Dr. Storm cleared his voice. “We found another related document, written in the hand of one Marcos de Niza. In it he talks about the interrogation Fray Garcia witnessed, and about the one true journey out of Tenochtitlán. This document provides the linkage we sought. Nick, you know the history better than anyone, enlighten my good friend.”
Nick sat up and leaned toward Juan. “Marcos was just another Franciscan missionary, one of many now pouring into the New World. But he earned his stripes for the order first in Peru on the heels of Pizarro conquering the Incas, then in Guatemala. His star was on the rise. In 1537 he is summoned to Mexico City by the Viceroy of all of New Spain, Antonio de Mendoza, and all the while is privy to the information the Franciscan Order is accumulating. Their purpose is to convert the conquered, protect them from the cruelty of their new masters, and to see that the crown gets its royal fifth to spread the faith.
Remember Cabeza de Vaca? He was shipwrecked in the Gulf of Mexico, and wandered around the Southwest to the Pacific, and eventually made it back to Mexico City along with several others, including a slave named Esteban the Moor. They claim to have seen fabulous things, and the story of the Seven Cities of Cibola takes root in the New World. With me so far?”
Juan nodded eagerly, caught up in the tale that was so intertwined with the archives he oversaw, just outside his door.
“In 1539 Fray Marcos is sent under orders from the Viceroy on an expedition to verify Cabeza de Vaca’s reports and find Cibola, and the party is accompanied by none other than Esteban the Moor to help guide them. They make a long journey and ultimately Esteban is killed, but Fray Marcos claims to have seen Cibola off in the distance, and the survivors return.”
“So Marcos never actually went there, but only saw it in the distance?” Juan asked.
“True, but that was good enough to launch a second expedition, but this one more seriously outfitted, and led by none other than Francisco Vásquez de Coronado,” Nick replied. “Fray Marcos went with them, and what he saw in the distance from the first expedition turned out to be the Zuni Pueblos of New Mexico, which Coronado now ransacked in frustration. They are led further on a wild goose chase, all the way to Quivira, in Kansas. They never found what they sought, and Fray Marcos was sent back in shame.
But now we know Coronado was actually on the right track. The confession from a tortured Aztec that was witnessed by Fray Garcia, who wrote about it to his superior Antonio Rodriguez, which was mentioned verbatim in this letter by Marcos de Niza. Marcos was then summoned by the Viceroy of New Spain to Mexico City, and then accompanied Coronado on the quest for Cibola,” Nick summarized.
“But how does that narrow down what route that one true journey took, or where it ended up?” Juan pondered. “Coronado wandered far and wide, and never actually found it. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“It is, unless your dad spent every summer of your youth narrowing it down. And I now have all the clues I need to make perfect sense of those wanderings.” Nick concluded.
“Excepcional, I’m happy for you. It is not often the gods favor us with revealing their secrets,” Juan replied. “It does the soul good to see righteousness occasionally illuminate the darkness.”
Dr. Storm stood up and offered his hand to Juan. “I appreciate all your help and the access you so generously provided. Nick and I have a little token of our appreciation for you.” With that he put a bottle of Macallan 25-year-old scotch on his desk and was hugged by his old friend.
On the ride back to the hotel, both of them a bit emotionally drained, Dr. Storm looked over at Nick questioningly. “You never told him the whole story, of the key clues you left out. You don’t completely trust him, do you?”
“I have no secrets from you Doc, I trust you with my life. And it’s not that I don’t trust Juan, I just may not trust all those around him. You can tell from the photos in his office that he attracts cultural groupies and political wonks like a dog collects fleas. I’ve got to step carefully, there are a lot of people who are important to me involved now, you included. There’s more at stake here than just solving a mystery.”
Chapter 33 – July 18
Stepping off the plane back in the Mexico City International Airport, Nick looked over his shoulder for Dr. Storm out of habit, as they had just spent so much time together in Spain. But his old mentor wasn’t with him on this flight and had instead gone off to visit other colleagues while he was in Europe.
“Overdue debts to pay,” he had joked.
“More like royalty being fêted,” Nick had countered.
They had departed with a warm embrace and a promise by Nick to discretely keep the good doctor up to date on events as they unfolded.
Before leaving the airport, Nick found an internet café and rented time on a computer, as he was still in black out mode with his phone. He logged into the appropriate one-time use e-mail account, and found Soba’s reply awaiting him, which consisted of two long strings of numbers, which would appear as gibberish to any prying eyes. It was the coded latitude and longitude GPS coordinates of her location.
“Which one should I list first?” she had asked when they were coming up with the code for this single most confidential piece of information, where her exact hidden location would be.
“Well just like Occam’s Razor says, simplicity is always better than complexity,” he had replied. Seeing her puzzled look, he realized she had never heard of this age-old theorem of problem solving. “The simplest solution is always the best. Just list them alphabetically, latitude before longitude.”
To get the deciphered coordinates, he dropped the first six and the last six digits from each string of numbers. He then subtracted the six digits of Soba’s birthday from the remaining latitude number, and the six digits of the day they had met back on the summer solstice from the longitude. He found using rhythms helped Soba remember key instructions. Everything in sixes to keep it simple, sixes for Soba he had joked. He smiled that she had insisted they use her birthday within the code.
“Easy for me to remember, and it is important you memorize it anyway. Because you know, it’s customary to give a gift then, even among white people,” she had laughed.
Finished, Nick proudly looked at the resulting coordinates, this is where he would now find her. He deleted the email message itself, and then emptied the electronic trash bin too. Good luck to anyone tracking that one, he thought.
He quickly went to the long-term parking lot where he had parked his pickup truck, not immediately recognizing it due to the switched license plates he had put on. He had forgotten he had swapped them out, the flight and time zone changes having thrown him off. Pulling out onto the highway, the familiar sights and sounds of Mexico City filled his senses as he headed northeast, away from the city, to a destination on a map in the wilderness beyond a small town named Tulancingo.
The drive was through increasingly barren country, which eventually gave way to more fertile foothills. Nick motored past the scattered communal ejidos, with workers toiling in the fields, the occasional one waving a hat to him. He rechecked the coordinates he had plugged into his portable GPS and made his way up an increasingly steep and desolate roadway. Reaching the crest he briefly took in the panoramic view, then worked his way down the back side. The location on the screen was not on any marked road, so he drove slowly, looking for an unmarked roadway or trail to angle in toward it.
“It would be so much easier just to call her,” he found himself saying aloud out of frustration, after he turned back around to try again. But he absolutely wouldn’t do that now, not after having maintained radio silence with his phone for this long. And she wouldn’t have her phone on in the first place. At least she better not.
He almost missed it, the turn off partially obscured by the old growth of draping tree limbs, impinging scrub brush and a decided lack of traffic. He carefully turned in, a scratching sound trailing along the length of his truck as branches clawed at it. Slowly he followed the rutted road,
really more of a trail, wondering if he had made the correct turn off. The increasingly dense canopy overhead obscured any GPS signal, so he resolutely ventured onward, starting to worry if he could even find a place to turn around as the trail closed in ever more tightly around him.
Finally forced to put the Chevy into four-wheel drive, Nick drove on over the bumps and ruts, until he finally came to a sharp corner and turned. There in front of him the trail opened into a meadow, a field and small buildings and huts scattered along the far edge. He suddenly tensed as he saw the tall grass move in the distance, parting, something large coming at him, gaining momentum and thudding on the ground, then abruptly jumping up and putting two muddy paws on the hood and looking directly at him. Nanook. Just as suddenly another dog jumped up and did the same, his female Husky running mate.
Nick pulled off the trail over to the side, where a couple of other beat up, older vehicles sat, his well-worn pickup perfectly blending in. Nanook nuzzled Nick and pranced about him until he relented and got on his knees and returned the affection. At which point the Husky worked her way in, sniffed Nick, and leaned in for a rub too. “Whatcha got here boy, a girlfriend? About time, you old dog you!”
He gathered his things, and Nanook and the Husky eagerly led the way, bounding back across the meadow. Hearing Nanook bark once, Soba stuck her head out of a hut to see what he wanted, her eyes immediately meeting Nick’s.
“My mąʼiitsoh nahałʼin,” my wolf whisperer, Soba said in her sing song cadence as she slowly walked toward Nick. Looking eye to eye for a moment, she suddenly jumped up on him, wrapping her arms and legs around him, making him drop everything he was holding to hold on to her. Nick burrowed his face into her hair and neck and breathed deeply, inhaling that familiar, calming scent that was Soba and slowly twirling her about as Nanook and the Husky ran circles around them both.
“We’re safe as long as we’re together. And we’re not going to be apart until you see this thing through,” she whispered in his ear, holding on tight.
They both looked up when they heard laughter and giggling, as two children held each other mimicking them by making kissing sounds, and people started gathering about from the sudden commotion. Nick smiled broadly as he looked at the little crowd, and back into Soba’s deep green eyes. “I’ve been to Spain, and have much to tell you, but we can catch up on the drive north. First, why don’t you do the introductions to your new friends?”
Soba gazed out as the scenery drifted by her open truck window, then looked sternly over at Nick. “So you were actually in Spain? In Seville? Living it up at a luxury hotel and fine dining with Dr. Storm? All this time I was feeling sorry for you being holed up in some hostel in Mexico City, or worried you were being abducted by some drug cartel,” Soba fake pouted, unable to conceal a grin.
Nick checked his watch, then looked up. “Hey, we should be to customs in El Paso in only about 20 hours,” he joked. “Hardly any time at all to catch up or enjoy the pleasure of your company. Did I mention I missed you?”
He then meticulously outlined everything that had transpired in Seville, what he had learned, and the trail he believed the clues put him onto. It didn’t solve everything, but he believed it put him on the right path, and he was excited to dive into it.
Finally caught up on each other’s lives, Soba sighed and leaned into him, and started to doze off contentedly. As sleep finally began to calm her tortured imagination, Nanook nuzzled his head between them both through the open window to the back, looking for some attention. He gave Soba a loud huff in her ear and Nick a sloppy lick. It was going to be a long drive.
The sun slowly set, and dusk settled on the horizon to the west. The drive turned monotonous, the adrenaline rush of seeing Soba and wanting to start the search wearing off, and Nick found his eye lids getting heavier in the increasing darkness. After having driven for nearly 12 hours he finally gave in, the jet lag catching up and overpowering him. Looking for a place to pull off and crash, they entered the Mapimi Biosphere Reserve, a National Park just off their route north. After parking off the road, they crawled into the back of the truck, Nick fast asleep and gently snoring before Soba could even say good night.
She was up before the dawn with Nanook, foraged for a few items, and prepared a quick breakfast. Nick heard them through the fog of deep sleep and arose and shook off the hangover from the time change. Rummaging in the back of his driver’s seat, he pulled out his American license plates. He would need these to get through customs and swapped them with the Mexican plates he had been using to stay incognito south of the border.
The remaining drive was uneventful, but the tension steadily built as they got closer to the crossing at El Paso, Texas. When they slowed and then finally stopped behind a long line of vehicles to enter the states, Soba reached over, rubbed Nick’s shoulder and smiled nervously.
“Yeah, I’ll be glad to get through this too. Keep your eyes open, last time around they put that tracker under the truck,” Nick nervously said. Nanook sensed the tension and sat with his head resting through the window between them, alert and on watch. “Be suspicious of anyone approaching the vehicle from any side. That means you too Nanook,” he said, giving him an ear rub.
Time slowed, and the big rigs around them belched smoke and diesel as they inched toward the border crossing. Kids in a station wagon one lane over caught sight of Nanook and called and whistled to him, but he was indifferent, stoic. The clogged lanes parted into two groups, tractor trailers heading off to the right, and smaller vehicles staying straight ahead. They crept up a ramp over the border wall dividing the two countries, and then back down. Nick drummed his fingers on the dashboard, trying to appear nonchalant. Finally they pulled up to a booth, where they were greeted by a trim US Customs Agent standing outside of it. The agent leaned over and glanced around while asking Nick to see identification and took their passports. He opened each, and carefully looked at and evaluated Nick and Soba in turn.
“Anything to declare?” They both nodded their heads no, and Nick was given the passports back. “Well then, welcome back to the United States folks,” the agent said in his Texas drawl, and promptly snapped his fingers and motioned for the next car to pull up.
Nick drove quickly away from the border crossing and zoomed up to speed on Interstate 10 North. Finally he let out a long breath and looked over at Soba. “Free and clear baby, free and clear. I didn’t see a thing on my side or in back. How about you?”
“Nothing at all, there was barely time for anything. I guess we didn’t look as suspicious coming back as we did going down,” Soba responded hopefully.
“That, or whoever was tracking us had someone in Mexican Customs on their payroll, but no one on the US side. That was so quick I don’t see how they could have put anything on us while we were there.”
“So where to now?”
“Back up to Gila, we’ve got a date with my buddy Killian tomorrow. I feel we are getting close,” he smiled to Soba, and patted her knee affectionately. “The plot thickens, the adventure continues!”
“You would have been better off lying to me, don’t you know honesty kills?” Eztli said, as he carefully placed the freshly cleaned skull of Dr. Rojas on the top row of the skull rack. The rack was placed strategically near the centerpiece of his underground museum, the solid gold Aztec Sun Stone, created in tribute to the glory that had been the Aztec Empire. And would soon be again.
He stood back to admire his handiwork, the empty eye sockets of 61 skulls, of those who had dared cross him over the years, staring back blankly in mute testimony to his single minded and ruthless determination. He still had plenty of space to add more, whatever it took to achieve his goals. Certainly the ends of Mesoamerican pride and reunification justified the means.
The geneticist had dared tell him the truth, that Eztli’s blood line contained the Spanish blood of the conquerors, and that while he was predominantly Aztec, he wasn’t a pure blood. Mestizo, mixed blood, he wouldn’t even deign to sp
eak the word. No one must ever know this secret, it would undermine everything he was strategically building toward, the premise of the empire he had made his life’s purpose to resurrect.
“Ah well, Dr. Rojas, dead men tell no tales.”
There was much to accomplish today. He checked his watch and realized that his deputy Javier and brother Miguel would soon be here with their trusted lieutenants.
He wandered over to the elevator and looked back upon his museum, the rows of display cases of Aztec artifacts, elegantly displayed figurines, sculptures, precious metalwork and rescued treasure, and felt pride in his quest. The apogee of pre-Columbian civilization, acquired over many years by any means necessary, lay before him. And if he could add the rumored riches of Cibola to this, it would place Aztec heritage on a par with the other great civilizations of the past. Beyond them even.
They all sat out in the courtyard of the mansion, lunch and niceties dispensed with, ready to get down to business. Eztli nodded to Javier, who summarized the latest political unrest, the fallout from the ongoing drug wars between the cartels, and the pressure it was building on the current administration. “Perhaps an opportunity to be exploited,” Javier suggested.
“It is, and we should take advantage of the timing,” Eztli said, addressing the whole group. “Javier has informed me that the Minister of Defense has recently reached out, via backwater channels. He is not ignorant of our business interests. But he also knows it is impossible to simply cut the head off the hydra, more will only grow in its place.”
He pulled out a cigar, and carefully went through the ritual of lighting it. “I believe he would like to deal with fewer heads, perhaps only one. So I have let it be known to him, via the same discrete backwater channel, that perhaps we could come to some type of mutually beneficial accommodation. That I would be willing to get rid of some heads of the hydra for him, if we were granted certain exclusive privileges.” He paused and took a long puff on the cigar and exhaled it slowly.
Aztec Odyssey Page 30
