

Alicia frowned. “What did he say?”

But Cruz was shaking his head, clearly upset, disagreeing with the elder. After a moment the man put his hand onto the top of the box and threatened to shove the papers back inside.

Crouch raised a hand. “What’s the problem, Jose? Perhaps I can help.”

“I doubt it,” Cruz muttered. “I’m the problem, it seems. Me.”

“You? How on earth—”

Alicia patted a pocket. “I have a gun. I could take you out if needs be.”

Cruz looked alarmed then resigned. “I don’t know what to say, sir. The elder won’t let you take a look at the codex unless you agree to take me with you on this… odd quest of yours.”

“What?”

“They don’t fully trust you. After all you still remain a stranger to them. But me and my mentor, Rivera, they do trust. It is the only way forward, I’m afraid.”

Crouch clicked his tongue, frowning hard. Alicia watched the elder and the elder watched Crouch. Everything depended on their leader’s next few words and the whole village knew it.

“Of course we will take you, Jose. It’s not a problem. But will you come?”

Cruz signaled an affirmative to the elder. “If you’re asking me to join a legitimate quest to find a five-hundred-year-old legendary, priceless treasure then my answer is — damn, yeah!”

The leader held up the sheaf of papers. Alicia saw that they were very old and bound on one side. The man didn’t open the book, but indicated them as he spoke.

“This is the Codex Azcapotzalco as written in the sixteenth century. It is a pictographic, that is a writing system that consists mostly of logograms and syllabic signs. It is written on deer hide and is this village’s most valuable artefact, more valuable even than these elder’s lives.” Cruz bowed deeply. “Please respect that.”

Crouch bowed too. “Thank you for bringing it forward.”

Cruz went on. “Azcapotzalco is the name of the Aztec that wrote the codex, the one that returned. The Nahuatl have studied its meaning for many years and, at least this learned generation, can now decipher the pictures and translate them into words. It is… ” Cruz paused, creasing his brows. “A poem, I think.”

He clarified with the elder. “Yes, a poem. I think the word has been corrupted though. Either through the ages or by their literal translation. Poem could mean story or even map.”

Healey’s face lit up. “As in a treasure map?”

Alicia pressed on his shoulders. “Down boy.”

“Azcapotzalco returned many years after the first warriors. Most of the codex is an account of the subsequent lives of the Aztec warriors that decided to stay with the hidden caravan,” Cruz said. “And still more tells of those warriors that mixed with the local braves after the caravan was safe and the ones that returned. There is, however, deep within its pages, a passage that points to the place where the treasure was hidden.”

Crouch felt the corners of his mouth twitching and fought to keep them straight. “Go on.”

Cruz listened twice before repeating the elder’s words. “It’s a poem, I think, it has a kind of rhythm. Listen:

“Through the great, endless river you must travel,

“Past canyons and rocks of waves,

“The Shield Arch shows the way,

“But heed our warnings to the mushroom rock,

“Then beyond the known territory of the braves,

“Look between Hummingbird and the ritual for your final guidance,

“And betray the sacrifices of your loyal warriors not.”

Crouch blinked, digesting the information. “It sounds exactly like an original series of pictures translated into modern words, as the elder said. Fantastic.”

Alicia nudged Healey. “You wanna write that down.”

The young solider grunted. “Damn, if only I had one of those eidetic memories.”

“Oh yeah,” Alicia murmured. “Now there’s a thought I have every day.”

Healey caught the sarcasm and asked Cruz to repeat slowly as he jotted it down. Crouch was clearly mulling through the text. “But there’s no starting point,” he said. “It’s all very well to follow those directions, but where from?”

“North,” Cruz said. “The caravans traveled north. And the elder says the ancient Aztecs used to have a method of counting days. They indicated quantities using the requisite number of dots. A flag represented twenty, repeated up to four hundred, and then a sign like a fir tree signified four hundred. They can give us an accurate dateline for the entire march.”

Crouch smiled. “Then it looks like we’re ready to get started.”