Brandon stepped out of the shower, towelled dry and picked up his watch off the sideboard. Nine thirty.
India had gone back to her own room in the early hours of the morning after they had spent many hours poring over the documents Gomez had sent. Much of it was general history and didn’t help them much, but a few pages contained interesting information. When he had dressed, Brandon picked up the phone and dialled India’s room.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi India,’ said Brandon, ‘I was wondering if you were going down for breakfast.’
‘I’ve already eaten,’ said India. ‘I had some fruit sent up to the room. I’ll come down for a coffee though.’
‘OK,’ he said, ‘I’ll see you there in a few minutes.’
Twenty minutes later they were sat opposite each other at a breakfast table in the restaurant, India sipping her coffee while Brandon tucked into scrambled eggs.
‘So,’ he said between mouthfuls, ‘what have we got?’
‘Well, I’ve made some notes,’ said India, picking up her notebook and putting on a pair of black-framed reading glasses.
Brandon paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. He hadn’t seen her wearing glasses before and they made her look extremely attractive.
‘They’re new,’ he said.
‘Oh these? Yes, I have to wear them occasionally for reading. I’m a bit tired this morning and have a headache, so they help.’
‘They look lovely,’ said Brandon.
India held his gaze for a few seconds before he broke away and focused his attention on his breakfast.
‘Thank you,’ she said, returning to her notebook. ‘OK, it seems that the mummy in the British Museum was first discovered in 1929 by somebody called Dr Martinez.’
‘Where did he find it?’ asked Brandon.
‘The records don’t say,’ said India, ‘but it seems he was carrying out an unofficial exploration to line his own pockets. Many mummies have been found over the years and most are accompanied by all sorts of valuables as offerings to the gods, gold statuettes, jewellery, even precious stones. If he had found such a site, then it was quite feasible that he wanted to keep that information to himself until he had an opportunity to revisit the area and discover any others for himself.’
‘Makes sense I suppose,’ said Brandon.
‘Anyway,’ continued India, ‘the thing is, the mummy was confiscated and he was thrown into jail until he told the government where he had discovered the site. Unfortunately he never had the chance as he was stabbed in prison and died without disclosing the information.’
‘Unfortunate,’ said Brandon, ‘but what about our mummy?’
‘Well, it disappeared, and for decades its whereabouts were unknown, but it reappeared again in the seventies, when a private collector called Carlos Rodriguez died and left his collection to his daughter. Amongst the legacy were various artefacts, including the mummy. For a while she tried to sell it but finally donated it to the country in an effort to get it off her hands. For years it lay untended in the vaults of the Argentine museum, ignored and eventually forgotten about. The conditions in there were not perfect and resulted in the damage we saw back in London. However, since the discovery of the Children of Llullaillaco…’
‘Who?’ asked Brandon.
‘Sorry,’ said India, ‘let me take a step back here. In 1999, another scientist led an expedition to a volcano in northern Argentina called Llullaillaco. While there, he found three similar mummies of children who had been left to die almost five hundred years ago. The cold and dry conditions meant their bodies were perfectly preserved. One of those was on display yesterday in the museum while the other two are stored in the vaults and are rotated on display every three months. These three mummies have become commonly known as the Children of Llullaillaco.’
‘Right, I’m with you,’ said Brandon.
‘So,’ said India, ‘since they were discovered, the interest in these sorts of mummies has rocketed and somebody remembered seeing something similar in one of the unused vaults. They finally tracked it down and there she was, our mummy. The only thing was, she was in such a poor state there wasn’t much they could do to restore her. Now the British Museum is a world leader in this sort of thing, so thinking they were being proactive and in the interests of inter-country relationships, the staff in the Argentine museum arranged a loan to the British Museum in return for its help in the restoration process.’
‘Which spectacularly backfired,’ said Brandon.
‘Well, we know that now,’ said India, ‘but at the time it seemed like a good idea.’
‘Do you think our mummy is from this same volcano?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said India, ‘her clothing and the headdress were completely different from anything seen in that area. It seems that her appearance is much nearer those found in Colombia and Peru.’
‘They have mummies as well?’
‘They do,’ said India. ‘In fact all the countries in this part of the world carried out mummification as a matter of course. Usually this was done after death and unlike their more famous cousins the Egyptians, the mummies over here were celebrated and left in public view as part of the community. So far, scientists have found thousands and believe there could be many, many more sat on ledges in overgrown jungles just waiting to be discovered.’
‘But if they are so common, why all the fuss over the three in the museum?’ asked Brandon.
‘Because their deaths weren’t natural, they were sacrificed, and modern man has a fascination with such things. Their deaths also lend credence to the claims that the Inca society was based on sacrifice and cannibalism, a claim made by the Spanish to justify the ruin of the Incas by the conquistadors.’
‘Do you think they were right?’
‘I don’t think it’s relevant,’ said India. ‘Even if it was, modern man kills far more people these days in the name of progress or religion.’
‘Really?’
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ said India, ‘all you have to do is think of Auschwitz and you have answered your own question. There are countless others but suffice to say, we are far worse now than the Incas ever were.’
‘And what about the cross?’
‘What about it?’
‘Is there any indication how it got around the neck of our mummy?’
‘No, but my feeling is it has nothing to do with the Argentine government. If these papers are correct, that mummy had been virtually untouched since it was bequeathed to them. It was in the same locked crate they had received it in many years earlier.’
‘So the perpetrator had to be this private benefactor.’
‘Possibly,’ said India, ‘but he’s long dead.’
‘Surely he has a family.’
India smiled and held up her notebook for him to see. Written across the page was a phone number and a name, Macey Rodriguez.
‘He does,’ she said, ‘and I took the liberty of contacting her this morning. We are meeting her tomorrow evening at her home in Cordoba.’
‘Excellent,’ said Brandon before finishing his coffee. ‘How far is this Cordoba?’
‘About four hundred miles,’ said India. ‘The easiest way is by train and I’ve booked us on an overnight express.’
‘It seems you’ve got everything covered,’ said Brandon.
‘Always glad to help,’ said India.
‘So, what time is this train?’
‘Four o’clock.’
‘That means we have got a few hours to kill. Come on, let’s go back to that museum.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve also been busy, and Gomez has managed to get us a private tour behind the scenes.’
‘But why do you want to go back? Surely there’s nothing there that can help us.’
‘Perhaps not, but that’s where our mummy was kept for a long time. We may as well take a look.’
‘Fair enough,’ said India. ‘Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you back down here.’
Twenty minutes later they were once more in a taxi travelling across Buenos Aires toward the museum. They presented themselves at the desk and waited patiently while the receptionist contacted someone over the phone. Eventually a young woman approached and held out her hand.
‘Mr Walker, Miss Summers, welcome to our museum, we have been expecting you. I understand you have paid for a private tour of the facilities.’
‘Um yes,’ said India, ‘though in particular we are interested in the Children of Llullaillaco. Is that a problem?’
‘No, of course not. The Llullaillaco children are our biggest attraction and many people request a private viewing. If we are busy it is not always possible but today you are in luck, the exhibit hall is closed for refurbishment and the mummy has been withdrawn from view until the redecoration is complete, therefore, all three mummies are available for you to see in private. My name is Magda and I am the deputy manager of the museum. Please, come this way.’
They followed her through some private staff passages until they descended a stairway and entered a laboratory. A side door led to another room where the light was very dim and several degrees cooler. In the centre, three glass boxes sat on purpose-made podiums, each box containing the mummified body of a child.
‘Please, come close,’ said Magda. India and Brandon stepped forward to see the girl they had glimpsed the previous day. She was leaning backward in her glass box, supported by a hidden back rest. Her light brown dress had toggles below the neck and was decorated with dyed bands of colour. Her skin was yellowed and her eyes were closed, but despite the fact she was looking down, her features were fully visible.
‘Wow, anyone would think she was only sleeping,’ said India.
‘The preservation is indeed remarkable,’ said Magda. ‘As you can see, this one is the oldest of the three. We have named her La Doncella, the maiden. We believe she was a sun-virgin and was probably identified at a young age for sacrifice when the time was right.’
‘How did she die?’ asked Brandon.
‘We are not sure,’ said Magda, ‘but there is no sign of trauma. Sometimes they were poisoned, or simply drugged and left to freeze to death.’
‘What about this one?’ asked India, moving toward the next case. Inside was a much younger body, though this time crouched forward, hiding the face. The body was wrapped in a red shawl and the head was wrapped in several strips of narrow binding holding a single white feather headdress.
‘This is a boy of about seven years old,’ said Magda. ‘Due to the headdress, we believe he is of royal descent. You will see that his knees have been bound tightly to his body and in fact subsequent X-rays show that the binding is tight enough to have cracked his ribs and dislocated his pelvis. We found traces of vomit and blood on his chest, suggesting that he either choked to death or suffocated. Either way, he must have been very frightened and in extreme pain.’
‘That’s awful,’ said India, before moving on to the last case.
‘I believe this one is the saddest of all,’ said Magda. ‘As you can see she is sitting upright and her face is turned upward. It suggests she was fully aware right up to the moment of her death, therefore not unconscious by drugs. I think she knew exactly what was happening despite her young age.’
‘How old was she?’ asked Brandon.
‘We think about six.’
‘What happened to her?’ asked India. ‘It seems as if she has been burnt.’
‘We believe that her body was struck by lightning sometime after her death,’ said Magda. ‘That tells us that when she died and for some time after her death, she was exposed to the elements. The interesting thing about her is that she was buried with artefacts from an area close to Lake Titicaca.’
‘Where’s that?’ asked Brandon.
‘It is a lake that crosses the border of both Bolivia and Peru,’ said Magda, ‘so indicates she travelled a long way before being sacrificed, at least six hundred miles. It would suggest that they held the Llullaillaco gods in great esteem.’
‘Tell me, Magda,’ said Brandon, ‘do you have any other mummies?’
‘We have many,’ said Magda. ‘The Chinchorro mummies are particularly interesting. They outdate the Egyptian mummies by thousands of years and are thought to be the oldest ever found. Would you like to see them?’
‘No thank you. I was thinking more about this type,’ said Brandon. ‘Child sacrifices of the Incas.’
‘More and more are being found every year,’ said Magda, ‘but it takes a lot of conservation work before they can be put on display. Such is the backlog we often have to share them with other institutes, otherwise they would never see the light of day.’
‘Is that why you sent one to England?’ asked Brandon.
Magda stopped and stared at him.
‘How do you know about that?’ she asked.
‘Please don’t be alarmed,’ said Brandon. ‘We have been asked to come here to try and resolve the issues between our institutes. All I am trying to do is establish the truth.’
‘The truth is that the mummy was sent untouched,’ snapped Magda, ‘and the suggestion that it was a fake or had been tampered with by our staff is, quite frankly, insulting.’
‘I understand,’ said Brandon, ‘and please don’t think we have come here to point fingers. All we are trying to do is discover the truth, for all our sakes.’
Magda turned and walked to the door. She held it open, indicating they should leave.
‘You may be telling the truth, Mr Walker, but the very fact that you did not explain the reasons for your visit when we first met tells me that your intentions are not as transparent as you may claim them to be. Now, if you don’t mind, this tour is over.’
Brandon and India walked over to the door, but as they left Brandon turned one last time.
‘One last question, Magda,’ he said. ‘What do you know about the Gemini Cross?’
Magda paused for a second before answering.
‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ she said. ‘Now, please leave.’
India and Brandon left the museum and headed back toward the city.
‘That was short and sweet,’ said India as they walked.
‘It was,’ said Brandon, ‘but I don’t think there is any harm done.’
Back in the museum Magda was making a phone call.
‘Hello, Claus?’ she said when someone answered. ‘It’s Magda from the museum. I think we may have a problem.’
Brandon and India collected their cases and later that afternoon boarded a train in the Retiro train station in Buenos Aires. They found a seat with a table and made themselves comfortable. It was going to be a long journey.
India stared out of the window at the passing fields and for a while, Brandon gazed at her profile. Her red hair hung past her shoulders and she was still wearing her glasses. He had known her for two years now and had long ago realised just how attractive she was. They had worked together twice and though they had first met by chance, the combination of his military background and her extraordinary knowledge of all things historical made them a perfect match when investigations like this came along.
Brandon maintained close links with the service due to his work with the government. They were his biggest customer and he was often called in when something needed investigating that the government wanted kept quiet. On occasion he would use his contacts in the intelligence services to obtain information normally kept secret. He had never met his contact in the government but, whoever they were, he knew they must have very high clearance as Brandon was often impressed how quickly they could provide financial or indeed military support when needed.
India, on the other hand, had no military experience at all but was a librarian with an extraordinary gift. Her photographic memory and enthusiasm for anything historical ensured she had a talent virtually unmatched and when a case involving any historical aspect landed on his doorstep, Brandon knew that India was the person to have on board. Why spend countless hours of research reading files when he could have a living encyclopaedia sitting alongside him?
She was also blessed with an incisive mind that cut through mountains of information to the relevant core issues they were often searching for.
Together they made a formidable team, but away from the professional relationship, beneath the surface there was an undercurrent of tension Brandon couldn’t quite identify. He found India very attractive, not just physically but mentally as well. While they were working, they were fine, but on the rare occasions they weren’t working, the dominant, self-confident persona that had carried him through his army life seemed to disappear and a nervous, younger man seemed to take his place. In different circumstances he would have made a play for her affection, but something held him back. He wasn’t sure what it was but whenever the opportunity arose to get to know her better, he seemed to shy away, nervous about the possibility of rejection. He knew that if he did make a pass at her and was rebuffed, they would probably never work together again, and that was a risk too great to take. Even if the feelings were mutual, he wondered how long it would last. India was a gentle, intelligent and somewhat naive young lady who had spent her life within the closeted walls of academia, while he was an ex-SAS soldier who had seen service in some of the worst parts of the world and had the scars to prove it, both mental and physical. Like most soldiers who had seen atrocities, he had emotional baggage, and though he handled it well, he also knew that sometimes it spilled over into his private life, and that was something he never wanted India to witness. He sighed inwardly, frustrated by the fact that she was so close, yet a million miles away from him.
As if hearing his sigh, India turned her attention from the passing countryside and looked over the table at him with her lovely smile.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, taking off her glasses.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’
‘Tea would be lovely,’ she said, and watched Brandon walk down the aisle toward the cafe car.
Though he was her senior by a number of years, she found him extraordinarily attractive, and though she enjoyed working alongside him, she harboured the thought that perhaps one day there would be a chance they could become something more than friends. After a few moments considering the possibility, reality came crashing in to spoil her daydream. What on earth would somebody like him see in her? After all, he was a well-travelled army intelligence officer who lived a life of intrigue and adventure, while she was a boring, inexperienced librarian tagging along for the ride. No, it would never work. If he had shared any sort of feelings for her, he would have made them known by now. There had been plenty of opportunities over the past two years, and while they often enjoyed playful banter, it had never progressed further than that. Finally she had accepted the fact that he obviously wasn’t interested and was probably out of her league anyway. She discarded the thought and returned her attention to the passing fields of the Argentine countryside.
The following morning they booked into yet another hotel and after a few hours’ rest, made their way across Cordoba to a village on the outskirts of the city. When they arrived at the house, a portly woman wearing an apron and a colourful scarf answered the door.
‘Mrs Rodriguez?’ asked India.
The woman nodded and looked back and forth between India and Brandon.
‘Hello Mrs Rodriguez, my name is India Summers. Do you speak English?’
‘A little,’ said the woman.
‘Great,’ said India. ‘I just wanted to ask you a few questions. Is that OK?’
‘But you are American, yes?’
‘English,’ corrected India. ‘We are working with your government and have received permission to talk to you.’
‘Am I in trouble?’ asked Mrs Rodriguez.
‘No, of course not, nothing like that. It’s just that you could have some information that may help our countries solve a puzzle. Could we come in?’
Mrs Rodriguez stepped to one side and followed them directly into the one big living room on the ground floor.
‘Please sit,’ she said.
They sat at a table and were joined by the woman.
‘What is it you want to ask?’ she said.
‘The thing is, Mrs Rodriguez, we work for a museum in Britain and are working closely with the museum in Buenos Aires to establish the history of an artefact. We believe you may have some information that could help us trace its whereabouts over the past few years.’
‘You mean the mummy?’ said the woman.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘That was a great mistake,’ said Mrs Rodriguez. ‘I gave it to them for next to nothing. Now, such things are all over the television and I believe that mummy is of immense value. I have asked them, of course, but they said the deal was agreed and they cannot give me any more money.’
‘Is that a problem for you?’ asked Brandon.
‘Money is always a problem,’ said Mrs Rodriguez. ‘Times are very hard in Argentina.’
‘I thought your father was a wealthy man,’ said Brandon. ‘Didn’t he have his own museum?’
‘My father was, how you say, eccentric. Yes, he had his own collection, but he never earned much money from it. He was more interested in the story behind the artefacts than their value.’
‘Sounds like a man after my own heart,’ said India with a smile.
‘History does not pay the bills, Miss Summers,’ said Mrs Rodriguez.
‘No of course not, sorry. Anyway, about this mummy, is there anything you could tell us about it?’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Where your father got it from, how he came to obtain it, who had access to it? That sort of thing.’
‘He didn’t steal it, if that’s what you are saying,’ said Mrs Rodriguez defensively.
‘We don’t think he did,’ said India.
‘Good. Many years ago he went on a trip with his colleague.’
‘What was his name?’ asked Brandon.
‘I forget, but two weeks later they came back with a crate and I remember they were very excited. For two days they worked in the basement of our house in Cordoba and eventually we were allowed to go down to see. They had replaced the front of the crate with a glass sheet and inside I could see the body of that poor girl.’
‘So it wasn’t a proper museum?’
‘My father liked to think it was, but actually it was just our basement. He did charge for people to come and see but it didn’t make much money.’
‘Did your father ever get her out of the crate?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Macey. ‘Why do you ask?’
India glanced at Brandon and got a silent nod in reply.
‘Mrs Rodriguez, when the body was examined by the museum, they found a valuable necklace under her clothing that could only have been put there within the last seventy years. We wondered if your father may have put it there.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Macey. ‘We never had much money and my father was constantly trying to sell the mummy to other collectors. If he knew there was a necklace, he would have sold it immediately.’
India sat back. Once again they had drawn a blank.
‘Do you know where he got it from?’ asked Brandon.
‘Not really,’ said Macey. ‘He said that the previous owner made him swear not to tell anyone, but I do remember a phone call one night where he was trying to buy some other mummies.’
‘There are others?’ asked India.
‘I think so.’
‘Do you recall anything else about that conversation?’
‘I remember that my father addressed the other man as Mayor Castro and I also remember vividly the name of the town he asked the operator to connect him to.’
‘Where was it?’ asked Brandon, leaning forward.
‘Las Vegas,’ said Mrs Rodriguez.