The Death Relic

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘Fine! We’ll talk about it later. But if it’s OK with you, I’d prefer if our conversation didn’t take place inside a Mexican prison.’

  ‘Right. Of course. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. Do your job. Stand over there and let me know if anyone’s coming.’

  DeJute stopped the video and zoomed in on the elevator a few seconds after the doors had opened. Standing in the hallway were two stocky Latin men with short black hair. Dressed in casual clothes and designer sunglasses that obscured their faces, they took a moment to get their bearings before they walked down the corridor towards Maria’s suite.

  ‘Look familiar?’ Payne asked.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Can you print that image for me? I’d like to have it.’

  ‘No problem.’

  The men stopped in front of her door and glanced in both directions. With no one in sight, one of them pulled out a keycard and inserted it into the slot. A moment later, the light turned green and the men entered the suite.

  Payne pointed at the screen. ‘Did you see that? They had a key.’

  He nodded. ‘I can’t walk, but I can see.’

  ‘Where did they get a key?’

  ‘Honestly, any number of places. The front desk, a maid’s cart, even your boss’s pocket. That’s the problem with keycards. They can be duplicated very easily.’

  ‘Then why do you use them?’

  ‘Two reasons,’ he explained. ‘First of all, they’re inexpensive. If someone loses a card, it costs us less than a nickel to replace it, which is a lot cheaper than calling a locksmith.’

  Payne grunted in disgust. ‘In other words, hotels care more about saving money than protecting their guests.’

  ‘And that surprises you?’

  ‘No, I guess not.’

  DeJute glanced back at him. ‘Don’t worry, chief. In cases like this, the hotel’s cheapness actually works to your advantage.’

  ‘How do you figure?’

  ‘Anytime a keycard is used, my computer keeps track. If you give me a minute, I can tell you when their keycard was made, who it was given to, and where it’s been used before.’

  Payne smiled. ‘In that case, all is forgiven.’

  24

  Jones spotted two cameras in the parking lot during his advance surveillance. One was on the far side of the complex; the other was facing the driver’s side of the H2 from roughly 20 feet away. Fearing detection, he purposely kept his back to the camera by working on the driver’s side door. Not only would it keep his face off the surveillance footage, it would also block the camera’s view of his lock-picking expertise.

  ‘Am I clear?’ Jones whispered into his headset, which was synched to his mobile phone via Bluetooth.

  Maria answered from the edge of the parking lot. ‘Looks clear to me.’

  Using the homemade lock picks he carried in his wallet, Jones went to work on the door. Fifteen seconds later, it popped open with a click. ‘I’m in.’

  ‘Already?’

  ‘Actually, that was slow. With a bump key, I can beat ten seconds.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘Wow! That’s awesome … Wait. What’s a bump key?’

  He sighed. ‘Can we talk about it later?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Jones climbed into the Hummer and quietly closed the door. Once inside, he felt a lot less vulnerable. The heavily tinted windows and reflective sunshade that protected the H2’s interior from the heat of the Mexican sun also concealed his actions and identity from the outside world. As long as no one had spotted him breaking in, he knew he was reasonably safe.

  ‘Still clear?’

  ‘Yes,’ she assured him.

  Jones leaned across the centre armrest and opened the glove compartment. Inside there was a pair of sunglasses, a spare set of keys and a rental agreement for the Hummer. He grabbed the paperwork and tucked it into his cargo pants, hoping it would give them a better understanding of Hamilton’s movements before his trip to Cancún. If they figured out where he’d come from, perhaps they could locate the other members of Hamilton’s research team and get to the bottom of his disappearance. Or, at the very least, find out why Maria had been invited to Mexico.

  For Jones, that was the most important thing of all.

  While DeJute pulled up the keycard data on his computer, Payne kept his eyes on the monitors. He tried not to fixate on the action in the parking lot, but his gaze naturally drifted towards his best friend as he approached the H2 on one of the smaller screens.

  ‘So,’ Payne said, trying to keep DeJute distracted from the video feed, ‘do you always work alone, or did I catch you at the worst possible moment?’

  ‘Normally, there’s someone working in the outer office, but he went to take a piss or something. Unfortunately, I can’t use that excuse since I piss in a bag.’

  Payne grunted, unsure how to respond.

  DeJute sensed his discomfort. ‘It’s got some advantages, though. I never miss any action when I go to a ball game. Same thing at the movies. For all you know, I’m pissing right now.’

  ‘Now you’re just showing off.’

  ‘Maybe a little.’

  Payne laughed and glanced back at the monitor. Jones was no longer visible. He was safely inside the H2. ‘How’s that data coming?’

  A printer chattered on the desk behind him.

  DeJute pointed over his shoulder. ‘It’s printing right now.’

  ‘Can you make me a copy?’

  ‘That is your copy. I’ll just use my computer.’

  Payne grabbed the two pages from the printer, then sat next to DeJute, who was studying the numbers on his screen. ‘OK, what am I looking at?’

  DeJute explained. ‘The data’s divided into three columns. First column lists a portal. Second lists a card number. Third lists a time stamp.’

  ‘What’s a portal?’

  ‘That’s my nickname for the individual card readers. Not only is portal easier to say than individual card readers, it sounds a hell of a lot cooler.’

  ‘You’re right. It does.’

  He pointed at the first column on his screen. ‘Most portals are simply room numbers, but some are coded for common areas, like the spa, or the gym. Anything that requires a card for entry has a unique portal number. Swipe your card, and we get a record.’

  Following along on his printout, Payne shifted his focus to the second column. ‘How are the card numbers assigned?’

  ‘We erase the cards as soon as they’re turned in at checkout. After that, we recode the blank cards with new information, using a digital encoder at the front desk. Each card is given a new list of permissions, which grants access to different portals on the property. Not only individual rooms, but things like elevator access and so on.’

  ‘What about employees?’

  ‘Different employees have different permission codes installed on their cards. Managers can go anywhere they want. Same with certain members of the security staff. Maids have unlimited access in some parts of the hotel, but they can’t use their cards outside their assigned areas. If they try, we’ll know about it.’ DeJute smiled to himself. ‘Actually, if anyone tries, we know about it. Our system records all card swipes, whether successful or not.’

  Payne took a moment to study the report. DeJute had filtered the data by portal number on the first sheet, listing every card to have accessed Maria’s suite, Room 1257, in the last twenty-four hours. According to the data, three cards had opened her room a total of four times.

  Portal Card # Time

  1257-1 19420114 13:27:34

  1257-1 19771004 15:47:45

  1257-1 19690902 17:32:11

  1257-1 19771004 19:03:21

  As a former soldier, Payne was familiar with military time. He quickly recognized the significance of 17:32:11, because it corresponded with the time stamp on the video feed of the break-in, which had occurred at 5.32 p.m. (plus eleven seconds) on the twelve
-hour clock. The image of Maria’s door was still paused on the centre monitor, allowing him to double-check the time.

  Payne pointed at the video feed. ‘They opened her door at 5.32 p.m.’

  DeJute nodded. ‘Yep.’

  ‘That means their card number is one-niner-six-niner-zero-niner-zero-two.’

  ‘You got it, chief.’

  Payne glanced up the column and studied the numbers. Two other cards had been granted access to her suite earlier in the day. One of them – 19771004 – also accessed the suite after the break-in. Through a process of elimination, Payne knew it probably belonged to Maria. ‘The card ending in one-zero-zero-four must be my boss’s. She used her suite when she checked in, then used it again after her meeting at the bistro.’

  Using his computer mouse, DeJute clicked on the card number and was whisked to a separate window, which displayed registration information. The keycard was assigned to Maria Pelati. As proof, her signature appeared at the bottom of the page. ‘You nailed it, chief.’

  ‘Can you go back to the other screen?’

  ‘Of course.’ DeJute clicked a button and returned to the master list. ‘Before you even ask, I can tell you the first keycard belongs to a maid. One-nine-four-two is a staff prefix, and 1.27 p.m. is in the gap between checkout and check-in. She was probably preparing the suite.’

  Payne nodded. ‘I kind of figured as much. I was actually more concerned with the Hispanic gentlemen we saw on the screen. I want to know who their card belongs to.’

  DeJute moved his cursor over 19690902 and clicked once. A new window appeared on the screen. Strangely, it listed the same registration information as a moment before – with one major exception. Instead of Maria Pelati’s signature, a different name was scrawled across the bottom of the page. Payne leaned closer, trying to decipher the handwriting. A few seconds passed before he figured it out, and when he did, he grunted with surprise.

  The name was Terrence Hamilton.

  25

  Paco’s humour faded as he approached the end of his speech. The final part of his tour always made him gloomy. After building a kingdom with his words, he was forced to tear it down.

  ‘Sadly,’ he explained, ‘our city did not survive the treachery of Spain. Less than thirty years after Columbus arrived in the Americas, a conquistador named Hernán Cortés saw Tenochtitlan from a distance. He marvelled at its wealth and size while his men wept at its beauty. They cried out to Cortés: “Are we dead? Are we dreaming? How can this vision be real?” But he could not answer them. How can you explain what you do not understand?’

  He paused for a moment to let that sink in. ‘The date was 8 November 1519. Our city had reached its glorious peak. Within two years, it was all but destroyed.’

  A murmur went through the crowd. Even though the conquest of Tenochtitlan had happened nearly 500 years ago, they could hear the pain in Paco’s voice.

  ‘Our ruler at the time was Montezuma the Second. Under his leadership, the Aztec Empire reached its largest size. According to diplomatic custom, Montezuma allowed Cortés and some of his men to march into our city. He greeted them with gold and silver. They gave us smallpox in return. Still, he invited them to stay at the royal palace, where they remained for months. During this time, Aztec nobles slowly began to doubt Cortés’ motives. They voiced their concerns to Montezuma, who eventually asked Cortés and his men to leave. But the Spaniards refused. Instead, they captured our ruler and used him as a hostage to guarantee their safety.’

  Paco took a deep breath. ‘What happened next is still unknown to my people. Some claim Cortés killed Montezuma as a sign of his power. Others claim Montezuma was stoned to death by the Aztecs as punishment for being captured. In many ways, the truth does not matter. All that matters is what happened to our beautiful city.’

  He pointed to the south. ‘In May of 1521, the Iztapalapa Causeway was blocked by the Spanish. Then the Tlacopan Causeway to the west and the Tepeyácac Causeway to the north. Next they ruptured our aqueducts, which cut off fresh water to our city. For the next three months, the Aztec people suffered. Without food and water, they became weak and the smallpox started to spread. Before long, they were no match for Spain. Cortés landed his troops on the south end of our island and went from house to house, slaughtering everyone. Finally, in August of 1521, our new ruler, Cuauhtémoc, was forced to surrender to Cortés.’

  ‘Did Cortés kill him?’ someone asked from the crowd.

  ‘Not at first,’ Paco said, shaking his head. ‘The Spanish believed the Aztecs were hiding a great treasure – one of gold and jewels – so Cuauhtémoc was tortured to reveal its location. The barbaric Spaniards placed his feet in a raging fire, trying to burn the information from him, but he refused to tell them anything. For his bravery, he is still honoured to this day. There is a giant statue of Cuauhtémoc on Avenida Reforma. Plus, there is a bust over there.’

  He pointed to the far side of the plaza.

  Everyone turned except Tiffany, who remained focused on Paco.

  ‘What happened to the treasure?’ she wondered.

  He looked at her and smiled. There was one in every group.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘the Aztec treasure. More extravagant than you can possibly imagine. Thanks to Cuauhtémoc, the Spanish never found it. Or maybe they did. The truth is, I do not know. According to some, the treasure never existed – nothing but a myth to entertain children. According to others, it is still waiting to be found. Over the centuries, many explorers have crossed the sea to discover it. Most of them never returned home.’

  ‘What about you? Do you think there was a treasure?’ she asked.

  ‘In my dreams, I picture a cave filled with gold. It is buried deep underneath Mexican soil. Who knows?’ He stomped his foot three times. ‘Maybe it is underneath this plaza.’

  The group laughed at his comment because they assumed it was a joke. But Paco shook his head. He had one more story to tell them before he finished the tour.

  ‘I know what you are thinking: how could this be? How could something so big be sleeping underneath Zócalo? Well, I am about to tell you – and you will be impressed. Once Cortés took control of Tenochtitlan, he ordered its destruction. He kept the four districts and the basic layout of our city, but the buildings didn’t survive. He had the main temple completely razed. Then he took the stones and used them to pave this plaza.’

  He turned north and pointed at the cathedral. ‘Next, Cortés built a church where the four districts merged. He built it there so everyone in the city would learn about Jesus. To make sure we got his message, he built a church or shrine on top of every Aztec temple in Tenochtitlan. From that point on, if we worshipped our gods, we were sentenced to death.’

  He took a deep breath. The thought of it made him angry. ‘By 1573, the year the Spanish started the cathedral, most natives had converted. Not by blood, but in their minds. They no longer thought like Aztecs. Now they thought like Spaniards. This was not their fault, for this was all they knew. Tales of our city had been passed from father to son, but that was not the same as being there. How can one learn if one cannot see for oneself? Before long, Tenochtitlan was gone from memory. Forgotten by history until 1978.’

  ‘What happened then?’ someone shouted.

  Paco grinned at the group. ‘Another miracle.’

  He explained that a worker for the electric company was digging a block away from the plaza. Known as the ‘island of the dogs’, the area was slightly elevated from the rest of the neighbourhood. Anytime there was flooding, which happened every rainy season, street dogs would gather there to avoid the rising water. Approximately six feet underground, the worker’s shovel hit something solid. He summoned other workers to the ‘island’, who helped him uncover a pink andesite monolith. Weighing 8.5 tons and measuring nearly 11 feet in diameter, the stone disk depicted the Aztec moon goddess, Coyolxauhqui, and dated back to the fifteenth century. Upon closer inspection, historians realized it had been placed at the foot o
f the Huitzilopochtli temple during Axayacatl’s reign, sometime between 1469 and 1481.

  Following its discovery, the Mexican government gave permission to tear down an entire city block to excavate the Templo Mayor site. Over the next four years, they uncovered the construction history of the central temple and numerous artefacts that overturned our basic understanding of Aztec religion, culture and ideology. The project, led by Mexican archaeologist Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, culminated in the creation of the Templo Mayor Museum a block from the plaza, where the monolith and other relics are displayed.

  Paco pointed out the location of the museum before concluding his tour. ‘Like I say earlier, who knows what is underneath our feet? Maybe it is dirt, maybe it is lake, or maybe it is gold. In a country like Mexico, you never know until you dig.’

  26

  Jones glanced in the Hummer’s rear-view mirror and noticed the backseat had been folded down to accommodate a large object of some kind. He didn’t know what the item was since a black tarpaulin had been strapped over the top of it and secured by a number of bungee cords, but he figured it had to be important if Hamilton had dragged it all the way to Cancún.

  He spoke into his headset. ‘Refresh my memory. What was Hamilton getting from the car when he disappeared?’

  Maria answered from across the parking lot: ‘Some documents that he wanted me to translate. He wouldn’t tell me what they were, though. I think he wanted to test my knowledge.’

  ‘Documents, huh?’

  ‘That’s what he said. Why?’

  ‘I think he brought more than documents.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Jones reached out and pushed the tarp. The object underneath didn’t budge. It just sat there, veiled, like a forgotten treasure waiting to be found. ‘Well, I don’t think it’s a corpse.’

  ‘What?’ she shrieked.

  He flinched at the shrill noise in his ear. ‘Calm down, Maria. I said I don’t think it’s a corpse. Can’t be sure, though. It’s covered with a big-ass tarp.’

  ‘Is it Hamilton?’