"I want to go to an amusement park and maybe a zoo," April finally said.
"What? No museum?"
"No... I want to do something fun, and I know if I go to a museum, I'll just find more work-type things that I want to figure out," she confessed with a giggle.
Harry laughed, then dialed his pilot to prepare for a flight to New York.
___________
They landed at the JFK airport safely and were chauffeured to the Four Seasons, where Harry's assistant had booked them a suite.
"I don't understand why we have to stay at the Four Seasons. Why can't we go to a bed and breakfast? It's cuter, homelier, and cheaper," April protested as their luggage was wheeled into their suite. Harry chuckled and tipped the busboy before he left, then he turned to face April and put his arm around her shoulder.
"Because, my dear, we can afford it," he said and kissed her forehead.
"That is flawed logic, Dad."
"Come on, and you buy tons of expensive artwork with your dad's money. Why can't you make your art?" he asked her.
She opened her mouth, then shut it and started to laugh.
"That's not the same thing, Dad,"
"Isn't it? Really?"
"Fair enough." She pulled away, still laughing, and headed to the snack bar. Harry flipped his wrist to check the time.
"Are you going to do 'work stuff' now?" April asked, opening up a bag of chips.
"Yeah...I have to. I'll be back in time for dinner, though, and we can go to any restaurant you want."
"You mean any expensive restaurant I want?"
"Pumpkin, if you want us to have dinner in front of a trailer truck in Queens, that's where we'll have dinner," Harry said and walked over to her.
"Aww, that's so sweet, Dad!" April laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Be safe."
"I will be," Harry responded and took a chip from her, then turned to leave. April watched her dad go, thinking about how surprisingly fun being around him was.
___________
Fifty years ago, Alejandro Martini would have been excited to talk to someone—anyone—about what happened. And he did. He told people what he saw and what happened before that disastrous explosion that claimed the lives of nineteen people, including that of his best friend. Still, whenever he started talking about the golden heart or the inscriptions on the wall, they all assumed he had lost his wits in the explosion instead of his life.
At a point, he started to think they were right. That was, until the effects of that horrific event caught up to him about five years ago. He started hallucinating about being back on the field, mining and slaving away. Some days, he would scream "Get out of the way!" to people around him. Alejandro was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and moved in with Harry to be taken care of.
___________
Harry arrived at their apartment in the Village and was slightly upset at their standard of living. He had phoned in earlier and spoken to Jane, Alejandro's daughter, who had told him about his Alzheimer's and warned him that he might not be able to get anything out of the old man.
With slight hesitation, deliberating whether he should turn back or not. The fact that Eric had been murdered was something he was still hiding from April. At first, it was just for his daughter, but it had turned to more than that. He wanted to know what was so important that Eric was killed for it and how it was related to his family's mine. So, he raised his hand and knocked.
"Be there in a second," a female voice sang through the door. Harry pocketed his hands and waited patiently as he listened to the hushed voices and shuffling from the apartment. A moment later, multiple latches were unlocked, and the door was opened.
"Good afternoon...I'm Harry Wordsworth. We spoke on the phone?"
"Yes, Mr. Wordsworth, I'm Jane...please come in," Jane said with a gracious smile, and stepped to the side to let him in. Inside, the home was clean, warm, and cozy, and it smelled like a bakery.
"Wow, something smells amazing," Harry commented. Jane gave him a smile and a sideways glance.
"Yeah, I run a small pastry business from home. One of the neighbors' kids has his birthday tomorrow, so I'm baking his cake."
"That's nice..." he muttered and followed her as she stepped into the living room. He looked to his right; an old man was seated on a couch with a blanket draped over his legs, peering at him as he stood.
"Janey?" The old man's voice was scratchy and a bit strained but still firm.
"Yes, Baba?"
"Who is this? Your new boyfriend? He's old."
Jane chuckled nervously, then walked over to her grandfather and crouched in front of him.
"No, Baba, this is Mr. Harry Wordsworth. Remember I told you that he was going to come and visit?" Jane's voice was low and gentle.
Alejandro turned his head sharply to look at her.
"Wordsworth? That man did not offer enough compensation for what happened!"
"I'm not my father, Mr. Martini—"
"My name is Alejandro."
"Of course, sir." Harry stepped closer and sat on the couch nearest to Alejandro. "I have no idea what happened, and I want to know. The explosion at the mines…was there anything peculiar?"
"The mines!" Alejandro exclaimed and started shaking. "Bojan is still in there! Get him out! He's still in there, get him—"
"Baba, it's okay," Jane quickly held her grandfather and started to coo at him until she was able to get him to settle down. The man looked like he was on the verge of tears. Harry felt a tug in his chest as he thought about how unfair life could be at times.
It took a good three minutes for Jane to calm him down. She promised him that Bojan was not there and that Bojan was fine. When she was done, he leaned back into the chair, and she covered him with his blanket, urging him to sleep. Harry just stared helplessly. She faced him, then stood up and nudged her head.
"Come with me into the kitchen."
"Okay." Harry got up quickly and followed her.
She grabbed an apron and tossed it to him, grabbing one for herself as well. He stared at the apron unsurely for a minute but then tied it around his waist and neck.
"I need to frost these cupcakes. People come to buy them every day. Will you help?" she asked, but it sounded to Harry like she was telling him more than asking him.
"Of course," he replied. She handed him a piping bag filled with buttercream frosting and gave him an example of how to pipe the cupcakes. Harry had put frosting on ten cupcakes before Jane finally spoke.
___________
New York City, New York
"Fifty years ago, my Baba left for India on a business trip. His experience working for some Italian mining company left a scar on the family to this day. He wouldn't stop talking about it. I was only four years old then, and I remember everything he used to say about that mine. Nobody believed him. They all thought he was hysterical from the mine collapse.
"It wasn't just a mine collapse. It was more than that.
"The loss of his best friend, Bojan, and the images of that fateful business trip changed his life. Nobody believed him, not even my mom. I was the exception, though. I believed. Maybe it was because I was just a child, and it sounded like fictitious children's stories, but I listened to him every night with grave interest. Something about his facial expression whenever he told it. It seemed like part of him was still there in India. At some point, my mom worried that I was too young to be listening to something like that."
"What did he have to say?" Harry asked impatiently, but Jane was not having any of that.
"I had to move here to take care of him five years ago when his nurse called to say he was getting worse," Jane interjected. "My husband had just died, and all my kids were moving out, so it was perfect for me. I've been helping him cope, and he has been helping me heal." She paused and chuckled. "He still thinks I'm sixteen."
Harry was quiet, unsure of what to say or do. They stayed silent for a minute, just piping the cupcakes.
"It was a horribl
e accident. And guess what? Not one news source bothered to publish the story for a while. It wasn't until a Mexican journalist paid us a visit asking to know what happened. I think he was following up on a story about some savage religious fanatics. He seemed to believe his research was connected to the deaths that happened at the gold mine."
"Yeah, I read his report in an old magazine twenty years ago. It didn't seem popular at the time. It was published in a small column," Harry added.
"My Baba was newly married when he set out on that journey. He and his friend, Bojan, also a New Yorker, met at the airport."
Harry swallowed as he paid rapt attention to what she was saying.
"He said they were digging as usual when one of them struck his digger and the mine walls gave way to a whole other entrance, which led to what seemed like a labyrinth. Curiosity gripped them all, and they walked into the labyrinth, staying close to each other. They stepped into the labyrinth and were walking together at first but then decided to split and check out the whole place, calling out to themselves occasionally.
"His friend, Bojan, was a kleptomaniac personified. Bojan would occasionally leave his unit to show gems that he had stolen during his digging. Well, until an eruption took place. Pieces of rock, falling everywhere; workers began to scramble for their dear lives. My Baba was injured during the first scare. He said he tried to follow a crane instead of running for the tunnel. That injury was his saving grace. He witnessed the blast from the medical unit outside the minefield. He described the second wave of the eruption like a weird shrieking sound that deafened everyone. He watched people bleed to death from all sides."
Harry interjected, "Did this sound emanate from the mine?"
"Yes, that's what he said. It was followed by rays of light. No one survived the second wave."
"Did he describe the place? I mean, inside the mine."
"Oh, he did mention that there were inscriptions all over the walls and even at the top. Some looked familiar, and others looked like nothing he had ever seen before."
"Right..." Harry responded and fell utterly silent. He was trying to internalize all the information he had received. He and Jane kept piping the cupcakes. When they were done, Harry leaned against the kitchen sink and tried to think of the right thing to do or say.
Jane dropped the piping bag in her hand and sighed heavily. Harry also sighed, feeling the tug in his chest again.
"I appreciate you letting me come here and talking to me about this. I know it must be tough."
"It is," Jane replied. "But I'm just glad someone is finally interested in what my Baba has to say. Everyone else condemned him, called him crazy even. It's comforting to see that someone else believes."
"I want to help. Do you need any—"
"Let me stop you right there. We are living well and fine, and we have been since. We don't need your charity."
"I didn't mean to offend you. I—"
"I know. It's alright. Every rich person's response to tragedy is always to throw money at it." Jane chuckled, then opened a cabinet and pulled out a plastic container. She placed six cupcakes inside and handed them to Harry.
"You helped. It's only right that you get some. If you want to help, you can call me for catering services," she told him with a smile. Harry smiled back and accepted the cupcakes graciously.
They stepped back into the living room. Alejandro was humming something and rocking himself back and forth. He looked up when he heard them approaching and smiled at his granddaughter.
"Janey, can you put on the TV show that I like?" he requested, then looked over to Harry. "You're still here. Will you watch the show with me?"
"He can't, Baba. He has to go now," Jane answered, and rubbed his head. The older man nodded and returned to his humming. Jane saw Harry to the door, and they exchanged pleasantries before he left.
"Jane, "Alejandro called out. She was shocked and quickly went to meet him. He hardly ever called her Jane. When he did, it meant that he knew who he was and who she was.
"Yes, Baba?" She fell to her knees in front of him, feeling tears welling in her eyes.
"Is he a good person?" he asked.
Jane frowned, wondering why he was asking that.
"I think so, Baba," she replied honestly.
Alejandro sighed and reached over to the stool next to him. He grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled some symbols on it, then gave it to Jane.
"You have to give this to him."
Jane froze for a minute, wanting her Baba to stay aware like this, but she knew it would not last. Quickly, she dashed out of their apartment and saw that he was about to step into the elevator.
"Wait!" she screamed.
Harry turned his head to the side and quickly walked over to her.
"Did I forget something?" he asked.
"No. Baba said I should give you this." She handed him the piece of paper, then turned and left without saying anything else.
Harry looked at the note. The handwriting was barely legible, but the writings looked like codes that he had seen before.
___________
Harry sat on a chair on the porch of their hotel suite with a glass of whisky in his hand. April was not in when he got back, and she was yet to return from wherever she went. He stared at the piece of paper that Jane had given him. There were Roman numerals on it that matched the ones the lithographer had shown him in India.
There was way too much coincidence, and it was highly unnerving. Somehow, the family mines were connected to the case, and he had a feeling that the video sent to him was some threat, but from who? Eric had died helping him with the whole thing, and he was not about to risk his own life and that of his daughter.
He grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contact list. Luckily for him, he had money, and he was happy to risk his money to get the information he needed. He decided to hire a private investigator.
6
Chapter Six
Houston, Texas
August 2019
A week ago, April's blog sparked a wildfire on the internet with the content about the Flaming Heart. She has since become a media sensation, attending various interviews by news media and talk shows around the country. The last two days didn't generate the same attention. She knew she had to maintain the temp or risk losing her fans with all the promises she had made in a series of interviews. Some of the most asked questions from those that frequented her blog were:
"Who are the original owners of the artifact—India, Italy, or Spain?"
"Three million for a pagan item…what's with rich folks and their obsessions?"
"Why is your blog generating so much hatred from the Vatican?"
"If the Wordsworth company obtained the rights for the artifact, won't that annoy the Catholic faithful? Are you serious about claiming the Renaissance sculpture?"
April had led many people to believe that she had the intention to bring the religious artifact to the states after processing the paperwork, but that was contrary to her real intentions. She loved the attention that the controversies gave her. Over time, she had stuck it to her dad and everyone that doubted the future of her project when she started it two years ago, and she knew that going against the papacy would be over the top even for a Wordsworth.
For now, all she wanted was to keep the scale-up in the chart, and to achieve that, she needed her billionaire father on board. Harry was more interested in the clues that the map and other inscriptions on the artifacts provided. So, April texted one of her staff to advertise for the position of private detective. It would be a smart move if the private detective came from her side than from Doug. That way, she could get abreast of whatever updates that came.
A few hours passed. While April was in her office, one of her staff, Laura, also young and just a few months older than April, came in with her tablet. The profiles of about thirty-five individuals who applied for the private detective position were outlined on her screen. Laura and April went over the list for a while. On Ap
ril's instruction, Laura screened out those that were older than fifty. The ones that had practiced in any science-related field were separated from the lot. They continued to cut the numbers until it came down to three healthy options.
"Should I contact them?" Laura asked.
"Not yet. I will speak with my father first."
April could have called her father from the office but decided to get his rapt attention when she met him in his office. Navigating her way to the heart of Woodlands wouldn't take her more than five minutes. She loved to drive herself and had resisted the idea of being forced whenever her friends suggested it.
The gigantic structures of the Wordsworth office buildings sat on a hundred and two thousand square feet. Luckily for her, she didn't have to go through security checks outside or inside the building. If her father were around, he would have seen her the moment she came out of the elevator. But he wasn't, as she later learned from the petite and well-dressed receptionist. Now, she was left with no choice but to check with the office she had walked past. Doug's office was on the right side when coming out of the elevator door.
Doug was one of the longest-serving staff in the company and had become more of a friend to the family. His grey hair was one of his many illusions. When speaking with him on any matter, it was more thoughtful to be plain in saying because he could smell dishonesty from a mile away.
The smell of warm espresso greeted her the moment she walked into his office. There were lots of shelves with books lined up in catalogs. At another side of the office were collections of many trophies that Doug had won over the years, most of them as an attorney representing the interests of the Wordsworth Company. April had rehearsed what to say while she was on her way, but now that Doug would be her audience, she thought it better to drop the smart talk in her head.
The Lost Treasure of the Aztec Kings Page 5
