Treasure of the Mayan King (2012) (23 page)

Large estate in Mexico City.

Everything must go. Seeking

certified appraisers knowledgeable

in ancient artifacts. Please call

for an appointment.

Raul began dialing the number.

The following day found Raul prowling the streets of a posh neighborhood in Mexico City. He cruised slowly in low gear, one hand on the steering wheel and his other hand holding a piece of paper upon which was written the address of his potential client. He glanced at the clock; he was right on time.

He came to a stop in front of a large house, fairly typical of the neighborhood. Red Spanish-tile roof, white plastered walls and large windows with wrought-iron bars. A well maintained, yet simple, yard was contained by a low, white-plastered wall topped by black wrought iron that matched the house.

He turned off the engine and looked in the mirror, combing his jet-black hair. His outfit was quite different than what he had been wearing just the day before. In place of sandals he wore brown snake-skin cowboy boots, and his shorts and Hawaiian shirt were exchanged for long slacks and a short-sleeve brown shirt with a Bolo tie.

Attache in hand, he walked briskly through a small gate past the low wall and up a few steps. He adjusted his Bolo tie and smoothed his shirt before ringing the doorbell.

A weak voice came faintly through the thick wooden door. “Wait a minute, I’m coming…”

It seemed twice that minute before the ornately carved door swung open to reveal a grizzled old man. White scraggly hair stuck out comically from underneath a black beret. His hands trembled as he clung to his handcrafted wooden cane.

He peered at Raul through thick glasses. “Mr. Martinez?” His accent was so thick Martinez had to think for a moment to recognize his own name.

“Yes, we have an appointment, Mr. Allende.”

“May I see your credentials, young man?”

“Certainly,” Raul said, smiling as he propped his attache on his knee and pulled out his business card and other papers.

Mr. Allende peered at the documents, his long white beard almost touching them. Raul wondered how the old man was able to read the small print, the way his hands trembled.

Mr. Allende seemed satisfied. “Yes, yes. Come right in please.” He handed back the paperwork.

Raul stepped inside and let his eyes adjust to the darkened interior. He nodded. Glancing around with keen eyes, Raul guessed the man was single, probably a widower. The rooms were graced by expensive furniture imported from Spain. Artwork ranging from beautiful, photo-realistic paintings to simple abstract watercolors adorned nearly every square inch of wall. Wooden statues stood like sentinels in the living room. What immediately grabbed Raul’s attention, however, was an alcove filled with Mayan artifacts.

“Now listen to me young man,” Mr. Allende said, his voice becoming a bit stronger and easier to understand. “I’m a very old man. Let me explain why I asked you to come over. Many years ago I was a professor at the National Autonomous University of Mexico. I taught history and archaeology, but that was a long, long time ago, before you were born.” Mr. Allende chuckled softly at the thought. “Anyway, as you can clearly see, throughout the years I have collected many Mayan artifacts. However, I plan to sell everything. My wife passed away recently, and the memories are too much for an old man, and I can’t keep up the maintenance of this place all by myself. I am going to move, therefore I want top dollar for my possessions. That’s why I need your services, Mr. Martinez.”

The old man shuffled closer. He waved a trembling hand at the alcove displaying the ancient artifacts. “Those artifacts up on that shelf, Mr. Martinez, I want to fetch the best price for them. Yes, yes, the very best price. Once these items are sold, you will be properly compensated.”

Raul walked over to the alcove and admired the items that were placed within. With a self-assured tone in his voice he said, “You have a fine collection here.”

“Yes, yes, as I said, I have collected them through travels in Yucatan, Guatemala, and Belize. Some of these artifacts were obtained through - well, you know what I mean,” he said with a wink, and then he nudged Raul with his elbow.

Raul smiled. “Yes, I understand. I can assure you of my policy of strict confidentiality.”

“Good! I was hoping you would say that. Now, it is time for the test.”

“A test?” Raul asked as he raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, yes the test. Tell me where each of these comes from. I already know, but I need to know if you do.”

Raul swallowed hard. This was going to be a challenge.

Mr. Allende hobbled over to the first artifact. “Here, take this one down for me, will you? And tell me its origin. Careful, careful now, don’t break it!”

Raul took down a shard of pottery and turned it over and over in his hands.

“Hmm. Chichen Itza…pre-Colombian.”

“Excellent, excellent, yes that is true. Now, how much is it worth?”

“On the black market, you’d fetch around three thousand dollars, sir.”

“Oh, good, good, write that down will you? My hands tremble too much.”

Raul sighed quietly with relief. He carefully replaced the pottery before pulling a notebook from his attache and scribbling some notes.

“And this one?” Mr. Allende asked, pointing a shaking finger at another object.

Raul carefully picked up a small black dagger. “Obsidian. This is Aztec.”

“But I found this in Bonampak, in Mayan territory,” the old man said. “How is it possible that the Mayans possessed it if it belonged to the Aztecs?”

“Perhaps the Maya accepted this as a gift from an Aztec dignitary, a peace offering of some sort. Recent archaeological discoveries have revealed that the Mayas and the Aztecs may have had a friendly relationship for a time.”

“Oh, you are correct, you are correct,” Mr. Allende said, smiling.

Raul exhaled; he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. “I would put the price at five thousand dollars.”

“Good, good. Write that down too, now, what about this one?” Mr. Allende pointed to the next item, which was a large jade necklace. “This is my prize. Tell me, where did it come from?”

Raul’s hands trembled slightly as he turned the necklace over, his brain racing. “Why, this is the necklace of a king. Jade was prized, even more than gold. Only a king would have worn this!” he answered emphatically.

Mr. Allende squinted at Raul. “Yes, you are correct on that assumption. But the question is, Mr. Martinez, which king? And where is it from?”

“If you observe the markings, and particularly the way the necklace is constructed, the markings of the jade ornament, you will notice that these correspond to…to…the post-classic era of the Mayas. This necklace belonged to King Paca.”

“King Paca? No, Mr. Martinez, you are wrong!” Mr. Allende barked.

“Really? And how do you know that?”

The look on Allende’s face made Raul feel like a schoolboy. “That necklace does not belong to King Paca!” the old man shouted. “You are mistaken. Perhaps I should inspect your credentials again.”

Raul folded his arms across his chest. “Well then, old man, you tell me. Who does it belong to?”

“This came from the military plunder of King Chac.”

“What? King Chac?”

“Yes, yes - this was taken from a hidden treasure in Palenque; the treasure of a Mayan king. It belongs to King Chac.”

Raul laughed out loud. “Ha, ha, that’s impossible!”

“Why? Why is it impossible?” the old man shouted, banging his cane on the floor.

“Because the treasure of King Chac has yet to be discovered, that’s why!” Raul finally managed to blurt out.

Mr. Allende stood, leaning on his cane, glaring at Raul. After a few seconds his anger dissolved in a warm smile. He chuckled. “Very, very, very good, congratulations. You are right. That necklace belongs to King Paca.”

Raul once again let out a breath. Returning the old man’s smile, he told him, “You will get two hundred thousand dollars for this necklace.”

Mr. Allende was ecstatic. “I knew it was worth a lot, but not that much! Good, good. Now, Mr. Martinez, I have only one final question and I know that you will have the answer.”

“Yes?”

“Why do you think that the treasure of King Chac has not been discovered?”

Raul shrugged. “How should I know?”

“Well, I know, and I’ll tell you.”

Mr. Allende shuffled over to a small desk and pulled open a drawer. “The reason that the treasure has not been found, Mr. Martinez, is…”

Allende straightened and turned with a gun in his hand - which no longer shook. He continued, the weak quivering replied by a rich baritone, “…that the map to the Mayan treasure was stolen, Mr. Martinez - by you!”

Chapter Eight

“What!” Raul demanded. “Who are you?”

Allende pulled off his fake beard and removed his hat and glasses.

“De Leon!” Raul shouted as the image clicked in his memory. “Captain Gustavo De Leon!”

De Leon shook his head. “Wrong again. I am now Private Investigator Gustavo De Leon. Don’t you read the news, boy?”

“A setup! A stinking setup!” Raul angrily shot back as his eyes quickly darted around the room.

“The house is surrounded. Don’t do anything rash Martinez - or should I say, Comandante Solis?” He smiled at Raul’s surprise. “You haven’t changed so much that I didn’t recognize the photograph Mendoza showed me. There’s a bounty on your head either way. I want the map, Martinez, the map of the Mayan treasure that you stole from Octavio Mendoza.”

“Nonsense!”

“Really, why?”

Raul threw his hands in the air and shouted, “Do you really think I’d be wasting my time on antique appraisals if I had the map?”

He seemed genuinely frustrated. Gustavo began wondering if perhaps it were true. “I’m listening.”

Raul pulled a chair closer and sat down. His eyes were closed for a few seconds then he let out a sigh of exasperation as he commenced his narrative. “Well, you’ll have to listen to my sad story, the sad story of how I almost had the map and how it slipped out of my hands. When I failed my archaeological studies in Texas, I ran away to Yucatan to escape my father’s wrath. I’d learned enough to recognize the value of the antiquities I was stealing. My father may have been rich, but I planned to be even richer.

“That dog Sova, he destroyed my plan. I went home to my father with my tail between my legs. Lucky for me, my father just sent me away to another college - right here in Mexico. That’s how I got the certification I showed you. Believe it or not, it’s legitimate.”

“And that’s how you met Barrios?” De Leon asked.

Raul slowly raised his eyes at De Leon. “Yes, yes, imagine how I felt when he told me what I would be translating! What ironic revenge on Dr. Sova.”

“And did you finish the translation?”

“The words but not the meanings.”

“What does the shadow mean?”

Raul’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Barrios told me about it. He knew it was important. He just didn’t know what it was.”

“It’s something about the equinoxes; certain temples and the way the light falls on them. I’ve never seen it myself, but I just saw a TV documentary about it. I needed more time to study the scroll, but those idiots Octavio and Antonio were always in the way. One day while we were taking a break I overheard Octavio mention that he was going to be away for the weekend. I decided that was my opportunity to steal the scroll. That Sunday I drove myself to Octavio’s house and - ”

“Wait, did you say you went on Sunday?”

“Yes, why?”

“Never mind, continue.”

“Anyway, first thing I did was search around the house to see if a window or door was open. But no, everything was shut tight and locked. I crept over to the window outside the doctor’s study and looked in. One set of blinds was open, and the secret door of the desk was open - and empty! I must have checked it from fifty angles: tilting my head, jumping up and down. But the scroll was gone.

“There was no point breaking in for something that wasn’t there. When I turned to go, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Miguelito was sitting in his rocking chair under a tree, staring at me with that stupid grin of his. I was almost positive no one had been there. I don’t know how I missed him.”

Gustavo stood up, scowling.

“Why do you have that angry expression?” Raul asked.

“You don’t know that Mr. Barrios told me that the map was gone when he went a day before you, on Saturday. So, if both of your stories are correct, that means someone else stole the map before either of you went there. But nobody else had a motive or opportunity.”

Gustavo took his cell phone out. He pressed the two-way button and barked an order. Two officers burst into the room. “Arrest this man!” He shook his head in disappointment. “You’re a fool. You prefer to go to prison than turn in the map?”

Raul had a terrified expression. “Are you crazy? I told you nothing but the truth!”

Gustavo nodded to the officers. “Take this idiot away.”

De Leon shut the door behind the officers and began pacing the living room. Once again he had turned up empty-handed. He had a second suspect but still no scroll. He ran both his hands through his hair, frustration gnawing at him.

He paused next to the front window and watched as the officers escorted Raul down the steps and past the gate. Gustavo pulled out his cell phone and dialed his wife. “Hello, Miranda?”

“Yes, Gustavo, how did it go?”

“Well, both good and bad. I have Raul in custody, but no map. He claims he doesn’t have it.”

“Now what?” his wife asked.

“Raul is a spoiled rich kid. Once he spends a few nights in one of our wonderful Mexican jails, he will start talking. Meanwhile I’m going to have to go to the hacienda and interview the caretakers to see if the stories told by Martinez and Barrios are true. You see I - ”

“Gustavo? Gustavo? What’s wrong?”

“I have to go, Raul Martinez is sprawled on the sidewalk! I’ll call you back!”

He sprinted down the steps and ran to the sidewalk.

“What happened?”

“Mr. Martinez said he is having a heart attack!” a police officer informed him.