Effigy (52 page)

“Interesting,” Zedilla said. “I’m short myself, what with two interrupted shipments.”

Diego’s smile faded.

“The AFI seem to be onto our scent. This could create many headaches for me.”

Diego’s eyes had lost their charm. His face fell with a heavy degree of seriousness. “Look. I said I’ll fix this.”

Zedilla nodded. “Don’t trouble yourself, Armando. It’s being handled as we speak.”

With a snap of his fingers, Zedilla turned back around in his seat. He heard the cord snap tight and the struggle that ensued behind him. As the driver eased the car around a corner, he heard the sounds of Diego choking for air.

This time, Zedilla never looked back.

Epilogue: Sometimes He Bestowed Riches

Monday, June 4, 2012

University
of
Utah
,
Salt Lake City

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

That was the first thing Peet thought when the FBI released him from questioning. He was free to go. There were no charges they could bring against him, and any repercussions required for removing the effigy from the museum would have to be handled by the university.

Straight into the fire.

Snead was not a happy man. He scowled at Peet from his chair at the end of the conference table. The rest of the board members were lined along either side of the table like human shields between them. The director, seated squarely at the center, shuffled the paperwork scattered before him and cleared his throat.

“So in light of everything that has happened, Dr. Peet,” he began, “the board finds no reason to terminate your tenure with the
University
of
Utah
.”

Peet released a heavy sigh of relief.

The man continued. “Although we maintain concerns regarding your actions on the night the artifact was stolen, we understand that as a professor you have a duty to your students to provide all prudent and necessary assistance to their study and research. In this case, we understand such assistance included the temporary removal of the artifact from the museum’s collection.” He cast a glance at Snead. “A piece that was well-known to require further study.”

Snead didn’t say a word. Rather, he sat at the end of the long table, stewing.

“And the fraternizing?” Peet dared ask.

“We agree to dismiss that charge as a mean-spirited attempt to sabotage your reputation within this institution. However, because this issue has arisen in the past, the board will recommend a probationary period of which further details regarding duration and extent will be discussed with the university’s president tomorrow. But I don’t see any cause to further hinder your duties as a professor.”

Peet held his breath, his nerves ringing like tuning forks within him.

The director gave a satisfied nod. “That is all.”

With that, the board rose from the table and filed out of the conference room, Peet gratefully shaking their hands as they left. Only Snead remained behind, and he wasted no time getting to the point.

“Where’s the effigy?” he asked.

Peet shrugged. “You’ll have to discuss that with the owner.”

“Lori? What has she done with it?”

“To my understanding, she offered it to a descendant culturally affiliated with the effigy.”

“Who? What culture?”

“The last surviving Toltec heir.” Peet smiled. “Eva Gaspar.”

“That’s ridiculous! How could she just give that effigy away? You heard the board. There needs to be more research, more time to study,” Snead recited distastefully. He spat the words out as though they left a foul taste in his mouth. “Furthermore, we must comply with this.”

Snead flipped out a large manila envelope from the folder he’d had tucked under his arm. Peet took it.

“What’s this?”

“See for yourself,” Snead said. “It’s regarding NAGPRA.”

* * * *

Lori sat within the emptiness of the laboratory, hunched over the collection of potsherds gathered within the lone circle of light fanning from the table lamp. She fingered a fragmented shard, but the weathered slip on its surface felt foreign. Her gaze traveled over the Mesa Verde Black on White design, but she couldn’t focus on its form and temper. Her mind was avoiding the urgency of her dissertation. She couldn’t concentrate on Anasazi ceramics, those beautiful glimpses of history that had long set the course for her archaeological career.

Lori’s mind was everywhere but where it needed to be. She thought about Dr. Friedman and his renewed interest in studying Mesoamerican calendars, and Eva, preparing to bury her son, nicknamed Reed One because according to Shaman Gaspar, he’d been prophetically born in 1987, a One Reed year. She wondered about Derek, out on bail and awaiting trial and she worried about Dr. Peet who was at this very moment sitting through a postponed performance review.

She thought about the effigy.

The lab door swung open, startling her out of her distracted thoughts. A shadowy figure backlit by the hallway lights reached for the wall and flipped the switch. The laboratory lights flickered on.

Dr. Peet!

He stood there a moment, as though he’d expected to find her sitting there, as though she was the only reason he’d come. She set her potsherd down and slid off the lab stool.

“Well?”

“I expect a revised draft of your dissertation on my desk first thing next semester.” He smiled.

Lori squealed, a spontaneous response she wished she’d get a better grip on. But it didn’t matter. She bounded across the lab and crashed into Dr. Peet with a big hug.

“You still have your job!” she blurted, though Dr. Peet’s composed happiness said it all.

For a moment he seemed to welcome the hug, offering a squeeze of his own as though he’d been thirsting for the congratulatory gesture. But the embrace was quickly dissolved when he reluctantly pulled away.

“Not so fast,” he said. “We can’t go starting any rumors.”

Lori stepped back, straightening her long white lab coat. “Oh, yeah. You’re right.”

The smile was still stretched across his face. Lori liked it when he smiled. It was like they were partners again.

“Snead’s quite concerned about the whereabouts of that effigy,” he said.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“No. But you’ll have to come clean about it at some point.”

Lori turned back to her lab table. “Yeah, but that can wait. The last thing we need is Mr. Snead harassing the
Museum
of
Anthropology
.”

As she gathered her notes she felt the strain of her own smile refusing to release its grip on her face. She was pleased with her decision. Eva had refused to take the artifact, just as she refused to accept her father’s Toltec bloodlines. It was as though she found her own heritage tainted by truths that she’d just as soon keep secret, even if that meant neglecting a priceless cultural artifact.

Failing to return the effigy to its rightful Toltec heir, Lori chose the next best option—loaning it to the
Museum
of
Anthropology
in
Mexico City
. It would be safe there, she’d decided. More importantly, a piece of
Mexico
’s history had been returned.

“Do you think we’re really living in the Age of Quetzalcoatl?” she asked, sorting the potsherds back into their storage case. “I mean, it seems the world wasn’t destroyed with the end of the fifth age.”

She could almost hear Dr. Peet considering the possibility behind her. “Maybe this time it was a peaceful exchange of power. Maybe Tezcatlipoca resigned in peace. Maybe he made a truce with Quetzalcoatl.”

Lori turned back around. “Or maybe it’s just a story.”

Peet smiled, but there was less cheer in it. “You know, the effigy will eventually have to be returned to the states,” he warned.

Lori flashed him an are-you-kidding-me smile. “What do you mean? We found the story behind the find.”

“We found
a
story behind the effigy. That doesn’t mean we found the complete story.”

Lori scowled. “What are you getting at?”

Peet seemed amused by her confusion. He handed her an envelope. “Snead gave this to me. It appears this summer’s field study is headed back to your father’s ranch. We’re excavating The Trader.”

“What are you talking about?” Lori felt her excitement gaining strength, but it didn’t come without reservations. “There’s no real need to excavate The Trader’s remains. We got all the information we need from the effigy.”

“Not according to the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act. A committee has been organized with representatives from three different tribes who are all requesting identification of The Trader. It seems there’s an interest in whose ancestor The Trader really is and therefore who should claim filiation to the effigy.”

“But it seems clear now that The Trader is Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl.”

Dr. Peet shrugged. “We’ve only
assumed
 
The Trader is Mesoamerican. Before that we
assumed
 
he was Anasazi. We won’t know for sure until we meet him face to face.”

* * * *

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Tula
Ruins,
Hidalgo
,
Mexico

Tula
was particularly busy when the New Ager walked across the central plaza. As expected there were scattered groups of tourists wandering through the colonnade hall and beneath the steel awnings that protected colorful frescoes still adorning some of the ruin walls. And of course, there was interest in the great Atlanteans forever maintaining their watch atop Pyramid B.

He paid no mind to any of this. His focus was on the giant central altar that centered the plaza. There, a large group had congregated, their stark white t-shirts shimmering like froth riding waves of heat. One of them was perched atop the massive block of the altar, his eye pressed into a filtered telescope directed at the sun.

“The transit has come!” the astronomer called, and as if on cue, a white wave of clothing swelled and then receded as the people stripped themselves of their shirts and tossed them to the ground.

He hurried to the altar, tearing his own t-shirt over his head and flinging it among the crowd. The group had contracted and collapsed to the ground, a circular sea of white and brown and bronzed flesh adorned only by a spattering of colorful bras and gold chain necklaces, and he threw himself into the mix, lying spread-eagle, flat on his back.

The New Ager’s flesh tingled with the radiating heat of the sun. He closed his eyes, the words still ringing in his ears.