The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation

by John Paul Davis

  Ben could see from Juan’s face that he was impatient to get going. At that point, he decided to step in.

  “We wish only to locate the island, to see Tollan and Aztlán with our own eyes. We have everything we need. Provide us with a guide and we can return the emeralds to their rightful place. Can you help us, please?”

  “Rest here before you go on,” the old man said.

  “How easy is it to get to from here?” Ben continued.

  “First, head north by land. When you can go no more by land, the river takes you the rest of the way. Then you must walk.”

  Juan was unconvinced. “My helicopter is here; I suggest we use it. Why swim when we can fly?”

  “I told you before, Juan, the ground isn’t suitable.” Colts turned to Ikal. “Isn’t that right?”

  “It is better you trust the way others know, save you get lost. Rest here before you go on,” the old man repeated. “Sleep now. Sleep until the light.”

  *

  Ben departed first, satisfied but far from reassured. It was still dark outside, the faint promise of dawn slowly beginning to reveal itself beyond the trees.

  He estimated he would get three hours’ sleep if he was lucky.

  Juan joined him while Colts remained behind. “It seems your friend was correct. Perhaps coming here was not such a bad idea after all,” Juan said.

  “Maybe now you’ll learn to trust us for a change.”

  The accommodation hut was of similar appearance; from the outside, it was lighter than it had seemed at first sight. Entering through the main door, Ben entered a drab and run-down room far less grand than the one he had just left. Unlike the war room, broken stools of various sizes surrounded a battered table, while over fifteen makeshift bunk beds were aligned along the walls.

  Most of the party were still up and a number of small lanterns were still lighted. Guided by the light, Ben found a spare bed near Chris and Juliet. A foul odour pervaded the room, carried in on the local breezes through gaps in the walls.

  Juliet was still awake, whereas Chris was out like a light.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?” Ben asked.

  Juliet replied in a loud whisper, “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. Just Colts talking to his friend.”

  “How on earth does Colts have a friend in the middle of the rainforest?”

  “I told you before, he’s been here and understands what we’re dealing with. And it’s not a rainforest. It’s a tropical forest.”

  She stared at him.

  Ben continued, “We’re leaving at first light. They said they’d provide us with a guide.”

  “They know where they’re going?”

  “Of course they do. They’re natives.” He looked at her, smiled, and yawned. “Relax. Get some sleep. You never know when we’ll next have a chance.”

  *

  Juan headed for the other side of the room. Ignoring the military retinue on guard by the doors and his own men already sleeping, he found Pizarro lying in one of the beds, trying to get comfortable.

  “The old man has agreed to provide an escort. We leave at first light.”

  Pizarro looked back at Juan, his expression a portent of violence. “There is nothing more we can do till daylight. Sleep now. Tomorrow will hold the answers to all your prayers.”

  *

  While the others slept, Colts and Ikal continued to converse at length, smoking freely.

  Ikal answered “yes” to Colts’s most recent question. “When you arrive at the inner sanctum, you will continue into Chicomoztoc.”

  Colts was sitting with a drink of coffee held to his lips; he refrained from saying it was possibly the poorest he had ever tasted.

  “So the legend is true after all?”

  Ikal nodded. “There you will find the place of the seven caves.”

  “I thought that was just a myth. You’re saying the caves form part of the temple?”

  “Long ago, when the first tribe settled on Aztlán, they constructed a great temple in the heart of the mountain. In time, the Toltecs came and built a great city around it. It was there at the holiest of settings that they made the temple in honour of man’s creation.”

  “Where is it exactly? Last time we came prepared for something very different.”

  “Yes, yes. So very unprepared. Patience. When the doors are opened, you will enter Chicomoztoc.”

  “Is it safe?” Colts remembered his experience of years earlier. “The Aztecah. They still dwell within the mountain?”

  The old man rubbed his temples and smiled philosophically. “For many centuries the ancient tribe ran wild among the ruins. Lately there was a new chieftain, who, again, sought the power of the gods. For many years they refused to leave the island sacred to them. Tomorrow, what you will find, I do not know.”

  “You must have some idea?”

  “For many years now, a silence has hung over the island. I believe the luck of the prophecy is on your side. The Aztecah are no more. Whatever seedlings they have now die. Go to the city; I have faith you will succeed.”

  Colts smiled, mustering every ounce of enthusiasm still available to him. He brought his coffee to his lips, sipped it down and rose to his feet, recent words still replaying in his mind.

  If his friend was right, the final obstacle had been taken care of with time. His deepest wish was close to being fulfilled.

  Only by leaving Aztlán alive could he at last escape the nightmares that haunted his sleep.

  47

  8:30 a.m.

  The helicopter flew north, following the river. Though visibility was intermittent due to early morning mist, the three-dimensional images that appeared on the inbuilt navigational system confirmed it was directly below them, meandering a course through the trees.

  Even through the mist, Colts recognised certain features. Though he had never travelled the area by air before, he recalled the river followed a consistent winding course that would eventually circle the small island. At Ben’s suggestion, he took responsibility for navigation, allowing Cortés to concentrate on the controls. A fourth passenger was also present, also familiar with the terrain. Though Ben was still to have the pleasure of being officially introduced to the ageing Spaniard from Madrid, Juan had told him everything he needed to know. The man shared a name with his son. Ben had met his son. Watched him die.

  He remained grateful for that.

  Two hours had passed since their arrival. Dawn had come suddenly, or at least that was the way it seemed. Despite the overwhelming feelings of fatigue, in the strange surroundings sleep had refused to come peacefully. The night air had seemed unnaturally heavy; the darkness total, as though an impenetrable veil had fallen over his eyes. The sounds of the jungle had been loud, providing a constant reminder they were a long way from Hanover. Even the dilapidated lighthouse with its creaky floorboards and whistling girders seemed luxurious by comparison. However, it would all be worthwhile, he reminded himself.

  Nothing was going to stop him from ensuring that Cortés would not see the island on his own.

  “Where exactly are we?” Ben asked Colts, doing his best to follow their position on the screen. The mist was still too thick to make out features, shielding the nearby river and forest floor from view. “How long until we reach the island?”

  Cortés was equally interested in hearing an answer. “I thought you said we were only four miles away. We have already passed that.”

  Colts studied what he saw on the electronic navigation system, comparing it to a photocopy of an old hand-drawn map created thirty years earlier by Arthur Bavage. The outlines matched almost perfectly.

  “I said four miles downriver; that’s more like seven from the base.” He made a quick calculation in his mind. “I’d say we’re within one and a half miles.”

  Cortés was satisfied by the answer. He took a course that matched the latest turn of the river, pleased at last to be able to make out some of its features through the
watery vapour on the outside of his window.

  He glanced at Pizarro. “You recognise anything?”

  “Yes, absolutely. We get this sort of mist in Madrid, too.”

  Ben grinned. “I’m guessing it was a much brighter day when you came here before?”

  Colts was unsure whether the question was for him or not. He answered anyway, “The weather in these parts can turn on a dime. Back then we didn’t have any fancy weather apps telling us the latest; not that they would do much good anyway. We did the best we could with what was at our disposal and prepared accordingly.”

  “You think this mist might last?”

  “No. It’ll last only until it starts raining.”

  Cortés followed the course of the river for another mile, the nose of the chopper shifting from side to side as he moved the controls from left to right. Though the mist below was thickening further, the HD screen suggested the river was starting to widen before dividing temporarily into two around a small island.

  Juan sensed they had located their destination.

  Ben stared out the window, hoping for a break in the mist. As the seconds passed, visibility improved, enabling a first clear glimpse of what lay beneath them. The waters of the river splashed violently against large standing rocks as it flowed downstream, the intense build-up of pressure creating a series of rapids that appeared intermittently between there and the Gulf of Mexico. Forest, marshland and mangrove swamps stretched as far as the eye could see, the dense vegetation concealing any signs of civilisation. As a student, Ben had always been curious how any ruined city could remain lost in a world blessed with so much technology, but what he saw now vividly brought the reality of the situation home to him.

  Looking for a small ruin among several million acres of foliage was like looking for the proverbial needle in a farmyard full of haystacks.

  Beyond the rapids, the river flowed far more gently. Logs and loose debris floated slowly on the surface, heading in one of two directions downstream. For now, Ben was unable to see what was causing the river to separate, though it seemed clear its size must be substantial. As the mist cleared further, an outline emerged.

  When it cleared completely, he saw its features.

  There was a strange silence in the cockpit, one that could only be created by feelings of unique awe. Though Ben had seen photographs of the island from the ground before, shared by Colts at his Georgian estate and then again on the flight over, witnessing the atmospheric conditions of the small island among the tropical forest for himself for the first time was one of the most incredible feelings of his life.

  Beyond the final semi-translucent smatterings of morning river mist that were slowly evaporating under the gentle rays of the rising sun, a previously hidden lush canopy now dominated his view through the glass. As Colts had described, woodland covered the island on all sides, tracing a circular pattern around its most dominant feature that rose from the very centre like a wizard’s hat. Marshes and mangroves defined much of the north and west sides, a clear indicator that saltwater and freshwater continued to mix south of the Gulf. At the southern tip there had been some extensive erosion, giving the island a distinctive horseshoe shape. Ben rubbed his eyes, struggling to make sense of what he saw. Like the legendary isle described in the Raleigh biography, the shape was almost a perfect replica of what he had once seen on St Lide’s.

  Cortés was smiling, Colts the same alongside him. Pizarro had remained surprisingly quiet, focused.

  “Where exactly is the city?” Cortés asked.

  “Majority of the discoveries were made south-east of the mountain, right about there.” Colts pointed as they flew overhead. Making out stone ruins where the vegetation was so dense proved impossible.

  Cortés set a course to circle the island, coming close to the mountain on the second pass. Ben was already familiar enough with the world’s fault lines to know the area would not be volcanic, but even up close he couldn’t escape the feeling he was in the presence of something monumental, like the former dwelling of a primitive tribe who once revered it as a passage to hell.

  It wasn’t until Cortés made a third pass that Ben began to notice specific features. Several small caves cut into the shell of the mountain, whether natural or not, it was unclear. Lower down, a flock of colourful birds were perched close to the water; Ben guessed they were either macaws or toucans. It was unclear from the air what other wildlife inhabited the island.

  Ben assumed the stories Colts had told him of large insects had a basis in truth.

  “I see no ruins,” Cortés said after making a fourth pass. “Are you quite sure this is the place?”

  “This is the place all right.” Colts leaned across Ben, their eyes jointly on the lookout for anything that seemed out of place. “The ruins were definitely on the south side.”

  “Here! What’s that?” Ben asked, pointing to what appeared to be a stone object among the trees. “That must be man-made.”

  “That looks like what Arthur dubbed the Emperor’s Stone.” Colts smiled. “There was a photo of it in the folder.”

  Ben remembered. “Looked just like the one at La Venta.”

  “Hardly surprising,” Colts agreed. “The stone at La Venta was probably younger than this one. Arthur actually had a theory that the one at La Venta was taken there from here.”

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess that would explain why they’re so similar.”

  “Also explains where the civilisation came from.” Colts turned to look at the north side of the island, where marshland and mangrove swamps prevailed. “Gosh, would you look at all that.”

  “I take it you never saw exactly where that tribe came from?”

  Even a mere mention of the people Colts had earlier referred to as ‘the keepers’ was enough to cause a notable deterioration in the mood. Ben could tell from Colts’s latest expression that the last thing he wanted was to run into them again.

  “Colts?”

  “What is that there?” Pizarro spoke.

  Juan was unsure what he was getting at. “What?”

  “There. Close to the mangroves.”

  “It’s just an area of bare ground,” Ben said, seeing no reason to pay extra attention to the rare glimpse of the forest floor.

  “The forest is vast on the south side. On the north it is clearer. Here we can land.”

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “Are you for real?”

  “No,” Juan agreed. “We will continue with the plan. Return for the others.”

  “It will take over four hours to make the journey downriver, Juan Pablo.” He grasped hold of Juan’s shoulder, his fingers digging deep into his skin. “Do not be foolish. Land now, and we will have all the hours of daylight to explore.”

  “I am not going to set foot on an island inhabited by wild natives when our escort remains seven miles upstream. We have seen what we have come here to see. We shall return with the others. And with the guns.”

  *

  They returned to camp immediately. With the exception of Chris, everyone was awake by the time they arrived.

  Juliet was raw from bedbugs – that and the lack of sleep. Ben found her awake, her hair frizzy, minus any make-up. Like himself, she was dressed for the location, a snug-fitting baseball cap and sunglasses taking the edge off the sun, whilst her body was covered up in combats and waterproofs.

  She seemed displeased to see him.

  “I was talking to your friend while you were out. Apparently it takes over four hours to get there. It’ll be lunch by the time we arrive. That only leaves us four hours to explore if we’re to return before nightfall.”

  Ben was already aware of the difficulties. “Actually we’ve had a change of plan. Thanks to our reconnaissance, we’ve found a much quicker option. And, he isn’t my friend, he’s Colts’s.”

  Juliet flicked her hair away from her face, the combination of Ben’s reticence and the rising temperature having a doubly powerful effect.

  “So what exac
tly did you have in mind? Don’t tell me the Jeep turns into a submarine?”

  “Better. We have a helicopter. And a place to land.”

  *

  The helicopter was large enough for them all to make the journey in one trip. Juan took Pizarro’s advice and aimed for the small area of flat ground they had earlier seen on the north side of the island.

  Everyone disembarked apart from Eduardo.

  “Why the hell do I have to be the one left behind?” the young man asked from the pilot’s seat. “I thought we were family.”

  Juan stared at him sternly as he prepared to become the last to leave. “I have already answered this question. If what the Americans say is true, there are dangers here that bravery alone may not be able to overcome. It would be foolish to risk every life.”

  “But I can help.”

  “I already said no.” Juan touched him on the shoulder. “Keep in close contact. I may need you soon enough.”

  *

  As the camouflaged Eurocopter Tigre ascended noisily from its temporary sojourn north of the mountain, the only other white man on the island watched its departure through powerful binoculars. As expected, the party of Spaniards had arrived, albeit slightly quicker than he had anticipated. More unexpected was the presence of Mexican men from among the local tribe, armed to the teeth and clearly in full co-operation.

  Potentially the numbers could prove problematic.

  The person alongside him watched impatiently. “What do you see?”

  He passed the field glasses to his accomplice. “See for yourself. Do you recognise any of the others?”

  His accomplice adjusted the settings and scanned the area where the newcomers had landed. She counted twenty in total, seven in the garb of local militia, six some form of Spanish military. The civilians were a mix of white men and black.