Aztec Odyssey

by Jay C. LaBarge

  “This is a big area, we have explored much of it over the years. Pueblo Bonita, Casa Rinconada, Penasco Blanco, Tsin Kletsin, it could be anywhere. Does anything you learned help narrow it down?” Bidzii asked.

  “The petroglyphs of the codices where we found the mummies in Mesa Verde are our best bet. There was a map of sorts, and what had to be other hints with it,” Nick replied, as he showed them the images. “That is the riddle we need to figure out.”

  “What about that woman Soba was with, the one who could read an original Aztec codex?” Charlie suddenly thought.

  “Huehue, yeah she might be able to help. But unless we completely strike out, I don’t want to involve her, not yet. I have a feeling that would be the end of her little tribe down there. I’ve spread enough pain around already.”

  They all ate a simple meal and talked softly late into the night. Atsa, Yas, Tahoma, and Bidzii rotated guard duty, two always on, so quietly that Nick never noticed the rotation. Finally admitting defeat for the night, he crashed in the back of the pickup while Charlie simply tossed a sleeping bag on a mat and slept on the ground.

  A couple hours later Bidzii heard Nick mumbling in his sleep, thrashing about, and then finally quite again. He assumed it was worry about Soba giving him nightmares, but he couldn’t have been further from the truth. And then he heard a scream.

  Nick dreamed deeply, his mind overwrought from the stress, knowing at least one life, and probably more, hung in the balance. The dream started off as his migraine had, his vision fading around the edges, turning into a narrow tunnel, until pure white blinding light appeared and searing pain eclipsed everything. Then just as suddenly the pain subsided, and he had perfect clarity. He saw a bird’s eye view of Fajada Butte, with himself down below, taking pictures at sunrise on the summer solstice. The view shifted, and he now saw through the camera lens, the sound of the clicking of the shutter sharp in his ears, as he slowly turned and took a series of photos along the horizon. When he had turned completely to the west, he saw an image of the sun’s rising rays hitting a mesa wall on the west side of Chaco Canyon, briefly illuminating a narrow crevice within it. That image froze in his dream, and then he saw a similar outlined image, of an etched codice on a wall, the wall in Mesa Verde where they discovered the two mummies. That outline faded to a tattoo of a ray from a barely risen sun near a butte illuminating a cleft in a cliff. A tattoo that had a bite mark around it, the only clue a drowning man under the ice could leave, the tattoo on his dad’s arm.

  He was caught in the dream, knew he was dreaming, and saw it fading away, breaking apart, turning to mist even as he tried to grasp it. Wake up, wake up, wake up he yelled in his head, biting his tongue in desperation. WAKE UP!

  He screamed, so loud he sat straight up, hitting his head, and Charlie came running to check on him.

  “What’s going on? You OK?”

  “Quiet!” Nick yelled. “I can’t lose this, I can’t let it fade. Remember this, the tattoo is the clue, it’s in the codice on the wall, it’s in the camera. The summer solstice, it all aligns, remember it! Swear you’ll remember it!”

  Trembling, he dug into his backpack and took out his camera. “Repeat it to me Charlie. Repeat it!”

  Charlie nervously recited it back, word for word, as the others gathered around from the commotion. Nick turned the camera on, looked at the viewer on the back, and scrolled to the photos he had taken on the summer solstice, the very day he had met Soba. Starting to sweat, he clicked through until he came to the series of shots of the sunrise and the butte, of the rays creeping up the west mesa wall frame by frame, until he saw the single shot of the light illuminating a slight crack within it. He zoomed in, and at the bottom saw a small dark opening. The photos taken an instant before and after showed nothing on the wall, no crevice pointing to an opening, it was a single ephemeral moment in time, visible only at sunrise on the summer solstice.

  Nick looked up and smiled. “That was almost like the damn Vision Quest you had me on Bidzii. I know where it is.”

  “We need to do this tonight, before sunrise. It’s a restricted area due to the fragile artwork on the walls of the cave leading in to where we want to go,” Nick said, stabbing his finger on a topographic map of the west mesa. “It’s called Atlatl Cave, named for a spear-throwing lever that was found there. Whatever is back there was so well hidden that people came and went for centuries without ever knowing. This has to be it.”

  “It’s just after midnight, do we have enough time to pull this off?” Charlie asked.

  “I gotta text the cartel tomorrow afternoon, I’d rather know what I’m up against here first. And if we do find it, maybe I can string them along for one more day, to let us plan how the hell to handle them, if they aren’t already here. We can drive close to the cave, there is a service route here. From there we’re going to have to hike in. Bidzii why don’t you come in there with Charlie and I, and the rest of you provide cover while we’re there.”

  They drove away from the camp site in Bidzii’s truck, three in the front and three plus Nanook in the back, wanting to keep it to one vehicle to draw less attention. There was also less chance it had been bugged. Bidzii kept the headlights off, and he and Nick each had a high intensity flashlight they would flash on out their windows briefly when needed. After coming down off the mesa, they linked up with the service road, and drove to a spot closest to Atlatl Cave. Atsa stayed with the truck, and Yas and Tahoma spread in opposite directions, keeping lookout. Everyone had the two-way handheld radios Nick had bought the day before, perfect for dead spaces with limited cell phone coverage. Nick, Charlie, and Bidzii grabbed their gear, and worked their way across the valley floor utilizing their headlamps, Nanook circling in a wide arc around them. A faint deer path led the way, which zigzagged to the foot of the west mesa. They finally approached the cleft in the mesa, which they could only see when they were right on top of it, that descended to a large, arch shaped alcove under the cliff face at ground level.

  “I’ve been here, we all have, when we were kids. I didn’t recognize it at first, this type of arch formation is pretty common around here. But those,” Bidzii said, pointing a flashlight at painted figures and handprints on the walls, “I’ve definitely seen before.”

  The ground right in front of them sloped upward, the loose rock scree underfoot making them slip as they scampered up into the alcove.

  “Let’s try to leave it as we found it,” Nick advised, as they carefully picked their way back deeper. The back of the alcove gradually transformed into an ever-narrowing tunnel and followed a meandering path with several false dead-end passageways off to the sides. With limited room to maneuver, Bidzii stopped and walked back out to the main entrance, acting as lookout. He tested his handheld radio, all was good with the others, and gave a thumbs up. Nick continued until only one person could fit and took off his pack and handed it back to Charlie. Charlie took off his too and started removing the gear they would need.

  Nick worked his way deeper and deeper in, and came to a sharp turn to the right, then another to the left, and finally to a constricted spot too narrow to pass. There were bones from small animals on the ground and bits of broken pottery. It was the end of the line, simple offerings made, several handprints on the wall. The ceiling was black, torches had been used for light back here. There were outcroppings on either side directly in front of him, nearly touching, and he chipped away at one with his pick. It rang true, hard stone, unyielding. He then did the same on its facing companion, and the pick stuck in it, sandstone, or some type of mortar mixture. Looking at the ground there was a pile of powdered residue, the softer outcropping eroding over time. He then felt a slight draft, faint, barely moving, and holding his breath lit a match to see if it was his imagination. The flame flickered for a moment, then went straight up again.

  “Charlie, pass me that folding shovel, and hold open a garbage bag. I’ve got to do some digging. Time check?”

  “One thirty. And Bidzii says
all still clear outside.”

  Nick used the sharp edge to chip the outcropping, it flaked away easily, and he scooped it into the bag. He continued until he could contort his body through the opening, and directly in front of him stood an unnaturally smooth faced wall. He chipped it with his pick, and the same material as the outcropping easily crumbled, revealing an artificial wall. The workmanship was crude, eerily reminiscent of the back of the granary at Mesa Verde. Working eagerly now, he chipped and dug quickly, filling several garbage bags, which Charlie pulled back out of the way. Finally an opening emerged at eye level, and air first came out of it, then went back into it, almost as if the mesa itself was breathing. Just the pressure normalizing, this was sealed pretty damn tight, Nick thought, anxious with anticipation. He made the opening big enough to peer into and stuck his arm in with a bright flashlight.

  “Oh my God,” was all he could utter.

  The crevice, barely visible on the outside as an imperceptibly slight crack in the face of the mesa, in fact opened into a large triangular shaped fissure as it ran deep under the mesa, wide at the bottom and perhaps a hundred yards in length. Visible just in front of him were crudely carved sandstone stairs that descended into the cavern. Nick contorted himself to squeeze in, getting a head full of chalky mortar in the process, and finally stood on the top step. He cracked several glow sticks and threw them about and played his flashlight around the walls and ceiling of the perfectly dry interior, finally to the floor and center area, not believing his eyes.

  The cavern was overflowing with objects of every description, the wealth of the vanished Aztec empire, tribute from its vassal states, piled high and dense in the middle and tapering to the edges. It had all been carefully arranged in a sort of ancient chorography. In the very center was an elevated throne, a figure upon it, the face and chest covered in some type of large, shimmering mask. Metal work of gold, silver and precious gems lay about, feathered headdresses and cloaks, textiles, tapestries, gilded furniture, shields, war clubs and spears, and overflowing chests. Three carefully placed mummies were at the back edge, looking inward toward the throne in the center.

  Nick walked about dazed, no logic to his path, until he found himself in front of one of the mummies and saw a pile of what looked like deerskin at its feet. He knelt, and unfolded a part of one, and realized they were codices. The handwritten history of the Aztecs, thought to have been lost forever.

  Suddenly he heard Charlie calling him from above, asking what he saw, and trying to enter with his slightly larger girth. He heard a shovel thudding, heard grunting, then saw Charlie emerge dust covered, standing on the top step, the same incredulous look on his face.

  “This,” Nick said, spreading his arms out wide. “This is what we’ve found, what Dad so carefully led us to, the treasure of Cibola! Step carefully brother, this is sacred ground.”

  Charlie worked his way down, wandering about in the same stupefied manner Nick had, until they stood side by side. Slowly they tiptoed around things to the center of the cavern, careful not to disturb anything that lay about, and approached the throne. A mummified figure sat regally upon it, the face and torso hidden by a large mask with sparkling chains dangling downward, only the hands and feet visible under spun gossamer garments of gold interleafed with silver. Nick approached it closer, the flashlight reflecting brightly off the gleaming golden mask, intricately inlaid with precious gems, which extended part way down to the chest, and then became a series of links, one connected to the next, golden teardrops of emerald, obsidian and jade cascading all the way down past the lap. He took his own necklace off and held the link against a strand in the middle of the mask, a piece missing at its end. A perfect fit.

  “Grandma Ingrid, you’ve been holding out on me,” he whispered aloud to himself. The old family legend, the letter, the necklace, his father’s obsessive search, it all came together. It all perfectly fit, right here, at this singular moment in time.

  “Who could it possibly be?” Charlie asked, his voice trembling.

  “When there is peace between us, have good people put the Mexica souls in a safe place forever,” Nick replied, quoting the letter Alexandre penned so long ago. “This is Montezuma, emperor of the Aztecs. They smuggled his body out, and those of his forefathers over there, and all the collective history they could gather, before Cortez returned, conquered, and razed Tenochtitlán. Someone brought it all the way here, into this shrine, perfectly sealed in the desert, preserving everything.”

  One hand of the mummy held a ceremonial golden dagger with an obsidian blade, the other held a folded deerskin codice. Nick removed the codice, and gently opened it and looked at the first panels. He shook his head, looked at Charlie and smiled.

  “And this, this will tell us the story of how they managed to make their journey all the way to here.”

  Chapter 35 – July 25

  They quietly drove away from Atlatl Cave, still with the lights off, trying not to draw unwanted attention as night faded to predawn twilight. Yas and Tahoma were left off at key vantage points along the way, each with a two-way radio, a backpack of supplies, and food and water. They would watch and ensure no one had followed them, and that no one would approach the cave.

  Bidzii saw the concerned look on Nick’s face. “Don’t worry, if there is one thing we Indians can do, it’s disappear into the landscape. We grew up here, this is our home court man. Bring it on.”

  Pulling into their campsite, Bidzii and Atsa watched as Nick and Charlie carefully removed the heavy golden mask that had covered Montezuma from the back of the truck. The golden links clinked as they swayed under the sleeping bag wrapped around it.

  “OK, one quick look before I photograph this, then we have to bury it for insurance,” Nick said, still stunned by the beauty and craftsmanship of the piece. They all gawked while he took a series of meticulous photos, capturing it from every angle. Turning it over for the first time, he noticed on the inside were two inlaid eyes that faced Montezuma’s own, some type of white precious stones with real jade green pupils. The rest had a detailed etching of the Aztec’s view of the cosmos and their pantheon of gods within it, a view that Montezuma would gaze upon for eternity. The only thing Nick could remotely compare it to, in his trained archeologist’s mind, was the burial mask of King Tutankhamen from the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. But this was larger, more intricate, decorated inside and out, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen created by the hand of man. He noticed his own hands shaking slightly as he held it, the excitement of beholding such a piece of history palatable.

  They wrapped it carefully in the sleeping bag, and slipped it into a hidden sandstone fissure, covering the opening with stone and sand, and erased their tracks. Time to make plans.

  Nick, Charlie, and Bidzii huddled around, with Atsa and Nanook keeping watch a short distance away. They inventoried their weapons and strategized, what they would do in different scenarios, how they would communicate, and what kind of a welcoming reception they could prepare. Bidzii would reach out to other trusted Navajo friends nearby, while Nick would contact Killian, and then Lonan’s Zuni kinfolk. They had all earned that right. It was likely the cartel would send people out tonight, but somehow they needed to get Soba back before they gave them the treasure. And the now hidden Mask of Montezuma was their last line of insurance.

  Nick and Charlie drove back toward the Chaco Canyon Visitors Center, where he hoped to pick up enough cell phone signal to make a call on one of several unused burner phones he still had. This time with Charlie keeping watch, Nick wandered around on a small hill until he finally got a useable connection. He told Killian, his Apache friend and classmate, and then Ahaiyuta, the Zuni who knew Lonan so well, what had transpired and the predicament they now faced. Both said they would get there quickly and discretely, Killian with a bit longer of a drive.

  It was now close to noon, and Nick would have to call the cartel in three hours. That was three more hours to prepare, and they hustled back to their
camp site. When they arrived there were four more Navajos already at camp, grim expressions on their faces, two of whom Nick recognized from hanging out with Bidzii and the band back in more innocent times. When Nick asked Bidzii if they should synchronize their watches, they all laughed, and Bidzii simply pointed at the sun. Atsa called Tahoma and Yas on the two-way’s and got the all clear and led the new recruits away to predetermined locations back along the footpath to Atlatl Cave. The countdown had begun.

  “A lovely hacienda, with all the comforts of home, don’t you agree dear?” Eztli asked, sitting in a rustic chair on the porch of the lodge, smoking a cigar and enjoying the panoramic view.

  Soba didn’t reply, she was still horrified that they had so casually gunned down the owners, a lovely older couple, so trusting and trying to be so helpful, under the pretense of being lost in this rugged no-man’s land. There was still blood on the porch steps, where the bodies had been dragged out.

  This lodge had been carefully chosen, a single road in and out, well-guarded, with a view that ensured there would be no surprises. There were thirteen of them, she had taken pains to notice, with three vehicles including a black Escalade, a gray Chevy Suburban and a dark green Ford Expedition. She had heard one of them saying they didn’t want the same trucks so they didn’t look like a caravan, not wanting to draw attention, but still needed the cargo space. They hadn’t abused her, at least so far, because Eztli had seen to that. The others deferred to him, even his brother Miguel, who scared her more than anybody. But she had zip ties on her wrists, a rope that hobbled her around her ankles, and a gag they used if she became too hysterical. She sat motionless and unspeaking next to Eztli, who continued to expound on his future plans.

  That means Mr. Master of the Universe is either planning to keep me or kill me, because this information isn’t going anywhere, she dejectedly thought. She had let on that she could speak Spanish, English, or Navajo, but acted ignorant when they slipped into the Nahuatl language of their joint Aztec ancestors. There was useful information to be gleaned there.