CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

September 29, 8:00 A.M.

Salta, Argentina

FOR THE SECOND night in a row, Marjorie hadn’t slept worth a darn. The negative emotions evoked by seeing Ahmed again, and her guilt over the villagers’ deaths, warred with the growing excitement of the emerging pattern in the relics’ dispersal—and the vision of Diego in bed in the room next door. Whatever the reason, there was no denying she was strung tight. Her mind whirled, her nerve-endings pulsed, and she was jumpier than a caffeine-addict after two days without coffee. Every time she heard a noise behind her, she had to fight the urge to dive under the table.

Marjorie had been sitting in the hotel restaurant for over an hour when Diego entered and sat across from her, next to the window. The warm smile she had grown accustomed to was gone, his eyes narrowed and his lips set in a harsh expression.

“You should not have left your room without me. It is not safe,” he said, taking a sip of the coffee the waitress placed in front of him, while studying Marjorie over the rim of his cup.

“I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, I think I can take care of myself, but thank you for your concern.”

Marjorie recognized her tone sounded more clipped than necessary, but she was tired of being treated like an invalid. Managing fine on her own since age twelve when her mother walked out, she had taken care of herself and her unemployed father, put herself through college, and worked on digs in harsh remote environments all over the world.

Diego meant well, but she was fed up with overbearing egotistical males, not just during this current situation, but in nearly every aspect of her line of work. She picked up the menu and averted her eyes to the selections. Marjorie usually kept her temper in check, knowing the resulting loss of control could be ugly, and she didn’t want Diego to see that side of her.

“Do not be angry. I was just worried when I woke up and found your bed empty. We may have to change our sleeping arrangements, so I can keep a closer eye on you. I know you can take care of yourself, but I am more relaxed when you are near.”

Marjorie’s eyes flew up and locked on Diego’s. His smile was back, but his expression remained unreadable. She didn’t know if he was teasing her, if she was reading more into his words than he intended, or if he was coming on to her at seven o’clock in the morning. She stared at him in bewilderment for several moments before deciding to ignore the comment and move on to more pressing topics.

“I got online and brushed up on the Nasca Lines and Nasca Indians. The Nascans pre-date the Incans by about 400 years, and overlapped with the pre-classic and classic Mayans. Due to the vast distribution of the Mayans over Mexico and Central America, it doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility that some ventured further south and came into contact with northern-ranging Nascans. Maybe the Mayans formed the idea to hide the crystals in a pattern from them, or perhaps the Nasca Line design came from the Mayans.”

“So, now that you are an expert on Nasca Lines, what is your theory as to why the ancients constructed such immense and varying figures?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m an expert, though I don’t think all the images were done for the same reason. I believe some may have been created for purely artistic or religious purposes. For example, the animals, but the other shapes may have served as maps for something like water systems for irrigation. Or maybe the Nasca Lines mapped the location of objects of great importance, similar to how many of the Inca’s sacred places or haucas can be traced along their ceque system, which, as I’m sure you know, is a set of imaginary lines radiating out from a temple in Cusco.”

Marjorie hesitated while the waitress placed their breakfast on the table and refilled their coffee cups. She hoped Diego wouldn’t think she had lost her mind. The parallels between the spoke-like Nasca Lines and the pattern developing as they plotted the original hiding places of the relics on a world map excited her too much to keep to herself.

“So, you believe the ancient Mayans, with possible cooperation from the Nasca Indians and maybe other ancient peoples, split up the artifacts, and hid them along imaginary lines resembling the Nasca Lines?”

“Yes. By dispersing the objects so vastly, they ensured they would not be reunited until humans developed enough technology to discover the giant diagram in the desert of southwest Peru and make the connection to the crystals. With flight, we discovered the map years ago. We just didn’t know what to do with it…until now. So the human race has possibly attained the knowledge to find the relics. Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear we possess the moral character to handle the responsibility and power, whatever those might be.”

Diego nodded his agreement and glanced at his watch. They needed to get moving if they hoped to make their appointment with Miguel, but he hated to go back out into the streets. He had already checked in with Hernando and discovered Ahmed and his accomplice had ditched the black Land Rover, which had been reported stolen in Buenos Aires. In the vehicle they had stood out like a flamingo in a chicken coop. Now, the two men could be anywhere, driving anything.

Knowledge Ahmed had already tried to kill Marjorie twice made Diego want to hide her away somewhere safe. Her attitude confirmed his suspicion that was not likely to happen in his lifetime, especially this morning. He wasn’t sure why he felt so protective of the young British woman, and he feared his preoccupation might prove deadly if he lost focus on his two primary goalsfinding the relics and keeping them alive.