I tightened my grip on the gun. "Who the hell are you?"
"Adam Crowley. I handle personal security."
"For Votan?"
"No. Place your gun on the ground."
"Not a chance."
"I'm not going to ask twice."
"Then don't."
He walked around the truck. I hesitated, unsure of whether he was friend or foe.
His right arm twitched. The air cracked.
My neck twisted as his fist slammed into my jaw. I dropped the gun and fell to a knee.
"Now, you must be—" Crowley cocked his head and I saw an earpiece lodged in his ear. "What was that?"
Breathing rapidly, I gathered some strength.
"But he's carrying … listen to me, Emily. We can't take—"
I sprang to my feet. My left arm circled his waist. He gasped as my shoulder smashed into his belly.
He swung his fist at me. I grabbed it. Pushed it into the air.
Grunting loudly, he tried to spin away. But I held on tight and dragged him to the ground. He went for a knife. I grabbed my machete.
Uneasily, we stared at each other. Then a faint whisper emanated from his earpiece. Moments later, he shoved the knife back into his belt. "You can keep your weapons. We're done … for now."
"Not quite." I swung my free fist. It crashed into his stomach and he inhaled sharply. "Now, we're done."
He took a few breaths. His eyes glinted dangerously. "This isn't over."
"I'm not going anywhere."
His gaze hardened. Then he took a few steps back and walked away.
Graham hobbled to my side. "What the hell was that?"
I picked up my gun. "I think we're about to find out."
The chopper door opened again. A woman emerged. She was a few inches shorter than me. Her dirty blonde hair was tied tightly behind her head. Her shoulders were shapely and symmetrical.
She wore black leggings, which showcased her toned legs. A long sleeve white shirt, topped off by a short sleeve black shirt, covered her torso. Underneath her clothes, her body looked ultra-tight. A trail runner perhaps? Definitely an athlete.
She hopped to the ground with ease. As she walked toward me, I saw she had a tiny nose and big brown eyes, which gave her a pixie-like look. "Hello, Cyclone."
It was the old I know your name and you don't know mine trick. I'd used it once or twice myself. "Call me Cy."
"I'm Emily Foxx." She spoke fast and easy, with no sign of an accent. "I'm the founder and Chief Executive Officer of Arclyon Corporation."
"Doesn't ring a bell."
"I'd be surprised if it did."
"Well, I don't care who you are. This is an archaeological site and your little machine here," I nodded at the helicopter, "threatens the integrity of the dig."
Her eyes flitted to the collapsed tomb. "Integrity, huh?"
"This site is under the jurisdiction of the INAH," Graham said. "Unless you've got permission to be here, you'll have to leave."
"I've got permission. After all, this is my dig."
I arched an eyebrow.
"You look skeptical."
"That's because I am." I nodded at Miranda. "It's her site."
"She might be in charge of it. But she works for me."
I glanced at Miranda.
"Remember that diary I mentioned?" Miranda said. "Well, she owns it."
"Hope's diary has been passed down in my family for years," Emily said. "I got it when I was a little girl. I used to read it every night and wonder if this place really existed."
I recovered quickly from my initial shock. "Well, now you know."
She smiled lightly.
I glanced at Miranda. "So, how do you fit into this picture? Wait. Let me guess. The INAH is stingy over dig sites, especially with outsiders. That's why Mexico's got hundreds of unearthed ruins. Everyone knows where to find them, but no one's allowed to dig them up. The two of you came to an arrangement. She agreed to fund the excavation. You agreed to get it past the INAH as well as manage it."
"You're close," Miranda replied. "But I only agreed to work for her after she reached an agreement with the INAH."
I swiveled toward Emily. "They gave you access?"
"They usually do for friends of the Presidente de los Estados Unidos Mexicanos," she replied.
"You know President Bustamante?"
"I dined with him last night at Los Pinos."
Los Pinos was Mexico's version of the White House. I gave Emily a close look. She didn't seem like the political type. Nor did she appear especially wealthy. Her clothes were stylish but not expensive. She didn't wear jewelry. And her manicure was neat but imperfect. Definitely not a professional job.
On the other hand, she possessed a helicopter. She'd hired the world's foremost authority on the Classic Maya civilization. And she claimed to be friends with the President of the United Mexican States.
"Miranda called me after the tomb imploded." Emily's eyes lingered on the ancient stone coffin. "She told me you saved the sarcophagus."
"I had help."
"Why don't you stick around for a bit? I might need you again before we're done here. I promise to make it worth your while."
I hesitated, but only for a moment. "I suppose I can do that."
"Good." Her smile widened and I saw her blazing white teeth. "Who knows? It might be the best decision you ever make."
Chapter 17
"Well, what do you know?" Dr. Qiang Wu poked his flashlight into the damaged end of the sarcophagus. "There are two sets of bones in here."
Emily frowned. "Are you sure?"
From what I'd gathered, Dr. Wu was Emily's personal physician as well as her pilot. His most prominent features were a pair of small eyes and an upturned nose. His black hair trailed down his puffy cheeks, forming an impressive set of sideburns. "There are two skulls and at least three femurs. Also, there's—"
"What about the gold plates?" Miranda said impatiently. "How do they look?"
"Nonexistent."
"That isn't funny."
"I'm not joking."
Miranda frowned. "Let me look."
The doc stood up. Miranda peered into the sarcophagus. Then her shoulders slumped. "Hope must've moved them."
"Or made them up," Graham said. "It wouldn't be the first time someone exaggerated a treasure trove."
"I doubt it." Emily's hands vanished into her bag. When they emerged, her fingers held a piece of cloth.
I took it from her. The cloth wasn't heavy but it felt substantial in my hands. I slowly unwrapped it and feasted my eyes on a sparkling object.
It was a thin triangular-shaped gold plate, measuring several inches on each side. Two of its edges were sharp and straight. However, the third edge was crimped, as if it had been removed from a larger object.
"Where'd you get this?" I asked.
"It was passed down with the diary." She pointed at the crimped edge. "See that? I think it was cut from a larger plate. Hope must've sliced it off before he left here."
I noticed markings on the plate. "These look old."
"The Maneros — those are Miranda's language experts — confirmed them as Maya hieroglyphics. And based on tiny particles embedded in the gold as well as other features, Rigoberta concluded they were carved sometime around 800 AD, give or take a century. That places it at the end of the Classic Maya era."
I turned the plate over and studied the hieroglyphics on the other side. They looked completely different. "Why'd the Mayas write on this?" I asked. "They knew how to make paper. They called it amatl."
"We don't know," Miranda said.
"I didn't even know the Mayas had gold. I thought they valued jade above other metals."