Xibalba

CHAPTER 13

“Cenotes!” Bell clapped his forehead. “Of course! That makes perfect sense. The cenote where we found the guidestone has to be one of the waypoints.”

“But which one of the waypoints is it?” Miranda asked from the passenger seat across from Angel. Maddock and Bones, soaking wet and filthy, had climbed into the rear passenger area where the archaeologist was sitting.

“There’s probably a marker just like it in each cenote along the route,” Maddock said as he dug some mud out of his ear with a finger. It was an exercise in futility. He would need a long hot shower, maybe even two or three, to get the filth off and the chill out of his joints, but there wasn’t time for that now.

After texting Jimmy, he’d called Angel and arranged for an early pick-up. There was no sign of police presence on the road. The group that had briefly shut down the archaeological site was long gone. By the time they’d reached the road, and long before Angel and the others arrived, he had the answer to Miranda’s question, but he hesitated to pass that information along. The arrival of red-haired woman and her small army at Copán, less than a day after Bell’s decision to travel there, troubled him. The most likely explanation was that Antonio Griego had given up the information, probably under duress, but it seemed prudent to speak only in general terms.

“There are eleven marks on the glyph that seem to correspond to main stars in the Serpens constellation. Jimmy compared the alignment of the constellation with the location of known cenotes, using the one we already know about as a variable and assuming the same north-south alignment but at different scales. That gave us a number of possibilities, most of them in the Yucatan.”

“Wonderful.” Miranda’s tone was thick with sarcasm. “Right back where we started.”

“I don’t believe that all the waypoints will be in the Yucatan,” Bell said, though he had lost some of his earlier confidence. “The Maya influence during the Classic period was strongest in the southern regions of their empire. The Popol Vuh, our primary source of information about the Underworld, originated with the Kiche of western Guatemala.”

“We don’t need to actually visit all the waypoints. Jimmy has ranked the results in order of probability based on the number of matches to known cenotes or unexplored areas.” That little bit of extra legwork would cost Maddock a couple bottles of Wild Turkey, but if there was one lesson Maddock had learned over the years, it was that he could count on Jimmy for results, which made the information cheap at the price. “The latter makes a lot of sense because, obviously if the City of Shadow had already been discovered, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He didn’t add that Bell was correct. The most likely location for the lost city, according to Jimmy’s simulation, was not in the Yucatan, but in northern Guatemala.

“That’s the good news,” he continued. “The bad news is that some of these locations are pretty remote.”

“Remoter than this?” Miranda said. “Let me get this straight. You want us to traipse all over creation looking for a lost city that we’re not even certain actually exists?”

“Miranda,” Bell murmured. “This is what I do. And the city is real.”

“She’s right though,” Maddock said. “There’s a better way. I’ve contacted Tam Broderick and asked for some logistic support. She’s sending someone to meet us at Palacios Airport. It’s not too far from here.”

That was only partially true. While the Palacios airfield looked close on the map, it could only be reached via a rugged mountain road, which given the rainy conditions, took several hours and put the off-road capabilities of their rental vehicle to the test. There were closer airports, but Maddock had chosen this one in hopes that its remoteness would help conceal their departure from the Serpent Brothers or whomever it was the red-haired woman was working for.

Hector Canul paused in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the low light inside the cantina and taking a moment to survey the room. Hours of chasing rumors across the remote Honduran interior had brought him here. The tables were empty and there were only a few people at the bar, their backs turned to him. He studied them, trying to guess which of them was the man he sought. The fellow at the end of the bar seemed like the outlier. He was hunched over his drink, a posture that was both defensive and pathetic.

Hector advanced and took a seat at the bar, keeping one empty stool between himself and the other man. He made eye contact with the bartender, nodded, then leaned over to the other patron. “Join me for a drink, friend?”

The man rolled his head sideways, gazing back warily, and shrugged.

Hector turned back to the bartender. “Two of whatever my friend is having.”

Two streaked glasses containing clear liquor were delivered. Hector lifted his, sniffed the contents. It smelled sweet, like rum.

“Guaro,” the other man said, wrapping his hand around his glass.

“Your name is Guaro?”

“No. The drink is guaro. Sugar cane liquor.” The man’s speech was slurred. “My name is Rodrigo.”

“I am Hector. What shall we drink to, friend Rodrigo? Home?”

Rodrigo ducked as if the word had stung him, and Hector knew right then that he had found the right man. “I have no home. Not anymore.”

“What happened?”

“The curse. El Cadejo Negro. First it made people sick. Then the spacemen came. They killed everyone. Burned the village.”

“Spacemen?” Hector repeated.

“Don’t believe him,” the bartender said, dismissively. “He’s a drunkard, telling stories so that people like you will take pity and buy him drinks.”

Hector turned to the bartender. “Is any of it true?”

The bartender inclined his head in a gesture of compromise. “There was a fire up in the mountains. I heard it was bad. But there is no curse. No spacemen.”

Hector nodded then turned back to Rodrigo. He shifted over to the empty stool, getting closer, and patted the drunk man on the shoulder. “It’s okay, friend. I believe you. Tell me more. How did you know that they were men from another planet?”

Rodrigo shook his head. “Not men from another planet. Men in space suits. Soldiers. They came in helicopters. When I saw them in the sky, I hid in the forest.”

“Why did you hide? What were you afraid of?”

Rodrigo’s earlier wariness returned. “Who are you? You aren’t from here. Why do you want to know about this?”

Hector leaned closer. “I buy things, Rodrigo. Expensive things that men like you find in the jungle. You know what I’m talking about, I think.”

Rodrigo looked like he had just gone stone-cold sober. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

“Maybe I can help you.” Hector placed a hand flat on the bar. Protruding from beneath it was the corner of a banknote — Honduran lempira—marked with the number 1,000. “Tell me about el Cadejo.”

Rodrigo eyed the money suspiciously. At the current exchange rate, it was worth almost nine hundred pesos, or about forty American dollars, which would keep Rodrigo in guaro for a while. “I don’t know anything about that.”

Hector pulled his hand back, sliding the note out of the other man’s reach.

“Diego found it,” Rodrigo blurted. “A little jade figure of a dog, covered in black dust. That’s what he said. I never saw it. Everyone who did… ” He shook his head. “The curse.”

Hector withdrew his hand but he allowed the 1,000 lempira note to remain where it was on the bar. Rodrigo’s hand snaked out and snatched it as if afraid that it might evaporate.

Hector produced another banknote, displaying it in similar fashion to the first. “Where did Diego find this black dog?”

“I don’t know. We are… we were competitors. I know where he might have hidden it, but… ” He shook his head.

“But what?”

Rodrigo eyed the second bill. “You don’t have enough money to make me ever go near that thing.”

“Are you certain? I have a great deal of money, friend.”

Rodrigo shook his head, but it was an uncertain gesture.

Hector left the second bill on the bar in front of Rodrigo. He downed his drink in a gulp and slammed the glass down on the bar, laying another currency note atop the empty. “Think it over,” he said, patting Rodrigo on the shoulder. “I’ll be around, but not for long.”

He exited the cantina without looking back, pausing once more at the door to shade his eyes from the relative brightness outside. The rain clouds were finally burning off, and now the air was thick with humidity.

He wasn’t looking forward at all to what he would have to do next.

Rodrigo was another dead end. The man was too terrified of the curse — and rightly so — to be enticed by dreams of avarice. No, there was only one way to find the artifact the superstitious Hondurans had taken to calling el Cadejo Negro, and end the curse before it could spread to the outside world.

As he stood there outside the cantina, a big SUV rolled past. The vehicle was the same make and model as the one he had almost rented in San Pedro Sula, and much too expensive to belong to a local. As it drove past, he got a look at the occupants.

Gringos.

He watched the vehicle until it turned at an intersection and disappeared from view, and then continued on his way.

The helicopter was waiting for them when they reached the airfield.

“Red Cross,” Miranda observed, noting the aircraft’s white exterior and the distinctive emblem of the international relief agency on the fuselage. “Typical.”

Maddock considered asking her to explain the remark, but remembered the woman’s earlier revelation about working in the intelligence community. She was probably accustomed to using non-governmental organizations as cover for operations in far-flung corners of the planet.

He didn’t know if the aircraft — an Airbus H135—was actually from the Red Cross’s fleet or had simply been painted to look that way, but the pilot who got out to greet them was most definitely not a part of that organization.

“Well look what cat puked up,” Bones said, grinning. “Does Dear Leader know you borrowed the helicopter?”

Kasey Kim, Korean by heritage but in every other way a 100 % Southern California girl, shot Bones the bird, then turned to Maddock, acknowledging him with a nod. “Heard you needed a lift.”

“You heard right,” Maddock replied. “Got room for five plus our gear?”

Kasey gave the rest of the group a quick visual inspection. It might have been Maddock’s imagination, but he thought he detected a look of recognition when her gaze fell on Miranda. He wondered if the two had crossed paths at some point in the past.

Kasey was an operations officer with the Central Intelligence Agency, assigned to Tam Broderick’s special task force — codenamed: Myrmidons. Maddock and Bones had briefly worked in an official capacity with the Myrmidons and continued to trade favors with Tam, which usually proved mutually beneficial. The fact that Kasey had been able to reach the rural airport only a few hours after Maddock’s call told him that Tam was more interested in Bell’s research than she was letting on.

He wondered what else he wasn’t being told.

But if Kasey and Miranda did know each other, neither felt the need to acknowledge it openly.

“Depends on what kind of gear you’re talking about,” Kasey finally said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Weight’s an issue. We might have to leave Bones behind.”

Bones gave a forced and abrupt laugh, and then glared at her with feigned indignation.

“SCUBA stuff and some climbing equipment,” Maddock said. “Tents and sleeping bags.”

“Guns?”

“Just two machetes.”

“Wow. You’re a couple of real Boy Scouts.” Kasey shrugged. “Yeah, all right. Shouldn’t be a problem. And I might be able to help you in the firepower department. Same destination you gave Tam?”

“Yes.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Miranda asked. “You never told us.”

“Guatemala. Up north near the border with Mexico in the rain forest.”

“I said ‘exactly,’” Miranda said through clenched teeth. “You can’t expect us to just follow blindly.”

“Miranda,” Bell snapped. “They’re helping us.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to just meekly… ”

“It’s okay,” Maddock said, quickly, trying to head off an argument. “It’s really in the middle of nowhere, but I can give you the GPS coordinates.”

He took out his phone and brought up the text message Jimmy Letson had sent with the exact coordinates that were the most likely location of the City of Shadow. He thought the mere appearance of cooperation might be enough to mollify her, but Miranda was intent on getting the precise location. She took out her own phone and began meticulously entering the coordinates as he read them off.

Kasey began tapping her fingers against her biceps impatiently. “Can we get this show on the road? I’d like to be in and out before dark.”

Without waiting for an answer, she headed back to the helicopter, climbed in.

“You heard her,” Maddock said as the aircraft’s twin Turbomeca Arrius 2B2 turboshaft engines began spinning up. “All aboard.”

He jogged back to the rear of the SUV to collect their gear. Bones joined him.

“You don’t trust her?” he said, speaking in a low whisper.

“Short answer, no. But I don’t distrust her, either. Let’s just say I’m being extra cautious.”

Bones gave a nod of approval.

Ten minutes later, they were in the air, cruising at 130 knots above the lush green landscape below.

“Welcome to Guatemala,” Kasey announced a few minutes later, her clipped California up-talk accent coming through loud and clear over the headsets they all wore. “We’re cleared for a flyover only. I’ll be able to touch down for a few minutes for a hot unload, but then I’ll have to leave you and head on to Belize City to refuel. I’ll be back to pick you up in twelve hours, but you’ll probably want to keep a low profile and avoid interacting with the local authorities.”

“Hopefully, no authorities where we’re going,” Maddock said into his lip mic.

For the next hour or so, conversation was kept to a minimum as they were all treated to a low altitude flyover above forests, lakes and sprawling coffee plantations. Only Miranda Bell seemed unimpressed with the view; she kept checking her phone, almost compulsively, even though reception was spotty at best. Her expression reflected her growing frustration.

“Having trouble posting to Snapchat?” Bones asked.

She shot him another one of her trademark withering glances. “We’re off course.”

Maddock shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I do think so.” Miranda held up her phone to display the map. “We should be heading almost due north, but we’re going north-northwest.”

“Are you sure?” Maddock took the phone and made a show of examining it. “No. We’re on course,” he said. “You just entered the wrong coordinates.”

“Like hell I did,” Miranda snapped.

“You’ll have to forgive my daughter, Mr. Maddock,” Bell interjected. “She can be a bit… ”

“Anal retentive?” Bones finished.

“I’m not,” Miranda said. “I just don’t like it when people are careless. I’m not careless. I entered the coordinates exactly as you read them, so if a mistake was made, it was yours.”

Maddock shrugged. “Well, this longitude is off. It’s supposed to be eighty-five degrees, fifty-five minutes, west. You’ve got eighty-five, fifty-nine. Maybe you misheard me. Five and nine sort of sound the same.”

“Not to me,” Miranda growled, but took the phone back and corrected the input without further question.

Maddock smiled inwardly. Miranda had not heard him wrong. He had intentionally given her the wrong coordinates. The difference was minuscule: only about five miles separated their actual destination from the point he had given her. He was frankly surprised she had even caught on, since at their present position, they were only a few degrees off the erroneous heading. But if Miranda was, whether actively or unknowingly, working with the people who had somehow beaten them to Copán, sending their rivals five miles off course in the dense rain forest just might buy Maddock and the others the time they needed to find the City of Shadow.