by JC Ryan
Inside, a woman toiled over a stone stove. It was a clever contraption, like the barbecue pits Rex knew from his childhood. Mostly square, though not precise, it had an opening to feed in wood and a crude chimney leading from the back to a hole in the roof of the house. This one had a flat piece of metal laid precariously on the stone walls of the stove, and on the metal rested a cast iron pot. Both the metal and the pot were items Rex hadn’t observed elsewhere in the village before.
The man spoke to the woman, his daughter, in the language Rex had heard from the old men the day before. He’d like to know the name of it, but now was not the time to ask.
When the daughter replied and pointed, Rex turned to look into the corner she’d indicated. To his shock, a small child lay there, his skin covered in painful-looking sores. Rex mentally reviewed his own inoculations. This child had a dreadful disease, though Rex couldn’t guess which one. Hopefully, his own shots were current for whatever this was.
Then he realized that if the child was that sick and the adults weren’t, it must not be that communicable.
“What’s wrong with him?” he asked. He winced at the bluntness of it, but he didn’t have the Quechuan vocabulary yet to be more diplomatic.
“It is the wasting sickness. We do not know what to do to help him. Our medicines do not work. Like the others, he will die.”
Wow. And I thought I was blunt.
“The others?” he prompted.
“This is why we need a doctor. Many children have died.”
“Only children?”
“Yes. Our future.”
Rex nodded. He wanted to look more closely at the child, but he knew it would do little good. He knew emergency field medicine, but illness wasn’t part of that, except for what all US soldiers called Montezuma’s Revenge – intestinal upset due to unaccustomed food and water sources. Although he wished he could, he knew he was unlikely to be able to diagnose the illness.
“I will speak with Alexandro and find out why the doctor hasn’t arrived.”
“Please, do not tell him you have seen my grandchild,” Pidro pleaded.
Rex put his hand on Pidro’s shoulder and felt it shaking. He was either grief-stricken or terrified – perhaps both.
“I won’t,” he promised.
Digger didn’t have the same qualms about approaching the child, Rex discovered. When he turned his attention back to the pitiful pallet in the corner, he saw Digger had lain down beside the child, his head on the little one’s chest. The boy had one frail hand tangled in Digger’s coat, and a wan smile on his face. Rex hadn’t even realized the dog had followed them into the house.
He started to apologize, but the man’s daughter spoke in the unfamiliar language, and the man translated. “This is the first time my grandson has smiled since he became ill. She thanks you for bringing the good spirit into the house. Maybe he will recover now.”
If only it were that simple. And how different this is from Afghanistan, where they viewed Digger as a djinn, or evil spirit.
Rex realized he had found his latest crusade. On this trip, he’d been nothing more than a tourist, and while he welcomed the lack of stress on this adventure, he’d felt something missing. In every other place he’d wandered, there had been drug or weapons dealers, terrorists, or other of his sworn enemies to deal with. Justice to be served, injustice to be righted. Maybe he was destined to always turn up in places where people were in need of help. There seemed to be a ceaseless stream of new bad guys to take the place of any that Rex had brought to justice in the past. He couldn’t help but think of Sisyphus, a figure of Greek mythology who was condemned to forever be pushing a boulder up a mountain, only to see it roll down again and have to push it up all over again.
He left the little house with a new sense of purpose. Sometimes, clusters of things that didn’t make sense individually were somehow related. He and Digger had a new mission – to find out how these were related and get to whatever nasty business was at the bottom of it. Then take care of that.
Thirteen
ON HIS WAY to Alexandro’s house, Rex passed the guest house, as he’d come to think of it. Barry was sitting outside on a stone bench he’d laid some blankets across. He hailed Rex and told him Flo would have dinner ready in a few minutes.
“Where have you been, anyway?” Barry asked.
“Talking to one of the elders,” Rex answered. It was true, but Barry would assume it was about history, not about conspiracies in the village. He wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. But he did have a question. “I thought you’d be upset about Junior going off again.”
“Of course, we want him here, but he has to attend to his uncle’s needs first.”
“True. I just wondered, because you and Flo seem pretty happy about something.”
Barry looked over his shoulder toward the door of the house. “Well, we weren’t going to say anything. Didn’t want to toot our own horn. But since you ask…”
Rex tried to conceal his eagerness to hear what was coming next. Barry winked.
“We bought the site from Junior.” He made air quotes with two fingers on each hand as he said ‘bought’.
“What does that mean?” Rex asked, a feeling of dread creeping through his solar plexus. Digger, who had flopped to his belly at Barry’s feet, raised his head to look at Rex. The stress must have come through in his tone. Fortunately, Barry hadn’t noticed Digger’s reaction, and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t understand it.
“Well, you know Alexandro thinks he sold that land to Junior. Junior said he just gave them the money to get a doctor and to buy the villagers’ goodwill to allow him to setup a dig on the site. Anyway, it turns out Junior’s broke. Remember, he lost that thirty-thousand dollars to that scam he was talking about when we first met him?”
Rex nodded. Technically speaking, it wasn’t correct that they’d first met him at that restaurant. They’d been unwilling witnesses to the sad story. The Markses hadn’t made his acquaintance until the next day, and Rex even later, at Machu Picchu. But he encouraged Barry to go on.
“Well, now he needs the money to get his uncle back to the States, like we told you. And they’re tapped out. So, we insisted he take some money to help out, and he wouldn’t hear of it, until Flo thought to offer to ‘buy’ the site. That’s when he told us it was all a sham, he just wanted to help the village. And we insisted he let us help.”
All sorts of alarms were going off in Rex’s mind. The first of them was how could the kid have chartered a helicopter in Santa Teresa to get him to Cuzco faster, if he had no money? Added to the rest of his doubts about that journey, how it had taken much less time than it should have, and the strangeness about the site and its value or no value to the villagers, and the sum that Rex reached spelled ‘scam’.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how much did you pay?”
Barry looked down. “Aw, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got plenty.”
“How much,” Rex insisted.
From the door, Flo’s voice answered. “Fifty-thousand, if you must know. And by the way, dinner’s ready.”
“Thanks for the dinner, Flo. Sorry, I didn’t want to stick my nose in your business. I’m just trying to figure out what a doctor costs in these parts. Did Junior say whether that was for a year, or what?” It was thin, he knew. The question was impertinent, even for that reason. He could see Flo wasn’t happy. She’d raised her eyebrows at him and then glanced at Barry before she answered.
“Oh. Well, that’s what Junior told us. We didn’t ask when the doctor would arrive and how long he or she would stay. Come and eat, before Digger decides it’s all his.”
Rex looked down. Digger was no longer at their feet. “Digger! Leave it!” he shouted, running into the house to save their dinner. Back in the days when Trevor was Digger’s owner, the dog was trained to not help himself to food unless Trevor told him he could. But that kind of discipline had gone out the window since Rex became his owner, and he’d been unable
to reinstate it. Fortunately, their dinner was on the stove, out of Digger’s reach.
***
THAT NIGHT, REX couldn’t sleep. He debated telling the Markses his suspicions, but he still had no evidence, and he still didn’t know how it all tied together. Had Alexandro made the deal with Junior because of the sick children? It seemed probable he had. But was he scamming Junior, or were both of them scamming the Markses? Were the artifacts genuine, or not? And what the heck was wrong with the kids? Rex had only seen one so far. How many sick children were there really?
He resolved to answer one of the questions tomorrow. He was going back to the site and risk contaminating it by getting his hands on one of those artifacts. If he still couldn’t tell, he’d have to make another plan. If it turned out they were genuine, then the Ministry of Culture should be interested, and if they were fake, then the police should be.
It all needed to happen quickly, before the Markses’ money was gone, although he had a feeling that their fifty-thousand was already down the drain. He wanted to know how they’d paid it, but any more questions would destroy every bit of trust the Markses had in him. He’d have to investigate on his own, at least until he had enough evidence to get the authorities involved.
It’s time to put Rehka to work on this.
It was near midnight in Peru, but his IT consultant, Rehka Gyan, would be at her desk in the home office he’d arranged for her halfway around the world in Mumbai, India. In one of the first missions he’d taken on after his ‘death’ in the ambush, Rex had freed Rehka from a life of slavery in a Saudi harem. He’d learned how capable she was, and when they got back to India, he’d hired her to handle this type of investigation when he needed it, as well as tracking down and recovering assets he’d liberated from a few of the criminals he’d eliminated.
Quietly, so he wouldn’t wake the Markses, he slipped out the door, Digger following, and walked a few hundred yards up the mountainside with his encrypted satellite phone. She was not only his friend but also his technology expert, virtual assistant, and researcher. With a master’s degree in computer sciences she had exceptional skills in programming and online research. If anyone anywhere left a digital footprint, be it on social media, email, or online searches, she could track that person down. She had enough black hat and gray hat skills to operate anonymously on the Darknet and get unfettered access to some of the most secure private, government, and law enforcement databases across the globe without leaving so much as a hint that she had been there.
They hadn’t known each other for long when he hired her. The circumstances under which they met had been tense. He’d taken an almost paternal, or at least brotherly, interest in her. She and six other women were his first ‘rescues’ in his new life after he and Digger survived the ambush in Afghanistan and escaped to India.
Before making the call, Rex took a moment to compose his thoughts and prepare himself mentally to be Ruan Daniels—the only name she knew him by.
“Rehka, good morning. It’s Ruan.”
“Good morning, boss. You know, you always say that. Who else would be calling me on this number?” It was a ritual they went through every time he called. Each time, he had a different answer.
“The Crown Prince of Shambhala might.”
She laughed. One of the most pleasant things about her was her enjoyment of his humor, which even he admitted was lame at times.
“How’s your dad? Found any more victims to beat at Chaturanga? He’s a shark, you know. The only redeeming value he has is he doesn’t bet on the games.”
“Don’t even suggest that to him! He’d start. He and my mother are doing well, thanks to your generosity, Ruan.”
“Have you seen Aarav lately? How is he?” Rex referred to Aarav Patel, a police detective and valuable contact he’d made in Mumbai. He had introduced Rehka to Aarav, whose family had virtually adopted her.
“He’s undercover again. His wife and I have a standing dinner engagement, and then we watch Disney movies with the children. Where are you now, Ruan? And how are you and my friend Digger doing?”
It was part of their telephone ritual. She always asked him where he was, and he never told her.
“We’re both fine. We’re here and there, everywhere and anywhere.”
Rehka started laughing. “And let me guess, you’re doing this and that, not much of anything?”
“Exactly. You know me too well,” Rex replied with a big grin. It also pleased him to hear that she was so cheerful lately. He took this as an indication that on the psychological front she was getting over her terrible experience in Saudi Arabia.
The niceties behind them, Rex asked for a report on her progress in tracking down the dozens of secret accounts belonging to a few of the bad guys he’d eliminated. Their money he considered the spoils of war, and Rehka’s top duty was to find it, secure it, and invest some of it and distribute some of it to the victims of those bad guys, under his direction. She efficiently gave him the numbers and the new accounts she had tracked down and cleared out and what she’d done with the funds since their last conversation. Although she had set up spreadsheets in a shared encrypted Cloud-based folder, and Rex looked at them on a regular basis, he still liked to talk to her about it because it gave him the opportunity to praise her for the excellent work she was doing. Part of her psychological battle was her lack of self-esteem.
Finally, they got to the purpose of Rex’s call when he asked Rehka to investigate the name Walter Henry Roper—aka Junior, along with modern versions of the salted mine scam.
***
EARLY THE NEXT morning, the Markses were still asleep when Rex and Digger had crept silently out of the house. Rex paid one of the local women three dollars for a breakfast of quinoa and alpaca meat for himself. He shared a few shreds of the roasted meat with Digger to apologize for the bowl of kibble he’d eaten unseasoned with tastier food before they left.
He went to Alexandro’s house to wake him and ask to be taken back to the site, even though he was sure he could find it again on his own. He didn’t want Alexandro up in arms, not yet. But he also wanted the man with him to keep an eye on him, in case he was involved in what was beginning to look like an elaborate scam.
Sometime during his sleepless night, while he was thinking about genuine versus fake artifacts, the word ‘salted’ popped into his head. He’d read many stories about those kinds of scams playing out during the gold rush days of California, when con artists placed lumps of rich ore in worthless mines to convince naïve buyers to pay exorbitant amounts for the land.
He still had to confirm it, but if his subconscious had tossed that up from the mismatched pieces of the past few days’ events, he had a suspicion he’d find the artifacts were fake, and the Markses had been scammed. And, admittedly, he’d been played for a fool as well. His pride was at stake, right along with the Markses money, which would no doubt be winging its way into untraceable accounts very soon, unless he could stop it. He had maybe twenty-four hours, maybe even less, from the time Junior had left the village yesterday. Junior had a twelve-hour head start. He’d be arriving in Santa Teresa sometime today if he wasn’t there already.
Alexandro didn’t answer Rex’s hail from outside his house, and the sun was climbing rapidly. Rex considered whether to leave before the Markses awoke, even without Alexandro, or whether he’d be in trouble with all of them if he went on his own. The fact that he could travel faster on his own was the deciding factor. He snapped his fingers for Digger to follow and strode away from the village at a miles-eating clip. Maybe he’d even be back before Alexandro and the Markses became alarmed at his absence.
He made good time, but he was still feeling the lack of oxygen when he saw the partially-fallen wall of the site. Digger waited patiently when Rex sat on the wall to catch his breath before beginning his search. Even though he’d been here only yesterday, the ruins were in such a jumble that he wasn’t certain of the place where he’d seen the artifacts. It took him an hour or
more – he wasn’t looking at his watch – to locate it again. When he did, he eyed the structure to determine how much damage he’d have to do to reach the artifacts.
While he was studying the walls of the structure, Digger went exploring. Rex didn’t pay much attention. Try as he might, he couldn’t see how to get to the artifacts without dismantling a wall or two. He was looking in from a different window slot to get a better angle on it when Digger appeared on the other side of the wall from him and let out two short barks.
“Digger! How did you get in there?”
Digger barked again, and then disappeared from view. A few moments later, he reappeared at Rex’s side.
“Show me, boy. Show me how you got in there.”
Digger tilted his head in that questioning gesture, and Rex tried to think of a command that would get the response he wanted. Before he could think of one, Digger started trotting away. Rex followed.
Disappointed that they were moving away from the structure with the artifacts, Rex started to turn back, but Digger stopped, sat down and stared at him.
“What is it, buddy?”
Digger got up and resumed his path. Rex decided there was something the dog wanted him to see and resigned himself to follow. Digger led him into another crumbling structure, this one using a small cliff for its back wall. Inside, Rex caught a glimpse of Digger’s hindquarters and tail as they melted into a shadow that turned out to be a hole in the cliff face.
Rex couldn’t call it a cave, because it was clearly man-made. Wondering how stable it was after centuries, he followed cautiously. He’d crawled only a few yards on hands and knees in the dark when the tunnel terminated at an intersection with one that ran perpendicularly to it. The second tunnel was wider, and the roof had fallen in here and there, letting in sunlight and obstructing the passage to some degree. Digger was nowhere in sight.
“Digger! Where did you go?”
In a flash, Digger was back. He’d wriggled through a passage at one of the cave-ins to Rex’s left. Rex said, “Where are you taking me?”
