The Final Day
46
Mexico, three days later
The noise of the helicopter’s motors hummed loudly in Ben’s ears, just as it had done since take-off. He had slept well, considering. The seating arrangement was more luxurious than he remembered from his time in Spain, the layout efficiently spacious. According to Cortés, each model was custom-made, the specifications adapted to the needs of the owner. The seats had been put in to be deliberately flexible, their fine, firm leather exteriors both removable and retractable. The Spanish Army had once used similar things as makeshift beds.
Ben was sure TF had experienced far worse.
It was 7:30 a.m. according to his watch, which was still set to Eastern Time, an hour ahead of Mexico’s Central Daylight Time. It was slowly getting light outside. The first evidence of sunlight was visible beyond the eastern horizon; a slight glow, neither yellow nor orange, lit the cloudy sky that promised later rain. A fine mist accompanied it below, thin and atmospheric. The heavy waters of the Gulf of Mexico moved rhythmically below the dying moon, whilst to the west, the sky remained shrouded in the darkness of the night. Though he was no longer sure of their exact position, he sensed they were approaching land.
Eduardo was stirring alongside him. Much had changed in a week. It already seemed like a long time ago they had been chatting about music as they made their way to the hidden monastery. Conversations with Juan had been amicable, yet even now Ben couldn’t decide who he was dealing with. The villain he had met at the lighthouse – the thief of valuable possessions, the abuser of women, and of men – had painted a powerful image on his mind, but too much had happened since then to judge him by those actions alone. The days that had followed had been the strangest of his life: trekking across Spain, chasing Valeria, worrying about Chris. The hamlet. The monastery. The treasure that never was . . .
Then, there was his trip to the mine. The abandoned interior. The things TF had seen that were no longer present. Ben had sensed the moment he first saw the interior of the chest on Tresco that he had found some of it, but even that represented only a small sample of what had once existed. After everything he had experienced since the discovery of the Dunster, nothing really surprised him anymore. The mine was an enigma. Just like the hoard. Just like the explorers before him. Just like the cities they plundered. Just like the man.
Whatever other knowledge Juan Cortés possessed, Ben knew he was in no hurry to divulge it.
The search for the stones, at least, was now over. Together the five emeralds confirmed a legendary story. The old books had once told the same story, a strange romanticised tale that no scholar in the Western world believed to be worthy of time or research. Just like the legends of Eden and Avalon, those of the legendary island that spawned Mesoamerica’s birth would only be found in fiction. For years he had doubted it, even rebuked some who believed otherwise.
Now, alas, he had proof to the contrary.
*
The journey from Tresco to the real-life location of the mythical Aztlán had been achieved in several stages.
Their departure from Tresco had taken place immediately, ending over seven hundred miles south in the heart of Spain. Despite Ben’s objections, Cortés had refused Colts’s proposal to take the Duke’s private jet to Mexico, choosing instead to persevere with the same military helicopter Ben was now used to.
Night had fallen by the time they reached Medellín; night remained when they set off again. The next stage ended surprisingly quickly, another helicopter journey to a lonely airstrip of military character, seemingly in the middle of nowhere and devoid of a phone signal. Ready on the runway was a large, grey military transport aircraft guarded by an armed escort; Cortés referred to the plane as a Boeing C-17 Globemaster III. What happened next, Ben had not counted on. On leaving the helicopter, he had watched from the window as everything and everyone was placed on board the larger aircraft.
Including the armed escort and the helicopter.
The flight west began at dawn; it was dusk when they touched down. Stopping for fuel on São Miguel Island, the largest of the Azores, after a thousand-mile journey from Castillo Cortés, they followed a similar westerly course. Over ten hours passed before the next landing. Despite Cortés’s reluctance to confirm the exact itinerary, Ben had seen enough from the windows to make sense of things. From the Azores, they had landed in Bermuda, stopping only briefly. It was night again when the Boeing landed a third time, touching down in the Cuban capital, Havana. There ended the journey of the Boeing. The remainder would be done a different way. Colts had explained everything.
Cortés was wise for bringing the helicopter.
Eduardo was now wide awake. Like Ben, he had noticed a strange, flickering glow through the cloud, like an amber traffic light about to turn red. He looked through the window over Ben’s shoulder.
“What is that?”
Ben shook his head, concentrating instead on the movements of the cloud. Although it wasn’t obvious without any clear reference points, he detected they were losing altitude.
“I think it’s our landing site.”
*
They came down at the point where the flashing was brightest, slowly and calculatedly, as though guided by lasers. Once again the landing strip was tarmac, rugged but surprisingly even. Visibility outside remained minimal.
Ben was impressed with the way in which Cortés had pulled it off.
As the Eurocopter Tigre’s engines stuttered to a halt, the twelve passengers rose to their feet and headed for the doors. Ben was the first to follow the six-man escort outside. From there he could see a poorly lit military facility enclosed by metal fencing and jungle. Behind him came Eduardo, tailed by Chris, Juliet and Colts. Making up the rear was Cortés and his uncle Claude.
And in between them, Fernando Pizarro.
Senior.
Ben walked slowly along the tarmac. Despite the lack of light, the air was close, sticky, like he had just entered a sauna. All around, the tropical forest echoed with the clicks of insects.
“Where exactly are we?” Ben asked Cortés as the Spaniard finally emerged through the doors.
“Why do you always ask me? If you are dissatisfied, I suggest you take the matter up with our navigator.”
Ben thought he was imagining things. As opposed to gesturing to one of the highly skilled, fully armed military guards or one of the well-dressed senior Spaniards who had so far kept mainly to themselves, Juan was pointing to Colts.
Ben grabbed Colts by the shoulder. “Just what the hell is he on about? He seems to think you planned all this.”
Colts looked back with a sober expression. “Planned, no. Only suggested. And a good thing too. I hope.”
A loud metallic sound emanated from nearby, followed by the consistent bleeping of an alarm. Examining the area in closer detail, Ben realised the surrounding fence was overlooked by a high watchtower that controlled a large electrified gate. As the gate opened, a second military-dressed retinue emerged, disembarking from a decrepit-looking Humvee with a meaningless number plate and a trailer attached to the rear.
Their movement roused the Spaniards.
“Wait.” Colts raised a reassuring hand and walked out to meet the newcomers. “These are with me.”
Ben joined him. He counted seven men in total: six of them, all with clean-cut faces, were dressed in military garb, camouflaged helmets and uniforms.
A seventh led the way, dressed in the uniform of a captain.
“Dr Colts.” The man saluted. He was at least six feet in height, muscular and with a face and skin tone that seemed indigenous to the country. “I am Kabil, son of Ikal.”
“Kabil?” Colts couldn’t hide his surprise. “Last time I saw you, you were still in a crèche.”
The young man smiled. “Much has changed since then. My father is awaiting you. Please come with us.”
Kabil escorted them to the truck. While the six armed men took up positions in the trailer, he
invited the passengers to join him in the Humvee.
They set off through the open gate, the road immediately turning to mud. On closer inspection, Ben realised the features of the compound were far too primitive for regular army.
“What exactly is this place?” Colts beat Ben to the question. “Last time I was here, your father couldn’t even be persuaded to try a toaster.”
Kabil grinned as he accelerated hard along the dirt road. “Much has changed since the days of my grandfather. The situation in the Yucatán remains unstable. Every day our land is more and more threatened by the coming of the miners. It is necessary for all of the local tribes to defend ourselves.”
“With machine guns and landing strips?” Colts was baffled. “I’m guessing the regular army doesn’t have this much sophistication in the capital.”
“The relationship is mutually beneficial. They look after themselves; we do the same.”
“I wish our government was like that,” Ben quipped.
Kabil smiled wryly as he negotiated the winding dirt road at maximum speed. Outside, the tropical forest passed by in a blurred wisp of colour. Water sprayed up from large puddles, covering the vehicle with a muddy deposit. As the minutes passed, lights appeared in the distance, glowing mysteriously like a small hamlet in the hours before dawn.
“What exactly is this place?” Ben asked.
“We are now entering the village of Itzamatul: in your language that translates to the village that has the grace of the sky. This area has served my people for over fifty generations. Even in the days of the ancient Maya, our people made a life for themselves in the forest.”
“You have a big community?”
The young man laughed again. “Let me guess; you were expecting poisonous darts and headdresses?”
Ben laughed, hesitating.
“Twenty-five years ago, you probably wouldn’t have been far off,” Colts said, partially sparing Ben’s blushes. “Things sure have changed since the last time I was here.”
Kabil agreed, “The last thirty years have brought much change to the lives of my people. I myself have even spent time studying in the US. Got a degree from Kentucky.”
“Well, that explains that adorable accent of yours. Just don’t go shouting hot dog on me.”
“Okay, I’ll try. My father’s house is just up ahead.”
“How far away is the island from here?” Ben pressed.
“About seven miles. The land is unsafe to fly or drive. The best way is to proceed by river.”
“You can take us there?”
“Yes, though I must warn you, only a foolish man would attempt to try what others have tried and badly failed.”
“Well, fortunately we’re very foolish. When can we set off?”
“Soon. But first I will take you to my father.”
*
The settlement was a unique combination of traditional and modern, set close to the river in a clearing in the forest. Kabil parked in a muddy area just off the dirt road between two huts that curiously displayed evidence of more modern plumbing.
It was dark amongst the trees, the nocturnal sounds of the forest clearly audible. There was water running from somewhere; Colts had earlier explained the village had always been blessed with a good water source. The low light of some small lamps was shining from inside one of the buildings.
The other hut was shrouded in darkness.
They left the Humvee one by one, Juan’s military escort outnumbered by Kabil’s. Kabil commanded them to stand down.
“There are beds in here.” He pointed to the largest of the two huts, also the darkest. “I suggest you all take the opportunity to catch some rest before sunrise.” He turned to Colts. “Dr Colts, I will show you to my father.”
*
From the outside, the hut with the lights on had a strange feel to it. Kabil called it the war room, in honour of its past. According to the young captain, at one time it had been the place where the elders of the village met to discuss the threats that they faced and develop strategies for dealing with them.
In many ways, little had changed.
Juan insisted on coming as well, as did Ben. The three visitors followed Kabil to the closed door, the military escort now stood down. The young captain knocked politely and awaited an invitation to enter. Eventually it came in a low, courteous voice.
Male, clearly old.
The interior of the building was predominantly sparse and basic, but with a few modern features. A solitary lantern hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly in the muggy air, its light reflecting against the walls like shadow puppets dancing in flames. The wooden beams used to construct the walls were strong and sturdy; the colour absorbed more light than it reflected, which added to the general gloominess. In the centre of the room, a long wooden table, surrounded by chairs, provided the main furnishing.
Like the building itself, everything had been made for a specific purpose.
One seat was in use, its occupant a man with skin of dark umber, whose calm, serene features and thin white hair created an impression of great age. He wore a thick, dark robe, with a necklace of beads close to his neck. Initially, he offered no acknowledgement. His eyes remained closed, in a state of deep concentration. As the seconds passed, he began to stir, as if their presence had awoken him from a long, peaceful sleep. He opened his eyes, focusing on the three travellers one at a time. Finally he smiled.
And stood.
“Welcome back, good Doctor. For many years, I have been expecting you.”
Ben grinned wryly as the old man recognised Colts. Though he remained seated, he showed only warmth for Colts’s embrace.
“The years have been kind to you, my friend.”
The old man smiled, bowing his head. “I am alive, for which I am grateful.” He studied Colts carefully. “I am quite sure you are surprised to be here again, after last time.”
“In all honesty, I am. I made many mistakes when I came here last.”
“Hmmm.” The man delayed again. “Perhaps it is I who was guilty of greater failure. I thought I had prepared you well for the dangers that lay in wait for you, but now I know no training can prepare any warrior for the evil that exists in the shadow of the serpent. Many years ago, we all failed. Yet now, after all this time, you return.”
“Fortunately, much has changed since last time.” He turned to Ben and Juan. “Ikal, this is my good friend Ben Maloney. Ben is a history teacher at a university in America. He is an expert on the history of your peoples.”
Ben approached cautiously and addressed Ikal in the native language of the Maya. Colts recognised the translation as, “I am honoured by the hospitality you have shown us.”
The old man smiled. “Clearly you are a man of great knowledge to speak the language of the Maya. However, here, you are wasting your time. We rely on our own dialects. Though fortunately the gift of English is now known to many in our village.”
He turned his attention last to Juan, who was standing alongside Ben, tired and sweaty. His long hair and facial stubble had become slightly unkempt; his clothes were tattered from recent experiences.
Colts made the introduction. “Ikal, this is Juan Cortés, another friend of mine.”
The old man approached Juan cautiously, as if coming face to face with an adversary. He studied him quietly, his eyes opening and closing at regular intervals, his features flinching as if attempting to control a sense of panic. He joined his hands together, then ran them up and down Juan’s torso, ending at his face.
Juan was too shocked to speak.
Ikal stopped, looking him square in the eyes. His expression had changed, as if his very touch had given him possession of perfect knowledge.
“Your name is legendary. Not only in these parts, but perhaps particularly here. When news came to Aztlán that the emperor of the Mexicas had witnessed the coming of the explorers from the east, it was said that there was initially great rejoicing beneath the mountain. It has long been taught amongst
my people that one day the original city would rise again and witness the return of the serpent king. And prosperity would be restored to the great valley.”
Juan smiled. “You can tell all this from the way you touch me? Even in England, people are familiar with my name.”
“The spirit of the serpent is said to run strong in your family, just as it did when your great ancestor arrived.” His expression hardened. “Why is it now, of all times, you return?”
Juan removed a heavy backpack from around his shoulder and swiftly unzipped it. Over the coming seconds, he removed the two emeralds he had discovered, placing them on the table.
The old man stared at the new additions, breathing in deeply and swallowing hard. Against the dimly lit backdrop and wooden surroundings, the light of the emeralds caused a mysterious glow that had a strange effect on the room’s lighting.
“I assume you understand the significance of the stones?” Juan asked.
The old man took a few seconds to compose himself before finally breaking into a sad smile, his eyes close to tears. “Alas. So, it is true. The prophecy of the serpent is at last to be fulfilled.” He looked at the three visitors in turn, ending again with Juan. “For many years it was speculated among my people that it would not be the same serpent god who would return in person, but his descendant. Perhaps being who you are, the prophecy of the great serpent is at last to be fulfilled.”
Ben glanced at Colts, lost for words. He dreaded to think what was going on in Juan’s mind.
“You are not the only people who value knowledge and tradition. The location of the great city has never been a mystery to my family. For many years we have longed to return. Like this man” – he gestured to Colts – “my uncle and relative have also looked upon the great ruins with their own eyes. Unfortunately for them, they did not have these.” He spoke of the emeralds.
The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation Page 95
