The Copper Egg

by Catherine Friend

  Claire shook her head. Her only C in college had been in Economics.

  “Copper, gold, zinc, petroleum, coffee, potatoes, asparagus, textiles, and guinea pigs.”

  “Guinea pigs? Oh, yeah. Major source of protein.”

  He waved a hand across the window. “I am the tap root of this country. Cut that tap root and the country will die.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Soon the zinc mining will cease. The coffee plants will die of a mysterious disease. The potatoes and asparagus that your country so greedily consumes will also die.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “So you’re telling me that you plan to ruin the very industries which you own?”

  He nodded, happy that she’d figured it out. “Higuchi International owns at least forty-five percent of all the assets connected to those industries, or to the supporting industries like transportation or processing.” Claire shivered to think what he had planned for the guinea pigs.

  He leaned back against his desk. “Here’s proof of how far I’m willing to go. You know of our maca?”

  “Vegetable. Looks like a turnip. Tastes god-awful, if you ask me.” One day Sochi had made maca juice, however, by boiling the root and blending it with warm milk, fruit, and sugar. Claire had enjoyed that.

  “Maca is also an aphrodisiac in China. Peruvian law requires all maca to be processed in Peru so that the country can control the supply. But I’ve been smuggling seeds out to China for a few years. There are now thousands of acres in China producing maca. Here in Peru, the price has gone from three of your American dollars up to eighty. I’m making a killing here and will be doing the same thing in China. However, Peru will soon learn that world maca production is no longer under its control, and that industry will collapse, as will the price.”

  “Why are you telling me this? All I have to do is tell someone in the government.”

  His laugh was deep and harsh. “And what will they do? This country, despite a fair amount of corruption, runs on capitalism. They cannot touch me. I will cease all Higuchi International operations and bring Peru to its knees.”

  Claire considered his plan. “Carlos, that’s sad, that’s really sad. Almost everyone involved in the decision to send the Japanese-Peruvians to internment camps is dead. You are trying to punish dead people. That’s insane.”

  His eyes narrowed into steel balls. “This is why I like you. No one else would have the nerve to say such things to me.”

  She jammed her fists onto her hips. “Well, if you like me so much, stop harassing me.”

  “I cannot do that, Claire Adams. You are part of my plan. You will find the tomb. I will take possession of its gold and silver treasure, and ship it all to Japan. I will make sure every Peruvian will know what he has lost.”

  Claire surprised herself by chuckling. “You overestimate the impact of this. Looting national treasures is an accepted part of the culture. You, of all people, should know that. Few people will care.”

  “But I will. Possessing the treasure gives my Plan of Ultimate Retribution an artistic element, as well as a cultural one. I’m not just a machine of destruction, but am also creative.

  “You’re sick, Carlos. But why the time pressure?”

  “Many of my economic actions have already been put into play and will become known in a matter of days. I think of Chaco’s tomb as a brilliant epigraph, those few sentences at a book’s beginning that set the tone for all the pages to come. It must come first.”

  Claire sighed. Her initial anger had turned to exhaustion. “While you may be able to control markets and companies, no one can control a treasure hunt. It ends when it ends, and not before, so fuck off.”

  She left, feeling worse than when she’d stormed in. Now that she knew what the guy was up to, she also knew there was nothing she could do to stop his plans for retribution. As for her treasure hunt, he would continue to harass her. All she could do was buy two door chains, borrow a screwdriver from Señora Nunez, and improve her security.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sochi

  Thursday-Friday, April 6 and 7

  Sochi charged the NanoTrax. Hudson’s instructions had been sketchy, but it had worked to take apart a lamp, strip the wires at the lamp’s end, attach them to the NanoTrax, then plug in the cord. The receiver chirped happily and showed, with a steady yellow dot, that the four artifacts were located in her house. She was ready.

  Unfortunately, she’d lied to both Denis and Claire. She didn’t have help for the sting operation. Not one single CNTP employee would help her. Manuel claimed he was too busy with his drone program. She tried seven others, and all were going to be very busy Friday evening. Not even the receptionist, who always complained about her boring job, was willing to ride along. It took Sochi a while, but after seeing the same face on everyone she asked—tight, pale, and frightened—she realized they were all afraid of Higuchi.

  She stepped into her boss’s office. “Aurelio, how about going on an adventure with me tomorrow night? You can be in on the kill, so to speak, when I put your plan into action.”

  Aurelio checked his phone. “Sorry, Sochi, I have an important meeting tomorrow night. The regional government, in conjunction with Lima, is putting a great deal of pressure on everyone, including the CNTP, to find some way to nail Higuchi. I need to make a presentation before them.”

  Sochi rolled her eyes. Claire would appreciate the irony of Aurelio not having time to catch Higuchi because he had to tell the bureaucrats what he was doing to catch Higuchi.

  She called Maria, whose warm voice told Sochi she was glad to hear from her. “Maria, I need to ask. Why are you following Claire Adams?”

  The gasp reached her over the phone. “You know this?”

  “If you’d been following her twenty-four seven, you would have seen us together.”

  “Sochi, you don’t know who she is. This is a bad, bad woman. You shouldn’t be seen with her.”

  “Is that why you didn’t talk with her when she rescued you?”

  “She told you that? I didn’t dare speak with her because she’s so dangerous. I was desperate to get away, even though she did save my life.”

  “Maria, who are you working for? In my position I know most of what’s going on, so I won’t be surprised at the truth.”

  And yet, she was. Minister Salazar had contacted Maria, appealing to her sense of patriotism. He said he needed someone unconnected to him or his office to follow Claire Adams, a known terrorist and international thief bent on stealing Peru’s greatest treasure once she found it. Sochi sighed as Maria finished explaining that she felt she’d had no choice when asked by the minister to help.

  “Maria, if there’s anyone dangerous in Peru, it’s Minister Salazar. He roped me into helping with another project, and when I tried to quit, he threatened my family. You can’t trust this guy, but you can trust me. Stop following Claire. She’s one of the good guys. If she finds the tomb, she’ll turn it over to the CNTP immediately.”

  “How dangerous is Salazar?”

  “He’s terrified of Higuchi, which makes him inconsistent. One minute he wants the man and all his schemes revealed. The next he’s afraid to even say Higuchi’s name.”

  “I am to meet with the minister soon.”

  “Maria, don’t. For your own safety, return to Lima.”

  “But what of us? If I return to Lima we won’t be able to spend time together.”

  Sochi hesitated, amazed at the emotions that shot through her. “Normally, I’d love to do that, but you should know that someone…I don’t know what’s going to happen, if anything, but she…we—”

  “I get it, Sochi. But if it doesn’t work out, you’ll call me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  *

  Denis’s emails worked. Social media sites lit up with discussions about the news. Was it really Chaco’s tomb? Where was it located? Who found it? Was the treasure as vast as expected? The rumors Denis started would soon collapse on thems
elves, but for now everyone seemed to embrace the frenzy. All Sochi needed was for the buzz to last at least until tomorrow night.

  CNTP phones rang constantly. Reporters hung around in the hallway pleading for an interview. Aurelio finally agreed. Sochi watched from the back of the room and couldn’t have been more pleased. Aurelio was so full of hot air and ego that the reporters lost control of the interview and never regained it.

  During a quiet moment, Sochi closed her office door. “Rigo, it’s me,” Sochi said into her phone.

  “It is good to hear from you, jefe.”

  “I need help with something tomorrow night. It’s legal, but requires two people. I couldn’t convince any of my colleagues to help, basically because they’re cowards. I need someone who won’t fall apart if we run into Higuchi’s men. Besides, I’d rather work with you.”

  A heavy pause. “I am honored. It’s been so long since I’ve done work that’s legal I may have forgotten how to behave, but it would be a pleasant change. No one grows up hoping to be a professional looter.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Does it have to do with the rumors that the CNTP has found Chaco’s tomb? It couldn’t have been the Adams woman who found it. I’ve been following her.”

  “Yes, it has to do with Chaco’s tomb, but not in the way you think.”

  “Are we looting it? Shall I call the men?”

  “Rigo, slow down. Remember, I said this was legal. No looting involved. Now here’s what I need.”

  The next night, when Rigo drove up to her house in the unmarked white van, Sochi had just finished packing the last of the artifacts into bubble wrap and boxes. They slid them into the back of the van. She stopped him with a touch to his arm. “I really appreciate your help with this.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I love helping you, but I wish the rumors about Chaco’s tomb had been true.”

  Thirty minutes later, Sochi sat in a dark alley, engine off, watching Denis’s dimly lit driveway. She’d asked him to turn off most of the lights to increase the chances that Carlos Higuchi’s men would do as she hoped. Clouds obscured the moon.

  Rigo drove into Denis’s driveway, shut off the van, and approached the front vestibule. She could hear the motor still knocking from her hiding spot. When he disappeared inside, let in by Denis’s butler, Sochi held her breath. This had to work. Denis had created a social media frenzy, twisting and confusing the facts until anything seemed possible.

  She almost missed it. A long sedan, headlights off, glided to a stop. Four men in black leaped out. One popped open the locked back doors of the van. Each man grabbed a box and melted back into the sedan. In less than thirty seconds, they were gone.

  Hands shaking, Sochi texted Rigo: Bait taken. She waited the agreed five minutes, then raced to Denis’s and picked up Rigo. She handed him the receiver. “Let’s do this.”

  With Rigo giving directions, Sochi worked her way through the outskirts of Trujillo. Higuchi’s men were driving east, as if heading for the mountains. But they kept doubling back, nearly driving in circles.

  “What the hell are they doing?”

  Rigo chuckled. “They are lost. I have spent time up in the foothills and the roads make no sense. The maps are often wrong.”

  The idiots obviously hadn’t done a dry run, one of the most obvious ways to ensure an operation’s success.

  Sochi and Rigo were silent as she drove. Nostalgia gave this last night with Rigo more meaning. After thirty minutes of wandering, the driver of the sedan finally found a road that took them out of the foothills and around the northern edge of the city. Soon Sochi was on the Pan American heading north. “How far ahead are they?”

  Rigo tapped the screen a few times. “Looks like they are about three kilometers away.”

  “Good. Now that we’re on the highway, I’m guessing their escape must be by boat.” She let herself feel a flicker of hope that Aurelio’s crazy scheme might just work.

  “Or they could be heading for Ecuador. There might be roads that snake through the mountains to avoid the border. Or perhaps they are somehow able to hide the artifacts?”

  They speculated for a while, each contributing their experience. Then Rigo tapped the screen. “Strange. The blips have stopped. Slow down. We don’t want to drive past them.”

  When the receiver indicated they were one kilometer away from the stationary blip, Sochi pulled over. Even without the moon, she could see the long, slender threads of surf breaking up onto the shore.

  “Now there are four blips.”

  “Hudson said the artifacts will get their own blips when they’re more than three meters apart.”

  They watched, tense, as the blips moved in the same direction. All four blips moved north, but so slowly their motion was nearly imperceptible.

  “This is weird,” Sochi said. She drove back onto the highway. “There’s a road up here that cuts to the left and leads to the beach. We’ll take that.”

  Halfway down the dirt road, she shut off her headlights. Darkness pressed around them. She slowed until the car rose slightly.

  “We’re at the beach,” Rigo said.

  Windows down, they listened carefully with the engine off. Nothing but the gentle sliding of the surf up the beach. “Where are they?” Sochi asked, every muscle tense. And why were the artifacts moving up the beach as slowly as sea turtles?

  Crouching low, Sochi and Rigo trudged through the sand then dropped behind a slight dune. From there they could see a long stretch of beach. “Nothing,” Rigo whispered.

  Sochi’s stomach began to churn. Rigo was right. No boat lights. No headlights. No float plane. No flashlights. Where had the men gone? “What are those dark shapes there, about halfway down the beach?” she asked.

  Damn it. She knew what they were. She climbed over the dune and began running. Cursing softly, Rigo followed.

  She reached the first shape. It was a sea turtle, ambling through the sand. Sochi flicked on her flashlight. There, on the turtle’s shell, was an arrow in red paint. Rigo grabbed the turtle’s shell from behind, since turtles could do a great deal of damage when they decided to bite.

  Sochi bent closer, focusing the light. At the end of the arrow was a small, clear curl of NanoTrax. Sochi dropped to the sand, stunned. “Shit.”

  “Not good,” Rigo agreed. He gently took her flashlight and ran ahead to the other dark shapes. His soft cursing told her all she needed to know. The NanoTrax from all four artifacts must have been removed and attached to sea turtles.

  Rigo quickly returned. He handed her a note. “This was taped to the last turtle.”

  Sochi sat back, her eyes burning. “Someone tipped Higuchi off.”

  She opened the note. Gracias for these treasures. They will look lovely in my Tokyo apartment. I hope we can work together again…Higuchi.

  Sochi sat there, failure burning her throat like cheap whiskey. Even when you expected failure, it still stung. But thanks to Denis, Sochi had not let four priceless pieces of Peruvian culture slip from the country. She’d let four nearly perfect reproductions made by his daughter a few years ago escape the country. “Well, we tried,” she said.

  Back at her car, Sochi offered her hand. “Rigo, you would be a much better choice to run the CNTP drone program than Manuel.”

  His broad grin made her smile. “Just let me know when I start.” Then, with a wave, he hopped in the van to return it to one of his many cousins.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Claire

  Friday, April 7

  Claire, too nervous to stay in her hotel room, sat on a bench in the Plaza, enjoying the palms rustling high above her head. People chattered and laughed as they walked through the Plaza on their way to some place interesting.

  Claire couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Higuchi. Could one man really cause the damage he planned? So many people would be harmed, and none of them likely had anything to do with the WWII internment. So pointless.

  She checked her watch.
The NanoTrax operation was to have started over two hours ago, so Sochi could be anywhere by now—working her way over the Andes to Brazil, or driving down the coast to Chile, or up the coast to Ecuador. Claire’s frustration at Sochi for excluding her still burned.

  Her phone chirped. Sochi calling with good news? The screen flashed Hudson’s photo.

  “So, you finally get around to calling me.”

  “Sorry, I’ve been really busy these last few days.”

  “Poor you. Did you switch my letter to Sochi three years ago?”

  “Yes.” Hudson’s voice was conversational, free of guilt.

  “And did you put in Good Riddance instead?”

  “Why, yes, I did.”

  Claire’s chest cramped. “You fucking bastard.”

  “Why, yes, I am.”

  “Why?”

  “Why am I a bastard?”

  Claire swore vehemently.

  “Okay, sorry. You had a great job and I wanted it. You had a great relationship. I was tired of living in your shadow. Ever since grad school, I’ve been your goddamned sidekick, and once I read your touching note to Sochi about you hearing voices, and then realized you and Sochi were having problems, I had this great idea to make sure you left.”

  “You put getting my job ahead of my happiness. We were best friends.”

  Sounds of some kind of engine rattled in the background, and Claire could hear the murmurs of men’s voices. “I’ve never really analyzed it in that light,” he said, “but I suppose that’s as good an explanation as any. And now you’re having visions. You, my best friend, get all the luck.”

  “I didn’t tell you I was having visions.”

  “Oh, yeah. Oops. Busted. My shaman friend, Julio, was having a private conversation with another shaman after our poker game. Poor guy doesn’t know that I’ve learned a fair amount of Quechua these last few years.”

  She tried not to blame Julio. “You told the reporter about the visions.”

  “Yeah. Thought I’d have fun with you and Sochi again.”

  “If you hated me so much, why pretend we were still friends? Why text and email me for all these years?”