“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 José?”
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. “Buenos días.”
“Buenos días,” Sam said. He leaned into the entrance and saw that everything was as it had been. The body was still in its body bags, the pot had not been moved, and the wooden vessels were untouched. He returned to Raul. “Did you happen to see José go by this morning?”
“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, José 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 Unión Juárez, 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 polvorónes 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 Añejo 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.”