In 1978 workers building the bus and subway system unearthed a massive disc of stone that led them to a stairway and the huge Temple of Tenochtitlan. Archaeologists from the University of Mexico descended upon the site and made an intelligent decision – they called in colleagues from around the world. This project was far too vast, and Mexico was too poor, to provide the massive resources required to quickly examine the enormous area. Most significantly, time was short – the metro system had to be completed so the government was not willing to allow years to do an archaeological dig as it should be done. One thing led to another and, as happens so often, time constraints caused priceless artifacts to be removed from the places they had lain for centuries, ending up in the hands of a collector willing to pay a staggering sum to own them.
Brian had been pleased when the owner and his wife called Bijan Rarities to handle the sale of the artifacts. “The reputation of your gallery and its previous owner, Darius Nazir, are unprecedented, Mr. Sadler,” the owner had said when they first met over drinks at the 21 Club a year ago. The owner had heard of the fabulous Inkharaton sale of Egyptian artifacts Bijan Rarities had handled some time back, and had watched the program that had broadcast the auction live and simultaneously from Egypt and New York. Brian had been present at Bijan that day as an observer, but had had no idea that through a bizarre turn of events, he would end up owning the gallery himself not long afterwards.
“Yes, the Inkharaton sale certainly gave us vast publicity,” Brian had responded to the collector. “And your sale will too.”
There had been a world of issues with the Aztec Commission, as the trove had come to be named. Primary to the difficulty had been the fact that only a dozen of the nearly fifty items owned by the couple were actually in the United States. Those had been legally exported from Mexico in the 1990s, but until now the government had refused to allow the other items to be shipped out of the country. Brian found no fault with this – he felt it was a shame when great museums nabbed ancient items from third world countries who couldn’t afford to excavate or exhibit them and whisked them away to Berlin, or London, or New York. There they remained for decades, on view to many but not accessible to the people of their home country. Therefore, if Bijan Rarities were to successfully sell the antiquities Brian had to overcome the problem of location. It was one thing to own a piece of civilization; it was another thing altogether to get permission to export it from the country where the priceless artifacts had been unearthed.
For the past several weeks Brian had been working on arranging another worldwide broadcast – this time on History, the New York-based network previously known as the History Channel – which would provide an hour of history about Tenochtitlan and its creation by the Aztecs, and two further hours showing the artifacts themselves, with renowned archaeologist Dr. Pablo Nunez of the Mexican Museum of Antiquities as the narrator. The involvement of Dr. Nunez had been a concession in getting the artifacts released, but Brian was glad to have his expertise regardless. Brian planned to create the show along the lines of Antiques Roadshow, showing an artifact while Dr. Nunez discussed it. Brian would then provide an auction estimate. The items would easily bring many millions of dollars, Brian figured, as most of them were priceless and were unique examples of art, pottery and inscriptions which had never before been discovered.
The show would be taped in advance, unlike the live Egyptian show on Discovery that Bijan Rarities had previously orchestrated. Two weeks after the show aired the sale of the Aztec relics would occur. That auction would not be televised for public viewing but instead would be simulcast from three places: Bijan’s New York headquarters, its new gallery on Old Bond Street in London and the Tenochtitlan site in Mexico City. It was certain to create a major stir, fueled by publicity from the show itself, Bijan’s substantial marketing efforts, and the intense interest from the collector and museum community for the items being offered.
This morning Brian’s work specifically focused on finishing a major key to the entire sale – ensuring the new owners could actually take possession of their auction items, since so many of the artifacts were physically in Mexico. Thanks to the network of people known to the late Darius Nazir, who had previously owned Bijan Rarities, Brian had access to help from very high places. And it had taken a deputy ambassador’s call to the director of antiquities in Mexico City to get approval for the successful bidders to be permitted to export the artifacts to their home countries. Brian had received a fax with official authorization for the removal of the items from Mexico once the auction was completed. Now he could wrap this project up.
History network had come back to him yesterday. The show’s layout had been determined, a crew had been in Mexico for weeks filming both the artifacts and the ancient site where they were discovered, and the show’s director at History was ready to meet with Brian to put the finishing touches on the event and set a date. It appeared that within a few months, almost a year’s worth of effort would come to fruition. The Aztec Commission had become overwhelming to Brian – it was almost the only thing he had worked on for months, and he was finding himself wishing there were something else to distract him, especially now that most of the task list was the network’s, in final preparation and filming. Brian’s personal involvement was almost finished.
Turning from the rain outside Bijan Rarities’ Fifth Avenue showroom windows, Brian spoke to Collette Conning, who sat at a desk at the rear of the gallery doing paperwork.
“I’m heading out to lunch with Lord Borland, and I have no idea when I’ll be back. This could be another wild goose chase, but you never know.”
She replied, “From his call Arthur Borland seems just the opposite of a wild goose chase. He’s a British lord, for goodness sake. We’re pretty proud of that lot, overall. He sounds like a man with both feet on the ground to me. Stay dry out there, or at least don’t get drenched. And keep your mobile turned on in case I need you.” It made him smile when she used British words for things Americans termed differently.
Brian felt in his pocket for his cell phone. Donning rubber boots and a trench coat he stepped through the front entrance to the sidewalk, raised his black umbrella and started to walk toward Madison Avenue.
I hope Lord Borland shows up after all this effort, Brian thought to himself as he made his way along the sidewalk, seemingly hitting every puddle that existed. A car struck a pothole in the street, throwing water Brian’s way and causing him to lose his footing. He almost fell into the throng of pedestrians maneuvering around him.
Brian turned onto Madison Avenue, wishing there were an easy way to have taken the subway to the Club from his office. Given the layout of the underground train system and where Brian was headed, that was impossible. So he trudged along in the driving rain, walking north until he came to 75th Street and the building occupied by the Monument Club. The Victorian era structure was an imposing four stories high, marked by nothing more than a brass plaque bearing the club’s address.
Brian always enjoyed coming to this place. It was founded in London in 1890 by a group of archaeologists, professional and amateur. Today the Monument Club was a place where members, mostly men with a smattering of women, gathered to read, study, discuss and contemplate history. The latest archaeological finds were always a key topic, and rumors of new discoveries were eagerly dissected by a group of fanatics who loved the subjects of ancient cities, artifacts and digs.
Not long after he assumed ownership of Bijan Rarities, Brian had inquired as to how he could become a member of the Monument Club. Learning that he must be sponsored, he had called his friend Oscar Carrington, owner of a prestigious London antiques gallery, to see if Carrington had a connection.
The response was perfect. “Since I’m a member myself, I’m your man. I’ll be happy to sponsor you and I promise you’ll be glad you joined. The Monument Club is a fabulous place to learn. And the original club’s right here in London. I’ll wager you don’t know that about sixty thousand volumes are in
its major archaeological library on the third floor. Even more than in the club you Yanks have!”
Brian was hooked at that point and soon was a regular at the club, getting to know some of the members and joining in discussions about this artifact or that, upcoming digs or whispers of lost cities. He dealt in antiquities every day but his fascination for archaeology and artifacts never waned. And now that Brian recently had opened the London gallery for Bijan Rarities, he hoped to find himself more often in that venue he loved.
Reaching the entrance, Brian rang the bell. Instantly the door opened and a uniformed porter said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Sadler. Particularly nasty weather today, sir. Let me take your topcoat and umbrella.” He then pointed Brian to a nearby chair where he sat and took off his wet boots. Other than sodden pant legs, Brian was pleased to find himself relatively presentable.
“Your guest is waiting in the dining room, sir.”
Brian walked into the dark-paneled room where a handful of men were having lunch. A waiter at the door greeted Brian and led him to the table he liked most, next to expansive windows overlooking Madison Avenue. Glancing outside, Brian saw that today the view consisted of nothing more than dark skies, fog and pouring rain. He couldn’t even see Central Park just down the street.
A tall man dressed in a pinstripe suit was seated at Brian’s table. “Mr. Sadler?” the man said, rising and extending his hand. “I’m Arthur Borland.”
“My Lord. It’s very nice to meet you.”
A waiter appeared at Brian’s side and set a glass of wine on the table in front of him.
“Would you care for a Sancerre, Lord Borland, or something else to drink?” Brian asked.
“Call me Arthur, please. And yes, I rather think I would enjoy a glass of wine.”
“My condolences at the loss of your father. I regret that I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting him.”
“Although it’s been months since his disappearance, something inside me still holds out hope he will turn up someday. So when people offer condolences, I correct them. I don’t accept that he’s gone. To me, he’s away on another of his adventures…just MIA for now. Some of my friends say I’m bonkers for clinging to the thread of hope he could still be alive, but I know Father. Whatever may have happened, he wouldn’t have gone peacefully to his grave.”
The men settled into the comfortable armchairs and ordered lunch. The club was a warm, inviting place in normal circumstances. Today Brian found it even more so – thunder rumbled incessantly, logs popped in a huge stone fireplace and the flames danced, flickering off the dark mahogany walls of the room. He loved a rainy day – something he got from his mother, he reflected – and this was turning into one for the record books.
They made small talk, discussing Arthur Borland’s flight from London to New York. It turned out Borland was here frequently, handling his family’s business. “I make the trip across the pond so often,” he said, “it really isn’t difficult at all. Flying’s not what it used to be but business class on British Airways serves me well and I have a lot of frequent flyer miles to help on the fare. I can eat, drink and get some work done.” Frankly, Borland’s agreeing to meet in New York had been great for Brian, who was tied down here with the Aztec Commission project.
Brian observed Lord Borland as they talked. He was a nervous man, unable to sit still for long. He moved his fingers and hands frequently as they talked.
“How are you coming along on the Aztec exhibition and auction?” Borland asked. “The wonderful publicity you’ve received in the London papers indicates it’s going to be something really special.”
Brian filled him in on where things stood and Borland replied, “I’m sure it’s a headache with all the ‘behind the scenes’ work you’re having to do. It all seems so easy when one sees a television show in its final form.”
The waiter removed plates and asked if either of them would like coffee. “I don’t know your preference, Brian,” Arthur replied, “but I think I’ll have another glass of this wonderful Sancerre.”
Agreeing, Brian asked the waiter to serve them in the bar. The men rose from the table. Lord Borland retrieved a valise he had stashed by his chair. The men moved down the hall into another elegantly paneled area, its floor-to-ceiling windows framing the famous avenue, a room that sported an even larger, older and grander fireplace. A few tables were occupied. Some men played cards in a corner of the room. Another read Archaeology magazine; still others seemed content merely to be alone with a drink, reflecting, on a dark dreary day. Brian and his guest took a table near the hearth.
Arthur said, “If you have some time I’d like to tell you a story about my father’s last expedition in Belize and Guatemala. Although it’s enigmatic, I promise it’s also exciting. And I’ll tell you why we’ve never had a funeral for Father. Why I think he may turn up someday. All this will tie together with the reason I called you – I promise!”
Lord Borland reached down, opened the valise next to him and took out a small wooden box wrapped in cloth. Removing the wrapping, he set the box on the table. “We’ll discuss this little keepsake later,” Borland said, smiling. Brian saw his hands shaking almost uncontrollably. Arthur noticed his glance and immediately put his hands in his lap.
Brian looked at the box then gestured to the window. The rain was intensifying and the sky growing ever darker. He smiled and replied, “I have all the time in the world. On a day like this, I can think of nothing I’d rather do than sit by the fire in good company, with an adventure unfolding before me.”
He settled back into his chair, sipping his Sancerre as the story began.
Chapter Three
As people of vast wealth often can, the family was able to take advantage of opportunities most people couldn’t imagine. At lunch with Queen Elizabeth one day in the sixties, Jack’s father had mentioned his son’s interest in Central America, particularly in the Mayan regions.
“There’s a position open in British Honduras,” the Queen had casually remarked. “If Jack wanted to spend some time with the Maya I think he could find himself with more than he could ever imagine.”
British Honduras became Belize in 1973, but not before Jack Borland was Governor-General of the colony, the Queen’s own representative to this small country. Using the power vested in him as its leader, he kept a close eye on the archaeological excavations that occurred from time to time.
The colony was poor and Britain wasn’t interested in funding excavations, so it was left to one university or another to pay for an expedition. Jack ensured all of these expeditions received their permits – he was widely known as a great friend to the archaeologists, using his resources as the colony’s leader to pull strings and smooth out the hiccups that inevitably happened. In return he was kept informed about every interesting find, every exciting discovery. When a major dig was underway, it was not unusual to see the Governor-General himself on horseback at the site, watching the progress with his own eyes.
In this manner Jack Borland learned much about the Maya and their history. Once an excavation was underway Jack was always full of questions. Sometimes things were found which were puzzling, enigmatic and that somehow didn’t fit with previousl thinking. Jack loved those situations. His mind was open to every possibility – he didn’t know, for instance, how the primitive Mayans managed to lift fifty-ton blocks a hundred feet in the air to top off a temple in the jungle. And he wouldn’t have been any more surprised to find out the Mayan kings knew the mystery of levitation than he would to learn they had complicated pulley-and-block systems. He loved the mystery as much as the solution. Perhaps more.
“Now I’ll tell you about my father’s most recent expedition,” Arthur continued. Nearly two years ago, Captain Jack and a party of six men had left San Ignacio, Belize, a town close to the border with Guatemala. The group headed west, crossed the border and went into the Guatemalan jungle on a quest to locate a priceless hoard – the fabled library of the Maya. Jack Borland had headed doze
ns of forays into the forbidding terrain before but this one would turn out differently. The party ultimately vanished without a trace.
San Ignacio is a village of around ten thousand people that sits on the banks of the Macal River and serves as the capital of the Cayo District. Tourists who arrive here are mostly passing through, visiting the ancient Mayan ruin of Xunantunich or heading to the Guatemalan border for a day trip to Tikal, one of the best known and most well excavated Mayan sites. They may stop in town to have lunch but not a lot of tourists stay overnight in San Ignacio. The ones who do stand out. No one was better known, or better liked in this small town, than Captain Jack. For the former Governor-General, this place had been the starting point for a succession of ultimately fruitless expeditions over the last few years.
It takes very little time for information to spread in a place where everyone knows everyone else. Every time Borland showed up in town he was ecstatic about yet another possibility – a piece of information, a shred of parchment, a tale passed from one generation to the next. So far Captain Jack Borland had had no success but the townspeople welcomed his arrival. He was always excited, enthusiastic and willing to bolster the local economy by purchasing provisions and hiring men to accompany his expeditions. Never mind that they always returned empty-handed. They all knew Captain Jack would show up again someday, excited about yet another adventure.
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 26
