The Eye of Heaven

32

Back in the second tomb, Antonio gestured at the procession pictograph. “In this one, there are faint outlines of the moon and several stars, too. But almost as an afterthought.”

“Yes, as there are in one of the others. Only the constellations are as different as the drawings, I’m afraid,” Lazlo confirmed.

“Then I don’t understand. How will we know which of the depictions is the correct one?”

Lazlo stood mute for a moment, thinking. “I can’t help but believe that the repeated pictograph has meaning. I’m guessing that it’s an astronomical depiction — a clue to those who were adept at reading the stars. Maybe … Maybe the reason that the position of the landmarks is different in each rendition is because the images are representations of the same thing at different times of the year. Major events. Summer solstice, winter solstice …”

“How will we decide?” Remi asked.

Lazlo’s eyes widened. “You have images of the manuscript and the pictographs from Cuba, right?”

“Of course. But they’re back at the motel.”

“Then that’s where we need to go next,” Lazlo said.

“Why?”

“Because, if I’m not mistaken, the manuscript holds the final clue that will enable us to unravel this riddle. Remi, take another series of photos of each room’s pictographs, in order, as we’d see them if we were moving from the primary vault to the final one. Try to get them from the same angle in each. Finish with our new find in the antechamber.”

Within ten minutes, they were back in the SUV, moving down the uneven streets, back toward Teotihuacan. An hour later, they stopped at the motel and Remi ran inside, emerging moments later with a flash drive in her hand.

Once back at the dig, they gathered around the monitor as Lazlo studied the Cuban pictographs and the manuscript. Nobody said a word as he gazed intently at the images, flipping between them, before finally settling on the series from the tombs.

“The Cuban pictograph and the manuscript narrow it down to the second in the series. See the moon there? It matches the position in the Cuban carvings. The rest are red herrings, as you say in the colonies.”

“You’re correct. That’s a depiction of the moon. Faint, and I would never have noticed it with all the rest of the glyphs, but there it is,” Antonio conceded.

“Now the question is, which temple is it? The smaller one over there?” Sam said, pointing to a lower building to the right.

Lazlo didn’t say anything and then stepped back. “It’s not as hard as you think, now that we know what to look for.”

“What is it, Lazlo?” Maribela asked.

“The other symbols point the way,” Lazlo nodded. “Teotihuacan is organized in a very specific manner. The city was designed according to astronomical events. The movement of the sun, the stars, the moon — all of these played a huge role in its layout.”

“Right …”

“Look up at the sky in the carving. Above the moon. That one star is bigger than the rest. Which would make it the North Star. Polaris.”

Antonio grunted assent. “That would fit, based on other Toltec images we’ve analyzed.”

Lazlo sighed. “Now I’m afraid the really hard work comes in. We’ll need to simulate the movement of the moon and the stars until we come to a point where they fit the positions in that carving. When we do, we’ll be able to calculate the tomb’s location.”

“It may not be so hard after all,” Antonio said, and then walked them slowly through the other astronomical symbols. After conferring with Lazlo, he jotted down a few notes before typing on the laptop’s keyboard at a furious pace. They watched as he deleted one word and entered a different one into a blank search box and then pressed a series of keys.

“I have a program that will analyze the position of the moon, stars, and sun based on rough coordinates. It’ll take a while to process all this. Lazlo’s assuming that the final procession would have been at a key celestial event. Something monumental. Fitting for the burial of the greatest ruler of his time. So I entered in all the possible obvious events. The equinoxes, other alignments that are viewed in Mesoamerican cultures as significant.”

A screen popped up. He and Lazlo studied it and then overlaid it on a model of Teotihuacan. After changing the screen several times, Antonio stepped back.

Lazlo tapped the screen. “There’s your temple. The first one on the right as you face the Pyramid of the Moon.”

Remi looked to Antonio. “Have there ever been any excavations there?”

Antonio shook his head. “I don’t believe so, other than clearing the land away on the front side so you can see the temple. The secondary pyramids were considered trivial in the scheme of things, so resources went to the larger buildings.”

“Then they’ve never been thoroughly explored,” Remi said.

“We only have limited resources—” Maribela bristled.

Antonio held up his hand, cutting her off.

“I don’t think Remi is saying we’ve been negligent. I think her intent was to establish that nothing much is known about them since all the serious digs focused around the more spectacular sites.”

“That’s right. So there very well could be a tomb there. Either under it or along one of the bases,” Remi said.

“Actually, if you look at how things line up, you’ll see the rear of the temple on the axis.”

“How long is that side?” Sam asked.

“They’re all about thirty-six meters square. So almost a hundred twenty of your feet.”

“Not that much smaller than the Temple of the Feathered Serpent.”

“A little more than half the size, actually, but you’re correct that it’s a large area.”

“Let’s go over and have a look. Would we need a new permit?”

“I think as the senior functionary of INAH here, I’d say no.”

They piled into Antonio’s official Suburban and crawled the length of the Avenue of the Dead, taking care to avoid the scattered groups of tourists taking in the sights. When they reached the temple, they climbed the slope behind it, which had only been partially cleared, and stared at the rear of the smaller pyramid as if they could intuit where the lost chamber was with instinct alone.

“Call it ninety feet to excavate. But this is considerably more dirt to move. Could we get a backhoe here?” Remi asked. “Just to do the gross-level clearing and then we could have the crew take over …”

“I don’t see why not,” Antonio said. “There are numerous places in town that rent equipment and a man to operate it. Perhaps we could get one this afternoon. And with sufficient financial incentive, the man would probably be willing to work late. We might get it done in a day or so, then move in after that with the men as you suggested.”

“Then let’s stake out an area to clear.”

A huge backhoe arrived at two and worked till nine, doing so by the glow of the work lights once the sun set. Sam, Remi, and Lazlo left when the operator did and took a taxi to the restaurant where they’d eaten the prior night. The food was good and the mood excited, the sense of having made significant progress palpable, as they discussed the project in hushed tones.

The next morning the excavation started at eight and by two-thirty the entire back section of the pyramid base was ready for the waiting men to begin the more careful digging with picks and shovels. The crew went to work, continuing till dark.

They resumed the following day, clearing the dirt under the relentless glare of the hot sun. At six p.m., one of the picks broke through the hard clay into a cavity below. The hole was widened enough to allow entry. This time, Remi insisted on being the first one in, and after similar warnings as Sam had gotten before, she was lowered into the opening with a high-powered portable light and a radio.

“What do you see?” Sam asked after thirty seconds.

“It’s a crude tunnel. It goes under the temple.”

“How far?”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” Remi said, her tone short. Sam decided to leave her in peace and allow her to explore until she felt a desire to communicate. After a long pause, the radio crackled again with her voice. “There’s an entryway. Stone, and carved far more elaborately than any we’ve seen before. But it’s blocked with smaller rocks mortared in place. We’ll need something to break through. And it would probably be a good idea to shore up the tunnel, although if it hasn’t caved in over the centuries, it’s probably okay for now.”

Sam passed the information on to Antonio, who was standing by the opening with Lazlo, staring into the void. He ordered the men into action. The foreman brought a tall ladder, and three workers dropped into the dark. The rest stayed above and passed down wooden beams and boards to build primitive shoring.

“I’m coming down,” Sam said, and after the first wave of workers was clear, he descended, a pick in his free hand, followed by Lazlo, Antonio, and Maribela, all carrying heavy iron pry bars. Their flashlight beams played along the clay walls until they saw Remi around a bend in the tunnel, facing a crudely mortared rock wall framed by carved stone — the carvings much like those they’d all seen in the crypts at the find in López Mateos.

“Look. The pyramid with the moon,” Remi said, pointing at the procession depicted at the top of the doorway. “This is it. It has to be.”

Sam nodded. “Stand clear,” he warned. “Let’s see if we can get through this rock, shall we?”

Everyone stepped back. He swung the pick and it connected with stone. A chunk of mortar flew off. He swung it again and another, bigger piece dropped at his feet. “This will work. It’ll just take a little time.”

“Let’s have the laborers do this,” Maribela suggested.

Sam shook his head. “No way. Just give me a few minutes.” He continued beating at the wall, and, after several dozen blows, one of the rocks fell into the empty space beyond. “We’re through! I’ll knock out a few more of these and then let’s put those crowbars to use.”

Two crudely squared stones collapsed inward after his next blow, then another on his next. He dropped the pick by a side column as Lazlo and Antonio moved in with their crowbars, the area too limited for Remi or Maribela to help. More of the rocks dropped into the space, and then the lower part of the wall collapsed in a heap of rubble. A dust cloud rose from the pile.

“I think Remi should do the honors,” Sam said.

Antonio motioned to her with a small bow of assent. “Absolutely. Señora?”

She lifted the bulky portable light and held it in front of her and then leaned into the newly open area and glanced around. “It’s a vault.”

Remi climbed through the opening, light in tow. They heard her gasp, and a shiver of fear went up Sam’s spine.

“Are you okay?” he demanded, shining his flashlight into the dark.

“Perfect. I think it’s safe to say we found the tomb.” She paused. “There’s a body covered in jade on a stone platform, and several mounds of offerings around it. They’re dusty, but I see some glinting, so probably gold. And jade masks.”

“Gold? The Toltecs didn’t have any gold,” Maribela said.

“Perhaps they traded for it? Obsidian, too. And Toltec pottery. Ceramics.”

“Any reason I can’t come in?” Sam asked through the hole.

“No, but be careful. This will be a significant find and we don’t want to crash around like buffalo.”

Sam eased himself through the gap. Maribela and Lazlo followed him in, trailed by Antonio.

They found themselves in a twelve-by-fifteen-foot chamber of carved stone walls. Remi stepped gingerly around a pile on the ground and leaned down, holding the lamp in front of her. The LED bulbs illuminated the interior of the crypt in an eerie white glow. She lifted a small figure from the mound and held it up. “Gold.”

Sam and Lazlo were standing by the figure on the platform. The mummy’s skin was desiccated, the color of coffee and the texture of beef jerky. Lazlo peered at it and did a quick calculation. “Looks like he was no more than five feet tall, so clearly indigenous. Not exactly the tall, imposing, bearded figure of the legends, is he?”

Maribela moved to his side, gazing down at the body. “But the robe is consistent with the stories. White, or what was once white, animal hide. The robe of a prophet …”

“Or a god,” Antonio whispered.

“But no Eye of Heaven,” Sam said.

“Alas, probably part of the legend that grew over time,” Maribela said. “As you know, the enormous riches could have increased in these tales with the telling, along with Quetzalcoatl’s height.”

Remi had moved past the offerings and was studying the symbols on the wall. “Look, almost all of them are snakes. Quetzalcoatl. And here — the procession theme is reprised, but they’re carrying the body of a feathered serpent in this depiction. A funeral procession.”

They spent another hour inside the chamber as the workers continued propping wooden beams along the tunnel’s length, and then Remi set her dimming light down and brushed a hand through her dusty hair. “I think we’ve had a productive day, don’t you? It’s probably time to leave this to the experts.”

Antonio nodded. “It’s one of the most significant discoveries in the last hundred years. You should be very proud of yourselves. The discoverers of Quetzalcoatl’s final resting place. It’s an incredible honor to work with you both.”

Maribela smiled. “Yes. It’s a remarkable achievement. The Mexican people owe you a tremendous debt for restoring an important piece of their history to them. Another tremendous debt,” she added, referring to the Mayan Codex the Fargos had retrieved only months before.

“The honor is ours,” Sam said, “for being allowed to explore a sacred site. And you should be congratulating yourselves as well. This will be a huge event in the archaeology community. Quetzalcoatl’s lost treasure and his body all in one day. Most don’t have that kind of a find in a lifetime.”

Remi cleared her throat, the dust thick in the air. “What we’ve found we couldn’t have done without you,” she said graciously, although the truth was more complicated.

Lazlo was staring at the mummy, shaking his head.

“What is it, Lazlo?” Sam asked.

“We’re still missing something. I don’t know what, but we are.”

Maribela chuckled. “Lazlo, you did it. If the find isn’t what you’d hoped for, that doesn’t mean anyone’s missing anything.”

“Perhaps. But I want to do a careful inspection of the interior. Just as the information that led us here was overlooked in the López Mateos tombs, my sense is it’s too early to assume we’ve cracked this nut.”

Antonio stepped forward.

“Of course we’ll do a detailed analysis of the find and go over every inch of it. We’re all after the same thing, and I think Lazlo’s instincts should be respected. It’s always possible that there are more secrets here and that Quetzalcoatl hasn’t revealed them all to us yet.”

When they were back at ground level, Antonio placed calls to arrange for more security as night fell. They wanted to take no chances with a room that contained gold and priceless artifacts. In a rural area of Mexico well away from the reaches of the police departments, Antonio was naturally cautious — enough of the workers had seen what lay in the chamber for rumors to begin and an armed presence was the sensible precaution.

Antonio’s cell phone chirped and he excused himself. He listened for a few moments and his face went white. When he returned, he looked shaky.

“What’s wrong, Antonio?” Remi asked.

“It’s … They found Carlos’s body.”

They fell silent, the excitement over the find now muted by the reality of their colleague’s violent demise. Antonio shared the slim facts he’d been given, which explained nothing. Another senseless death in a brutal world and a good man taken from the Earth for no reason. As the daylight waned, a hot wind blew across the ruins like the breath of an angry god, moaning through the surrounding structures, a funeral dirge for their departed friend. After contemplating the news of Carlos’s passing, Sam and Remi packed their backpacks as the siblings issued instructions to the two security men. When Antonio was finished, he approached the Fargos, his mood somber.

“I’m going to stay here until the additional security shows up. I’ve asked for a contingent of soldiers from the nearby military base.” He checked the time. “They should arrive in an hour. Are you leaving?”

“We’ll come by tomorrow to see what’s being unearthed, if that’s okay,” Remi said.

“It would be my pleasure.”

They followed the last of the straggling tourists down the Avenue of the Dead, moving toward the entry gates on automatic pilot. Remi and Lazlo were quiet on the way back to the motel.