For President John Chapman the real mystery would begin in just a matter of hours.
Chapter Three
Thursday
The day of the disappearance
As the Gulfstream landed a small band of dirty, barefoot children ran across a dusty road to the airstrip to look at the gleaming white airplane. When it came to a stop in front of a shack that was the operations center for the tiny Palenque airport, the kids crowded around the door. Steps were lowered and the two Secret Service agents disembarked. John Chapman stayed inside until a black Lincoln Navigator drew close to the plane. The SUV looked new and had diplomatic license plates, two giveaways that this vehicle wasn’t the usual mode of transportation in the sleepy Mexican town.
One of the security people stuck his head back into the cabin and said, “We can go now, sir.” Chapman came down the stairs as the bodyguards pushed the children back. No one noticed a raggedy boy reach into his pocket and pull out a cellphone. He pressed a single number, hit “send” and turned the phone off. His job was done and he had earned twenty pesos, about a dollar and fifty cents.
Ignoring the waving children, Chapman strode to the SUV as the front passenger door opened and the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico stepped out. “Good morning, sir!” he said jubilantly to the President. “Are you ready for some adventure?”
“I’ve thought of virtually nothing else since I spoke with you. Have you heard anything more about the discovery?”
“Nobody’s saying anything at this point, which means they’re following my request. I’m really happy to report I’ve heard nothing. Of course there have been guards posted at the site since the discovery was made and the Temple of the Inscriptions has been closed to the public for the last couple of days.”
One of Chapman’s bodyguards climbed into the front seat of the Navigator while Chapman and the Ambassador sat in the middle row. The other Secret Service agent was in the rear third row. The driver was a young Army captain who turned and said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. President, and pleased to be assisting you today.” He pulled away, left the airport and traveled down a two-lane asphalt road.
Chapman ignored the driver, turned to the Ambassador and said, “What are the archaeologists telling the public is the reason the temple’s closed?”
“They put out a story that there’s a flaw in the structural integrity of the passageway leading to King Pakal’s tomb. They promised it’d be reopened once repairs are made. Everything’s on hold until your visit is over and a decision is made on how to announce the discovery. Sussex University and the patron who funded the exploration of the tomb are involved in all the decisions in tandem with the Mexican archaeological authorities. Even if they reopen the temple, I’m sure they’ll continue to keep the descending stairway and Pakal’s tomb closed for the time being, given the highly unusual nature of what’s been found.
Chapter Four
As the President landed in Palenque Thomas Newton Torrance enjoyed the view from his desk. Through floor to ceiling panels of glass TNT, as the press had scathingly dubbed him, surveyed the skyscrapers of Manhattan while speaking on the phone, a noontime glass of wine close at hand. Torrance’s New York apartment served as his headquarters while he was in the States. The rent on the two thousand square foot flat on East 61st Street was more than at his London home, but neither cost mattered to TNT. One or more of the various companies he controlled paid the rents. Sometimes when things got a little dicey TNT had to move for a time but at the moment things were going fine.
The forty-year-old Torrance had been born in east London. Growing up was tough. The death of his father when the boy was four caused his mother to have to work two jobs and there was never enough of anything. It turned out he had an entrepreneurial flair – at age twelve he organized a few friends and started an exterior housecleaning service that happened to be the right thing at the right time. Within a couple of years it attracted the attention of the local media. Thomas Torrance’s business skyrocketed because of the publicity about this teenager’s flair for entrepreneurship.
He sold that company for nearly a million dollars when he was only sixteen. He caught the attention of a wealthy businessman who offered him a job scouting venture capital deals in London. The man wanted to locate small companies to buy on the cheap, build up and sell. But Thomas Newton Torrance had a better idea. Why not buy small companies that are publicly traded, he thought. In the days before computer programs would have saved untold time, he spent day after day poring through public documents filed by small companies, looking not for good earnings or good prospects, but for cash reserves.
The first company he found was a business that sold wholesale pool chemicals in Leeds. Its customers were the stores that homeowners visited to buy chlorine and supplies. The firm was a fifty-year-old business and the chairman was nearly seventy. Most important to Torrance was nearly £10 million in cash that the company had accumulated over the years.
Torrance took the deal to his mentor who recognized the boy’s talent for deals and was willing to help him become a success. Thomas Torrance had calculated that anyone owning 45% of the company would have effective control – no other single shareholder owned more than 9% and there were so many that it was almost incomprehensible that 51% of them would ever vote together as a block. Thomas’ mentor used £2 million of his money to purchase the 45% stake, then gave a half interest in it to Thomas in exchange for a promissory note to repay it in twelve months. Thomas asked his mentor what would happen if he couldn’t repay the money that quickly. The man smiled and assured Thomas there would be no problems. They both knew exactly what the game plan was going to be and where the money was coming from to repay his loan and no one need have worried a bit. Except the company’s existing shareholders, of course.
Within a month the block of stock had been purchased, the old board of directors removed and five men very close to – and financially rewarded by – the mentor were the new policymakers at the company. Torrance himself couldn’t be an officer or director – he wasn’t yet eighteen years old – but he guided the movement of the company’s cash from its bank account to those of Torrance and his mentor. Through management fees, expensive equipment leases from the mentor’s company and other shenanigans, virtually all the cash was gone within a year.
The Financial Services Authority – the British equivalent to the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission – took notice of the transactions only after small shareholders began to complain that the company was now worth far less than it had been before Torrance and his mentor took over. And they were right, but despite being unfortunate for them, it was perfectly legal. Thomas Newton Torrance and his mentor sold their stake at a small loss eighteen months after they had purchased it. Obviously the shares weren’t worth as much as when Torrance had bought them – the company itself was worth less since it had been efficiently and effectively drained of about $16 million in cash. So the small loss in the share price didn’t matter to Torrance and his boss – they had taken out a lot of money and were ready to move on.
Thomas Torrance repaid the £1 million loan his mentor had extended, leaving him with well over $6 million – not bad for an eighteen-year-old’s first big deal. Over a celebratory dinner at Wilton’s in London, Torrance announced his intention to try another acquisition, this time in the United States. He had been looking at public document filings and had come across another company that was remarkably similar to the one they’d just raided.
“What business is it in?” his mentor asked.
“They manufacture oil field equipment.”
“No disrespect, Thomas, but what do you know about the oil field equipment business?”
That got a chuckle from Torrance. “Nothing, of course. But what does it matter? They have $8 million in cash. I know plenty about that!”
And he did. He formed a corporation and put the millions of pounds sterling from his last deal into it. Through that company he leased an apartment in New York
– he was too young to sign legal documents on his own – then used more of his cash to purchase controlling interest in the oil field supply firm. Within twelve months Torrance had moved all the cash from this once-healthy company to his own coffers, leaving it with enough money to pay its bills but unable to grow its business in the future because of lack of capital.
The other shareholders ranted and screamed. The Wall Street Journal ran a story about Thomas Newton Torrance, applying the abbreviation “TNT” for the first time. “He’s like dynamite to the companies he buys – the cash just implodes. Watch out for Thomas Newton Torrance – the TNT of the stock market!”
The article was less than flattering but with over $14 million in the bank, TNT was a success regardless. Although his activities raised regulatory eyebrows on both sides of the pond, everything he did was legal, even if it was unfair to the small shareholders and ethically reprehensible.
Three years passed and TNT was twenty-two. He had made six deals, successfully fended off four civil lawsuits by shareholders and two regulatory investigations (one each in London and New York) and he had accumulated a net worth of nearly $30 million.
Torrance discovered an interesting phenomenon that accompanied his success. Though he was certainly not handsome by any standard, he suddenly found it amazingly easy to attract beautiful women. They simply loved being with him. But then who wouldn’t? TNT was in the society section of newspapers regularly – his corporation donated generously to political candidates, the arts and a dozen humanitarian causes. His motives were less than noble; the more he hobnobbed with the rich and famous, the easier it was to garner favors when the securities regulators came calling with a list of violations. The added bonus was the invitations that poured in almost weekly – a gallery opening here, a party at the Mayor’s house there – and it wouldn’t do to show up without a beautiful girl on your arm.
The society editors hadn’t known exactly what to make of him. Everyone knew of his occasional run-ins with the regulators but he was likeable, outgoing and generous with the money he’d taken from the labors of others. TNT was like a firecracker to the society crowd in New York and London – shiny and sparkly but with a little touch of the dangerous thrown in.
There was one thing that was unusual about Thomas Newton Torrance. In every way that could be seen, he was a very religious man. He was an ordained minister in fact, thanks to a donation to an obscure school of religion in Mississippi. And TNT made sure his religious ways could be seen. As a successful entrepreneur Torrance counted as friends some of the highest leaders of the Protestant faith both in America and the United Kingdom. Once he became seriously wealthy he generously donated to causes connected with a variety of denominations. The common thread in his work for the Lord was that Thomas Newton Torrance cultivated friends in very high places, just as he did in his secular activities. When he attended a church service it wasn’t a small congregation around the corner. It always was the most prominent church in New York or London or Los Angeles. He called ahead to make sure the senior pastor was aware he was coming and typically ended up with him at lunch or dinner after the service.
TNT carefully cultivated these connections. He inserted himself and his religiosity into the churches, lavishly spent money on projects suggested by the most influential people in the church and he curried favor from all. Sometimes when his business dealings were questioned he threw around names that helped legitimize him. If you can toss out the name of the nation’s best-known television evangelist, or casually mention that the Archbishop of Canterbury was your guest for lunch last week, it sometimes made people question their own concerns. Maybe Thomas Newton Torrance wasn’t an evil pillager of corporations after all. Maybe he was a real businessman – his connections with the church seemed to support that idea.
Now age forty, Thomas Newton Torrance was having a ball. Forbes Magazine ranked his worth near a billion dollars. His acquisitions grew larger and larger, his raids of corporate bank accounts more subtle and sophisticated but the results were always the same – TNT ended up with a lot of cash and the companies he briefly owned and controlled were the contributors of that bounty. With larger deals came more intense scrutiny and louder screams from his fellow shareholders who felt raped and pillaged after Torrance breezed through the bank accounts. Although he was forced to answer inquiries and subpoenas now and then, he continued to stay ahead of the game and had never been charged with a crime. The frequent publicity was negative but somehow never damaging enough to cause Torrance a major problem.
In 2012 Thomas Newton Torrance attended a party at the American Museum of Natural History on the Upper West Side in New York City. His date for the evening was a beautiful thirty-year-old who was a morning talk show host on NBC. The affair was a tribute to Sussex University’s archaeology department and the contribution its teams of people had made. Over the past few decades it seemed people from Sussex were participating in practically every major dig in the world. The results had been very positive – the university and its professors were recognized regularly for their accomplishments and discoveries. It didn’t hurt that the Indiana Jones and National Treasure movies had caused everyone to have a heightened interest in archaeology. Most digs were boring – they weren’t looking for the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail but more often finding out details about a civilization like the Inca or the Hittites. But the average guy on the street didn’t know that. He thought Indy was fighting off tarantulas in the jungle to get the statue of solid gold. Archaeology had become exciting.
Archaeological programs take money and lots of it. Officials from Sussex threw the Natural History Museum party to educate wealthy potential donors about their programs and encourage them to invest. Senior professors from the archaeology and anthropology departments mingled with the guests, offering up interesting stories of hidden things in the jungles and under the desert sands of places far, far away. Thomas Torrance listened to one of those stories and became enthralled at what he heard.
At the end of the evening TNT looked up Dr. Martin Harvey, the vice president of the university and the senior person present at the event, and handed him a business card. “This is my mobile number,” Torrance said. “Do you have time for a quick breakfast in the morning? I know you’re busy – if you need to get back to the university early that’s fine. I had a few questions and some thoughts for you.”
Dr. Harvey had planned to catch the first train to Philadelphia, where he had left his car the previous morning. But the chance to meet with an interested party and potential donor whose net worth was in the hundreds of millions was too great an opportunity to pass up. He moved his Amtrak reservation to noon and at 7:30 a.m. was seated across from Thomas Torrance having breakfast at the Peninsula Hotel on Fifth Avenue. What he expected to be a quick meal turned into a lengthy question and answer session for both parties as they became acquainted. As the vice president listened he began to understand the particular interest Thomas Newton Torrance had and the one very specific, highly unusual project he wanted to fund.
The vice president of Sussex University could hardly contain his excitement on the trip home. He had received a commitment from Torrance for $10 million to fund a project in Palenque, Mexico that had languished for years. This particular dig had proven more difficult than most for attracting donors – it had a very unusual purpose.
In 1952 the tomb of King Pakal was discovered far beneath the Temple of the Inscriptions at Palenque. This discovery rekindled ancient stories – tales of strange things hidden even deeper in the ground. Present day Mayans recalled accounts passed down by the ancients. Speaking in whispers and only among themselves – never with the Spanish conquerors or other white men – the elders kept alive a fascinating tale of an ancient chamber discovered during Pakal’s reign. The room was said to be far, far older than the Mayan civilization and to contain a puzzling object. The king’s advisors couldn’t explain the artifact and considered it sacred. According to the legend, Pakal ordered
it left alone where it lay on a stone altar. Then he ordered his own tomb to be built atop the ancient chamber. Finally, Pakal constructed the massive Temple of the Inscriptions above his tomb – an edifice that today rose above the trees in the jungle and was considered one of the most beautiful ancient Mayan structures.
Sussex archaeologists had wanted to send a team to Palenque to explore the chamber housing Pakal’s sarcophagus. Was there a far older secret than the Maya themselves? No one knew what was supposed to be there – only that the rumors had persisted for hundreds of years and that many Mayans even today believed something was there – something unbelievably ancient.
It would be a difficult project because of the historic significance of Pakal’s tomb and sarcophagus. Obtaining a permit to move the King’s body or his coffin would be impossible. Even with the prestigious Sussex University leading the project it was unlikely the Mexican authorities would be convinced of the value of any intrusion into this important site. So the dig went unfunded for several years, relegated to the back burner while the university continued its work at major sites around the globe.
Now however the university vice president had a funding commitment. The breakfast with the man they called TNT had been an interesting one. Dr. Harvey had handed Torrance a substantial packet of information about Sussex and its extensive archaeological department and programs, but TNT hadn’t even given it a glance. In fact, the vice president noted, Torrance left it sitting on the table when they departed the hotel. From the very beginning of the conversation TNT had wanted to know only about the Palenque project, the one that had sat for years with no permits and no funding. This was the sole endeavor he was interested in.
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 53
