A haze lingered across Mexico City in the predawn glow of a thousand lights. The freeways were already clogged with vehicles on their early-morning commutes, arriving from the dense neighboring suburbs that ringed the vast metropolis.
A tired old garbage truck lurched slowly up a road in the municipality of López Mateos, its engine straining as it made its weekly rounds in the impoverished sprawl ten miles north of Mexico City. Many families lived eight to a twelve-by-fifteen-foot room, and the drug-related violent crime made it one of the more dangerous areas in the region. The truck rolled to a screeching stop when a rumble began from the street beneath. The earth began to shake — at first gently and then with increasing violence.
A nearby brick wall split and collapsed, the top crumbling as the earthquake shook it, and a geyser of water shot from a fissure in the center of the street. The men in the garbage truck watched in horror as several of the two-story cinder-block homes fell in on themselves as though the earth had sucked them into the ground. A few half-naked children ran into the street while the pavement beneath them shuddered. The few working lamps on the building fronts winked out as power cables snapped somewhere down the line. Streetlights rocked before tearing free and crashing to the ground in explosions of glass.
In the distance, the city’s high-rises swayed. Even in a region known for its seismic outbursts, this was a big one. The shaking continued for a full minute before the earth settled to stillness beneath the frightened people.
The street resembled a war zone, with huge cracks crisscrossing the remaining pavement and water mains gushing into the air before pooling in stinking ponds also fed by ruptured sewage lines. Doors opened as neighbors emerged to take stock, the calamity only the latest in a seemingly unending string of bad luck visited upon a population born under a dark star.
The sun inched over the surrounding mountains and cast a dim glow through the sediment that had floated skyward from the demolished buildings. The garbagemen surveyed the ruined street for a while longer and then the driver put the ancient truck in gear and executed a shaky turn before heading back down the rise.
Further research into Quetzalcoatl’s tomb revealed nothing of use, and by late afternoon of the second day it was obvious to everyone that they’d hit a dead end. Sam’s eyes were burning from boring holes through his monitor, searching for the one elusive glyph, a thread that might lead them in a positive direction; now they were out of options. But Sam hadn’t earned his reputation by giving up — his tenacious nature invariably drove him to up the ante when the going got rough.
When Selma joined them, Remi stood to greet her as Sam rubbed a tired hand over his face.
“How’s it going?” Selma asked.
“Just the usual frustrations,” Remi said. “Incomplete accounts, vague hints without any substance, partial reports …”
“Ah, research, how do I miss thee,” Selma intoned.
“How are you? Feeling any better?” Sam asked, turning from his screen.
“You know. Every day brings its own little challenges.”
“The important thing is that you’re making progress,” Remi said.
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” Selma confessed — a rare admission from the woman who was as indefatigable and hard-charging as they came. She stared off at the ocean and then fixed a smile on her face. “I thought I’d stop in and see how you were making out without me.”
“Not so great, Selma. We’re sort of at the end of our rope on our current line of thinking,” Sam said, and then gave her a summary of their progress — or lack of it. When he was finished, she nodded.
“Well, you know what you’re going to have to do.”
Sam and Remi exchanged a look.
“No …” Remi said.
“Let me make some calls. That won’t hurt me. Truth be told, I’m going stir-crazy, even with the books and TV. I’ll call a few people and put out some feelers. It’ll cheer me up if I can help in my own small way.”
“Selma—” Sam started, but she waved him off.
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Now, get back to work. You’ll never make it if you keep finding excuses to slack off,” Selma teased, and then without another word expertly turned her walker and slowly made her way back to her rooms with a familiar expression of determination on her face.
Sam exhaled noisily and stood, stretching his arms overhead and rolling his head to get the kinks out of his shoulder and neck muscles. Remi went back to her screen while Sam got his fifth cup of coffee and then pushed one of the glass doors open and moved onto the wraparound terrace for some welcome salt air. Gulls wheeled in the blue sky overhead, riding an updraft from the sea, and a few boats worked the edge of the kelp forest. Gluttonous seals competed with the anglers for the ocean’s bounty, and Sam watched as their oily black heads popped out of the water here and there before submerging again for another run at the fish.
Not a bad life, he thought. Simple. Go for a swim, fresh fish for lunch again, then maybe a siesta on a nice rock while the sun warmed you. The seals definitely had it figured out. Better than going blind staring at pictures of ancient ruins, trying to find clues to untangle one of history’s enduring mysteries.
With a final glance at the late-afternoon sky, he reluctantly returned to his computer and continued with his search for the meaning of the unintelligible carvings he’d been studying.
Two hours later, Selma emerged with a look of triumph on her face.
“Congratulations. You’ve been invited by the National Institute of Anthropology and History in Mexico City to study their inventory of Toltec artifacts. An old friend and colleague of mine, Carlos Ramirez, is in charge of the effort there. He’s the director of Antiquities and the cousin of one of the ministers of the interior, as well as being on the university board.”
“Selma! That’s wonderful,” Remi said, rising from her seat.
“He’s a very sweet man. We collaborated on some research years ago and I don’t think he’s ever forgotten how well we got along. Anyway, he’s got his hands full right now because after the big earthquake a repair crew fixing some broken pipes in the street discovered a new find — a series of subterranean vaults connected by a tunnel system that was exposed by the quake. They appear to be Toltec, but it’s all very preliminary because the area near the ruins is still in disarray. He invited you both to fly in and meet with his two senior researchers — and, if you like, to go through the new find together.”
“Selma, you never cease to amaze me,” Sam said, shaking his head in awe.
“Well, it’s not all that amazing. All I had to do was remember what the country code for Mexico was and call in a favor. Let’s not make it more than it is.”
“When can we go?”
“Apparently, most of the city is fine, but some areas were pretty hard hit and whole blocks were flattened. The quake measured a 7.8, but the damage was localized. He basically said you could come down whenever you want. Your reputation opens a lot of doors.”
“You didn’t tell him what we’re working on, did you?” Remi asked.
“No, I just told him that you were researching the Toltecs and Quetzalcoatl and how the Aztecs and later the Spanish twisted the Toltec legends. That gives you a pretty broad canvas on which to paint. But it will also explain why you might be more interested in some lines of inquiry than others.”
“You’re a genius,” Sam said.
“Seriously, this might get you closer than doing the digging online. As you know, that only takes you so far …”
Remi nodded. “And then you have to get your hands dirty. We know, Selma.”
“I don’t know what to do with myself when my hands are clean for this long,” Sam agreed. “I’d say it’s time to head south of the border. Ai yai yai!”
Remi gave him a mock frown and shook her head. “I’m afraid he might have already been prepping for the trip by nipping at the tequila.”
“Nonsense. I’m sober as a judge,” Sam insisted.
“That explains a lot,” Remi countered, and they all laughed.
“Kendra? Looks like it’s time to get the pilots off the beach and warming up the plane,” Sam called out.
“When would you like to take off?” she asked from her workstation near the windows.
Remi and Sam looked at each other, and Remi shrugged. “Tomorrow morning? Say, at eight? That will put us in Mexico City by noon local time.”
“Will do. How about hotel?”
“I think last time we were there we stayed at the Four Seasons in the Zona Rosa district. As I remember, it was very good, and centrally located.”
“Consider it done,” Kendra said. She definitely shared the same orderly genes with Selma, they’d discovered, and with time they’d grown to appreciate her quiet, straightforward style. “Any special requests?”
“Selma will give you the rundown on the usual we like to take into the field on something like this,” Remi said. “It’s pretty basic. She’s got the list.”
“Great. Then I’ll get right on it.”
The rest of the day sped by as they prepared for their trip, and both Sam and Remi were more than ready for a final celebratory meal at their favorite restaurant in San Diego, an Italian place in the Gaslamp Quarter. They took Sam’s newest acquisition, a black convertible Porsche 911 Turbo 918 Spyder Cabriolet that he rarely had time to drive. He dropped the top, and Remi leaned back in the soft leather seat as the warm evening breeze blew through her hair. He worked through the gears with enthusiasm as the powerful engine catapulted them down the on-ramp and onto the freeway.
“Easy there, Hoss,” Remi cautioned as the downtown skyline rose ahead of them.
“Sorry. I keep forgetting how responsive the gas pedal is on this thing.”
“I think we already passed liftoff. You can ease up.”
“Your wish is my command.”
Sam slowed to a sane pace and soon they were handing the keys to a valet and entering the restaurant. The owner greeted them like long-lost relatives and escorted them to the private corner table they favored. His wife came over to say hello and suggested a special tasting menu of the chef’s specials for the night, paired with a bottle of 2009 Sassicaia — arguably Italy’s foremost Super Tuscan red wine.
The meal was relaxed, each dish perfectly prepared and presented, beginning with a bruschetta to die for, followed by braised sweetbreads, veal ravioli in a truffle sauce, and three preparations of shrimp. By the time Sam and Remi were sipping glasses of limoncello, they were ready to burst, and both agreed that they would sleep well after the wonderful meal.