CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Monday morning. New Year’s Day.

The streets of Oaxaca City were quiet, most residents of the city sleeping late after a night of celebrating. Taylor had taken an early morning walk about the cobblestone streets, getting some fresh air. Once Edward Brand arrived in the Learjet from Puerto Vallarta, she would have to stay inside. Ricardo was right, her hair would be a dead giveaway in a country where almost one hundred percent of the people had black hair. If Brand were to spot her, he would know he was being set up.

There was a knock on the door. It was Adolfo. He had a set of compact walkie-talkies that he had somehow found in one of the many tiny shops tucked away in the city center. They were new, still in the box. Four nine-volt batteries were necessary to power them, and Adolfo had purchased those as well. Taylor looked over the gear and nodded.

“Good work, Adolfo,” she said, slipping the batteries in the housing and clipping the plastic cover closed. “Let’s try them out.”

“Sí,” he said, taking one and heading out the door. “I go to the street?”

“Yes, that’s good. Maybe five hundred yards.”

“Sí, I understand. Five hundred yards is same as five hundred meters.”

“Yes. Five hundred meters. Give or take.”

“What?” he asked, confused at the colloquialism.

“Nothing. Five hundred meters.”

He closed the door and the room was silent for a few minutes. Then there was a slight crackle and his voice came through the walkie-talkie. It was very clear.

“That’s fine, Adolfo. I can hear you okay. Can you hear me?”

“Sí. I hear you.”

“Okay, come on back. They work well.”

She turned off the small transmitter and set it on the bed. Everything was ready. Kelly in D.C., Ricardo working the inside track with Brand, Adolfo with his fake ID and walkie-talkie. The satellite phone was active and charged. Now she just needed the man himself.

Edward Brand.

The Learjet touched down on the steaming pavement at two-thirty-eight on January 1. The flight time was well under two hours at a cruising speed of four hundred and sixty miles an hour. The pilot had gained twenty-three minutes by opening the throttles a touch and with the assistance of a slight tailwind. If he could get the ground crews to refuel the plane quickly, he would be close enough to his schedule to keep his next client from complaining. He didn’t bother talking to the client from this leg—he knew the man didn’t give a shit.

A customs vehicle pulled up to the Lear once it had taxied to a stop, sat for a minute, then received the flight plan from the tower and backed off. The flight had originated inside Mexico and was outside their jurisdiction. Once the steps were lowered, Brand, Carlos and Ricardo exited. They waited for the co-pilot to unload their luggage and carried it through the terminal to the taxi queue. They had four rooms reserved at the Hacienda Los Laureles, a quiet hotel with temazcal steam baths and a fully functional spa on site. Brand didn’t care about either, he just wanted to be out of Oaxaca City. The drive was about twenty minutes, and after they checked in he filled out the necessary paperwork to rent one of the four-wheel-drive Jeeps in the parking lot. The porters dropped their bags in their rooms, and the men met in the bar a half hour later.

“When can we meet Manuel Sanchez?” Brand asked over a small green bottle of San Pellegrino sparkling water.

“I’ll call him. He’s here in Oaxaca City somewhere. I’ve got his cell number. When did you want to meet?” Ricardo asked.

“Tonight.”

“I’ll see if that works for him,” Ricardo said.

“Make it work,” Brand said. It wasn’t threatening or indecisive—simply a statement.

Ricardo finished his drink and went back to his room to get Sanchez’s number and make the call. Edward Brand and Carlos stayed in the bar, a laidback affair with only a few tables and no music playing. The floors were ochre-colored adobe tiles, and voices tended to echo slightly in the room. Brand didn’t like it. He preferred a space where what he said remained between himself and the person he was talking to. After Ricardo left, the only people in the bar were Brand, Carlos and the bartender. He made a call on his cell phone.

“I need you to check on someone for me,” Brand said when Brent Hawkins answered.

“Who?” the FBI agent asked.

“His name is Manuel Sanchez. Mexican. Lives in Mexico City.”

“Common name. Could be more than one. You got anything else on this guy.”

“Just see what you come up with. Get their job descriptions if you can. I might be able to tell from that.”

“Time frames?”

“Immediately.”

“Okay.”

Brand killed the line and shook his head. He should have called Hawkins the minute he got Sanchez’s name from Ricardo in Puerto Vallarta. He wasn’t thinking. Mistakes like that were inexcusable. He glanced up as Ricardo returned to the bar.

“He’s on his way over,” Ricardo said. “He figured about half an hour.”

“We’ll talk by the pool,” Brand said. The area surrounding the swimming pool was far more secluded, with alcoves set back into the plants.

Ricardo nodded. “I’ll meet him at the front desk and bring him around.” He retook his seat and ordered a Corona. The three of them talked about nothing for twenty minutes, and then Ricardo excused himself and went to the lobby to wait for Sanchez. Brand and Carlos headed for the pool.

Almost to the minute on a half hour, Adolfo pulled up in front of the hotel in a taxi. He asked the driver to wait and met Ricardo at the front entrance. They shook hands and said polite hellos, but nothing that would indicate they knew each other any better than the relationship they had sold Edward Brand on. Nothing to chance. One set of ears in the wrong place could be fatal. When they reached the pool, Brand and Carlos were already settled in under a royal palm on the far side of the water. They walked around the edge of the pool and Ricardo did the introductions. Adolfo apologized for his English up front. Brand just waved it off as inconsequential.

“How can you help us, Senor Sanchez?” Brand asked when the newcomers were settled and non-alcoholic drinks had been served.

“With Monte Alban?”

“Yes. With the situation at Monte Alban.”

“Ricardo has not told you?” Adolfo asked, looking to Ricardo.

“Yes, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

“Is good. Yes. I can take care of the guards at Monte Alban. You take pictures of what you find with a digital camera and send that to me. Then I will write down the pieces you find in the cave. I will put them in the Mexican computers. Once they are in the computers you can sell them. Until I do that, you will not find the buyer.”

“What does this cost?” Brand asked.

Again, Adolfo shot Ricardo a look. “Five hundred thousand American dollars.”

“I have the cash,” Brand said.

Adolfo shook his head violently. “No, no, I do not want cash. Cash I have to explain to the Mexican government. That is not good. I need the money sent to my account outside Mexico.”

Brand nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Ricardo did tell us that.” He toyed with his glass for a minute, then asked, “When will this happen?”

“I do not want to stay in Oaxaca City long. My job is in Mexico City. I need to get back. Not today, but the next day. Manana. How is that in English?”

“Tomorrow,” Brand said.

“Yes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night at twelve. We meet at Monte Alban. You can see the treasure. Then the next night you can have it.”

“Tomorrow night at midnight we finish the deal, but we can’t move what we find until the next day?” Brand asked. “I don’t think I like that.”

Ricardo interjected. “Senor Sanchez does not wish to be nearby when you take the treasure. He wishes to be back in Mexico City.”

Brand’s eyes were on fire. “That was never part of the deal.”

“The treasure has been there since the Zapotecs walked about Monte Alban,” Ricardo said. “I don’t think it’s going very far in the next day or two.”

Edward Brand’s jaw was locked tight. He stared at Adolfo for the better part of a minute. The diminutive Mexican looked about, occasionally meeting his gaze. He looked like he couldn’t care less what Brand decided.

“Okay,” Brand said. “I’ll be watching the treasure until I can get it out.”

“As you wish,” Adolfo said. He rose and gave the three men at the table a curt bow. “Until tomorrow. Midnight. On the mountain.”

“Tomorrow,” Brand said. There was no emotion in his voice.