Too late, he realized he had solved not only the mystery of Díaz’s death but also the mystery of what had caused the Aztec civilization to vanish completely without a trace.
He shook his head, trying to clear it of a fog creeping into his vision, numbing his mind, making him incoherent. Another cough coursed through his lungs, digging its razor-like claws into his brain. He blacked out for a moment, his vision narrowing to a fine point of light surrounded by darkness.
When he awakened, skies were darkening outside. Tropical dusk was rapidly descending, elongating shadows and blurring most details of the forest. Adams knew with a certainty chilling him to the bone that he would never see the dawn. His halogen work light grew dim. He followed its beam with his eyes into the chamber, to Montezuma’s mummified corpse reposed on a stone slab.
The mummy was flanked by the bodies of two monkeys, decayed flesh pulling away from flinty white bone, curled in fetal positions. One wore a jeweled collar, a wrinkled deerskin band decorated with rows of emeralds and bits of hammered gold. The other monkey’s collar was missing — it had been around the shriveled creature’s neck when Adams first opened the tomb. A local workman had surely stolen it before everyone started to get sick.
In the beginning, team members entering the tomb experienced flu-like symptoms and a quick recovery lasting two or three days. Then the bleeding began — and later, sudden agonizing death.
He knew his mind was wandering, damaged by the unknown illness coursing through his bloodstream, yet he couldn’t take his gaze from Montezuma’s corpse. Perhaps the best-known Mexican ruler in the West, he lay mummified inside a twenty-foot chamber a few yards away, his final resting place a mystery until almost a week ago.
At the young emperor’s feet were clay urns and tablets and ornaments so valuable to the field of archaeology they were literally priceless — a find that would make worldwide news. But with the unearthing of Chief Montezuma’s mummy, another event loomed larger than the discovery’s contribution to the study of archaeology or the baffling mysteries of ancient Aztec civilization. Some dark force had been released… Díaz called it a curse, a Black Death so potent it survived five hundred years to awaken and strike everyone at the dig site.
Some form of disease had surfaced by the simple removal of a huge stone blocking the entrance to Montezuma’s tomb. In a daze, not quite lucid, Adams now blamed himself for the deaths.
He forced his mind to concentrate, knowing what he had to do. No one without extensive experience in medicine would understand the gravity of what happened here. Medical specialists were needed immediately and Dr. Lauren Sullivan, his associate and trusted colleague at the University of Texas, would know what to do… who to call, where to begin.
He coughed and spat blood. With a supreme effort he pulled the cell phone out of a scabbard on his belt and hit the auto-dial button. Maybe by now the damned Mexican phone company would have a cell available and his call to the United States could go through…
He felt his lungs burn and sleeved more blood from his upper lip. “Please answer,” he croaked in a phlegmy voice thickened by blood as a series of electronic beeps initiated his telephone call across a continent.
He heard a ring and was silently thankful a connection had finally been made. Coughing again, he almost lost consciousness when a wave of dizziness swept through him. A third ring, then a fourth, without an answer. “Damn it,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Answer the phone, Lauren.”
On the sixth ring a sleepy voice said, “Hello.”
“Charles,” he gasped, blinking furiously, trying to clear a tangled maze of cobwebs from his vision. “Trouble. Big trouble. Listen very closely. What I’m about to tell you will sound ludicrous. Insane. Just please listen to me.”
“Dr. Adams… Charlie? What’s wrong?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m dying. Everyone at the site is dead. There’s a sickness of some kind. We got sick as soon as we opened the tomb… right afterward. It was like the flu. Then it went away. A few days later everyone started bleeding from the nose and mouth. Within hours they were dying. Robert and Bonnie and Kelly died first. I sent someone for a doctor, but Jules died behind the wheel of our Jeep before he could reach help. A farmer found him slumped behind the wheel with blood all over his body. I can’t understand it. We tested for gases and cinnabar the way we always do. Everything was okay. The farmer who found Jules is also dead.”
He retched violently, gritting his teeth against pain so intense it almost rendered him unconscious. Again, he focused his thoughts on warning her of the danger. “You must contact the Mexican authorities. Call Professor Eduardo Matos at INAH. He’s an old friend. Tell him what’s happened. Warn him not to enter the tomb. Don’t come here. Don’t let anyone else disturb this place.”
He took a ragged breath, air whistling into his lungs. “Everything must be burned… destroyed completely…”
Lauren’s voice was suddenly clear of sleepiness. “Charlie, you’re not making any sense. What are you talking about?”
“There isn’t time.” Charles choked, fighting back another spasm of coughing. “It’s in journal translation I sent you.” He was interrupted by another bout of coughing and vomiting. “Read it… but don’t come here! Promise me…”
“Okay, Charlie, I promise. Just tell me what’s happening!” Adams could hear Lauren’s voice rising in panic.
“Hang up. Make that call. It’s too late for me… for all of us.” He put a shaky finger on the End button, his head falling back against the stones. His fingers relaxed on the telephone. It fell to the floor of the tunnel.
“Charles!” Lauren screamed into the phone, “Charles, are you there?” There was no answer, only the static of the long-distance carrier signal.
Lauren’s chest was heaving and she felt sick. She knew in her heart her friend was dying, or worse, perhaps he was already dead.
The thought caused her to rush into the bathroom to splash water on her face. She remained there, looking at herself in the mirror with tears coursing down her cheeks.
Shaking her head, she threw off her nightgown and stepped into the shower. “Enough feeling sorry for yourself, Lauren,” she muttered sleepily. “Get in the shower, get your head clear, and then get on the telephone.” She knew if there was any possibility some of the students and faculty were alive, she must act quickly. She took a fast shower, the water as cold as she could stand it. While toweling her hair dry she hurried to her bedroom phone.
She sat on the side of her bed and switched on a table lamp. After digging in the drawer of her nightstand for a few moments, she found a registry of members of the International Archaeological Society. Thumbing through the pages, she located Dr. Eduardo Matos’s name and home phone number.
She glanced at the clock, almost midnight. Too tired to calculate the difference in time between Austin and Mexico City, she realized it didn’t matter. This was no time to worry about waking someone up. She dialed as fast as her finger could move.
A deep masculine voice answered, speaking in rapid Spanish through faint static on the line, “Hola, soy Dr. Matos.”
“Hello, Dr. Matos. This is Lauren Sullivan from the University of Texas… Dr. Charles Adams’s associate.”
Matos switched to clear, unaccented English. “Of course, Dr. Sullivan. I remember you from the international conference last year. How are you?”
Lauren took a moment to arrange her thoughts. She needed to present her story in a logical manner. “Professor…”
Matos interrupted her. “Please, call me Eduardo. There is no need for such formality among friends.”