Treasure of Lima

by Alex Archer

  The water, crystal clear just moments before, rapidly became obscured with dirt, silt and rock kicked up by the action of the quake, reducing her visibility to just a few feet. She caught a glimpse of Rick cutting away his weight belt and using the sudden increase in his buoyancy to rise swiftly out of reach, and he headed for the surface high above their heads.

  Annja waited for Manuel to follow suit, but the dive instructor didn’t appear. With every passing second she grew more concerned that something dire had happened to him, until she couldn’t stand it anymore and set out to find him.

  It was a good thing she did.

  After searching about for several moments, she finally spotted his brilliant blue wet suit pressed up against a pile of rubble. Swimming over, she discovered that he was conscious but unable to move, his left leg trapped beneath the remains of a stalactite that had broken free from the roof of the tunnel.

  Aware that another tremor could strike at any second, Annja mimed to Manuel that she was going to try to move the stone. It was too big to lift, but she thought she might be able to roll it away. She got down next to it, put her shoulder against the stone and, using her legs for power, pushed as hard as she could.

  It didn’t budge.

  She glanced at Manuel, saw him trying to wave her off. Through a series of hand signals, he told her to head for the surface and leave him behind, but she shook her head, ignoring his request. There was no way she was going to abandon him, not while they still had plenty of air and she was physically capable of making the effort.

  Annja backed away and eyed the stalactite. She had been trying to push it backward, but saw now that it was wedged up against several other rocks that had been shaken loose by the quake. If she reversed direction, perhaps she could create some leverage beneath it and roll it forward instead.

  She swam around the side of the stone and found a suitable spot that was partially hidden from Manuel’s view. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be able to see exactly what she was doing, she mentally reached into the otherwhere and drew forth her sword. It slid smoothly into existence, appearing at the speed of thought, fully formed and ready for use. The hilt fit her hand like a glove and at times Annja thought it had been made for her and her alone, despite her knowledge of the blade’s history.

  The broadsword had once belonged to Joan of Arc. It was plain and unadorned, the kind of blade that was barely worth a second glance from those who admired such things. But the reality of the situation was quite different. This sword was something special.

  It had been broken on the morning of Joan’s execution, shattered into dozens of pieces by a savage downward blow from the booted foot of the English commander in charge of her execution. Hundreds of years later, when all of the pieces had been brought back together for the first time, the sword mystically re-formed in a flash of light and bonded itself to its new bearer. When Annja wasn’t using it, the sword dematerialized, existing as a thought in some in-between place she’d come to call the otherwhere. She could summon it at a moment’s notice, simply by willing it into her hand, and could release it in similar fashion. After all this time she still wasn’t sure why the blade had chosen her to be its bearer, but it had become such a part of her life that she couldn’t imagine what things would be like without it.

  Right now, she was going to use that sword to help save Manuel’s life.

  Annja wedged the blade deep between the stalactite and one of the rocks behind it, wiggling it around to get it as deep as possible. When she was satisfied, she put her hands on the hilt and pushed down with all she had.

  The tempered steel of the blade bent slightly, but not so much that Annja was worried about it breaking. She began to apply more pressure, forcing the blade downward, hoping that it would be enough.

  She felt the stalactite shift slightly.

  Got you! she thought and then really leaned into it, forcing all of her body weight down onto that point of the system.

  The stone rocked once, twice and then rolled off Manuel’s leg as if it had never been trapped in the first place.

  Annja wanted to shout for joy.

  That was when her internal alarm bells went off for the second time that day.

  This time, she didn’t stop to think. She didn’t stop to analyze the consequences or the possible repercussions of her actions; she just moved, throwing herself bodily over Manuel’s injured form as she released her sword back into the otherwhere. She landed across him just as the ground beneath them began to buck and shake, tossing them about in a terrifying reminder of Mother Nature’s strength and her casual indifferences to the creatures that called her home. Annja gripped Manuel tightly, not wanting the two of them to become separated in the maelstrom.

  While still fairly powerful, this latest aftershock was weaker than the previous two and was over almost before it had begun. When it had passed, Annja found herself pressed up against the wall of the cenote, still holding tightly to Manuel. Their masks were close enough together that she could see him watching her through the glass.

  You okay? she signed.

  He nodded, then pointed upward.

  This time she obeyed. Still holding on to him, she kicked for the surface.

  * * *

  A RESCUE TEAM from the resort was waiting for them when they surfaced, summoned by a call for help on Steve and Julie’s cell phone.

  The water level was substantially lower when they surfaced than it had been at the start of the dive, so Annja had to wait for new ropes to be tied off and thrown down to them before she could get them out of the water. She tied one rope around Manuel, secured another around herself and then gave the line a sharp tug to indicate that they were ready. Minutes later the ropes were pulled taut and the two of them began rising into the air.

  Annja helped Manuel spit out his regulator and remove his mask, before doing the same herself. When she was finished, she looked up to find him watching her, an unusual expression on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

  He continued to stare at her, then seemed to find his courage.

  “Down there, in the water,” he asked, “was that a sword?”

  Annja’s pulse kicked up a notch. How much had he seen?

  “A what?” she asked, buying time.

  “A sword.”

  The hesitation in his voice told her that even if he had seen her conjure her sword out of thin air, his rational side was trying to find some other explanation for it all.

  Annja laughed. “A sword? What would I be doing with a sword in the middle of a cave dive?”

  He frowned. “It sounds silly, I know, but I could have sworn...”

  “Silly, yes, but not entirely unexpected. You were banged up pretty good down there, after all.” She grinned, as if to show she didn’t think ill of him for seeing things, and breathed a sigh of relief when rescue workers reached them.

  Ten minutes later a doctor had pronounced them fit to travel and they were loaded into a waiting SUV. The quake had been worse deep underground than it had been topside; there were a few buildings with minor damage to them and a fair number of palms that had been uprooted, but the general area appeared under control. Since the resort was on the way to the hospital, the driver stopped long enough to let Annja and the other guests get out before continuing on to the hospital with Manuel and a few others who had suffered minor injuries in the quake.

  As she was getting out of the truck, Manuel reached out and caught her arm. “Thanks for saving my life,” he told her. “I owe you one.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “You would have done the same for me. That’s why they call it buddy diving, right?”

  “Right, but still, the least you can do is let me buy you a drink.”

  She agreed and they made plans to meet later that evening, provided Manuel was allowed to
come back from the hospital. As the truck drove away from the resort, Annja grinned.

  Once again, her intuition had been right.

  Annja stayed behind to assist with unloading the dive equipment from the truck since Manuel couldn’t do it, then helped the rest of the crew purge and refill the tanks with clean air so that they’d be ready for the next group in the morning.

  She was standing in the shade at the back of the dive shack, hanging the neoprene wet suits that had been used during the afternoon’s adventure, when she spotted a blond-haired woman talking earnestly with two members of the Policía Turística, or Tourism Police. Officers from that particular branch of the Ministerio de Seguridad Pública, or Ministry of Public Safety, were in charge of ensuring the safety and well-being of those who travelled through Costa Rica, whether for business or pleasure.

  It wasn’t the officers’ presence that caught her attention; their deep blue uniforms were a common sight at resorts like this, for it was in the government’s best interests to protect the tourist trade as much as possible, given that it accounted for over 20 percent of the foreign exchange within the country. No, it was a combination of the earnestness with which the woman was speaking to them matched with their seeming indifference that made her pause as her gaze traveled over them.

  The woman looked to be in her early thirties. She was tall, probably close to six feet, and had blond hair, which she wore pulled back in a ponytail in much the same way that Annja wore hers while on a dig. She was dressed in a tank top and shorts, with hiking boots on her feet.

  As the woman spoke, she gestured generously with her hands. From Annja’s perspective, she seemed to be making some rather emphatic statements, if her hand motions were any indication of her words. Each time she did so, however, the police would simply shake their heads and shrug, as if saying, Sorry, I can’t help you.

  Annja found herself wondering what was going on, but before she could wander over and satisfy her curiosity, the woman threw up her hands in disgust and stalked off. The police watched her a minute and then went their own way, the incident no doubt already forgotten in their minds.

  It should have been the same for Annja. After all, she had enough to deal with in the wake of the afternoon’s events, but something kept bringing the woman to mind long after she had disappeared from view.

  Something was wrong there. Annja could feel it in her bones.

  4

  Annja was just finishing her dinner when she glanced across the restaurant and saw the same blond-haired woman she’d seen earlier now sitting off by herself at a corner table. She didn’t think anything of it at first, but something about the woman’s posture, the way she was holding herself, brought Annja’s attention back to her again and the second time Annja realized what her intuition was trying to tell her. The woman was crying.

  Leave it alone, she told herself. It’s none of your business. Probably nothing worse than a marital spat or boyfriend trouble.

  But the memory of the woman talking to the police officers earlier in the day would not leave her, nor the knowledge that more than one tourist had met a bitter end far from home while vacationing somewhere they considered safe.

  Annja watched the woman for a few seconds and then made up her mind. She stood and walked across the room, not quite sure what it was she was going to say until she was next to the woman’s table and found the words flowing out of her mouth.

  “Excuse me, but are you all right?”

  The woman started and looked up to find Annja standing there. “I’m sorry...what?” she said as she wiped at the tears on her face and looked around for a few seconds in confusion.

  When the woman’s attention came back to her, Annja smiled reassuringly. “I asked if you are all right.”

  The woman nodded her head. “I’m fine. Fine.”

  Right.

  Annja didn’t need any supernatural help in hearing the lie in the woman’s words; one look was all it took. You’ve come this far, she thought. Why stop now?

  “May I sit down?” she asked.

  Annja didn’t wait for an answer; she just pulled out a nearby chair and sat. She smiled at the woman again, to show she wasn’t a threat, and said, “I was sitting over there—” she nodded toward her table across the room “—and couldn’t help but notice that you were upset. I know what it’s like to be in a foreign country alone, so I thought I’d come over and be certain that you were okay.” She put out her hand. “I’m Annja.”

  “Claire,” the blonde said, wiping at her face again with her left hand even as she shook Annja’s with her right. “Claire Knowles.”

  “So let me ask you again. Are you all right? Were you or someone you know injured in the quake earlier?”

  Claire shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Really, I’m fine.”

  The woman’s remark was accompanied by a smile as fake as a three-dollar bill. Annja didn’t say anything in response; she just looked at the woman and waited.

  Claire’s smile faltered. “Actually, no. No, I’m not all right.”

  Annja felt a whisper of excitement run through her veins. She’d come over here on a whim, following nothing more than a fluttering sensation in her gut that told her there was something going on, something that she should be involved with, and now that sensation was sparking to life, confirming her hunch.

  “It’s my husband,” Claire said. “He’s gone missing.”

  A thousand different questions ran through Annja’s mind. She went with the obvious one.

  “Have you gone to the police?”

  “Yes, but they said they couldn’t do anything.”

  Annja frowned. Odd.

  “Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning.”

  Claire smiled weakly in her direction. “I think you’re right.”

  She composed herself and then began her tale.

  “My husband, Dr. Richard Knowles, and I came down here three weeks ago as part of an investigative expedition. Richard is head of the Antiquities Department at the University of Chicago.” Claire paused, looked down and then said, “Antiquities is the branch of science that studies—”

  Annja interrupted, “I know what the antiquities department does,” she said with a smile. “Go on.”

  “Right. Sorry. Well, Richard’s been interested in this region of the world and its unique history for a long time. He’s an expert on the ancient cultures of Central and South America, particularly the Inca. Are you familiar with them, as well?”

  Annja nodded.

  Claire went on.

  “A few years ago my husband became fascinated with a particular legend involving a large treasure that went missing in the final days of the Peruvian revolt.”

  “The lost Treasure of Lima!” Annja exclaimed.

  Claire looked at her with surprise. “Yes, that’s the one. You’re familiar with the legend?”

  Annja grinned sheepishly. “I’m a bit of a fan when it comes to stories of lost artifacts and ancient civilizations. The Treasure of Lima is perhaps one of the most notorious in this part of the world.”

  The other woman laughed. “I understand. Richard’s like that, too.”

  “Don’t tell me he came looking for it.”

  “He did indeed. Like many people before him, Richard believed that the treasure was hidden on Cocos Island, about three hundred miles west of here. He was able to persuade the Costa Rican government to authorize an expedition and to let him try to find the gold.”

  Annja was surprised. Cocos Island was not only a Costa Rican national park, but it was also a UNESCO World Heritage site, which meant just about everything on the island was protected. She knew people who had been trying to obtain permission to explore the island for years, decades even, without success.

  “How on earth did he manage that?” she
asked.

  Claire waved her hand as if shooing away a fly. “It had something to do with convincing the authorities that he wouldn’t be doing any damage to the local environment because he would be using a new kind of ground-mapping radar program. Don’t ask me to explain it—way beyond my meager science capabilities—but it basically allows them to explore likely places where the treasure might have been buried without disturbing so much as the top soil in any way. Completely non-damaging to the local plant and wildlife.”

  Clever man, Annja thought. She’d used such technology in the past and it was non-damaging to the environment. Until you started digging to recover what the radar found, that is.

  “The expedition got under way without difficulty. They made landfall around midafternoon the first day and camped just off the beach near Chatham Bay. At dawn they headed inland, following what Richard believed to have been the route the pirates, thieves, whatever you want to call them, had taken when they secreted the treasure there originally.”

  Claire paused. Her expression drifted inward. Annja had seen that look before; her companion was reliving some painful experience from the past. To break the spell, Annja reached forward and touched her wrist.

  “What happened?” she asked when Claire started and came back to herself.

  “The morning of the third day, Richard called by satellite phone to tell me that they’d found a sea chest that had been partially exposed during a rockslide. The chest contained a number of clerical vestments and a handful of gold and silver chalices. Richard was convinced that it was a part of the missing treasure, since much of it had come from churches across Peru, and told me that they would be staying in that location for another day or two while they investigated further. He agreed to call me later that day to let me know what they had found. He never called.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve heard from him?”