“the Cat’s Dowry”
a Jaguar Tale
by
e.j. Springer
“the Cat’s Dowry”
a Jaguar Tale
copywrite by author
e.j. Springer
ISBN#978-1-4657-6232-0
2011
“The Cat’s Dowry”
A Jaguar Tale
Prologue
Mexico City
Dr. Jaime Gomez, Curator of Antiquities for The National Cultural Museum, stood at his office window gazing down upon the moving masses on their way to lunch or a meeting or even perhaps a noonday tryst. Cell phones attached to their ears, eyes hidden behind shades, they lithely dodged contact with their fellow man as they journeyed toward somewhere. Dr. Gomez pulled his handkerchief from his suit pants, wiped his brow then glanced down at his watch. Only ten minutes had passed and now his appointment was officially late. Jaime’s growing unease with the scheduled meeting morphed into irritation and was quickly heading toward anger.
The appointment had been arranged late last night by an untimely, unprecedented phone call from the Director of the Museum, a colleague of twenty years, his boss of sixteen years and someone he considered a friend. With only a brief apology for the late hour and minimal cordialities, the Director practically ordered him to meet with a man by the name of Rafael Vargas at one o’clock the next afternoon in his office. The meeting would be brief. Jaime was to pay this Vargas five thousand pesos which had already been delivered to his office and in return he would receive a photo and instructions, instructions that Jaime was to follow without delay. Jaime was so surprised by the Director’s words, he could barely formulate a response. The request was not only unorthodox; it had the appearance of shady, even illegal activity. When Jaime finally questioned the Director, he limited his objection to just the “unorthodox” aspect.
The Director had remained firm. “Jaime, don’t ask me questions because I can’t answer them. This comes from the top, the Chairman of the Board. And it is not for us to question him. Besides, he asked specifically that you handle this. I would consider that an honor.”
Before Jaime could reply, the Director layered a thick coat of icing on the proverbial cake, “Oh and the good news is that I can tell you that the Chairman has confirmed your grant for the Yucatan excavation you’ve been wanting. Isn’t that wonderful? You deserve it old friend. Now call me immediately after you’ve met with Mr. Vargas. And get some sleep. It’s late.” The Director faked a chuckle before hanging up. Dr. Jaime Gomez sat staring at the phone as the uneasy feeling spread through him. When he finally turned off the lamp and lay next to his wife, he found sleep impossible. At two in the morning, he went downstairs and turned on his computer. He googled the name Rafael Vargas only to find that there were thousands. Then he searched the local papers for any reference to the man. He expanded the search. At four a.m., he shut down the computer. His wife woke him two hours later, snoring in his chair.
Dr. Gomez refocused on the landscape below wondering if he could pick Mr. Rafael Vargas from the streaming march of humans. Like rhythmic soldier ants, lines and rows of to and fro, the people of Mexico City went about their business. And then suddenly,one line widened and another line curved as the crowd separated, some picking up their pace, others stopping altogether, anything to avoid a lone sojourner who walked unsteadily yet purposely toward the Museum. He was without sunglasses, phone, hat or suit, dressed more like a day worker from the country in jeans and long sleeved shirt. Although he walked alone, the man was obviously having an animated conversation.
As he reached the Museum steps, Rafael Vargas stopped. He licked two fingers and raked them through his hair. He checked the tucks of his shirt and adjusted the buckle on his belt. “Now listen, cousin, let me do all the talking. We have a meeting with a man. This man is going to give us five thousand pesos. We can go home and even have enough good stuff to feel free for a while. So trust me and I’ll take care of you, just like I always have.”
Dr. Gomez stared at the young man then turned away from the window and sat down at his desk. One story line often repeated in both the bible and in literature had been running through his mind. It ended with “a deal with the devil”
The security guard at the Cultural Museum watched the dirty young drunk stagger up the steps toward him, all the while having an animated conversation with no one. Just as he reached the top step, the guard stepped outside and held up his hand to stop. “The cantina is down the street, amigo.”
Rafael Vargas covered his mouth with dirty fingers and shared a laugh with his cousin. Then he looked up at the guard through pupils as small as pin pricks and announced his business. “We got a meeting with the curator, a Senor Gomez. He’s expecting us. Tell him that Rafa is here. Rafa Vargas.”
The security guard stared at the obviously stoned Rafa Vargas but acknowledged his expected arrival by opening the door. Calling another guard to take his place, he led the young man up the stairs and down the hall, to the door of Dr. Jaime Gomez. “I’ll be right outside, ready to escort him out,” he informed the Curator before shutting the office door.
Dr. Gomez watched the young man fumble through his pockets, emptying cigarette butts, small change and bits of paper onto his desk. In his back jeans pocket, Rafa finally found his treasure, a Polaroid snapshot. He turned to the vacant chair next to him and grinned in satisfaction before laying it on the desk. He pointed to the picture. “See that’s me, Rafa Vargas, holding the stone. Those are my fingers. See?” Rafa held his fingers up in the air before sitting back down in his chair. The Polaroid was a close up of a man’s fingers holding a chip of jade stone, incised with markings.
“And where is the original stone that you took this from?” Dr. Gomez asked pretending to study the photo as he studied the man. He was use to huaqueros who either stole or fabricated antiquities. And over the years, he’d developed a sixth sense for plucking the authentic and exposing the fraudulent. But this meeting, in fact the whole situation was unlike any other. He rephrased the question, “Rafa, where is the stone chip now?”
Rafa was confused by the question. They had told him everything was already set up. He was supposed to give the photo to Gomez, collect the money and what else? There was something else he was supposed to do but in the heroin haze he just couldn’t remember. He needed to clear his mind. He needed another hit.
Rafa ran his dirty fingers through his greasy hair, looking down at his feet. Then he broke into hysterical laughter. “Oh yeah, cousin, now I remember. Hold on, I got it.” He leaned down and pulled first his right and then his left tennis shoe off. He peered inside the right shoe as if gazing into a kaleidoscope, the looked up at Jaime Gomez. There it was, a folded piece of paper pressed against the heel. He pulled it out and waved in before the Curator.
“Do you have my money?” Rafa dangled the paper at arm’s length ready to make a trade. Jaime Gomez rose from his chair and pushed the button on the side of his desk. He’d given up any hope of getting information out of the confused young man. He walked around his desk and pulled a white envelope from his breast pocket. As he reached out his left hand to make the swap, Rafa pulled back holding the note against his chest. “Easy Rafa, here’s the money and I’ll take the paper.” Rafa momentarily debated before agreeing to the trade. Once the swap was made, he fell to his knees and began kissing the envelope. “We did it, Estefan. We got it. See, I told you we would get it.”
The security guard opened the office door.
“Please escort Rafa here downstairs. I believe our business is finished. Mr. Vargas, is there anything else you were supposed to tell me?”
Rafa crawled toward his shoes. Sitting on the floor, he tugged them on just as the guard gently prodded him to his feet. Once upright, Rafa pushed the guard away, anxiety or paranoia or hallucinations once again overwhelming him. He flailed his arms about as if swatting flies. “Estefan and me, we put the name of the place where we found it on the back of the picture. That’s where she’s supposed to go and, um, you know, find him, it.” Jaime’s eyes darted around the room stopping at the door. He slowly backed his way toward the exit.
“Find who?” Jaime shouted. “Rafa, find who?”
Rafa put his hand over his ears as if the question hurt. The guard firmed up his grip. “Answer Dr. Gomez’s question. Who is he supposed to find.”
Rafa’s body relaxed momentarily. He glared at the guard then his face softened. He lowered his head and whispered, “They called it Balam. I call it “El Diablo” Then he pulled away from the guard and fled down the hallway screaming, “El Diablo”.
Alone in his office, Dr. Jaime Gomez stared at the piece of paper. Everything about this scenario stunk, from the director’s call to the disturbing events he had just witnessed in his office. Yet he knew that he would play his part as requested. The good Doctor leaned back in his chair and scowled. He hadn’t like the Director’s interference. He certainly didn’t trust the messenger. And as he reread Rafa Vargas’s crumbled piece of paper, he certainly didn’t like the message. But he wasn’t surprised at who the message was for. With a heavy intake of breath, Dr. Gomez picked up the phone and dialed.
Sleep hath its own world,
and a wide realm of wild reality.
And dreams in their development have breath,
and tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy.
Lord Byron
BOOK ONE
Santa Fe, New Mexico
It always begins with a dream: The air is old, a musky mixture of damp and decay. Transparent drapes of wispy moss and spider webs cling to vines that slowly uncurl from the ceiling. A steady drip of water repeats an eerie tempo within the cave. An old man, naked from the waist up, slowly shuffles toward the altar and bows as he chants a long forgotten song. He turns, startled by footsteps, yet his eyes remain closed. He slowly lifts one arm and points at two shadows cast against the cave wall as he whispers in the old language, “Cali tok Balam kumn octum l’ooch.” The old Shaman opens his eyes and like fairy dust crystallizes into nothingness, the sound of his warning echoing off the cave walls.
Two streaks of light flash across the floor then crisscross and circle against the rear wall. Both finally rests upon a carved stone slab mounted within a limestone block and framed by rotting wood beams. The men stand before the stone stele talking in whispers as they stare at unrecognizable symbols etched in dark green jade. The taller of the two kneels before the ancient stone and withdraws a blade. His knife refracts the light as he stabs at the words inscribed upon the stone. Poised for another strike, he stops his arm in mid air. Both men turn toward the sound of footsteps, their eyes instantly filled with terror. A flashlight drops to the floor as a piercing sound echoes within the cave. It is the roar of an angry guardian.
Chapter I
Cali Cleary slowly opened her eyes. Her best feline friend Maya was already awake, her little face just a few inches away, her eyes locked onto Cali’s.
“Now that was a strange dream. Did you hear the Shaman actually talk to us?” Cali asked. Maya yawned. “I’ll take that as a yes, thank you.” Cali rolled onto her back while Maya stretched for a tummy scratch, both positions good for pondering the night’s cryptic vision.
The old Shaman who starred in most of Cali’s dreams always appeared in grainy shades of gray, reminiscent of vintage films. He spoke the language of her mother’s tribe, the Kogi of the Santa Marta Mountains in Colombia, a language Cali learned as a child but hadn’t spoken aloud for many years. Most of the time, the shaman talked in low melodic tones as he recited folklore in rhymes, repeating old cryptic wisdoms in either poetry or song. Sometimes, the Shaman would look directly at her and with a wave of his hand, a 21st Century version of the surrounds would be spliced into the dream, full of color and modern characters. These were Cali’s favorite dreams. They weren’t filled with interesting but worthless information. They actually related to her everyday life, often providing useful information. The Shaman of the 21st Century had not only guided her to financial gains, he had helped her establish quite a reputation as a “finder”. But tonight her dream took a completely different turn. The Shaman of the vintage films had not only called her by name, he had sent her a warning. He’d never done that before.
Cali replayed the night’s wanderings, reel by reel and then by snapshots until the layout of the cave was firmly etched into her memory. But when she froze the images of the two faces for her mental archives, she was drawn to their eyes and the terror within. What frightened them?
She shook off that last image and leapt from her bed. Over analyzing had proven to be a waste of time. There were some things that were just inevitable. Like, sometime in the near future, she would find herself in that very cave only she wouldn’t be dreaming.
When these prophetic dreams first arrived, Cali believed she was dreaming in metaphor that the scenery and places weren’t real only symbolic of other places and events. But she came to discover that her dream places were all too real. She just hadn’t visited them as her conscious self. As to the Shaman, Cali accepted him as a guide, someone her mother sent to help her through life. She gave up long ago trying to figure it out, talk it out or black it out.
Cali’s half brother, Carlos, labeled these special dreams Triple A’s which initially they labeled Archeological Action Adventure but after her last few excursions came to be known as Another Anxiety Attack. At least from Carlos’s point of view. Cali was of a different mindset. The Shaman had been visiting her for as long as she could remember but the modern sequences had only arrived three years before, just after her eighteenth birthday. Those new additions proved to be precursors of a new adventure. And if everything worked as it had in the past, Cali would find something well hidden, something coveted and typically something of value, a treasure from the past. And Cali was itching for some excitement.
The last four months had been spent cataloging a Pre-Colombian collection of artifacts generously donated to the School of American Research. The work was mildly interesting and paid well, but a library and computer were no match for onsite digs in the jungle. With coffee in hand, Cali headed to the study.
She picked up the three page fax she’d received the night before from Dr. Jaime Gomez, Curator of the Antiquities Department of the Cultural Museum in Mexico City, and went immediately to page two. It was a photocopy of a photograph of a man with dirty fingernails holding a two inch by three inch piece of jade supposedly found in a tomb in Guatemala. Some of the markings on the chip weren’t clear but three hieroglyphics were well defined.
The first symbol was a rectangle with a circle in the middle, the sign of blood. The second was the insignia of the jaguar cult, a not uncommon marking but unique for that region of northern Guatemala. The third and most mysterious hieroglyphic was the family logograph of a ruler who until now was believed to be mythical. Cali flipped to page three of the fax. There was only one sentence handwritten by Dr. Gomez. ‘Call me on my private line at 6:00 am your time.’ Jaime
It was 6:05 am and Cali and Jaime Gomez had concluded their niceties.
“Jaime, tell me what you couldn’t fax to me.” The immediate answer was a heavy intake of breath and an even heavier exhale.
“Cali, I wanted to caution you about accepting this offer. The man who brought me the photo was obviously someone’s pawn.” Dr. Gomez hesitated.
“So you don’t think he was the person who discovered the stone chip? He was acting on someone else’s behalf? What’s his name?”
“Rafa Vargas and I think he may have been the one who discovered it but I don’t know that for sure. He was crazy on drugs, lapsing in and out of hallucinations. But I’m sure that someone else told him your name and wrote the note. I was supposed to fax you the note with the photo but I wanted to talk with you first.” Cali waited for a continuation of the “talk to you first” suggestion but there was only silence on the phone.
“Jaime, tell me why you’re so upset. You know as well as I do that people in our, excuse me, my line of work, are contacted discreetly or anonymously all the time. You and I have worked with middle men many times. Just like you and Dad always did. What’s stressing you on this referral?”
Dr. Gomez cleared his throat. “Maybe I am making too much of this, but I’ve followed your typical advice and deferred to my instincts. And this situation stinks all the way to my boss. In sixteen years I’ve never been ordered to follow instructions blindly. So I ask myself, “Why does someone have to hide and manipulate the discovery of this tomb? There’s something sinister about it. Why not just come to me and ask me to forward this stone chip to you from this benefactor. Why bribe me to service when I would offer it freely? Whenever anything comes to my attention in relation to the Jaguar Cult, I wholeheartedly refer to you just as I referred such matters to your father when he was alive. And likewise, you would leap at any opportunity to embrace your heritage. That’s the mystery. Why is this so called benefactor circuitously employing you through such an odious middle man?”
The sincerity of his concern caused Cali to sit back and reflect. Dr. Gomez had never been an alarmist. In fact, he typically underplayed dangers whenever possible. And then of course, there was her dream. She had seen a man stab away at a large stone stele, breaking off a chip at the corner. Cali never discussed her prophetic dreams with Dr. Gomez and now didn’t seem like the time to introduce him to another of her peculiarities.
“Jaime, I appreciate your concern and I will consider everything you’ve said. Now please, send me the fax with the note. I promise that I will let you know what I’ve decided to do. Agreed?” Another anxious inhale and exhale answered.
“There’s something else. Just yesterday, I received a letter from the Antiquities Director of a Colombian University referring to a celt (inscribed stone popsicle) found in Central Colombia less than a month ago. The celt was deemed authentic, rare and undeniably remarkable in that it referred to a jaguar priestess’s wedding and dowry. A family logograph (visual symbols representing words rather than sounds or in this case a family insignia) was found at base of the celt. It was the very same family logograph that was carved into the jade chip found in Sha’inai. That isn’t a coincidence. They must be connected.”
“If they are connected, then this family was very very important. I’ve never heard of any one family with influence from Colombia all the way up to Guatemala. Unless…” Cali didn’t finish the sentence when she finished the thought.
“Unless what, Cali?”
“Nothing. Just a big jolt of imagining. I think there was some old folk tale my Aunt once told me once, but never mind, go on.”
Dr. Jaime Gomez didn’t question her further. He was preparing to drop the last bit of news on Cali. “Last night, when I came back to my office, the original Polaroid that I had placed in my top drawer was gone. I ask myself, who would take it? And the answer is someone who also wants to find the jaguar tomb in Sha’inai. And that leads me to the last matter, the warning at the end of the note. It's disturbing that the same person that solicits your help also warns you. ”
“Warning? What warning?”
“I’ll fax it to you. Please let me know what you decide.”
Cali sat down and stared at the fax machine. Maya had strolled into the room and brushed her tail against Cali’s leg. Looking down, Cali shared her thoughts, “Maya, it seems that something odd is happening. I just received my second warning of the day and I haven’t even had breakfast.” Maya licked her lips in response.
Chapter 2
Sha’inai, Guatemala
General Yengko wasn’t a bit happy. He stormed around his tent smoking skinny brown cigarettes and releasing Chinese curses. Madam Chang entered with a cup of tea, hoping it would ease the fury of her employer and occasional lover. Both were dressed in jungle military garb, long sleeve white shirts tucked into khaki pants, cinched at the waist by a black belt with a holstered pistol on one hip and a sheathed knife in the other. Neither was very tall but the General kept his shape for a man in his fifties, while Madam Chang had added a notable thickness to her middle. She ritualistically bowed to her waist and waited for him to recognize her before lifting her eyes.
“Is he conscious yet?” the General asked in Chinese. Madam Chang shook her head no and returned her eyes to the ground. “I don’t want any tea and I don’t want to be disturbed unless he is awake and talking.”
Madam Chang backed out of the tent. Once outside, she threw the untouched tea on the ground and looked at the world with angry eyes. Her gaze stopped at the lazy Colombian who was sitting outside his tent, scratching and smoking, his head bobbing to the rhythm of his headset. He thought she hadn’t seen him slip his flask of tequila inside his vest pocket but there was very little that Madam Chang missed. She marched over to the flimsy aluminum chair and kicked it from behind. Flako opened his eyes and slowly disengaged the miniature ear plugs. They stared at each other, their mutual disregard all too apparent. “The General want you to check the lake shore. He says you should check it every hour.”
Flako didn’t move from his chair. He enjoyed provoking the Chinese woman. “I walked the shoreline an hour ago. And it will be dark soon. No one’s coming tonight.”
Madam Chang snarled back at him, “Walk it again. The General does no like surprises. And he no like it when you drunk.”
Flako cursed at her in Spanish before he got up, shouldered his rifle and left the campsite. He didn’t like taking orders from a woman. But he would bide his time until his real boss allowed him to teach the Chinese hag a lesson. While he was still in her sights, he withdrew his flask and took a long draw.
The General overheard everything from his tent. He relaxed on his cot confident that Madam Chang would protect his interests as well as his life. She had never failed him in the past. As a soldier under his command with the army, she had been tireless, obedient and remarkably astute for a peasant girl from the western borders of China. He’d taught her discipline and gave her purpose. He also became her first and only lover, or so he believed. When he was forced out of the army by a jealous comrade she revealed the depth of her loyalty. The man was found with his eyes, testicles and heart cut from his body. The General had been hundreds of miles away at the time so there was no doubt of his innocence. Yes he’d taught her well. Maybe too well. Drawing blood seemed to impassion her senses as well as arouse her sexually. She had developed a taste for torture.
Madam Chang soon returned to his tent. “He’s awake General.”
They left the campsite and headed toward the ancient pyramid and the offering cave dug into the lower tier. Madam Chang lit two torches staked into the ground and shut off her flashlight. The guide was moaning into consciousness, his chin rolling upon his chest. His arms were trussed at his wrists then stretched over his head, dislocating his shoulder sockets with his weight as he could no longer stand with his Achilles tendons deftly severed. They were the first of many slices Madam Chang took from him. He lifted his eyes and saw her walking toward him and released the last liquids in his body. She grabbed a handful of hair and yanked the guide’s head back.
“Now Miguel, save yourself and tell the General where you find the stone.” The Mexican guide began to mumble a prayer or a plea in Spanish. Madam Chang answered him with an upward stroke of her knife. The guide’s left nipple fell onto his thigh. His screams bounced off the walls. He looked up at the General with the eyes of a man who knew he was about to die. “I didn’t find the stone. It was Estefan and Rafa who found it. Rafa came back to our village alone with the stone chip and some crazy story about following a ghost to a cave. He said there the rocks were crying to him. Crazy talk, but then he showed me the stone and said that we could find the crying rocks again. Then Rafa told me that Estefan was waiting here, protecting the tomb and I was supposed to meet him here and together we would take you to the mound of rocks.”
“So you lied to us before about finding the tomb yourself. Are you lying now?” The General demanded as Madam Chang’s knife circled Miguel’s face.
“No, I swear. Just ask Rafa. He should be here. Maybe he’ll come tomorrow or the next day. Then he’ll lead you to the tomb.”
General Yengko momentarily raged within but soon regained control of his emotions as he had been taught. He performed a crisp about face and marched out of the cave. Outside, he lit a skinny brown cigarette, inhaled deeply then slowly exhaled. He was prepared for this inconvenience. Every good strategist anticipated bumps in the road and prepared alternative moves. When plan A didn’t work, plan B went into effect. And plan B went into effect two days ago when Rafa Vargas delivered the jade chip to the Museum Director in Mexico City. The General wasn’t aware of the specifics but his benevolent benefactor assured him that the only person who could locate the tomb was on the way. His wise benefactor also informed him that the Jaguar Cult was very much alive and ready to step out of the shadows. And even though the General had never spoken to his benefactor face to face, he believed that their partnership was predestined, just as this quest was preordained for him and him alone.
He was, after all, a modern day warrior with the blood of the great Shoguns running through his veins. With this discovery, he would prove once and for all his ancestors were the original inhabitants of the ancient Americas. His peoples’ influences were obvious throughout Central and South America but soon he would have undeniable proof, a three thousand year old inscribed stone stele written in the symbols of the Dragon Lords. Yes he would have proof that it was the dragon warriors that sailed to the Americas thousands of years ago and it was the heirs of the dragon warriors that founded the ancient jaguar cult. His benefactor was no doubt a high ranking member of the cult and the General looked forward to the day when they would finally meet and share their glorious histories.
The General extinguished his cigarette beneath his heel then turned to the east. Clasping his palms together, he bowed to his waist and offered thanks to his forefathers, their wisdom and lastly to himself and his own brilliance for holding a trump card.
He turned to find Madam Chang standing silently behind him. Her shirt appeared tie-dyed in red, the swirls of splattered blood forming an abstract painting.
“Finish it. He is of no use to us now.”
She acknowledged the order with a satisfied smile. Then General Yengko marched back to their campsite envisioning a very passionate Madam Chang in his tent later that night.
Chapter 3
Santa Fe, New Mexico
“I’m whipping up the pancakes as I presume that you’ve had a Triple A dream and that you’re headed somewhere in the jungle,” Carlos announced when Cali entered the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Pancakes were the traditional fare of the Cleary clan whenever there was a touchy subject to be discussed.
“You may be the only one with a well informed dream Shaman but I would make a good detective. I heard the fax machine go off after midnight and you were up at 5:00 this morning. As the English master would say, “Something’s afoot.”
“You’re remarkable, my wise and talented older brother. What other tidbits of information have you gleaned from the evidence?”
“The message came from Dad’s old friend, Jaime Gomez, so it probably has something to do with the Jaguar cult.”
“You put Watson to shame. Of course, he couldn’t resort to reading other people’s faxes.”
The sibling banter was interrupted by the fax machine’s high pitched signal.
“I’m pulling the pancakes now,” Carlos yelled down the hall as Cali double timed it to the office. She quickly read the contents of the note.
Cali Cleary. A Jaguar princess announces her wedding. Another princess is called to witness. Your fee: one hundred thousand dollars. Your goal: Find the jaguar altar in Sha’inai. All excavation rights and treasures are to be turned over to the Antiquities Department of the Cultural Museum in Guatemala City. All laws are to be observed. But beware. There are others seeking the stele. Trust no one. Find it and contact the proper authorities immediately. Then follow the directions on the stele map and the answers you seek will be found. I know that I can trust you, for you are your mother’s daughter. She was a remarkable woman. I hear that you are just like her. Remember, the summer solstice is upon us. Get to Sha’inai.
The note was signed with a symbol. It was an ancient hieroglyphic very familiar to Cali. She saw it daily in a weaving that hung over her bed. Balam – the jaguar god.
Cali returned to the kitchen and handed the message to Carlos who was half way through a super sized plate of pinon pancakes. After reading and rereading the fax, Carlos returned to his breakfast, his reaction to the note all too apparent. He was headed toward Another Anxiety Attack.
Carlos had stepped in as older brother/father figure long before Michael Cleary died. Their father was never the same after her mother disappeared in Colombia and they returned to the U.S. So the job of raising a six year old jungle child fell to Carlos who was but sixteen. He took Cali to her first day of school. He taught her to drive. He gave her the “talk” when she was twelve. And he encouraged her to embrace her “oddities” as gifts. But most of all, he was just always there.
Carlos was widely acclaimed for his portraits and colorful landscapes. He was also well paid for his talents and his success opened unending possibilities for his half-sister’s future. He had hoped that Cali would pursue her special gift with animals through conventional means like studying veterinary medicine or nurture her passion for archeology by following in their father’s footsteps as an Anthropologist. But Cali had another vision of her life.
Their only real argument occurred when Cali informed him that she was leaving the University and her studies in archeology to become a treasure hunter for hire. He argued that a PhD in Archeology would open all the doors she wanted for excavations. She argued that her methods of discovery would never be accepted by the academic world as she was already considered some kind of “freak psychic animal mystic”. So one year before achieving her Masters in Archeology, Cali withdrew from the academic world and entered the private sector. And in the last two years, she had proven to be undeniably successful. But that didn’t matter much at that moment.
“I know how important it is for you to resolve the disappearance of your mother, but I don’t like, let me rephrase, don’t trust this new client for invoking her. He or she appears to know exactly what strings to pull to make you jump.”
Cali cleared their plates without replying.
“Does your recent Triple A dream fit into this?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Well, that is some consolation. The Shaman has proven true in the past. What exactly are you looking for this time?”
“The artifact is a stone stele inlaid with jade, the hieroglyphics obviously very old. The markings reference a family, possibly one of the original jaguar priestesses. What makes it especially interesting is that it was discovered in an abandoned city considered too young for such a find. So to answer your question, we’ll be looking for a big piece of rock in a tomb with an altar dedicated to the jaguar in a city where the cult was never known to practice its rituals.”
“The note also mentioned there are other treasure hunters that may be seeking the same tomb. Like those guys who murdered that archeologist from Philly somewhere in South America.”
“That archeologist was seeking real treasure. This is just a stone slab with historical value. It’d be tough to sell it on the open market.”
“Well, it’s worth at least a hundred grand to someone and the note suggests that it may also be a map, a map that could lead to a real treasure.” Carlos interrupted.
“Or it could be a grocery list. Either way, Sha’inai is a very unimportant site that people have known about for years. Besides, I’m only going to Guatemala, which is right below Mexico. So don’t worry, Carlos. Sha’inai is probably as safe as our back yard. It will be like a vacation in the jungle.”
“Well, I hope you’ll at least call in the old guard. I’d feel better if Augie is with you.”
Cali glanced at her watch. It was teatime in England.
Chapter 4
Augustus C. Smythe, PhD wasn’t at home. His answering machine was.
“You have reached a machine which advises: “Brevity is the soul of wit. And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes.” Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2. Take heed all callers. Beep.”
Cali smiled as she listened to her friend’s message. Augie had a quote for every occasion or situation. Cali took heed of the answering machine’s advise, “Augie, it’s me. I’ve come across a very interesting glyph project and am headed to Guatemala. Can you meet me in Antigua? Love you.”
Cali was sure that Augie would not only respond quickly but that he would meet her in Guatemala. They shared the passion for discovery as well as the adrenalin rush of the mysterious unknown. Besides, their past treasure hunts had proven to be very lucrative.
They’d met awkwardly during an unpleasant encounter with drug dealers in a Quito bar/ brothel two years prior. The drug dealers mistook Augie for an undercover narcotics agent and in the course of their interrogation they threatened to cut off a most needed and wanted part of his anatomy. But it was a simple case of confusing names. The narc was to be meeting with a prostitute/informant named Lola. Augie was there for a drink with a young man named Lalo. Cali was there because she took a wrong turn.
When Augie asked for Lalo, he was roughly escorted to the back room by a very unpleasant pair of locals. Sensing something was awry, Cali walked into the back room and in her dumbest lost American girl posture, asked for directions. Cali believed in fate and when she sensed someone was in trouble, she did as she usually did, act without much thought and barge right in. If Lola hadn’t sent out the alarm that the real narc was about to get away, it could have been, as Augie later said, “A bloody mess”. The narcotics agent did get away thanks to the confusion and Augie and Cali left arm in arm, just like the true friends they were to become.
Each brought unique qualities to the partnership. Augustus C. Smyth, PhD. was a renowned master of the ancient languages of the Americas. Unlike most academics, he also relished the harsh reality of field work although whenever possible he would use his wealth to soften the conditions. Augie had brilliant recall, unwavering nerves and quick reflexes. But what made him the best partner besides his love of ancient civilizations and his droll English sense of humor saturated in satire was his sexual orientation. Augie was gay.
A jungle dig meant tight quarters and past experiences proved that a healthy heterosexual colleague could be a potion for trouble. Cali wasn’t tall or voluptuous or flirtatious but still, there was never a lack of admirers. Standing almost 5 feet 2 inches tall and weighing in at barely100 pounds, her small frame seemed to bring out the macho in males of all ages.
These same men were soon disappointed to discover that Cali wasn’t frail or typical or concerned with most feminine pastimes. Her brother Carlos described her as “a six foot two woman encased in a five foot two woman’s body.” Men usually mistook her small size for diminutive strength but she refused to be limited by physical stature and was a surprisingly fierce and capable fighter.
Cali had little interest in so called “womanly allure” as it typically favored uncomfortable shoes, inadequate underwear and the art of making up to look unmade up. She did most of her shopping at sports stores where a comfortable pair of hiking boots were like a pair of Jimmy Choo spikes to most women.
Cali’s coloring was a mixture of her heritage, one half Irish and one half Kogi Indian. Dark brown eyes, like inkwells her father would say, were set amid berry brown skin, compliments of the Kogi side. Most men admired her thick, long reddish blond hair, courtesy of her Celtic genes, but she typically wore it concealed under her habitual accessory, a baseball cap.
And then there was of course, her tendency to be attracted to often dangerous bad boys. She was drawn to confident men yet that very confidence often morphed them into ego maniacal control freaks. Whether her interest was a fellow student or a biker, the chemistry all too often turned into a toxic brew. So at twenty two years old, Cali had already sworn off men at least five times and was perfectly content with pursuing her career, which at the moment involved a tempting mystery.
Sitting at her desk, Cali read and reread the note. Whoever wrote it appeared to have honorable motives suggesting that the proper authorities be involved. He, for Cali sensed maleness, also seemed to know about jaguar lore even inferring that he knew her mother. He also offered her money but didn’t mention any payment details as if he knew she would accept with or without the financial lure. Cali replaced the note on her desk and headed to her room to pack for her trip to Guatemala.
She paused at the calendar hanging on her bedroom door. Was it a coincidence that this rare Jaguar relic should be revealed at this time of year, a time that had proven dangerous, even deadly to her family in the past? Was it a coincidence that the Shaman had warned her in her dream? Fortunately Carlos hadn’t put any of the dates together – yet. That was another good reason for her to leave immediately. Taking the calendar off its hook, Cali slipped it into her socks drawer.
Carlos didn’t believe in coincidences. Neither did Cali.
Chapter 5
Two days after the cryptic cave dream, Cali arrived in Guatemala City. Oddly, that dream which she initially interpreted as the beginning of this adventure was nothing more than a blip, arriving in force one night but was never epeated. However, a different and more frightening night vision came to Cali the last two nights, different in location, and frightening because the Shaman was noticeably absent. Yet Cali was sure that the newest dream was still somehow connected to the jade chip taken from Sha’inai.
Cali rarely offered specifics about her Triple A’s and Augie didn’t ask when they met in Antigua. Instead they caught up on news events and family while they packed the jeep for a week’s excursion into the jungle.
It was hot. Augie insisted that it was bloody hot, the air thick with humidity and the incessant buzzing of insects. During the five hour bumpy ride to the small village of Jacaltenago, they talked shop, Augie doing most of the talking. After studying the hieroglyphics from the faxes sent by Dr. Gomez for less than fifteen minutes, he sat silently staring at the road for another fifteen before beginning his dissertation on the jade chip from Sha’inai and the stone celt discovered in Colombia. In his typical fashion when discussing any archival material, Augie reverted to his professorial voice, serious in tone with each word crisply articulated.
“Both finds are unique because of the family signature, the logograph. But what makes them truly remarkable is not only the distance from the two discoveries, 1300 miles more or less, depending on the inland river routes, but the hieroglyphics are very old, in fact almost identical to Olmec figures dating back 3200 years ago. These very references, which I believe are authentic, put these small agrarian cities in Guatemala and Colombia back to approximately 1700 BC, about 500 years prior to the generally accepted dates.”
Augie paused to light one of his giant cigars. He was a man of many vices but cigars and brandy were at the top of the list. After relishing a few puffs, he continued, “Then there is the dowry of a jaguar princess, referred to in legend as “the Cat’s Dowry”. No one has ever found such a treasure or lived to tell about if they had. Most of the experts believe the princess’s dowry is pure myth. And for very good reason. There are no records of the marriage ritual as the society of the jaguar was too secretive. But if a dowry treasure does exist, it would be priceless. That treasure could be the Americas equivalent of King Tut’s tomb. Consider the implications of a family so influential that their daughter’s marriage was announce over a thousand miles away over three thousand years ago. We could be looking at the very foundation of the jaguar cult. So if this mythical royal family did exist, they could have had a daughter and thus a wedding which could also imply a handsome dowry. What a find that would be.” Augie paused and looked at Cali who appeared focused upon dodging potholes in the road.
“Cali, did anyone in your family ever mention the cat’s dowry? Maybe in the form of a Tairona folktale.”
The jaguar cult was the one subject Augie deferred to Cali’s expertise. And rightly so. Besides the academic pursuit, the mysticism of the jaguar cult was in her blood. Her mother, as her mother before her and so on for generations, carried the title of priestess of the Jaguar Cult. Cali’s mother’s tribe, the Kogi, still lived in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta Mountains in Colombia. They traced their heritage back to the time of the Olmecs when they were known as Tairona. They practiced then, and now, the ancient rituals of jaguar worship. The Tairona were eventually conquered by the Spanish and their cities abandoned, but a small number of the survivors scattered into small groups. Cali’s ancestors, the Kogi are the only known descendants of the lost Taironas.
The Jaguar God was prominent throughout the Central and South Americas but the mysterious cult was secretive as well as feared. There are few details of their rituals or belief system other than the folklore recited by village elders or a few surviving murals and codices. These stories tell of a high priestess that interacted, even mated, with the jaguar. The priestess used her powers of communication with the jaguar to protect the villagers from invaders as well as keep order within the tribe. Other tribes rarely spoke of the cult and if they did, they did so in whispers. Everything Cali knew about Jaguar lore she learned from her mother’s family and her father, the anthropologist who lived among the Taironas.
“The elders of the tribe spoke of an ancient treasure, sometimes called the dowry, but like most legends, there weren’t many specifics. It was just an old tale handed down through centuries and most probably altered or added to each time it was told. I always took it as a tribal fairy tale told to make girls feel good about getting married.” Cali turned to Augie and grinned and he replied with a silent professorial squint that screamed “refocus”.
“I will admit that at first I was skeptical about a jade chip incised with a reference to the jaguar cult being discovered in Sha’inai. But when I looked at the ancient trade routes that were established leading all the way up to the Yucatan, it suddenly didn’t seem improbable. The cult was secretly revered by many of the ancients. It’s the timing of the two discoveries that seems odd. And a little scary.”
“Why scary?” Augie was surprised to hear Cali use that word. He watched her shift uncomfortably in her seat as she slowed the jeep down.
“Augie, I told you that my mother died when I was six, but that isn’t exactly true. The truth is that I don’t know what happened to her. I only know that she left us. She was sick, my Aunt Tialora told me describing what I would call migraines. A fever had swept through the village that year. My aunt told me that her pain was extreme. She referred to my mother’s fever as “demon cries in her head”. It never made sense to me. For years I thought she would come back to us, that she went away to heal herself or get rid of the demons. But she never did come back. My father was so broken when she left that I couldn’t ask him why she left or why he didn’t he go after her. When I was older, he tried to explain it to me. He said she was in a great deal of pain and that modern medicine couldn’t help her. He told me that the jaguar was the only thing that could ease her pain. He said that she just walked into the jungle one day after telling both of us how much she loved us. He said that she was protecting me but he never said what she was protecting me from. I remember his exact words: “She loved us, especially you, but when the pain became too great, she went to the only place that could ease her torment and from there she could never to return to us.” Cali’s voice cracked as she repeated her father’s words. The pain of her mother’s abandonment swept through her as it often did.
Augie placed his hand upon her shoulder, gave it a squeeze but remained silent.
“I’ve always hoped that by unraveling the mysteries of the jaguar cult, I would also gain a deeper understanding of my so called “gifts” but more importantly I would understand why she left. I don’t even know if my mother dreamed any prophetic dreams. And I don’t know how or if she communicated with the jaguar or any animals. My aunt told me she was their greatest priestess and that I would come into my own, that everything would become clear. But it hasn’t.”
Cali slowed the jeep down to a crawl as she maneuvered through an arroyo.
“My mother was just a little older than I am now when she left us, Augie, just like her mother left her twenty five years before that.” Cali took a deep breath and exhaled. “And maybe not so coincidentally, both events occurred on the summer solstice.”
“Well, that’s less than two weeks from now, Cali.” Augie quickly calculated.
Cali jerked the jeep into second gear and picked up the pace.
“That’s why it’s scary.”
Chapter 6
American Embassy – Cartagena, Colombia
Agent Alex Cahill liked working for the Company. He loved a career spent in service to his country. He loved the excitement of foreign landscapes and the admiration of younger women. And he loved to flip his badge and watch people’s reactions through his dark mirrored sunglasses.
As he approached the gate of the Embassy, Alex flipped his badge and watched the Corporal react. Security levels remained at their highest level since the new round of drug cartel activity. Thus there were procedures for unannounced visitors.
“I’ll have to check in with my Sergeant before I allow you into the building, Sir. Please step into the courtyard and hold your arms out at your side. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
Alex raised his arms and smiled down at the much shorter Corporal. “Don’t sweat it, Corporal. We’re all just following orders. Tell your Sergeant to contact Mr. Jameson. He’s expecting me as of twenty minutes ago.”
“Alex, I’m surprised to see you this far south. You’re stationed in Guatemala City, aren’t you?” Jim Jameson smiled through his subtle putdown. There wasn’t much action in Guatemala City while Cartagena was teeming with drug lords, revolutionaries and notoriously exotic women. Alex didn’t let the comment rile him. He was onto something big.
“Jim, what can you tell me about a drug dealer named Gris Lobo?”
“The Wolf? You came all the way down here to ask me something that you could find out on the Company’s internet?”
“I’ve read what’s in the files. I want to know what’s not in the files and what he’s up to right now.”
Jameson leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin just like his grandpa used to do but grandpa had a beard. He’d been asked to cooperate with Cahill. He’d been told to make it a priority. He didn’t like the order that came without explanation. And he didn’t think much of Cahill.
“Gray Wolf’s real name is Pablo Cortas. He was a Lieutenant to an old marijuana smuggle who’d been around for years, a guy named Miguel Ortega. Their territory is in the southwestern part of Colombia, near Cali. Word has it that he wanted to use Ortega's smuggling routes and connections to transport cocaine instead of marijuana. But Ortega was from the old school, the one where you don’t kill your partners or exact retribution on a family. So Gris Lobo pulled a coup about a year ago, killed Ortega and took over his operation. A few of Ortega’s old transportation partners weren’t happy with the Wolf, so his operation has hit some snags. Word is he’s sitting on a couple tons of coke and no where to send it. I have heard a few new rumors that he’d cut a deal with some Russian smugglers and was setting up a new pipeline.”
Alex hadn’t heard anything he didn’t already know except the Russian connection. Maybe Jameson needed a little prodding.
“Has there been any new buzz about antiquities smuggling or any tombs being raided in his territory?
Jim Jameson couldn’t hold back his surprise. And his delight. Alex was working on a bad tip. “The Company doesn’t track antique deals here in Colombia, Alex. Maybe you should check with the DEA. They track him pretty closely. Gray Wolf’s drug business is high on their agenda.”
Both men sat silently. Jameson checked his watch. The meeting was a waste of his time. But Alex was pleased with everything he’d heard which meant that his employer would also be happy. It appeared that no one was looking for or talking about tombs or treasure.
Alex Cahill finally rose from his chair and extended his right hand as Jim Jameson smugly wished him good luck.
Outside the gate, Cahill turned to look up at the Jim Jameson’s window expecting him to be watching. He was. “Luck? I don’t need luck, Jimbo. You told me everything I needed to know.”
Chapter 7
Guatemala
“So tell me who will be joining us for our foray to Sha’inai? I presume your father had some connections in this area.”
“You presume right. Dad’s old tracker has retired but his son, Orlando, will be meeting us in Jacaltenago. He and I explored an area outside of Coban, his home town, a few years ago. He’s fluent in English, Spanish and all those difficult Mayan dialects besides being a great tracker. And he usually comes well armed and ready for trouble. You’ll like him,” Cali gave Augie a quick sideways glance.
“What else?” Augie lowered his sunglasses, “there’s something more you want to tell me.”
“Well since we kind of inherited each other, Orlando is a bit protective of me so he may come on a little strong in the beginning.”
“Oh Cali, not another macho man slashing his machete through the jungle, bare-chested with muscles rippling and glistening in the sun, another Tarzan to your Jane routine. Please tell me it isn’t so.” Augie resorted to his whiniest whine.
Cali laughed, “Orlando and I are just friends, always have been. He’s happily engaged to a gal in Coban. Trust me, you’ll get along great. And he loves a good joke, so you can use some of your old stale ones on him,”
“A big laugher, great. Anyone else joining us?”
“Orlando’s hired one of the locals from the village. I think he said his name was Jaffa. But we’ll find out soon enough. We should be coming into Jacaltenago any time now.”
The sun was low in the sky as Cali and Augie drove down the main drag of Jacaltenago, through the town center and parked at the pier jutting out over the river. Orlando warmly embraced Cali and forcefully shook hands with Augie. Next to Orlando stood a man not much taller than Cali, a Mayan with high cheekbones, straight lips, and the broad facial plane of his ancestors. Unlike his fellow villagers, he wore a tee shirt over the traditional short shorts. His ears were adorned with jade plugs designating him as a relatively wealthy man in the village. Upon introduction, Jaffa preformed a long soliloquy in Mayan. Orlando shortened the translation.
“Jaffa has three cut out canoes ready for tomorrow’s departure. We can store our supplies here at the dock. There’s a celebration in the village tonight and we’re all invited.”
As Cali had anticipated, the intricacies of the male ego revealed themselves immediately. Each vying for the position of first protector, a playful bickering began, Augie leading the charge.
“Miss Agnes,” Augie started, “I don’t understand why you insist on doing things the hard way. A power motor attached to that cut out canoe would make double time up the river. These little engines used by the locals will take twice as long. Less time on the river means more time excavating and shorter trips to and from this quaint little village for supplies.” Augie knew that Cali didn’t like to be called Agnes. Her given name was Agnes Catherine Frances Cleary and other than the nuns who attempted to educate (reform may be more accurate) her, no one she knew or liked called her anything but “Cali”, taken from the city in Colombia. To express his playful teasing, Augie wrinkled up his nose, pursed his lips and batted his eyes. Cali was amused but didn’t show it.
Orlando shook his head. “The only power motor in the village was rented yesterday by a Colombian. He was joining the group that set out three days ago on a pontoon. Jaffa said that one of the men and a woman was Chinese or Japanese, he couldn’t’ tell. The other man was also Colombian. They hired a guide from Mexico, a bad guy with a reputation for smuggling. They made quite a spectacle in the village, Miss Cali. It was the first pontoon they ever saw.”
Orlando never called her “Miss Cali”. The games between the boys had begun.
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a second team of archeologists was granted a permit to excavate the same site,” Cali said quickly acknowledging how very naïve she sounded with a shake of her head.
Orlando frowned in agreement, “I wouldn’t guess this group would bother with a permit. But there sure seems to be a purpose on their minds and it’s not fishing. According to Jaffa, they were loaded with equipment, electronic, high tech stuff.No one in the village has seen them since. Didn’t take a guide from the village either. Just that malo Mexican.” Augie and Cali passed a look. South Americans and a Mexican were definitely not a coincidence. They must be the other group the note warned that would be seeking the altar in Sha’inai.