“Are you scared?” Remi asked.
“Of course I’m scared,” said Sam. “I have no idea whether this is just an aftershock or we’re about to have the mountaintop blow off and hurl us into the stratosphere.”
“Just testing your sanity,” she said.
As the rumbling abated, they became aware of a new sound, a hiss that was almost a whistle. It grew to a rushing sound, and then a roar that reminded them of an airplane’s engine. As they looked around for the source, a cloud of steam rose into their line of sight across the snowfield. It was white, spewing out of the mountain at high pressure from somewhere below them.
As soon as they had shouldered their packs again and shifted them to balance the weight of the ice they were carrying, they set off. They walked quickly, sometimes approaching a trot in places where the volcanic rock was clear and solid.
When they reached the beginning of the trail they had taken upward, the sun was low, its rays already horizontal and glaring in their eyes from Mexico on the west side and casting an enormous shadow on the green forests of Guatemala on the east. They moved downward without delay, passing spots they remembered. This time, they had to guard against letting their momentum propel them past a foothold into open air.
Now they could see the source of the noise and the steam cloud. It was a rift in the rocky mountainside where a plume of hot air and water was shooting out under immense pressure. They edged away from the steam, but they couldn’t stray too far without losing their way. Once they were below it, they felt a tentative relief. But an hour later, as they were descending a rock formation that looked like a series of frozen waterfalls, the rumbling in the earth began again.
“Better hold on,” said Sam, and they both found handholds and sat, Remi’s head on Sam’s shoulder. They kept their places while the rumbling increased and the mountain shook. The shaking seemed more violent, and it dislodged two showers of rocks a few dozen feet to their left that rolled down, hit other rocks, and caromed off into the air, then hit far below with audible impact.
The silence returned, and they began to descend again. They had to go more slowly now because, in places, new rockslides had fallen across their path, covering their old footholds and making them tread on untested spots. When darkness came, they used flashlights to choose every step. The shaking returned once more, but they were in an open, unprotected area, where they were extremely vulnerable to falling rocks, so they could only push on.
It was not until about one a.m. that Sam and Remi reached their starting point. They walked back above the main trail until they reached the site of the ruined shrine. As they approached the little plateau, they could see the artificial glow of a cell phone. “Somebody else must have a satellite phone,” Remi said. “I think Jose does,” Sam said. She called out, “Hello, down there. It’s us.”
The glow of the phone disappeared and a human shape moved along the patio. “This way!” It was Jose’s voice. He turned on a flashlight and lit the way for them to reach the shrine. “You must be tired,” he said. “I’ll show you the way to the camp.”
“First, we’ve got to get our friend on ice,” Sam said.
Sam, Remi, and Jose went into the shrine. They laid out a fresh body bag and carefully lifted the man into it, then zipped it shut.
“He seems so light,” Jose said.
“He’s mostly skeleton now,” Remi said. “The bones are only about fifteen percent of our living weight, which is mostly water.” They packed ice around the bag, slipped another bag over it, and then a third.
They heard footsteps approaching outside. Raul Mendoza called, “It’s my turn to stand guard,” then stuck his head into the entrance. “Oh, Fargos. It’s good to see you. When the mountain was shaking, we all got worried.”
“We’re fine,” said Remi. “After some sleep, we’ll be even better.”
The Fargos followed Jose on what must have been the remnant of an ancient trail on the mountainside to another flat space, where all the tents had been pitched. Sam played his flashlight’s beam up the mountain. “What’s above us?”
“No overhangs or big rocks. Nothing came down today during the shaking.”
“Thanks, Jose. And thanks for your help with the mummy.”
“Good night,” he said, and the Fargos crawled into their tent and closed the flap to ward off the morning sun that would come up too soon.
Chapter 5
VOLCAN TACANA
Sam woke to the buzz of Remi’s satellite phone and realized that the sun was up already. He patted the floor of the little tent and found the phone. “Hello.”
“Sam?” said Selma Wondrash. “Where are you two?”
“About ten thousand feet up an active volcano called Tacana. We’re coming down today. Is something wrong?”
“I’ll let you be the judge,” she said. “I just sent you an article that appeared this morning in a Mexico City paper.”
“Okay. I’ll call you back when we’ve seen it.”
He terminated the call, went online, and found the e-mail with the attachment. He clicked on the article and was greeted by a color photograph of the interior of the Mayan shrine, the body, and the painted pot. “Uh-oh,” he said.
Remi opened her eyes and sat up. “What?”
He turned the little screen toward her and she gasped. “How did that happen?”
Sam thumbed through the article, looking at the photographs. There was a picture of the whole group in the last mountain village. He showed Remi. “Remember when this picture was taken?”
“Sure. We all lined up, and then…” She paused. “Jose handed his cell phone to the mayor’s brother.”
“And then he handed the phone back to Jose. So we know where this came from.”
“Jose sent it to a reporter, obviously, along with this article. I’m going to get a better translation than I can do.” She took the phone from Sam, ducked out of the tent, and disappeared.
When Sam caught up with her, she was sitting beside Christina, who was translating. “The discovery was made by Sam and Remi Fargo, members of a volunteer relief expedition bringing aid to the remote villages on Tacana…” She paused. “He gives you full credit, but he doesn’t leave anyone out. The picture has everyone’s full name, and the narrative seems accurate.”
“I respect him for his honesty,” Remi said. “It’s just that we thought we had more time before the rest of the world knew.”
“Well, we don’t,” said Sam. “We’d better decide what to do.” He looked around at the camp. “Where’s Jose?”
Remi stood and looked around. “He was guarding the shrine when we came in last night.”
Sam began to run. He dashed along the plateau, ascended the narrow path until he reached the place where it widened again near the entrance to the shrine. There was Raul Mendoza. “Good morning, Sam,” he said.
“No,” said Mendoza. “Not since he was with you last night.”
“I think we can leave the shrine for a few minutes,” said Sam. “We all need to have a talk.”
“All right.”
They went to the camp, where the others were just stowing their tents and gear in their backpacks and putting out cook fires. When Sam and Raul arrived, Remi said, “Apparently, Jose took off by himself. His tent and gear are gone.”
“We should talk.”
“We’ve been talking,” Remi said. “Everybody agrees that we can’t do much to hide the shrine. We can bury the carved stone pillar, but we can’t move it. All we can do is make sure we’ve got the best possible photos of the interior of the shrine and take our friend and his belongings with us.”
“We should also explain to the villagers what they’ve got here.”
During the morning, they brought the village mayor and his two closest friends to the shrine, then showed them the article in the Mexico City newspaper. Sam warned them that people would be coming. The ones from the government and from universities should be welcomed and the others kept away, for the present.
When they were finished explaining and the mayor said he understood, the volunteers left the shrine. Sam carried the Mayan pot across his chest in a rudimentary sling, and the Mendoza brothers carried the body on a makeshift stretcher, just two poles with the body lashed between them. The doctors sealed the wooden vessels, and the remains of the fruits and vegetables found in them, in sterile, airtight plastic bags.
Every few hours, Sam stopped and drained off some water from the melting ice and made sure the body bags were intact. It took two days of walking to get down the long trail to the village of Union Juarez, but Maria used Remi’s satellite telephone to call ahead to be sure that a truck was waiting to take them to Tapachula.
On the bumpy ride back to Tapachula, Sam protected the pot from shock by keeping it on his lap. The Mendoza brothers protected the mummy by holding the stretcher suspended between their knees, where it couldn’t touch the bed of the truck. As they drove to the city, Sam spoke with the others. “I think that at least until the publicity dies down, we’ve got to keep our friend’s location secret. Maria, Christina, I’m wondering if I can ask you for a favor.”
After some discussion, Sam had the truck take them to the hospital at Tapachula. Dr. Talamantes and Dr. Garza went inside alone. A while later, they returned with a gurney and wheeled the body in, where they could keep it refrigerated in the morgue. When they came back, they had news. While they had been up on the volcano, the city had made great progress. The electrical power had been restored, the roads to the west and the east were open again, and the airport had resumed commercial flights.
The four shared a cab that wound through recently cleared and half-repaired streets to the airport. While Sam paid the driver, Christina Talamantes said, “Sam, Remi, we’ll miss you both.” She hugged them, and then Maria Garza did the same. “But it will be good to fly to Acapulco so we can get back to our own work.”
“We’ll miss you too,” said Remi. “In a couple of weeks, some people from our foundation will be in touch.”
Christina looked puzzled. “Why?”
“This won’t be the last disaster,” said Sam. “But maybe our foundation can help in advance to prepare for the next one. We want you and Maria to tell us what needs to be done and to decide how to spend the money.”
Maria, who was usually the shy one, threw her arms around Sam and kissed his cheek. When she released him, she hurried off toward the terminal. Christina smiled, and said, “As you can tell, we’ll be delighted.” She turned and trotted after Maria to catch up.
Sam and Remi sat down in the airport bar. Sam said to Remi, “You know what I’d like? To drink something that’s ice-cold. It’s been a while.” He ordered two bottles of beer, and called Selma.
“Hello, you two,” she said.
“Hi, Selma,” said Sam. “We’re back in Tapachula, at the airport, and it’s time for us to go somewhere else. Can you find us a resort on the Pacific Coast that hasn’t been affected by the earthquake?”
“I’ll do my best. Keep your phone where you can reach it.”
Before they had finished their beer, Sam’s satellite phone rang. “Selma?”
“The very same. You have tickets waiting for an Aeromexico flight to Huatulco in forty-five minutes. It’s close but not damaged at all. Your hotel is Las Brisas, which is a very good one on the beach, and your room has a balcony overlooking the ocean. I’ve rented a car for you and you pick it up at the airport.”
“Thanks, Selma.”
In Huatulco, Sam and Remi signed for the car and drove to the Las Brisas Hotel. They went to the pool to soak and lie on long deck chairs, drinking margaritas. After about an hour, Remi turned to Sam, lifted her sunglasses, and said, “If you were to invite me to a great dinner at seven o’clock tonight, I would try to find time in my busy schedule to accept.”
They bought new clothes in the shops at the hotel and went to the restaurant at seven. Sam ordered pheasant in almond red sauce and Remi had seafood posole with snapper, cod, and shrimp. They selected an Argentine Malbec and a Chilean Sauvignon Blanc to go with them. They had Mexican tres leches cake and polvorones de Caulle, a local type of cinnamon cookies, for dessert.
After dinner, they walked on the beach and then went to the bar on the patio to sip a Cabo Uno Lowland Extra Anejo tequila that had mellow undertones of vanilla. Remi said, “Thanks, Sam. I like it when I can tell you remember I’m a girl and not your old army buddy.”
“Not a likely mistake unless I get hit on the head.” He sipped the aromatic, powerful tequila. “This is a nice change for both of us. Living in a tent and spending your days burying sewer pipes is only fun for so long.”
They finished their tequila, and Remi stood, stepped behind Sam’s chair, put her hands on his shoulders, and leaned down to kiss his head, letting her auburn hair fall to both sides of him like a silky curtain for a second, then straightened. “Shall we?” she said.
They walked, holding hands, to the entrance and went up in the elevator. Sam opened the door of their room but suddenly put his arm out to keep Remi from entering. He turned on the light and stepped in. The room had been ransacked. His pack and Remi’s had been poured out on top of the bed. The closet doors were open, and the extra pillows and blankets had been swept off the shelf to the floor. Sam said, “Luckily, we didn’t use the room safe. What’s missing from the packs?”
Remi pushed some of her clothing aside, opened a zippered compartment in the pack, then stepped back and looked around the room. “Not a thing. I don’t bring fancy jewelry on boat trips, and our only expensive gear is the satellite phones and dive watches. We had them with us.”
“I’m not missing anything either.”
“Please tell me you still have the receipt from the parking attendant,” she said. “The pot is in the trunk of the car.”
“Here’s the receipt.” He held it up so she could see it.
“Let’s check anyway.”
They took the elevator to the parking garage, found their rental car, and opened the trunk. There was the pot and Remi’s computer, wrapped in their jackets, and the airtight packages of seeds and husks with the wooden vessels the Mayan had used.
“Everything is here,” Remi said.
“Whoever it was apparently didn’t see the car or didn’t connect it with us or couldn’t get to it.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“I don’t think it was a regular hotel room robbery. I think somebody recognized us from the newspaper article, or the viral Internet version, and figured we had something valuable from the shrine.”
“The pot?” she asked.
“It might be valuable, and it’s the only thing in our possession, but they couldn’t know that, whoever they are.”
“Then the thing to do is get out of here,” she said. “We need to make sure these people don’t follow us.”
Sam said, “We’ll check out right now and move to another hotel.”
“Where?”
“On the other side of the country.”
“Sounds far enough.”
“Wait here. I’ll go up and use the express checkout and bring the packs down here by the back stairs.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll call Selma and let her know where we’re going.” She paused. “Where are we going?”
“Cancun.” He hurried into the hotel.
In a half hour they were on the road in the rental car, beginning the nine-hundred-mile drive from Huatulco to Cancun. It was now late in the evening so there was little traffic. Sam drove hard, watching to be sure they weren’t followed. Remi took her turn driving after two hours, and they kept going until four. They pulled over at a closed gas station in Tuxtla Gutierrez and slept until it opened at eight, filled the tank, and drove on to Centro on the Gulf Coast. All day they kept changing drivers at intervals until they reached Cancun. They checked into the Crown Paradise Club, showered, and slept until morning.