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“Sam! Long time. What, are you in D.C.? Want to buy me dinner?”
“Have to take a rain check on that, Rube. No, this is more of a fact-finding call.”
“What is it this time?”
Sam took him through what he was looking for, and Rube remained silent for several seconds after he finished.
“It might take a while, but I can put an analyst on it. I hear they can do some amazing things with computers these days.”
“Data’s only as good as whoever fed it in.”
“Ain’t it the truth. So that’s it? You want to know about any Cuban archaeological caches in Morro? Kind of an obscure area of inquiry, even for you . . .”
“I’m just trying to keep our relationship fresh and spontaneous.”
“Ahem. I’ll have you know I got a promotion.”
“Really? Congrats.”
“Thanks. I’d tell you my new title, but then I’d have to kill you, so best to not ask.”
“Good to know.”
“All right, buddy. I’ll put the elves to work. Still got the same e-mail?”
“Some things never change.”
When Sam hung up, Remi slid closer. “What did you think of our new associates? That Maribela is a stunner, isn’t she?”
“Who? Oh, the sister? I hadn’t noticed.”
Remi elbowed him. “Did you know when you’re lying, your eyes give a telltale flicker?”
“Who are you going to believe, me or my lying eyes?”
“I was just saying . . . She’s not what I expected.”
“Neither’s the brother. Not as ugly as the sister, but still.”
They rode past the colorful façades of stores and apartments in silence, both lost in their thoughts, which now centered around a mythical ruler and his final burial place and the hurdles they would have to surmount to have any chance at finding it.
A slate sky drizzled on the windshield of Antonio’s Suburban. The morning mist was a regular occurrence that time of year in Distrito Federal, or DF, as the inhabitants referred to Mexico City. Traffic was a snarl as they made their way north of the city center into the impoverished colonia of López Mateos.
Antonio turned, and a block up they found themselves facing two military vehicles flanked by heavily armed soldiers, their M4 rifles at the ready.
“This is our protection,” Antonio explained as he slowed the SUV. “The police requested backup from the military when shots were fired at them last night. Probably just kids, but everyone’s on edge.”
He pulled up onto a crumbling curb next to a corner market covered with spray-painted gang tags. Heavy grids of rebar were bent across its broken windows. A soldier bearing sergeant’s stripes approached as Antonio opened the driver’s door and presented his identification to the hardened veteran, who peered distrustfully at it before waving him forward. Maribela turned to look at Sam and Remi.
“It’s showtime—isn’t that how they say it?”
“Indeed,” Remi said.
Yellow tape cordoned off a brown-dirt slope leading into a chasm beneath the street. Sam and Remi held their breath at the stench of accumulated sewage as Antonio disappeared into the gloom. The distinctive roar of a gas generator started up, and two portable lights flickered to life inside.
“Come on. It’s about fifteen feet farther in,” Maribela called.
Remi swallowed hard, almost gagging, and then followed the two Mexican archaeologists, Sam immediately behind her.
