Back in his hotel room, Caesar began to go through his notebook again, looking for the drawings that had prompted his discovery of the sub-language in previous temple glyphs. He heard a knock on his door and closed the notebook. When he opened the door, a pretty room service attendant brought in a complimentary beer on a tray and welcomed him in English to the hotel. After she left, he sat in an armchair in a corner of the room, took a long pull from the beer, and went back to his notebook.

He was newly amazed at his daughter’s drawings. He had not remembered their sublime intricacy, the details of the temple wall carvings and glyphs. Grace’s notes confirmed what he intuitively understood about the ancient tribe and its relationship to what had long been buried but now lay exposed. One of the copies before him was an outline drawing of a temple. The shape of its pinnacle matched exactly the one that now protruded from the rubble of his previous excavation site.

He pored over the drawings, studying every detail. Each drawing showed the layout not only of the exterior design of the building but also interior hallways, chambers, and sublevels.

Caesar recorded every passageway, room, and level in his mind. He knew that knowledge of the layout and any potential hazards or traps could mean the difference between safety and disaster—even life and death—on a site exploration. This temple gave him plenty of concerns. According to the drawings, one series of chambers, which occupied a sublevel, could be accessed only by touching or moving a specific set of stone symbols. One wrong move or miscalculation could end in catastrophe.

Other potentially deadly locations were the four entrances to the temple. Experience had taught Caesar that getting through an initial set of barriers could be lethal, particularly if the ancients wanted to protect or hide something from intruders. The artifact certainly qualified, which would make this a high-risk site. Since the media had not reported anyone setting foot inside the temple, and since it hadn’t been fully excavated yet, he believed the doors were still sealed shut.

Caesar got a drafting pen from his satchel and began compiling a list of symbols that corresponded to the sublevel rooms he believed held the answers to many of the questions that weighed heavily on his mind.

After an hour of work, Caesar began to feel nauseated. He staggered to the lavatory where he vomited until nothing was left in his system. Dry heaves followed and Caesar grew lightheaded and weak. He slithered to the floor and began to slip in and out of consciousness. Wild thoughts came to his mind unbidden, and he began to hallucinate. Tall shadows flitted about him before they passed through the walls. Visions of dead relatives materialized out of the air. He tried to force his way back to reality but could not. He let go, and blackness overtook him.

When he opened his eyes again, Galton was standing over him. His vision remained distorted, as if he had awoken to an alternate reality, but he knew he was back in the real world. He tried to speak, but his mind wasn’t working, and his mouth wouldn’t move. Galton was saying something, but his voice sounded faint and distant.

Gradually Caesar gained full consciousness. He heard Galton’s voice and realized he had been moved from the bathroom floor and onto the bed.

“… and that’s what it all boils down to, son. But listen here,” Galton droned on while glancing at his watch, “I’ve got a place to go to and a fella to see, so I’ll be moseying along, but you’ll be in good hands in the meantime. I’m leaving a trusty hotel employee here with you. He’s a burly sort, with a real temper too, so he’ll make sure no more funny business goes on here. The prettiest nurse you’ll ever set eyes on will be right in that armchair, waiting to prick you with a needle or squeeze the life out of your arm to check your blood pressure. So you take care. Keep resting. I’ll be back to check on you before long.”

Galton got up to leave and said something to the nurse that Caesar couldn’t hear. When Galton left the room, the nurse walked over to Caesar. She touched his arm, and the contact sent shockwaves through him. He raised his head and looked up at her face. “Grace?”

Another wave hit, and he fell back onto the pillow and passed out.

Caesar woke up three days later, weak and hungry, but lucid. The burly hotel bodyguard was gone. Galton was pacing the floor in front of his bed. When he saw that Caesar was awake, he said, “About time.”

“What happened?” Caesar mumbled.

“You been poisoned, son. Someone don’t want you around.” Galton continued to fume while the nurse prepared Caesar’s breakfast from a bag of groceries Galton had purchased.

“Can’t trust nobody here, boy. Had to go down to the market myself to make sure no one would be tampering with your grub. Need to get your strength back, and fast.”

Caesar devoured his breakfast of fresh fruit, bakery bread, and local cheese. When he was finished he felt remarkably better, his head clear and his sight normal, but his legs were wobbly. He stood up with some help from the nurse and hobbled over to the armchair.

There was a loud knock on the door. Galton opened it and four strapping Peruvian men entered the room. Caesar eyed them suspiciously and looked at Galton.

“These here men are in my employ, Caesar. They’re all ex-military. In fact, their old brigade commander is the one who referred ’em. Course, he’s been a little off these days, prattling on about his newfound spirituality and whatnot. But for an ex-military cutthroat and drug lord, he still draws a good deal of respect from folk around here, and he’s a valuable resource. They’re all freedom fighters now, the lot of them. They’ll do quite nicely, I say.”

“Prattling, you say?”

“What’s that, son?”

“Can they be trusted?” Caesar asked.

“With your life, son, guaranteed. I can vouch for ’em, seeing as how they come highly recommended by my associate, El Capitán. While you were out, I had a chance to explain everything to him. Told him what happened to you, what we’re figuring on doin’ back here, and the whole ten yards. I told him about Moncada and the incident at the airport. Turns out El Capitán’s had run-ins with him before. Matter of fact, they’re old enemies from El Capitán’s drug dealing days. He’s actually eager to help our cause.”

Caesar’s glance fell on the end table that stood next to the armchair, and his eyes went wide. It was empty. He looked frantically about the room.

“What’s the matter, son?” Galton asked.

“My research notes. I left them right here,” Caesar said, pointing to the small table.

Galton looked at the nurse. “You know anything about that, darlin’?”

She shook her head. “I think Juan must take them when he leave. But I no see.” Juan was the hotel-appointed bodyguard.

Galton looked at Caesar. “We gotta get you out of here. I’ll see to it that this Juan fella is found.”

“I need those notes,” Caesar said. Without them he would have to rely on memory to navigate the temple. Entering or exiting the wrong way could kill him.

Galton turned toward two of the new bodyguards who stood silently in a corner of the room. “I want you two to run downstairs and inquire about this Juan fella. See where he headed and what his story is. And get those notes back.” Galton repeated his instructions in Spanish to make sure the men understood.

They nodded and left the room.

Galton looked back at Caesar. “Sorry, son. I should’ve taken you farther north, but jetlag ain’t my flavor, so I figured the closest spot would do.”

“We’ll have to wait till morning,” Caesar said. “I’m still too weak.”

“All right,” Galton said. “What happens if we don’t find them notes?”

Caesar shifted in the armchair to get more comfortable. “I’ll have to wing it.”

Galton smiled. “That’s the spirit. Speaking of which, I need a drink. Care to join me?”

Caesar shook his head. “I need to regain my strength, Lionel, not slump back into oblivion.”

“Suit yourself,” Galton said and turned to face the bodyguard positioned by the front door. “Why don’t you run downstairs and fetch us a bottle of tequila, the good stuff, with a couple of glasses. Don’t worry about the price. Just make sure it’s unopened and hasn’t been tampered with.”

Galton handed the man a wad of folded bills and waved him through the door.

Caesar leaned his head back in his chair, closed his eyes, and listened to the silence.

The tequila showed up before the men who’d been sent to get information on Juan. When they did return, they told Galton that Juan—if that was even his name—had been with the hotel only a week, and the manager who hired him hadn’t run a background check. Juan hadn’t been seen or heard from since the night of the poisoning, and they doubted they’d ever see him again.

“So the notes are gone for good,” Caesar said.

“ ’Fraid so,” Galton said, pouring tequila into a glass. He filled a second glass halfway and walked it over to Caesar. “Here. Knock this back with me, son.”

Caesar took the glass and lifted it to his lips, took a small sip.

Galton drank his tequila in one shot, and walked back to the table where the bottle stood. “I get the feeling someone has an idea what we’re up to out here,” he said, refilling his glass. “That don’t sit well with me at all.” He took one sip this time and licked his lips. “Not at all.”