When soldados came through Michoacán they continually sought shade, as if the sun burned their skins. Guatemotzi and his people often watched them drive trucks along jungle roads and it was said they were looking for revolutionaries, or traffickers in las drogas. Sometimes there was shooting, and Mexican soldiers had guns that fired many bullets in a single stream at a human target.
Thus Guatemotzi feared them, as did everyone in the village, and when they came to ask questions about las drogas or those who wanted to overthrow the government, no one spoke of the men hidden deep in the jungle who lived in small camps and turned leaves into white powder, or harvested a plant called marijuana, both taken to the cities at night in small trucks or on the backs of horses.
What was most puzzling were the actions of los soldados now as they formed this circle around Tlateloco. In his heart he felt he knew the soldiers were about to make war against Los Oráculos, and there were so many soldiers against so few of the ancient warriors with orange skins. Guatemotzi believed it was to be a test of strength, the power of these messengers from the ancient gods of the Aztecs pitted against the soldiers. And it did not appear Los Oráculos carried weapons, only small knives they used to cut up the dead Americanos. A test of magic powers and not guns, for surely the gods of the Aztecs would not send warriors without powerful magic that could defeat the weapons of the soldiers. Guatemotzi wondered when the battle would begin and if the orange skins Los Oráculos wore would turn aside bullets.
He had been dozing behind an escoba palm where he could see the winding path to Tlateloco when movement in the jungle brought him fully awake with his heart racing. One of the orange-skinned warriors was approaching a group of soldiers guarding the road.
“Only one?” he whispered, speaking his native tongue, which he preferred over the Spanish taught by the priests, for it was far easier to speak and think in Nahuatl. He could not make himself believe only one warrior had been sent to defeat so many soldados. The chief of Los Oráculos must believe very strongly in their magic powers.
A soldier wearing a mask came toward the Aztec warrior and they met where the road made a turn. Neither one appeared to be ready for battle. They stood before each other, doing nothing, until the warrior took a small pouch from his waist and gave it to the soldier.
An offering, Guatemotzi thought. Los Oráculos want peace, not war. Perhaps they are giving the soldiers parts of the dead Americanos’ bodies as a gift to prevent a battle between them. It was a strange sight, to see a messenger from the Aztec gods give this soldado his pouch. The masked soldier turned around and went back to the others while the warrior disappeared into the jungle. What a curious meeting it was, the gift of a pouch halting a war between them.
He crept deeper into the forest when the soldier climbed in an automobile with no roof and drove back toward the city. Were the black pouch and its contents being offered to the presidente of Mexico so there could be peace between the new god, Jesus, and the gods of his ancestors? Guatemotzi’s father and everyone else in the village would greet this news with great happiness. Now, perhaps the dreaded soldados would stop coming to Michoacán with guns to ask their questions of Guatemotzi’s people.
Chapter 15
Lauren was at a point physically and emotionally where she believed she could go no further. One last body remained to be found according to the student manifest naming everyone on the expedition, and even with the help of several members of Mason’s Wildfire Team, no one could find Jimmy Walker. James was one of Charlie’s top doctoral candidates, perhaps the brightest of his teaching assistants, and as the search for him continued through the afternoon Lauren dared not hope that somehow he might have escaped in time before the illness entered his body.
Mason and the other doctors were now almost convinced they’d identified the “bug,” as they called it, which Mason said spelled some hope for Eduardo Matos. But in her heart Lauren still harbored doubts, and even as briefly as she’d known Dr. Williams, she thought she detected a note of concern in his voice for Eduardo’s chances of recovery.
Last night, when she tried to sleep, she continued to have vague feelings of a presence here in Tlateloco, as if some thing or some premonition haunted her innermost thoughts. She tried to dismiss them entirely, for she was a scientist trained in archaeology, not superstition or belief in ghosts or curses.
But at the same time she could not shake the memory of Eduardo’s encounter with the sacrificial dagger. It was almost as if the accident was no accident at all but a further striking out by some malignant entity to punish the interlopers who dared to desecrate the emperor’s tomb.
“I found a body,” a woman’s voice said over Lauren’s headset and the sound startled her from her reverie. “It’s southwest of the clearing, about three hundred yards into a palm grove. It’s a male. Young, about twenty-five or so — it’s hard to tell due to the destruction by scavengers. I’d venture a guess that a large cat of some kind has been feeding on the corpse. This boy is pretty badly chewed up. Dr. Sullivan, if you can hear me, come to the clearing and I’ll take you to the body.”
Lauren’s voice caught in her throat. “It must be Jimmy. I really don’t want to see him if he’s…”
“Sorry, but it’s necessary so we can link up with CDC and report all the names. Someone in Atlanta will notify the university, which can then notify his next of kin.”
She turned around and trudged slowly back to the clearing, casting a quick glance in the direction of the temple. Sleeplessness muddled her thoughts and the heat inside her Racal was all but unbearable. She supposed she could force herself to see one last body before she asked for a helicopter to take her back to Mexico City.
She was, however, experiencing another set of feelings since last night, a curious attraction — if that was the right word — to Mason Williams. Of course, he was good-looking, brilliant, courageous, and sensitive, most of the time. What was there not to like? The trouble was thoughts like these made her very uncomfortable. Was she being disloyal to her friends and Charlie to feel attracted to a man she’d just met while in the midst of so much death and destruction? Oh well, there was little to no chance of consummating or even beginning a romantic attachment while they were living in the Cytotec lab. Privacy was not minimal, it was nonexistent.
She shook her head and pushed the unwelcome thoughts aside, chalking them off to fatigue, then joined Suzanne Elliot in the clearing, for the hundredth time making a futile attempt to wipe sweat off her face with her hand despite the Plexiglas mask.
“This way,” Suzanne said gently. “I know how difficult this is for you, Dr. Sullivan, but according to your list, this will be the last one you’ll have to identify.”
“I suppose I can do it,” she replied, following Suzanne into another section of the forest. “I guess I should be used to it by now.”
Suzanne put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “No, you never get used to it, dear. Trust me, I’ve been at this game of death for more years than I care to remember, and each new victim affects me just as much as the first ones I had to deal with.”
Following a narrow jungle game trail, they came to a spot beneath a small tree named Black Poison Wood by local farmers, where Suzanne pointed to a badly mangled corpse, its chest cavity torn open, both upper legs chewed down to bare bone.