The Copper Egg

by Catherine Friend

  Sochi waited. If he was worried about the backflap’s safety, he’d be motivated to help.

  He roared to his feet. “You’re going to use my backflap as bait to catch Higuchi.”

  She smiled. “You’re quicker than I thought.”

  “You can’t do that. Higuchi’s too good. You give him the backflap and we’ll never see it again.”

  “Not if I have access to that new technology.”

  “What am I supposed to do about that?”

  Sochi stood, shoulders squared against his anger. “You have connections at the largest museum system in the world. I need that tracking technology. If you find it for me, and I can catch Higuchi smuggling the backflap out of Peru, you may display the backflap here at Chan Chan.”

  “I don’t believe you.” His green-gray eyes went dark with fury.

  Sochi made a face. “We may disagree about the backflap, but I have never lied to you.”

  “Why not use the one in your vault?”

  “Because it’s larger and contains more gold. It has the rattle along the handle with the metal beads inside. Your flap lacks the rattles.” Chambers along the edges of backflaps usually held pellets that rattled when the leader walked in order to summon supernatural forces. “The larger one is more valuable. I can’t risk—”

  “You can’t risk losing yours, but you can risk losing mine.”

  She shrugged.

  Hudson’s gaze dropped to his desk as he worked to control himself.

  “I don’t have much time,” Sochi said. “Find me that tracking material, or you’ll never see your backflap again.” She left before he had the chance to start whining.

  *

  That evening, Sochi jumped when her looting cell rang. Rigo.

  He was gasping for breath. “The Swedish dig…outside of Cartavio…”

  “Rigo, calm down. What happened?” Sochi leapt to her feet. Rigo never lost his cool.

  “Their security guards wouldn’t take our bribes.”

  “What happened?”

  “Tomas and the others didn’t want to back down. There were only three of them, and seven of us.”

  “Tomas, that asshole. He’s going to be the death of me.”

  “I managed to get everyone out of there before guns were drawn. The guards were armed to the teeth, jefe. That means they are guarding something big.”

  Sochi began to pace, tugging at her hair. “And if our bribes are being refused, then the guards are being well-paid, which means the Swedes might have found something of value.”

  “We need to get in there, jefe, even if it means taking out the guards.”

  “No. We’ve been over and over this. No violence.”

  “Jefe, think. This could be the big score we’ve been looking for. We have to see what they’ve found.”

  She growled deep in her throat. “You’re talking about crossing the line we said we’d never cross.”

  “We don’t have to kill them. Maybe drug them. Or just tie them up. Now that we know they’re armed we’ll approach the site differently.”

  “I hate this.”

  “I won’t do it without your approval,” Rigo said. “But there is only one answer you can give me.”

  Sochi folded her upper body over her kitchen island. She felt like a deflated balloon. “Okay, but do only what’s necessary to subdue them so you can check out the dig.”

  “Thank you, jefe, but I am worried. We’ve had no big finds in weeks. The men grow restless. Everyone has families to feed.”

  “I know.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. With Higuchi so successful, more of Peru was leaving than she and Rigo were retaining. If her men became too desperate for money, they would dig on their own or join Higuchi.

  “We need a big score,” Rigo said. “We need to get the men excited again.”

  She pulled out a folded paper from her pocket. “I went through our records this morning. In addition to the Swedes, there are two German teams working farther north. There are five American teams scattered along the coast south of Lima. The digs are supposed to report any significant finds, but we know they don’t. You and the men could start with these digs. Take them over if they aren’t guarded.” She slowly read down the list while Rigo took notes.

  “You need to be careful. Get in and out quickly. See if they’re focusing on one spot. Maybe get one of our guys on each team. I suspect these digs might be smuggling artifacts out, so we’re within our rights to take what we find.”

  “Good. We will start tomorrow night.”

  “But make sure you don’t run into Higuchi’s men. That could lead to a bloodbath.”

  “I have no desire to run into Nopa. He is the devil himself.” He hesitated.

  “What?”

  “One more thing I must ask, but I fear I will sound like a crazy man.”

  “We are partners, Rigo. Ask.”

  “What about Chacochutl’s tomb? That’s the sort of big score that could really make a difference.”

  She smiled at his embarrassed cough. “It would be nice, I know, but archaeologists believe it’s a myth.”

  “But it might be true.”

  “Rigo, consider how unlikely it is that the tomb exists. If it did, someone should have found it by now. And add to that the totally unrealistic myth that one family has been caring for the tomb for centuries. Members of that family would have had to remain in place even after the Incas captured all the Chimú as slaves. They would have had to survive the Spaniards, their swords and their diseases. No, it’s just not possible.” Despite this, she, too, felt the pull of the undiscovered treasure.

  “I believe in the myth, jefe. The tomb exists. It has likely collapsed because you are right—at some point someone in that family probably messed up and stopped caring for the tomb. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find it.”

  “Our men need cash. I can’t justify sending them on a fantasy hunt.”

  “But, jefe, there is someone in the area who is actively seeking Chaco’s tomb. She’s been here a few days and has already gone out looking. I could follow her, see in which areas she digs.”

  Sochi froze. “She who?”

  “The woman they called the Tomb Whisperer.”

  She tried to swallow, but her mouth was as dry as the desert surrounding Trujillo. “Claire Adams?”

  “Yes, that’s her. One of my men saw her. Five years ago, she shut down a dig he and his family had been working, so he had good reason to remember her face.”

  Sochi, suddenly dizzy, touched a finger to her desk for balance. She felt as if she’d been sucked up into a dust storm then spat out. No, it was as if someone had held her up by the ankles and shaken her. No, as if her lungs had turned to concrete and could no longer flex.

  “Jefe? You okay?”

  Sochi blinked rapidly and managed to gasp in more oxygen. The woman who had opened her like a shy flower, then left her to shrivel up like a plant without water, was here, in Trujillo. She pressed her lips together. “You would like permission to follow her.”

  “Yes. If she finds the tomb, this will be the big score we have been seeking. Even if the other digs have discovered something big, it cannot compare to King Chaco’s tomb.”

  “You won’t hurt her?”

  “Jefe!”

  She could easily imagine the affronted look on his chiseled face. “Sorry.”

  “I must follow her. We cannot afford to let her find it and then turn everything over to the CNTP.”

  “No, we can’t.” Sochi’s jaw tightened. If Claire found the tomb, La Bruja sin Corazon and her men would steal its contents. It was the only way to keep them safe.

  “She is at La Casa del Sol?”

  “Room 206. She should be there now. I followed her before driving to the dig and heard her tell the proprietor she was in for the night.”

  Sochi struggled to repress the trembling coursing through her hands. “Thank you, Rigo. I am glad you weren’t hurt tonight. Stay safe.”

 
“Always, jefe.”

  Claire, back in Peru. Shit. Here was Sochi’s opportunity to confront her.

  She paced her office, roughing up her hair. She sat down hard on her chair and closed her eyes, remembering the first time she’d seen Claire Adams….

  …Huanchaco Beach. Here friends had taught Sochi to surf. Here she’d convinced an old fisherman to help her make her own caballito de totora, the narrow, woven reed boat used by the area’s fishermen for over 3,000 years. She had loved her caballito, surfing on it until the boat finally succumbed to sun, salt water, and years of pounding surf.

  Today, the beach was surprisingly busy for November, but the days had been warm, which always attracted surfers. Long-haired, tanned, dressed in shorts, sandals, and Tommy Bahama shirts no matter the weather, they lent the town its Bohemian atmosphere. Today, both the beginner’s area and the advanced breakers out beyond the pier were filled with boards and caballitos.

  Through the congestion of people and colorful umbrellas, a woman strode as if late for work. Her tank suit, bright orange, revealed an athlete’s body, lean and taut, the opposite of Sochi’s own curves. The woman’s blond-brown hair billowed back in the breeze. What captured Sochi’s attention, however, was the serenity on the woman’s face. She oozed so much confidence Sochi found herself rising to her feet. Here was a woman who knew where she was going. Sochi hungered for such a keen sense of direction. She had a new job at the CNTP and loved her work, but something was missing.

  Sochi struggled through the soft sand as she walked parallel to the woman. When the woman angled up from the water, Sochi could see she was heading for the caballito rental run by Pedro, a small, wizened man who no longer fished. Only one caballito remained. Sochi walked faster.

  Just as the slender woman on long, sure legs reached Pedro, Sochi called out, “Hey, Pedro. Thanks for saving a boat for me.”

  Close up, the woman’s face was more sharp angles than curves, but when she raised her sunglasses, her heavily-lashed eyes were kind.

  “Oh,” Sochi said. “I’m sorry. Did you want to rent this caballito?”

  The woman’s smile, barely perceptible, was languid, as if she’d just rolled over in bed to face her. Sochi’s skin tingled. “Not if you’ve already reserved it,” the woman said.

  Sochi’s knees weakened. An American with solid Spanish skills. The woman’s low voice was as sultry as that American actress from the 1950s—Lauren Bacall. In Sochi’s crowd, no self-respecting lesbian remained ignorant of Bacall and her voice.

  “Have you ever surfed on a caballito?” Sochi asked.

  The woman shook her head, smiling ruefully. “I thought it would be an adventure.”

  “How about this? I will let you rent this last boat if you let me give you a lesson. I’ve been surfing them since I was ten.”

  The woman’s gaze dropped to Sochi’s ankles then slowly drifted back up to her face. “Deal,” the woman said, thrusting out her hand. “Claire Adams, Subdirector of Excavation at Chan Chan.”

  Sochi shook her hand. “Xochiquetzal Castillo, recent CNTP employee and surfing expert. Call me Sochi.”

  Pleased to find they worked in the same field, they chatted happily as they headed out into the gentle surf of the beginner’s area, the eastern part of the cove between the long pier and the curve of the beach. Not once did Claire complain about the cool water. For twenty minutes, Claire struggled to master a wave, but fell before succeeding. Each time she fell, her clear laugh, rich with happiness, brought another smile to Sochi’s face. Once, Claire laughed so hard she took in water. Sochi looped an arm around her waist and held Claire up until she stopped coughing.

  “God, you’re strong,” Claire said.

  Sochi set her back down into the water. “I think I need to be on the caballito with you.” She showed Claire where to sit, a few feet back from the curved front of the boat, then they paddled out together. With the first good wave, Sochi said, “Now,” and they both rose to their feet. Sochi placed her hands firmly on Claire’s hips, guiding her, and in seconds they were riding the crest of the wave.

  Claire’s earthy shout of joy pumped Sochi so full of energy she thought she might explode. When the wave exhausted itself, Sochi reluctantly released Claire’s hips.

  They repeated their success four more times. Then, laughing, they waded from the water and collapsed on the wet sand, dragging the boat with them. When Sochi gazed at Claire, she realized her heart felt strange, its rhythm off. Oh, gods, no.

  They talked for another hour, about jobs and life and family, until Sochi was sure heaven had come to earth and taken the shape and voice of Claire Adams.

  Finally, Claire sighed. “I’m afraid I have an appointment this afternoon, so I must leave.”

  They returned the boat to Pedro, then strolled the winding concrete trail lined with palm trees to the parking lot. By the time they reached Claire’s dark blue Fiat, which she’d borrowed from a friend, Sochi’s heart pounded. She knew what she wanted but was terrified to take it, even though there was no one else in the lot. Never had she been so bold.

  Claire paused before unlocking her door. “Do I owe you anything for the lesson?”

  Sochi gently pressed Claire up against the car, then slid her hands up Claire’s back. They were nearly the same height. “You owe me nothing,” she said. “But I think you should know that I—right here, in this parking lot, on this perfect day—am about to kiss you. So if you need to run away or scream for help, you have about four seconds…three seconds…”

  Desire flared in Claire’s eyes. Sochi moved in closer, stopping just shy of her lips.

  “Two,” they whispered together, then, “one.”

  Salty from the sea, Claire’s lips slid over Sochi’s with such fire that her knees buckled. Claire caught her as the kiss deepened. Such a public display wasn’t always safe in this area, but there was no way Sochi could stop now. When they finally broke for air, Claire nuzzled her way to Sochi’s ear. “Thanks for pretending to have reserved that last boat.”

  Sochi chuckled. “Dinner on Friday? La Paloma’s?”

  “I’ll be there. Eight p.m.” After another languid smile and one more kiss, Claire climbed into her car and left.

  Sochi headed back toward the beach but only took a few steps before she sank to her knees, trembling. Her stomach roiled, as if her insides had been totally rearranged. You can’t fall in love in just a few hours. How ridiculous. But this was exactly what had just happened…

  Back in the present, Sochi cursed softly. Her life—three years of heaven—had turned into a living hell when Claire had left. Neither of them had tried to contact the other, but given the note Claire had slid under her door, Sochi never wanted to speak to her again.

  But Claire was here, in Peru again. It was time to face the bitch.

  Sochi marched into the bathroom and stared at herself in the yellow-framed mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair stuck up as if she’d been electrocuted. Her skin looked almost gray, and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes made her look tired instead of friendly. This wasn’t the face Claire had fallen in love with all those years ago. It was the face of a woman obsessed with a problem she could never solve and the face of La Bruja sin Corazon spending too many nights digging in the dry desert.

  Sochi set the building’s alarm and locked the door behind her. La Casa del Sol. Three blocks away. Claire was there now. Fury rose in Sochi like a swollen river flooding its banks. She could finally tell Claire Adams exactly what she thought of her.

  She covered the three blocks in less than five minutes. Heart pounding, she pushed open the hotel’s massive outer door and headed for the staircase in the courtyard. Claire loved this old mansion and had put all her visiting relatives here since there hadn’t been room for them at Sochi’s small house.

  Sochi took the stairs two at a time, then marched down the hall until she reached 206. Her breath sounded like a snorting bull in her ears. She raised a fist toward the door.

&n
bsp; She stopped. Her anger drained so quickly she glanced down at the floor to see if it had puddled around her ankles. She tried again to pound on the door, but instead her arm dropped to her side, weak and unresponsive.

  She stood there, eyes closed. She began trembling again, not from anger but because Claire was on the other side of this door. Tall, strong, but soft in all the right places. The woman who melted in Sochi’s arms whenever she nibbled on her earlobe.

  Damn it. Sochi pressed the heels of her hands against her wet eyes. What a fucking idiot she was.

  She turned and retraced her steps, trying not to run.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Claire

  Wednesday, March 22

  Six days in Peru and Claire finally had one bit of information: The copper egg was somehow connected to the life of a Chimú girl named Ixchel, who was somehow connected to King Chaco. Was it a stretch to think there might be a link between Ixchel and the tomb?

  Unsure what to do next, Claire knew the best way to clear her head of one problem was to focus on another. So she looked up the geocaching sites in the area, hoping to find something new. There wasn’t, since Trujillo wasn’t a hotbed of fanatical geocachers. But she downloaded a handful of cache locations that she’d already found just to get her mind off of Ixchel.

  Nancho was disappointed they weren’t prospecting today, but he was very willing to take Claire on her adventure. The first two caches were in Trujillo parks and easy to find. For the third she chose one that was up in the foothills. Nancho drove her south of Trujillo and followed a snaking, dusty road up to a grassy flat spot that doubled as a parking lot. By the time they reached the lot, they’d left all traffic behind, including a dark gray SUV that had been behind them since Trujillo.

  When Nancho dragged a chair, cooler, small boom box, and a six-pack of beer from his trunk, Claire laughed. “I see you’ll be just fine as I go exploring.”

  The Andes were etched with walking trails, some new, some older than Chan Chan. Using her GPS, Claire headed for the cache. The trail snaked through patches of trees, then out onto a meadow filled with chittering birds, then back in the cool shade of the forest.