Chapter One #3
“We used to joke about Marianne being a reincarnated Maya scribe.” Juan patted his neck with a handkerchief. “The way she could read the glyphs was unnatural, even those pieces that had been damaged by looters’ tools.”
“Or half-weathered away thanks to time.” Angélica sighed. “I wish I had half of her deciphering ability. She could look at a photo of a carving and decipher a good portion of the meaning by sight alone. I always have to touch the glyph in person. It slows me down.”
“Gatita, your skills may not match hers yet in glyph reading, but you excel in other areas.”
“I don’t think so, Dad.”
He held out his hand toward the jungle in front of them. “You’re far better with a machete than she was.”
She scoffed. “That is not something to be proud of. Any chicle farmer could put me to shame.”
“Speaking of chicleros,” Quint said, chopping through another tangle of branches. “I noticed some sapodilla trees back there with zig-zag scars on the trunks. I thought harvesting chicle in any Mexican reserve was illegal.”
Angélica had seen the sapodilla trees, too. “Those scars looked pretty shallow.”
“Meaning what?”
“They’re old,” Juan answered, holding the map up in front of him as he turned in a slow circle.
The chicle farmers had long ago scored the trees to collect the milky latex sap that trickled down the trunk.
They would then cook it until the sap coagulated into natural chewing gum.
This forest-sustainable tradition could be traced back to the ancient Maya.
Thanks to some regional consortiums that now worked together to distribute the chicle worldwide, the chicleros were able to continue this work and make money for their families.
But Quint was right—this place was supposed to be off limits unless special permission was granted by official departments, such as INAH.
“Judging by how shallow the scars were,” Angélica said, “and the lack of any other signs of human activity between our camp back at Calakmul and here, I’m betting nobody has been around to harvest chicle since the government established this land as a biosphere reserve.”
“The lack of any signs of human activity …” Quint echoed, turning in her direction. “So, you’re admitting we’re lost, then.”
“No, I’m just considering the notion that we’re not on a defined path at the moment.” She slashed at a thorn-covered branch Quint had missed. “You know, kind of like your life lately,” she joked.
“I’m on a defined path, woman.” He glanced at her with his brow lined, his eyes searching hers. “Or at least I was until your boss called at the last minute and ordered you to cancel our vacation plans and return to this damned jungle ASAP.”
Angélica winced slightly as soon as he returned to slashing through the thick underbrush.
Her boss over at INAH hadn’t actually ordered her back to work.
He’d called to inform her that there was a geoarchaeologist from a well-known university in the United States who was offering some big money if the Mexican government would let him bring his LIDAR results to the site and do a little digging.
Or a lot of digging, since LIDAR was a remote sensing method of ground data collected from high up in an aircraft.
Initially, the data recorded via the flyover was studied in an office, usually far away from the actual site—and the humidity, bugs, and snakes.
From the other side of a computer screen, the viewer could examine the surface of the earth to detect anomalies, such as temples hidden from the naked eye by the jungle canopy.
But true analysis required up close, eyes-on-the-prize examination.
According to the email sent by Dr. Clifford Fernel, he wanted to hike into this site to do some “ground truthing,” which involved scraping away the forest floor to uncover what he thought his LIDAR data was showing him—a small, hidden complex of potential buildings splayed out in an almost rectangular configuration with a possible temple near the center.
But Angélica didn’t like the idea of an outsider coming down here and finding a long-hidden truth that might make him shine brightly in the annals of archaeological history. Not when her mother had flagged this site as a potential gem in the crown of the ancient Maya’s glory years.
It had been Angélica’s idea to immediately cancel the romantic vacation Quint had planned for them so she could get the jump on Dr. Fernel, who wanted to bring in some fancy tech and drones.
She knew that if she returned to INAH after a week or two of scouting the area with the recommendation that she and her mostly Mexican-based crew should work the site to potentially open it up for tourism, her boss would put off Dr. Fernel for the time being.
But she hadn’t conferred with Quint before putting a kibosh on their trip, something she probably should have done.
She kicked aside a branch left in Quint’s wake.
After years of being in charge of what jobs she took and when, it was hard to adjust to returning to a joint decision.
Besides, he wouldn’t understand how important it was to beat Dr. Fernel to the punch here.
Nobody would, not even her father, who worried she obsessed about shining a spotlight on her mother’s theories and ideas more than her own.
“Are you sure you deciphered your mom’s notes about this place correctly?” Quint took a break from hacking back the foliage. His shirt now clung to his broad shoulders and chest, soaked with sweat.
She offered him her canteen. “What do you mean?”
“You said she wrote it’s some kind of religious site?”
Angélica nodded, flicking a tick off his shoulder while he gulped several swallows of water. “She believed it was extremely sacred to the Maya.”
“Hmm. I’m having trouble believing that a place so revered is this hard to get to.
” Quint glanced around. “I mean, wouldn’t the Maya people want to make pilgrimages here if that were the case?
You know, maybe clear a place to land a helicopter and set up tents for some kind of revival?
Make a big altar or two where they could perform a little bloodletting for the Maya gods and then drink some of that sweet, fermented tree-bark wine we had at past ceremonies? ”
Juan lowered the map. “You mean balche wine.”
“Yeah, the stuff that transformed you into a lizard.”
“Actually, I was a frog.”
“It’s not that kind of sacred.” Angélica interrupted her father before he really got rolling on another tale of his past adventures after too much balche. She took the map from him.
“What other kind of sacred sites are there?” Quint asked.
“The haunted kind,” Juan said in a spooky voice.
“None of that haunted crap again, Dad.”
“They come with bigger bugs and scarier snakes,” her father continued in his normal tone. “Like one of the most worrisome types of pit vipers, the fer-de-lance, which is known around these parts as mean old barba amarilla.”
“Yellow beard?” Quint translated. Apparently, his Spanish was improving along with his knowledge about the Maya civilization.
Juan nodded. “Their fangs can shoot venom up to six feet and break through even the toughest boots. Plus they often leap up when they attack, catching passersby above their protective snake gaiters.”
“Jesus, and I thought the rattlesnakes at the last dig were terrors.”
“And don’t forget about the curses left behind at these old sites to keep intruders away,” Juan added.
She cast a glare over the map at her father. “Don’t start up with the curses, either.” To Quint, she explained, “When I say ‘sacred,’ I mean a place limited to only the elite Maya, such as kings and shamans. Maybe nobles, maybe not.”
“Why is it so sacred?” he asked.
“You remember how there are thirteen levels to heaven and nine levels to Xibalba?”
“The Maya Underworld.” Quint nodded. “Yeah, and the Lord of Death rules at the very bottom.”
Juan smirked. “Good ol’ Yum Cimil, the Flatulent One.”
“According to Mom’s notes,” she continued, “the Pre-Classic Maya believed this site was an entry point at the terrestrial level between the two.”
“It seems like the time-range for the term ‘Pre-Classic’ is shifting according to what I’ve been reading. You mean prior to 200 CE?” At her nod, Quint asked, “An entry point for whom, though?”
“More like what?” Juan said, back to sounding spooky.
“For the Maya gods,” she told Quint. “Mom wrote that it was believed they were able to come and go from our plane with ease through this particular site, so the kings and shamans would come here to make sacrifices.”
“As in to sacrifice other humans? Or just drip some of their own blood on a cloth to be burned during a ceremony?”
“Possibly both, but we won’t know for sure until we look around a little. Maybe dig some.” That was why Angélica needed to check out this site before Dr. Fernel or anyone else. If her mother was right, this could be a very unique site.
“And maybe not even then,” Juan said. “If the site has been damaged by looters or chewed up by the jungle, we may not be able to actually confirm more than the fact that it was indeed trespassed by the Maya at some point, let alone prove what Marianne theorized in her notes.”
“Which is why we’re checking it out,” Angélica added, comparing the ridge rising out of the jungle on her left with what she believed was the same ridge noted on the map.
“I thought we’re here mainly because the Mexican government wants you to find new and exciting locations for tourism,” Quint said.
“That, too.” But that wasn’t as pressing as being the first on site, so that any potential major findings were attributed to her mom rather than some gung-ho geoarchaeologist. “With Guatemala upping the game and opening its borders to more archaeo-tourism, Mexico is losing out to sites just south of us over the border.”
“Like Tikal?” Quint asked.
She nodded. “And El Mirador. Plus other sites in the Guatemalan highlands now visible thanks to LIDAR.”
“The Guatemalan government upped their mapping game,” Juan explained for Quint’s sake.
“There are hundreds of small city-state sites that are sexier than the more established sites here in Mexico, partly because they haven’t been explored physically yet, but also because of how the findings at these sites might change the historical narrative on the Maya civilization. ”
“And its predecessors.” Angélica frowned up at the thick tree canopy overhead. Maybe if she climbed partway up one of the trees she could get a bird’s-eye view of their location. If only spider monkeys could talk.
Her father took the map from her again. “It’s like a treasure hunt for anyone with access to LIDAR data and money to pay for guides and transportation.” He bit his lower lip as he stared at the map. “This is not detailed enough. You should have brought along the tablet, like I suggested.”
She probably should have, even if the LIDAR data on it was a few years older.
It might not have been as exact as the new data offered, but it would have been better than using the old-fashioned, laminated paper map method.
Although experience had taught her that technology didn’t always fare so well in a rainforest.
Rather than admit her dad was right, she took off her hat to check it inside and out for ticks.
“I’m worried the looters probably beat everyone else to this site,” she said.
“Up until the 1970s, when countries started banning the sale of looted goods, grave robbing and treasure hunting was a free-for-all.”
Juan huffed. “Even if Marianne’s notes say otherwise, I suspect the chances of us finding anything other than rubble under the jungle are slim.”
“You know,” Quint said, “you two should work on your motivational speech making. I’m starting to question whether to swing the machete again or not.”
She pointed at his machete. “Swing away, Mr. Muscles. This conversation is why we need to check this site out. Keep your fingers crossed it’s been so tucked away that even those who would destroy it in search of Maya gold and jade haven’t found it.
” She jammed her hat back onto her head. “Give me back that map.”
Her father handed it over. “I told you before, gatita, we’re lost.”
“Maybe we should head back to Cancun and try again next month,” Quint joked.
“We’re not going back.”
“Fine, but I want to make it known that I agree with Juan, we should have gone right at that Y in the path.” Quint started swinging his machete again, only angling to the right through the trees.
“Hold this side of the map, Dad.” After he grabbed it, she pointed at the spot where she was pretty sure they were standing at the moment. “I think we’re here and the site is there, to the northwest a little more.”
Her father looked up at the sky. “We only have a couple hours of light left, gatita. Maybe we should head back and start again tomorrow at sunrise. I’m too old to camp in the middle of nowhere without the rest of the crew around to offer some protection.
Lord only knows what patrols this place in the dark. ”
Angélica sighed, lowering the map. “Maybe you’re right.”
She frowned back the way they’d come. Shit. If the rest of the site was as overgrown as where they were standing, she might have to give in to Dr. Fernel and his fancy LIDAR tech gadgets in order to make heads or tails of what happened here long ago.
She wiped at the sweat running down her cheek. “But I don’t want to—”
“Hey!” Quint called. “You two get your brainy buns over here!”
Angélica rolled the map and stuffed it in her pack, then led the way with her machete. Quint had gone almost thirty feet along the ridge while they’d been looking at the map.
“Look what I found,” Quint said as she and her father drew near.
He stepped aside, using his machete to move a few fronds. Beyond the vegetation, the jungle opened into a small, sunlit clearing with a couple of tarp-covered tent-like shelters held up by freshly cut poles and nylon ropes.
“Jackpot!” Juan clapped his hands together. “A hundred points to our good luck charm for saving the day.” He eased by Angélica, patting Quint on the shoulder as he passed him and headed into the clearing. “I’m sure glad I brought you along, boy.”
Across the way, two men in camouflage clothing with pistols strapped to their hips emerged from one of the tents.
“I hope those two are on our side,” Quint murmured.
She stepped up next to him, flicking a mosquito off his shirt sleeve. “INAH was worried about us being out here without armed guards, what with the cartel crews and other troublemakers who hide under the canopy.”
“Yeah, well let’s just cross our fingers the troublemakers are human this time.”
“Fewer sharp teeth would certainly be nice.”
“You know what, boss lady?”
She looked up at him. “What?”
The flirting glint was back in his gaze. “One hundred points means I won.”
She shook her head. “This game isn’t over yet, Parker.”