The Dig (The Blackwell Files Book 9) Page 9

  “Priceless—a once-in-a-lifetime find. The Aztecs believed it to be the actual spear grasped in Mictlantecuhtli’s hand. Because of that belief, it was the only one they ever made.” He shook his head ruefully. “Funny thing…we felt so fortunate. After two years of digging, we scored our biggest find from a pure stroke of luck. We would’ve never discovered the undertaker’s spear if not for the earthquake. And now it’s gone again—like the gods took it back.”

  Mallory cleared her throat. There was no delicate way to phrase the next question. “Why’d you leave it here if it was so valuable?”

  “It was attached to the statue—not easily removed.” He pointed to the carven image’s right arm. “You can see here where the thieves broke off Mictlantecuhtli’s hand to get to it. They weren’t as conscientious about not damaging relics as we are. But I still don’t understand…”

  “Understand what?”

  In a daze, the archeologist shook his head and used the nearby altar for support. “How’d they get it? How’d they know to get it? I never mentioned the spear’s significance to any outsiders besides your team. It seemed the best way to keep its value quiet and not invite robbers. But to be completely safe, I still locked down the site: I allowed only a few select associates to enter, and I kept an around-the-clock guard, as you know.” He lowered his head onto a palm. “It wasn’t enough.”

  He raised his head and examined the statue, as if confirming he hadn’t imagined the artifact’s disappearance. “I know archeological sites have been ransacked for centuries, but I tell you…I had no idea how devastating it is when you’re the person whose site has been robbed.”

  “All we can do now is try to get it back.”

  “How can we do that?”

  Mallory set her jaw. “My gut tells me if we find the murderer of your teammates, there’s a good chance we’ll find the undertaker’s spear, too.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Pacing the paver stones of Zapopan’s plaza, Mallory breathed a sigh of relief when her husband answered his cellphone.

  “I have an update,” she said.

  “You found something?”

  “Kind of. Cornick discovered a key artifact is missing.” She described the events of the past fifteen minutes. “Cornick wondered how someone could have stolen the undertaker’s spear, but there’s a pretty obvious answer.”

  “Bribery?”

  “Exactly. The shopkeepers around here have been telling us how they’ve fallen on hard times. They might be willing to look the other way if the price was right. Maybe policemen would, too, depending on how hard up they were for cash. Although…”

  “What?” asked Alton. “Is there a hole in the theory?”

  “Cornick told me he kept the spear’s value a secret. Who would know to bribe the guards to steal it?”

  “People might have seen the work he’s doing and figured something valuable might be in there. Plus, the Sinaloa cartel must have gotten wind of the archeologists’ downtown excavation work, thanks to Miller’s wheelbarrow request at their warehouse. It wouldn’t take much work for the cartel to find out about the Zapopan dig.”

  “That still wouldn’t explain how someone knew to specifically steal the most valuable item in the joint.”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t. We might not discover the answer to that question unless we find the thieves themselves.”

  Mallory stopped pacing across the plaza. “There’s a good side to this theft. Whoever did it isn’t going to add the undertaker’s spear to their personal collection. They’ll want to sell it. That’ll give us a chance to track down the transaction. We just have to look in the same places a buyer would.”

  Time to take an inventory of their facts and plan next steps. She began strolling again, meandering away from the basilica. “So someone—maybe a cartel member, maybe someone else—bribed one of the guards to allow access to the dig site. They plan on selling the undertaker’s spear and anything else they were able to get ahold of. There’s a pretty good chance they’ll try to sell their stolen goods to a middle man, someone more familiar with the black market for artifacts than they are.”

  “Yeah, that would make sense,” said Alton. “I doubt drug runners would have any clue how to fence a priceless Aztec spear.” Alton’s voice rose with sudden excitement. “Cruz’s girlfriend said he entered one of the cenotes with a large waterproof case and returned without it. He told her the case had camera equipment, and he lost it in the underwater caves. But what if it held something else?”

  “Exactly,” said Mallory. “Cruz could be acting on behalf of his Sinaloa buddies or for his own benefit. Either way, he knows about the dig sites from Miller’s work.”

  “It’s obvious what Lieutenant Vasquez and I need to do next: track down Cruz’s cenote. Maybe we’ll find a hidden treasure inside.”

  “And I’ll follow up on local black markets,” said Mallory. “With all the excavation sites in this part of Mexico, there must be an ongoing market for this kind of thing. I’ll also let O’Neil and Silva know about the spear.” She paused. “Hey, before you go, can you put Vasquez on the phone. I have a few questions about local ordinances.”

  “Sure.”

  A few sounds of movement came over the phone before the lieutenant said, “Hello?”

  “My husband…?”

  “He’s walking towards my car,” replied Vasquez. The tone of her voice changed. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s Sergeant Pineda.”

  “What about him?”

  Mallory took a seat on one of the brick flower planters running along the edge of the plaza. “He’s been…um…asking me out. A lot. I’ve told him to get lost, but he’s persistent. I didn’t want to report him until I knew how your chain of command would react. I thought maybe you could advise me on the best approach.”

  “I’m glad you asked me,” said Vasquez in a grim voice. “The kind of thing Pineda is doing…it’s not so easy to report, even for me. The men here still run the police like a…how you say?…boy’s club.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. Pineda threatened to tell his CO to take me off the case if I don’t agree to ‘see’ him.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “No real ones,” said Mallory. “But that’s why I’m coming to you. If he makes up something, how likely is he to succeed?”

  “Quite likely, I’m sorry to say. The men…they understand each other. ‘You help me now. I help you later.’ You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately. You don’t see that too much in the FBI, but every now and then it crops up.”

  “This is bad news,” said Vasquez. “Pineda is a pig. But you’re a foreigner and a woman. If he recommends that you be removed from the case, our CO is probably going to do it.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. So there’s no way I could preempt Pineda’s accusation by reporting him first?”

  “It’s risky. Honestly, I don’t think it would help.” Her voice lowered in pitch. “If you want to solve this case before they take you off it, you’d better do it soon.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Daniel O’Neil leaned both forearms on deck ten’s starboard rail and stared over the edge. The ship was sailing through the muddy waters of the Gaillard Cut, an artificial fjord created during the Panama Canal’s original construction. According to the ship’s captain, engineers tasked with carving the channel had left a stair-step pattern on the enclosing mountains to reduce the risk of landslide. The resulting stone tiers bore a curious resemblance to the pyramids back in Guadalajara.

  O’Neil was too preoccupied mulling over Mallory’s news on the missing undertaker’s spear to appreciate the feat of engineering. Nor did he have any intention of attending “Jagged Line”, the cruise’s Broadway-style show, later that evening. He had bigger fish to fry.

  Some serious money had already traded hands at the previous auctions. Considering the kind of bankroll these buyers must have, surely black market operative
s had boarded the vessel. But how to ferret them out?

  Jess broke his reverie. “Chan moved the artifacts to the lounge at the back of the ship on deck eight. Let’s head over there. It’s nighttime…not too many people around…might be a good time for someone selling illegal goods to look for customers, especially if they’re trying to fence something as valuable as this undertaker’s spear Mallory told us about.”

  “Sounds good to me,” replied O’Neil.

  They entered the lounge, where leather chairs formed a horseshoe pattern around a dance floor and small stage. The room’s normally dim lighting had been replaced with house lights that afforded a good view of the artifacts lining a seaside wall at the farthest end of the room, behind the grand piano and bar.

  While a pair of ship security officers maintained a discreet vigil, a dozen or so passengers strolled along the display cases, at times stopping to examine one of the antiquities.

  O’Neil approached the artifacts and made a point to steer to those on the right, where the most valuable ones were located. It seemed the best spot to encounter a black-market seller searching for customers with expensive tastes.

  Jess made small talk with several passengers who strolled by, mentioning at times how it was too bad their auction didn’t contain a greater variety of items for sale.

  Two hours of this effort produced no effect. If black-market dealers were on the prowl, had they somehow learned the agents’ true identities?

  Discouraged, O’Neil led his partner back under the stars on deck ten.

  Now what?

  “You look like you could use a break,” said Jess. “We might as well check out the show.”

  “But…”

  “It’s been a busy day. We need take some time to unwind, or we’ll be too stressed out to notice any under-the-table dealers tomorrow. Besides, we’re not going to make any more progress tonight.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” said O’Neil. “Plus, it looked like half the ship headed for the early show. It might help us blend in if we hit the later one.”

  Jess smiled. “Now you’re talking. Let’s go.”

  Nearly two hours later, the couple ambled back to their cabin. In the spirit of blending in, O’Neil had consumed three screwdrivers during the show. Now a faint buzz cast a jolly warmth over the room.

  Jess was right. The production had proved to be relaxing—just what they needed to hit the ground running tomorrow.

  Jess took down her hair, letting her sable locks flow over her shoulders.

  For the twentieth time, O’Neil counted his luck to have such a partner on this voyage. Smart, good-looking, a wicked sense of humor, fond of his kids…what more could a man ask for?

  “Looks like the turn-down service came,” she said, nodding towards the bed as she slipped off her shoes.

  The blankets and sheets had been folded back, and a gold-foiled chocolate rested on each pillow.

  “Ain’t that sweet,” joked O’Neil.

  He walked over to move the candy off his bed and discovered a note underneath the first piece of chocolate. Considering the deluge of notifications they’d already received—event schedules, the captain’s special cocktail hour, spa services, special dining “opportunities,” and a dozen other announcements—was this latest one even worth opening? After all, it wasn’t like they’d be participating in any of that stuff.

  But maybe they would. After all, ignoring all shipboard activities would risk their cover as regular buyers.

  He unfolded the paper, scanned the page, and froze.

  “What is it?” asked Jess.

  “Listen to this. I heard you’re looking for extraordinary pieces, items not on the auction manifest. I might have something you’d like. If interested, eat your breakfast poolside at nine o’clock sharp. If you eat an entire piece of toast while standing, I’ll know you’re interested in the piece and will communicate terms.” He handed her a photograph printed on plain, white paper that had accompanied the note. On it, a humanoid figure carved from stone kneeled in prayer. “Looks Aztec, don’t you think?”

  “I think so.” Her eyebrows bunched together. “Why offer us just one piece?”

  “Maybe to see if we’re legit. We keep it under wraps, and they offer us more.”

  She nodded. “So we have to make sure this first deal goes down without a hitch. Then we may have a shot at snagging the black marketers.”

  CHAPTER 22

  As Vasquez wound her way through Guadalajara’s evening traffic, Alton pondered his wife’s latest bit of news. How long would the undertaker’s spear stay on the black market?

  “So we head to the cenotes for sure, right?” he asked.

  “Yes. If we hurry, we can catch the last flight out. I’ll swing by your hotel so you can pick up your stuff. Then I’ll need to pack my own bag—quickly.”

  They drove in silence until Alton spoke. “I think we should touch base with Veronica Garcia one more time.”

  “Why?”

  “Two reasons. First, if we’re going to go searching for Cruz’s ‘camera box’ at LabnaHa, I’d like to know if Cruz is still there. With the right police persuasion, he might take us to it.”

  “I doubt he’ll do that,” said Vasquez.

  “Which leads to my second reason. Let’s see if Garcia has any idea where Cruz went in the cenote’s tunnels when he took in the camera box.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Vasquez, nodding. “There are hundreds of kilometers of tunnels there. We might never find the box if we search blind.”

  “Although…do you think she’ll just tell us?”

  “Yes. We already explained to her that the best way to keep off more police pressure is to tell us what we want to know about his cenote diving.”

  “What if she tips off Cruz that we’re looking for his camera case?” asked Alton.

  Vasquez shrugged. “What if she does? She already said he doesn’t answer his phone when he’s at the cenotes. And this is our only chance to learn the location of the camera box. We’ll have to hope she doesn’t tell her boyfriend before we have a chance to find it.”

  She tapped the “recent calls” button on her cellphone and activated a number, then connected the call to the Bluetooth connection in her car.

  The ringing ceased. “Bueno?”

  “Señorita Garcia?”

  “Sí.”

  “This is Lieutenant Vasquez from the police. Alton Blackwell is with me. We spoke earlier. I was thinking more about the LabnaHa cenote and had a question.”

  “Yes?”

  “The day Gustavo Cruz lost his camera case in LabnaHa, do you know where he went in the cave that day?”

  “How would I know?” said Garcia. “I wasn’t with him.”

  “Yes, but a lot of people have their favorite routes. Was he like that?”

  Silence for a moment, then a chuckle. “Sí. Gus like to go to the tunnels on the left. He say they are bigger.”

  “Did you see if he went in the left tunnel that day?”

  “Yes. But I don’t know where he went after that. You have to be in the water to see that.”

  Alton joined the conversation. “You said you weren’t his dive buddy that day. Surely he didn’t dive solo in such a potentially dangerous spot.”

  “No, he take Reyes, one of his workers.”

  “Did he or Reyes mention anything about their dive when they returned? How long they swam or where they went?”

  “Well, I know he was gone not quite an hour—maybe fifty minutes. I remember ‘cause I was worried he will run out of air if he doesn’t come back soon.”

  “Anything else?” asked Alton.

  “I don’t know if is important, but when Gus and Reyes come out of the water, they are laughing. Gus say ‘left, left, left; right, right, right.’ I don’t know is this where they swim or they are talking about something else.”

  “Can you ask Gus?” said Vasquez. “Or is he still at the cenote?”

  “He is still there,
” replied Garcia.

  Vasquez ended the call.

  “We have a starting point at least,” said Alton. “The directions were pretty vague, but it sounds like Cruz hugged the left wall, then did the same thing on the right.”

  “Yes. I will speak with the cenote’s operator when we rent the tanks. He might have some good ideas, too.”

  Thirty minutes later, they had picked up Alton’s overnight bag and parked in front of Vasquez’s apartment building.

  She returned with an unzipped red duffle bag and dropped it onto her backseat. After unholstering her service revolver, she popped the clip and packed it away in the bag.

  “You’re taking that?” asked Alton.

  “Cruz is a dangerous man. That’s why he’s known as el tiburón. When you swim with sharks, you have to be prepared for their teeth.”

  CHAPTER 23

  It felt strange having breakfast without Alton. Not that Mallory hadn’t done it plenty of times before, but she hadn’t expected to do so on this trip. It seemed the only predictable aspect of NSA missions was their unpredictability.

  She scarfed her last bite of cantaloupe, hurrying to avoid a late arrival for the 9:00 A.M. meeting with Dr. Cornick.

  Thank goodness the rest of her team was already waiting for her in the Hilton’s lobby. They arrived at the basilica with a whole three minutes to spare, then met as a group with Cornick. The scientist had arrived earlier enough to have covered the knees of his corduroy trousers with a generous coat of mud.

  Mallory led the group to the omnipresent table fronting the altar. A squad of artisans worked to recreate intricate patterns where cracks in the cathedral’s walls had been plastered over. The unusual quiet heralded a return to the building’s silent ways.

  “I’ve been thinking about the possible involvement of drug runners in this whole affair,” said Mallory.

  “Yes?” said Cornick.

  “I wonder if we can approach this question from a different angle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mallory rested her forearms on the table. “Let’s say the murder victims discovered narcos were using the tunnels. Or maybe it was somebody completely different. Did the thief try to bribe them to look the other way while they went on a scavenger hunt in the tunnels?”