Alicia myles 1 - Aztec Gold (3 page)

As the small jet bumped and grumbled its way through waves of turbulence in its descent into Mexico City, Alicia thought about the irrational follies of men. Cortés, when he set out from Spain, surely hadn’t harbored the desire to raze a nation, but he’d ended up doing just that. For Spain. For glory and wealth. Tenochtitlan had been destroyed and a new city built in order to erase all traces of the old. A two-hundred-year-old culture shattered and expunged for the advancement of another.

Did the world ever change?

Not in my lifetime,
she thought. Whilst old religions still clashed there would be no respite from bloodshed and mayhem. Whilst greed and envy still existed there would be no reprieve from the actions of bitter and twisted men.

Through the small window she watched the unfolding sprawl of the country’s largest city. The gray and white mass of thousands of dwellings stretched for untold miles, swelling over hills and down into valleys, an unending, dreary expanse of concrete. Even the higher hills, untouched as yet, appeared to be brown, almost lifeless blots in the landscape. In the center the high rises rose like towering stalagmites, carved from the heart of the city. Roads were dark, straight slashes, their occupants contributing by the minute to an air pollution rate that had earned the city the moniker ‘the most polluted city on the planet’.

The plane dropped fast, aiming for Benito Juarez International, the landing point only about eight kilometers away from their first prearranged appointment. Carlos Rivera, a local Aztec historian that had worked on many exhibitions and dig sites, had agreed to meet them at his place of work—the renowned museum Templo Mayor, which had been built to house and assist in the excavation of one of the most famous Aztec temples of the same name in 1987. The excavation continues to this day, so with the history and the kind of people it attracted, Crouch theorized that it might be a good place to start.

Alicia put up with the landing and immigration procedure, finding solace in the fact that she was back on the road, on the trail where new experiences and encounters helped focus her mind on the way ahead, not on the past. With careful, well-trained eyes she studied every face, every man and woman standing at a newsstand or queuing up for coffee. Training of the kind she’d been subjected to never allowed you to let your guard down. It was all and everything, an extension of your body as much as your right arm and far more important. Without it she’d have died a thousand times by now.

They exited into what for Mexico City was the warm period with temperatures roaming around seventy one degrees. A man wearing a chauffeur’s uniform caught Crouch’s attention and led him to a parked limo.

“So,” Alicia said as they climbed into their seats. “Who do we have to fuck to get hold of some guns around here?”

Healey made a shocked noise. Alicia turned on him. “Stop squeaking, Zack. Feels like I’m part of a Mouseketeer parade.”

Crouch smiled reassuringly at the driver who had also raised disbelieving eyebrows. “She’s kidding.” He turned away.

“If we need them I’ll find a supplier,” he mouthed quietly close to Alicia’s left ear.

“I prefer to have them close at hand from the kick-off,” she returned. “They tend to work better that way.”

Russo cracked big knuckles, the sound almost as loud as a gunshot itself. “Do you actually expect to use them, Myles? This mission ain’t exactly Iraq.”

“I’ve been to Iraq. More than once. They have those big bloody sand spiders there. Got legs on ‘em that’re bigger than anything you’ve got and no mistake.”

Russo shrugged and turned away. “Sure.”

The taxi peeled out onto a black-topped highway clogged with traffic, slamming almost instantly to a stop. Alicia sighed, still happy to be moving but feeling a little like she was missing out on the action, and leaned forward to study the limo’s half-hearted array of goodies. Boiled sweets and sticks of gum filled one cup-holder, whilst fresh, cold bottled water and Pepsi sat in the rest. Although the tops were clearly sealed, Alicia didn’t feel confident enough with her surroundings to try one. Her companions were similarly reticent, Healey to the point of taking a short nap.

Alicia shook her head at him. “Kids. Don’t make ‘em like they used to.”

Russo was also gazing at the young man. “Kid’s been through a lot,” he rumbled. “He needs all the R&R he can get. Zack may look fresh and young but he sees this world through an old man’s eyes.”

Alicia could have responded sharply, hinting at her own turbulent past, at the drunken father that regularly beat up her mother, making Alicia run away for the first time in her life, at all the chaotic years since, but chose only to say, “Kid looks even younger when he’s sleeping.”

Russo seemed happy with that, offering a slight smile.

Crouch filled a long silence. “Carlos Rivera is a civilian, so be nice. He’s offered to help simply because he’s a nice guy. He’s cut from the old cloth—wanting to believe in the treasure, but due to the nature of his job is forced to be a skeptic. There will be no sudden revelations here, people, merely hard detective work.”

The traffic thundered and growled along to left and right of them, horns honking, and hot, angry Mexicans gesturing out of their half-open windows. Alicia looked ahead to the approaching high-rises, wondering briefly what manner of mayhem Matt Drake and the SPEAR team might be up to their necks in by now. Her old team . . . if those guys ever stayed out of trouble for more than three days she’d happily moon a vicar. Although that was a distinct possibility on any given day.

When they arrived at the Templo Mayor Museum, Alicia was surprised. The dig was ongoing, taking place in the middle of a sprawling, busy city, but it looked like it was being carved out of the center of the industrious masses whilst they still worked. Several buildings stood right up against the dig site, their rear facades pitted and broken as if an adjoining building had been torn down to make way for the museum. Alicia wondered how many caverns extended underneath the surrounding buildings and how fragile the infrastructure was around here. Mexico City had been the epicenter of several terrible earthquakes including one in 1985 that took thousands of lives.

Crouch stepped out of the limo, gesturing for them to follow. Alicia left Russo to wake the youngster, joining their boss beside a bleak gray façade—the side of the building. Though she hadn’t visited many museums, Alicia had seen her fair share and wasn’t impressed by this one.

“Seems . . . uninviting,” she said. “Like Birmingham in the seventies.”

Crouch nodded. “They’re desperately short of money. Every dollar they make goes toward the dig. And the government’s bogged down with the cartels.” He blinked and added cryptically, “One way or another.”

Alicia caught on instantly. “Mexico never changes either, huh?”

At that moment a figure approached them. Alicia, always hyper-aware, turned quickly to see an older man wearing jeans and a faded brown leather jacket, his wrinkled face scrunched up as he faced the sun.

“Michael.” He smiled. “So good to see you.”

“And you, Carlos.” Crouch gripped his hand warmly. “How’s the life in la Capital?”

“As she says,” Rivera nodded toward Alicia. “It never changes.”

She gestured behind the historian. “So this is the dig? The great pyramid?”

Rivera turned. “You’re looking at the eastern side of the great twin temple of the Aztecs, the Templo Mayor, or what’s left of it. Called the Huei Teocalli in the Nahuatl language, which was the language of the Aztecs, and dedicated to not one but two gods—the god of war and the god of rain and agriculture. Each had a shrine at the top with separate staircases. Construction began around 1325.” He sighed heavily. “Destroyed by the Spanish in 1521.”

Alicia walked across to the black railing and leaned over. “All I see is a great big pile of rocks. And a few snakes.”

Rivera and the rest of them joined her, staring over the ruins of the once great temple. “The Aztecs and most other religions around the world held the serpent as a double-headed symbol. One head seduces you, the other gives you self-control. Or it could have merely symbolized rebirth—the shedding of the skin. As for the pile of rocks, well, Cortés thought so too.”

Alicia said nothing, the wind catching her hair as it swept across the open space. Crouch stepped in.

“What can you tell us, Carlos? What can you tell us about the seven caravans that left here on that June night five hundred years ago?”

“What I
want
to believe,” Rivera took a self-conscious glance around, “is that seven caravans left this place loaded with the most precious of all the Aztec treasures. I want to believe that they were transported safely, hidden away, and that Cortés never got his hands on them. Skepticism though . . . it is drilled into us from the very beginning.”

“We’re open to anything,” Alicia told him. “Always have been.”

“My heart says that these treasures—the ones authentically verified through study of letters sent by Hernán Cortés to the king of Spain—were not destroyed by the Spaniards nor stolen and spirited away to who knows where. It tells me that the Aztecs were as clever as we all believe and managed to save their riches, expecting them to be returned at a later date.”

“So the caravan left,” Healey broke in. “Secreted itself for a few months, and then returned?”

“If that only were the case.” Rivera pursed his lips, unhappy. “But again history and the head tells us that only half of the warriors would have returned immediately, bringing directions to the treasure. The problem is that what they returned to wasn’t at all what they left behind. Their capital, Tenochtitlan, was under siege, then razed, destroyed. Demoralized and beaten, what would they do? Make the long journey back to the treasure yet again? No, most would have stayed close to their birthplace and assimilated into the local tribes, the ones Cortés didn’t massacre to the last man.”

“Keeping the location of the treasure close to them.” Crouch squinted across the ruins. “And as they died . . .”

“The treasure’s existence passed into legend. Folklore. Those that stayed behind to guard it would have faced a similar dilemma, eventually dying also but with no knowledge of what had happened.” Rivera shrugged. “Unless some kind soul actually made the journey back. Who knows?”

“So do we know what happened specifically to those that returned?” Alicia picked up on the thread. “Where did they go?”

“We do, yes.” Rivera nodded. “Mostly, one group of people, a single large tribe in Mexico retain Aztec DNA in their blood to this very day—”

Healey cleared his throat. “Now that’s cool. Damn cool.”

“You’d like to have Aztec blood in you?” Russo wondered.

“Christ, yeah. Wouldn’t everyone?”

Alicia rolled her eyes and held Rivera’s gaze. “Which people?”

“The Nahua. Once a great rival tribe to the Aztecs, the Nahua largely survived the Spanish invasion. It is generally believed that the returning and any other surviving Aztecs would have joined them. And of course, authentic DNA tests now prove that they did.”

“Sounds like a starting point,” Crouch said. “But you mentioned the Nahua were a large tribe. That’s going to make it tough to find any descendants.”

“Not any more. The Nahuatl-speaking people are the largest Indian group in Mexico, forming almost a quarter of the native population of our country. They still reside around the periphery of what was once the Aztec empire. One of these peoples, those living in La Huasteca—such a beautiful area—are the oldest living relatives of the Aztecs. They would not dilute their heritage. For good or bad those particular Nahua are now a small tribe living in northern Mexico. You would need a guide to take you there, though. The landscape, though stunning, can be treacherous.”

“Not a problem,” Crouch said. “If you have any recommendations . . .”

Rivera nodded. “Follow me into the museum.”

The odd group turned around and made their way to the entrance. As they walked Alicia spoke into Crouch’s ear. “I get that a tribal group may keep secrets down the generations,” she said. “I understand the likelihood that they have some kind of knowledge. But why would they now reveal it to us? Surely this has been tried before?”

“Not necessarily in this way,” Crouch said. “The Aztec treasure has always been considered mere legend, even a joke much like fool’s gold. Sought by crazy men and idiots. If any of these men took the time to visit the Nahua they’d have been laughed out of there.”

“And we won’t?”

“I’m guessing not,” Crouch said as Rivera led them past a high gray stone façade and under a shiny black entrance sign. Entering the lobby a row of exhibitions lined one wall, enabling a stream of colorfully clad visitors to file past. Backpacks were strapped to almost every back and constant chatter reverberated around the high walls. A large glass case showed how the site would have looked in the Aztec era.

Rivera paused before the case, staring reflectively. “Firstly, to help prove your case and your sincerity, I will appoint to you a guide the Nahua trust. I know several- this kind of introduction is invaluable. Second, you need to prove to them how serious you are—as you say most of the previous hunters have been nothing more than loons. Also, rather importantly, you have to convince them that the treasure, if found, will become an obligation of the World Heritage Committee, ensuring them it will belong to a particular historical institution and not be dispersed or sold for profit. Believe me, the descendants of the Aztecs want their treasure returned more than anything in the world. If they deem you’re worthy and if they
can
help, they will.”