“Good evening, Juan. Are there any messages for me?” Turner asked the slightly balding clerk, who had worked at the El Dorado for fifteen years.
“No messages for you this evening, Señor Josh,” he replied looking in the slot for room number 12. “Would you like me to have your drink ready for you in the bar after you’ve had a chance to freshen up?”
“Not tonight, Juan. It’s tempting, but I’ll be dining out with Professor Santiago, my father, and the team at the Cofradia de Pescadores and probably won’t be returning until late.”
“Ah, the meals there are delicious, Señor Josh,” he said with a wide grin.
“Thanks, Juan. I’ve learned to trust your taste in restaurants since I’ve been on Tenerife,” he said as he made his way down the lavishly carpeted hallway leading to the guest rooms.
Turner fumbled in his pocket for his room key then opened the door and was greeted by the scent of fresh cut Canary samphire, a wild plant with bright green leaves and golden flowers found on the island’s coastal basalt rocks.
Shutting the door behind him, he tossed his coat onto the bed then proceeded to strip off his dust laden clothes; a daily routine from the arid conditions on the eastern side of Tenerife with the constant dry winds blowing westward off the Saharan Desert on the African continent.
Showering and then toweling off, he quickly dressed and walked back into the bedroom. He saw the post-it he’d stuck on the closet door yesterday reminding him to call Abby in Washington tomorrow and thank her for setting up his accommodations while he was in the states.
Abby, the first woman Dad has attempted to have a relationship with since losing Mom, Turner thought. God knows, he needs someone in his life.
Turner had been there when Professor Eli Turner had met Abigail Conger at a dinner function for the preservation of ancient artifacts last year in Washington, D.C. They were immediately attracted to each other, which surprised Josh, seeing his father left little room in his life for anything, or anyone.
Abby was assistant to the Under Secretary of State for Arms Control and International Security at the State Department. Another one married to their work, never finding time to settle down with anyone, Turner mused as he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.
Paulo arrived on time as usual, and the two headed off to the restaurant located in the old town near the harbor district. They passed colorfully decorated shops and storefronts amidst the celebration of Dia de Santiago Apostol, the annual festival honoring their patron saint, and the town’s defeat of the English.
Paulo and Turner made their way through the busy streets of Santa Cruz, bypassing one of the many festival parades marching down toward the Plaza de Espana. The participants of the parade were dressed in brightly colored costumes, the custom for the island’s numerous festivals held throughout the year. There was dancing to the festive rhythms of music provided by live bands along the Plaza.
They turned onto Calle de la Marini Street and drove for another five minutes along the harbor before turning into the parking lot of the Cofradia de Pescadores restaurant.
The restaurant was one of the few out of the way establishments frequented by locals more often than the many tourists, who came to enjoy the mild, summer climate of the Canaries.
They made their way through the modest entrance of the restaurant and found the interior filled with the sounds of joviality. The intoxicating aroma of fine food drifted through the room, mingled with the soft clinking sound of silverware and muffled discussions in Spanish and English.
The smartly dressed waiters hurried about, serving their sizzling hot entrees to the delight of their patrons seated at spacious round custom-made tables. Each table was specially designed with its own distinct colorful pattern tablecloth, and accented with large high-backed cushioned chairs.
Turner was approached by a young host, who asked if they required a table.
“We are here to dine with Professors Turner and Santiago. Have they arrived yet?” he asked the host in fluent Spanish.
“Si’, Señor. They are seated and awaiting your arrival,” the host replied as he motioned them toward a table in the upper level of the restaurant at the rear of the establishment.
“Hello, Josh, my old friend!” a voice boomed from the end table.
Professor Carlos Santiago was a commanding figure of a man, standing at six feet tall with a broad smile hidden behind a thick goatee. He was wearing his traditional white cotton suit and checkered bow tie, which had become his trademark at the university.
Santiago was something of a legend at San Fernando University. He possessed a jovial spirit, and kindness to his staff and students. When he wanted something done, however, he exhibited all the tenacity and gracefulness of a rogue elephant on a rampage.
“Good evening, Carlos,” Turner said as he and Paulo sat down at the table. “Hello, Dad,” he added to his father, who was seated next to Carlos.
“Hello, Son. Was your trip to the states successful?” Eli Turner said, cutting right to business.
“It was, Dad,” Turner replied, a bit annoyed by the question. “I sent you an email with all the particulars. Here,” he said, handing the bag with the pipe and tobacco to his father. “I picked this up for you in Washington, D.C.Abby told me where to find it.”
“Thanks, Son,” the elder Turner said, lifting out his new pipe. “I broke the stem on the old one.”
“I hope you don’t mind that we mix business with pleasure this evening,” Carlos said as he signaled the waiter. “We need to discuss this find my daughter and Samuel made up on the slopes of Mt. Teide. She called me from the university an hour ago and gave me a brief overview. If it’s valid, I must make the proper arrangements for permits as expediently as possible.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Carlos,” Eli Turner said as the waiter approached the table with pad and pencil in hand. “This could be quite a unique discovery.”
“Where are Samuel and Maria?” Turner asked Carlos.
“Samuel and Maria will be along shortly, Josh. They went to meet with the linguistics head at the university before coming here. Hopefully they will have more information for us.”
“While we wait, I’ll have a Ron Miel,” Eli said to the waiter, having grown fond of the local mead rum made with palm honey. “Josh, would you like your usual?”
“I’ll have Jose Cuervo Black, on the rocks. Thanks, Dad.”
“I’ll have another Malvasia; it’s one of our finest island wines. Oh, and a soft drink for Paulo because he is driving tonight,” Carlos said as the waiter then hurried off to get their drinks.
“What do you two make of Maria and Samuel’s discovery?” Turner asked curiously, getting right to the topic at hand.
“I’m a bit intrigued, but just a bit more skeptical, Josh. Finding a parchment written in ancient Aramaic within a Guanche tomb? It’s a bit of a stretch,” Carlos said, finishing off the last of his Malvasia.
“I’m curious as to what is in the tomb, which Maria said was sealed with a flat cover stone. All of the other tomb entrances within the lava tube looked to be constructed with traditional piles of basalt rock,” Eli said as their waiter set their drinks down in front of them.
“I’m more curious as to who is in that tomb.” Carlos added with a puzzled look. “I had Maria email the enlarged and enhanced photo of the cover stone to me before I came here. I want you to tell me what you see, Josh,” he said as he reached beside his chair, pulled out a photo from his brief case, and handed it to Turner.