by Jeff Buick
They settled into the bar, tucked away in a grassy alcove that was once the convent’s courtyard. The waiter brought drinks and wished them a merry Christmas. He offered them a menu, but they waved it off, having eaten more than enough over the course of the day. Kelly pushed the slice of lime through the thin neck of the bottle and tipped back his Corona. He drained almost half of the beer and set the bottle on the table.
“Now that was fun,” he said.
“A Christmas we’ll never forget,” Taylor agreed. “I don’t think I’ve ever met nicer people.”
“Mexicans get a bad rap,” Kelly said. “Most of them are wonderful people. You get a few bad apples that really screw it up for the rest. I suppose that’s true of almost any culture.”
There was a minute or two of silence as they both looked about the courtyard and listened to the gurgling sound of the water as it trickled down the fountain that dominated the small space. The rough stone walls were mostly covered with creeping plants, their leaves vibrant green in the pale moonlight. The setting was peaceful after a hectic day.
“I wonder how Ricardo is doing,” Taylor said.
Kelly shrugged. “He’ll be here tomorrow. We’ll find out then.”
“I hope he’s trustworthy.”
“So do I. If we’ve decided he’s our guy, then we have to trust him. We can’t jump halfway in the water. We’re either in or out.”
“We’re in,” Taylor said. “I just hope we’re in with the right guy.”
“You’re just second-guessing yourself. When we first decided we needed someone of Mexican descent to hook Edward Brand, you had no qualms about contacting him.”
She smiled. “Yeah, you’re right. Look where thinking things over can get you. Paranoid.”
They spent another two hours sitting in the quiet garden, talking and sipping on Coronas and cognac before retiring for the night. When they rose the next morning and headed down for breakfast, the polite man who worked the front desk had a message for them. It was from Ricardo Allende. He would be arriving in Oaxaca City at four-fifteen that afternoon.
They spent the day reviewing their plan and revisited Monte Alban, walking the site one more time. Clouds had moved in from the neighboring valleys and the plateau was engulfed in wet mist. With no warmth from the sun and at such a high altitude, it was bone-chilling cold atop the mountain. They drove back about three and had the taxi take them to the airport. At four-thirty-five Ricardo appeared at the main doorway leading from the arrivals area. He saw Kelly leaning against the cab and waved.
“Amigo,” Ricardo said as he reached the taxi. He shook Kelly’s hand and they slipped in the car as the driver loaded the luggage. The conversation was generic during the drive, talking about Christmas and family, but it changed quickly when they reached the hotel and settled into the private gardens of the courtyard. The trickling water helped mute their conversation, although that was hardly necessary as they were the only guests in the area.
“I’ve arranged for the other two men we need,” Ricardo said. “I have a man who is perfect for the government official. His name is Adolfo, and he’s in his mid-fifties, very conservative looking and quite formal. He is also a very good actor. I’ve seen him talk his way through lots of circumstances. On occasion, dangerous circumstances.”
“Excellent,” Taylor said, her feelings of distrust in Ricardo waning quickly. “And the other man?”
“A barrio rat from Mexico City who can blend in to almost any background. He is absolutely trustworthy—when money is on the table. He is on his way to Puerto Vallarta today and when he finds the Mary Dyer he’ll call me on a cell phone I gave him. I bought him a new set of clothes for the plane flight and arranged for him to stay at Posada de Roger, a low-end hotel just a few blocks from Playa los Muertos. He’ll have to take a bus to the marina every day, but that’s not a problem. Once he’s there, he’ll change back into his street clothes, which will allow him to blend in totally at the marina. There are plenty of wharf rats about. He’ll just be another one.”
“He’ll watch the Mary Dyer and report back to you?” Kelly asked.
“That’s his job. For what I’m paying him, he’ll be there eighteen to twenty hours a day. To him the daily rate I’m paying is like hitting the lottery. He’s never stayed at a hotel in his life. Even a modest one like the Posada de Roger is a real thrill.”
“So we’ve got eyes watching Edward Brand as of this afternoon,” Taylor said. “Good.”
Ricardo nodded. “Yes.”
“We’ve been up to Monte Alban twice,” Kelly said, “and I think we’ve found the right location to place the treasure.” He pulled out the glossy tourist book and opened it to a page showing the layout of the ancient Zapotec ruins. He pointed to the north end of the site, close to where Tumba 7 had been discovered. “This is the area where most of the real treasure was found. The entire mountaintop is a labyrinth of underground tunnels and caves, most of which have never been explored. We’ve found one here, just over the edge of the plateau. It’s accessible through a tiny hole in the side of the mountain, just large enough to crawl through. It shouldn’t be hard to find a stone that will fit the opening. We can jam it in just before Brand shows up. That way the find looks authentic.”
“What’s inside the cave?”
“We thought that we’d make up a few fake artifacts, paint them gold and stick them in the back of the cave. There’s absolutely no light inside, and when you take Brand to the site, you only have a low-voltage flashlight with you. That way he doesn’t get a really good look at the loot.”
“Let’s see if I’ve got this right,” Ricardo said, setting his tea on the table. “I hook Brand, get him to the site where we meet with the government official who needs to be bribed. Brand takes a quick look inside the sealed chamber, sees the treasure and makes the call to transfer the money to the official’s account. That about it?”
“In a nutshell,” Kelly said.
“What?” Ricardo. “What’s with the nutshell?”
“Figure of speech, Ricardo. Your English is so good I sometimes forget your mother tongue is Spanish. It means a shortened version of the story—small enough to fit in a nutshell. You got it.”
“Ah, I see. In a nutshell. I’ll have to remember that one.” He took a sip of tea, then refilled his cup from the teapot. “What happens to the money once it’s transferred?”
“I intercept it,” Kelly said.
“From Monte Alban?” Ricardo asked, surprised.
“No, from Washington. I’ll need the resources at the National Security Agency to do my end of things. I’ll be in the United States, at my desk at the NSA.”
Ricardo was silent. Then he looked at Taylor and said, “Where will you be?”
“Oaxaca City. Mexico City. Washington. I don’t think it matters where I am. It’s Kelly who has to be at his computer. At the point where Edward Brand is looking in the tomb and initiating the transfer of money, my end of things is covered.”
Ricardo gave Taylor a wry smile. “It would be nice if you were close by. Just in case.”
“Just in case?” Taylor asked.
Ricardo stirred a touch of cream in his tea and tasted it. “It occurs to me that I’m putting a lot of trust in you two. Kelly is safe in Washington with the money. I am only a few feet from the man who has just been ripped off. I have to get myself and Adolfo out of Monte Alban before Brand discovers he’s been tricked. If I don’t, chances are there will be violence. Someone could get shot. I would be very upset if that someone was me. Maybe so upset that I would be dead.”
He stopped and looked long and hard at both Taylor and Kelly. “My ass is on the line,” he continued. “I would feel much more comfortable with the situation if Ms. Simons was to remain in Mexico. In Oaxaca City to be precise. There would be a feeling of comfort knowing one of you is on the front line with Adolfo and me.”
Taylor accepted his condition before Kelly could object. “Agreed. I understand where you’r
e coming from. Most of the risk is falling on your shoulders. I don’t mind staying close by.”
Ricardo smiled and nodded. “Fine. Then I feel comfortable with the arrangements. Now, when are we going to have a look at Monte Alban? At the cave you have picked for our treasure.”
“Tomorrow okay?” Taylor asked. “In the daylight. That’s probably best.”
“Tomorrow is fine.”
The waiter dropped by and Ricardo ordered a round of Coronas. When the beers arrived, he held his up. “To our success,” he said.
They clinked bottles and drank.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The clouds refused to clear, and December 27 was wet and cold atop the mountain. The ruins of Monte Alban were shrouded in heavy mist, and the wind was biting as it cut through jackets and jeans. Taylor tucked her long hair up into her hat and pulled it down over her ears. Hardly the same Mexico she knew from lying on warm sandy beaches at the coastal resorts.
They walked abreast across the long open stretch of anemic grass and rocky outcrops, past the ancient structures built to appease the gods through human sacrifice. As an occasional whisper of wind sliced through the narrow cracks in the rocks, Taylor envisioned dying men and women, their voices crying for mercy as their captors disemboweled them on the cold slabs. Mercy that never came. Just death. The ruins took on a very different look when one actually thought about the horrors inflicted on helpless victims so many hundreds of years ago. Perhaps their spirits still clung to the rocks. Perhaps not.
The trio reached the massive South Platform at the far end of the complex. They peered over the edge of the plateau toward the valley floor. The mountainside was rugged, with giant slabs of stone jutting from the steep embankment. There were many places where a wrongly placed footstep would result in a tumble down the cliff side and certain death. Even in daylight it was treacherous. At night, with only moonlight to guide a person foolhardy enough to walk the edge of the cliff, it would be almost suicidal.
Ricardo sat on one of the exposed rocks and pointed at the edge. “That’s a nasty drop.”
“Fatal,” Kelly agreed.
“And this is where you want to light the fire to distract the guards,” he said.
“Yes. It has to be down at this end of the plateau. That will give us five or ten minutes to give Brand a quick look in the cave and for him to make the call.”
“Who is going to light the fire?” Ricardo asked. “Adolfo will be with Edward Brand and I at the cave. My other man will still be in Puerto Vallarta. He needs to stay until Brand is on the airplane to Oaxaca. And, Kelly, you’ll be at your desk in Washington. That leaves us one person short.”
“I’ll still be in Oaxaca,” Taylor said. “I can light it.”
Kelly shook his head immediately. “No way. It’s too dangerous. Once you light it, you’ll have to duck over the edge and make your way back to the north end by skirting the plateau. The side of the mountain is covered with rocks, and lots of them are loose. If you miss one foothold you’ll die.”
“Who else do we have?” Taylor said. “Ricardo is already here, not in Mexico City. He doesn’t know anyone in Oaxaca City well enough to bring them in. Unless we want to put things off by a week or two, I’ll have to light the fire. And every delay we have is more time for Brand to pull anchor and sail out of the marina at Puerto Vallarta. I don’t want to risk losing him.”
Kelly was silent. Ricardo said, “Taylor’s right. She’s the only one we’ve got if we want to stay on any sort of schedule.”
“Keeps her close to you as well,” Kelly said to Ricardo.
“Anywhere in Oaxaca is fine with me,” Ricardo replied evenly. “She doesn’t need to be at the ruins. But this makes sense.”
Kelly shook his head. “I don’t like it.”
Ricardo was silent, giving Kelly’s last statement the consideration it deserved. Then he said, “Is there cell phone service up here?”
Taylor shook her head. “No. We already thought of that and asked at the local phone provider. The only way to take a call or place a call from on top of the plateau is by satellite phone.”
“Do you have one?” Ricardo asked.
Taylor nodded. “We had them set up an account.”
“I’ll need the number,” Ricardo said.
Taylor nodded and started walking north, toward where she and Kelly had found the hole in the side of the mountain. “Let’s have a look at the cave.”
They walked the six hundred yards from one end of the excavation to the other in relative silence, alone with their thoughts. This was where it would play out. This was the place they had chosen to go up against Edward Brand. The plan was fraught with danger, especially considering Brand’s tendency to violence. An FBI agent had stood in his way and he’d had her murdered—shot to death in her own bathtub. Killing a couple of people who were trying to rip him off would be nothing to this man. And he would probably be armed. Brand was coming into Oaxaca from Puerto Vallarta, and that meant he didn’t have to cross an international border. Whatever weapons he had aboard the Mary Dyer would undoubtedly be with him. Nothing about the upcoming venture was very comforting.
They reached the far end of the plateau and skirted the museum and Tumba 7 before making their way to the edge of the cliff. Kelly led the way along the thin path carved into the mountainside by countless bare feet over thousands of years. Moving in single file, they reached the section of the cliff where Kelly and Taylor had found the hidden cave. Kelly got down on his belly and crawled into the dark space, Ricardo immediately behind him. Kelly flipped on the flashlight he had brought, as did Ricardo, the beams of yellow light playing off the walls and the floors. It was rugged inside the cave, the walls jagged with exposed rocks that hadn’t been worn smooth by water or wind. The floor was slippery and uneven, treacherous footing even with the flashlights. Ricardo nodded his approval as they moved from the main cave into the smaller ones deeper in the mountain.
“This is perfect,” he said. “Very believable. We just need to put a few pieces of treasure in here and cover the opening.” He allowed himself a small smile. “This might work.”
“It better,” Taylor said, venom in her words. “He’s a prick. He deserves this.”
Kelly shone his light into the smaller spaces to the rear. “This one is good,” he said. “The opening is tiny. It’ll be difficult for Brand to get inside and have a good look at the treasure. But your government official has got to get him in and out of here fast. Very fast. If he has any length of time to look things over, he’ll know he’s being scammed.”
“Adolfo will keep things under control. I trust his abilities.”
“Good,” Kelly said. “Have you seen enough?”
“I’m fine. Let’s get a rock to cover that hole. Then we need to pick up some Zapotec and Mixtec masks and goblets that we can gold plate.”
“You don’t think we could just paint them?” Taylor asked.
Ricardo shook his head. “No way. If you paint directly on top of ceramic and he touches one of those pieces he’ll know. If it’s gold plated, it’ll feel real.”
“Where the hell do we get something gold plated?” Kelly asked.
Ricardo smiled. “This is Mexico, amigo. With the right connections, anything is possible.”
“You have the right connections?”
“Of course.”
They crawled back through the tiny opening and went in search of a stone to jam in the hole. It took the better part of two hours to find one that fit, but once it was in place it was almost impossible to see anything but a slight fissure in the rocks. They tried prying it out once to see how long it would take. Six minutes, just to get the stone out and rolled a few feet down the path. They replaced the rock and returned to the parking lot. Their driver was asleep, the windows rolled down to keep some air moving through the parked car. Ricardo rattled off some staccato Spanish, and the man jerked awake and started the car. The first few turns down the windy mountain road were interest
ing as he continued to wake up. They reached Oaxaca City without incident and split up. Ricardo went in search of a local craftsman to take care of the gold plating, and Kelly and Taylor scoured the local shops for pieces of Zapotec art.
Time was moving ahead, closing in on the day when Edward Brand would arrive at Monte Alban. With each passing hour, the tension was mounting. They could still back off, let the man go. But to Taylor Simons, that wasn’t an option. Edward Brand was going down. She was willing to risk her life on that. Her involvement in the scam had just gone from one of observer to that of active participant. Her role was not only crucial, it was dangerous. She felt a shiver of anticipation creep down her spine as she picked up a Mixtec mask and felt its coarse texture against her skin.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Juan Morena had never led a fortunate or privileged life. He was thirty-one years old and had already lost seven teeth to advanced gingivitis. He had the dark skin of the working-class Mestizo, and his hair was matted to his scalp from sweating in the hot sun. His eyes were reluctant to meet a stranger’s stare, and he shuffled his feet in worn sandals when he walked. Juan Morena blended in perfectly with the other wharf rats living on the edge of the upscale marina in Puerto Vallarta.
