I willed my heavy eyelids to open so I could check the clock. When they finally obeyed, there was an obstruction before my eyes. I peeled the offending Post-it note off my forehead. Of course it was from Claire. Why had I given her the spare key to my room? The sticky yellow paper said:
We are letting you sleep. Make sure Mateo gets up. The rest of us are off to explore. Don’t forget your meeting at 1:00.
It was already eleven in the morning. I unenthusiastically got out of bed and into the shower, thinking about how tough it would be to get the wrinkles out of the suit I planned to wear to my meeting with the head archaeologist at Chichen Itza.
Once I was ready to go, I walked to Mateo’s room and pounded on the door. A gruff voice on the other side of the door yelled, “Oh, for the love—NO maid service, por favor! Yo quiero dormir!”
“I’m your wakeup call, not the maid. Let me in!” I yelled back, hearing Mateo stumble to the door to unlock it. He opened it a crack and then flopped back into bed.
“You gotta get up, man. Everyone else is already gone. I am sure they could use you.”
“I know, I know. Hey, I never asked if you needed help with your interview today. Could you use a little muscle?”
“No, I’d rather do it alone. I’ll be recording it so you can watch it back later tonight after Savannah and Claire go to sleep.”
“No way. I am going to bed early tonight. I’m exhausted.”
“That makes two of us.” I walked out of his bedroom, turning on the lights and raising the shades before shutting the door. He cussed loudly at me as I made my way down the hall.
I stopped at the hotel’s small restaurant to grab something to eat. The female cashier eyed me carefully as I grabbed an apple and some juice from the buffet line. She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her white cotton blouse and smoothed her long black hair back when she thought I couldn’t see her.
Huh, I guess I did look pretty good in this suit; her unapologetic stares confirmed it. It had been custom made for me by a master Italian designer and cost a ridiculous amount of money, even by European standards. While in Italy, to warrant any kind of respect, I had to dress the part.
I hurried to the register, eager to get to my appointment.
“Buenos dias,” the woman said with a coy smile spreading across her pretty face. “You hurry so fast. Where are you going, hermoso?” she asked with a thick accent as I handed her the money.
“Just here on business,” I said as she counted out my change too slowly.
“That is a shame!” she exclaimed. “What would you rather be here for?”
“Just business,” I stated again, knowing from experience where this conversation was headed.
“When you finish this … business, I live just down the street. You come find Marguerite,” she said seductively, still holding my change ransom in her hand.
I wanted to tell her that I was in a hurry, that she was coming on a little too strong, or that she was falling out of her blouse, but my training was too ingrained. Every human was important. Anyone could have information that would help my research. Flirting was actually in my job description because it usually got me what I wanted.
Come to think of it, I had always enjoyed that part of the job—suggestive conversations with beautiful strangers. But today, I just didn’t have the patience for it.
“Thank you, Marguerite, but I really am just here on business.” I held my hand out for the money, but she instead ran her finger down my upturned palm.
“Can I change your mind?” She leaned her head toward mine, locking her gaze on me. I should have been appreciating her sultry looks, enjoying the tease, maybe more. As Claire had pointed out, I am just a man. But my head refused to find beauty in any woman who wasn’t the mysterious girl who had been so cataclysmically thrust into my life. That thought was enough to snap me out of my conversation with the sexy cashier.
“Keep the change,” I blurted, turning on my heels and bolting out the door. But I felt badly about my curt behavior. Obviously, Marguerite wasn’t the kind of woman accustomed to being turned down, so I sent Mateo a text message about the “hot girl” in the restaurant. She was just his type.
As I walked over to the museum, I couldn’t help but compare Savannah to Marguerite, and any other woman I had met like her, including Emani. Savannah was soft, smart, modest, and kind. She was sexy, absolutely. But it was effortless, uncalculated, and real. Maybe that’s why she was so attractive to me. The Marguerites of the world were a dime a dozen. Savannah was a rare find, something special, something pure.
The museum was right outside the gates of the Chichen Itza archaeological site. I spent a few minutes looking around at the exhibits to use up some time.
“Ryen!” a familiar voice rang out. I whirled around to see Savannah standing right behind me.
“How are you?” she asked, obviously concerned.
“Fine?” I answered, confused by her tone.
“Claire said you had a bad night, sick with the stomach flu?” she asked sympathetically.
Oh come on, Claire!
Couldn’t she have explained my need to sleep in for a few hours with anything less embarrassing? I could have gotten in a bar fight and was nursing a wound, or I was out late saving women and children in a nearby village from a fire, wild animals had dragged me away—anything else! Instead, Savannah had to assume I was up late barfing.
“Uh, yeah, Mateo and I got sick, probably from the jet lag and the food and …” I said, trying to sound tired. It wasn’t hard.
“Are you feeling better?” She reached up and placed the back of her hand against my cheek. “You’re not feverish.” My temperature was rising, but it wasn’t from any kind of sickness, that’s for sure.
“Just needed some sleep is all.” She nodded but kept looking me over carefully. Was she waiting for me to vomit on her shoes?
“You look very nice in that suit. Sort of perfect,” she said with a small smile, tugging my jacket lapels into place and smoothing them down with her hands. Well, Savannah and Marguerite had one thing in common at least—they liked the suit.
“Thanks,” I said quietly. Savannah’s eyes were still wandering over me, so I took the opportunity to do the same.
She was wearing one of her usual thin fitted vintage T-shirts over faded jeans that hugged her just right. She had left her hair down in thick waves around her face, and she smelled like citrus. Her eyes were an almost emerald green today, standing out from her tanned, lightly freckled skin. She looked perfect.
“Claire said I should wait here for you. I’m sorry I didn’t dress up.” She looked down at her own clothes, dismayed. I scrambled to figure out why Claire would want Savannah to come with me on this interview. I was getting sick of trying to follow Claire’s far-flung logic, always a step behind.
“I think I overdressed for the occasion, actually. You look great,” I assured her. “Did you want to come to the interview with me? I can’t imagine it will be very interesting.”
“Claire said there may be artifacts they would let you see. She said I could photograph them or sketch them for you while you are talking … to save you time?” she offered, which was better than anything I had come up with for her to do.
“Sounds great.”
“Thanks for letting me tag along. I was definitely the third wheel this morning with you and Mateo gone.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You know, Claire and Chase,” she led off suggestively. “I’ve been wandering around this museum for an hour now so they could have some alone time together.”
“Claire … and … Chase?”
“Yes, Claire and Chase! They are together, right?”
“Last I heard, Chase had a girlfriend,” —who wasn’t Claire—“and Claire would never tell me anything like that. She knows I would just laugh,” which I did as I tried to picture Claire and Chase together as a couple.
“Really? I guess I could be wrong, but it seemed so obvious! Please don’t tell them I said anything.”
“You’re probably not wrong. I’m just kind of obtuse when it comes to things like that,” I said. Savannah raised an eyebrow at me, like I was missing something.
I was still puzzling over Savannah’s revelation about two of my best friends possibly being—ugh—together, when the head archaeologist appeared.
“Dr. Mora.” I recognized him from his website photo at once and extended my hand towards him.
Daniel Mora was a short, heavyset man in his late forties, with coffee-colored skin and thick salt-and-pepper hair. His flat brown eyes darted about shrewdly. He shook my hand harder than necessary.
“I’m Ryen, and this is Savannah. Thank you for meeting with us today.”
“Ah yes, welcome!” he said in a thick Mexican accent, turning his attention to Savannah, appraising her perfect figure. I shouldn’t have minded it when other men leered at her since she wasn’t mine, but I did. I minded a lot. Knocking Dr. Mora unconscious would probably have tainted the information we would be able to get out of him, so I pretended, with all of my might, not to notice his eyes slithering like a snake around her body.
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us today,” I said stiffly. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“Of course, come with me to my office. We can sit down together,” he said, wedging himself between Savannah and me. He led her forward, hand lightly on the small of her back, making me follow behind.
Come on! He’s old enough to be her father!
As I followed, I watched his fingers expertly slide the bottom of her shirt a tiny bit away from the top of her jeans, so he could touch the sliver of bare skin on her back. “So, Savannah, is this your first time in Mexico?” he asked innocently.
I expended every ounce of effort and self-restraint I had learned in my twenty-eight years to not break his arms clean off and then beat him with them. Though I was murderously jealous, I kept my face smooth as glass as I had been trained to do. I could be professional. After all, I reminded myself for the hundredth time, she wasn’t mine. It helped that Savannah didn’t look pleased at all by the man’s attention.
Dr. Mora led us through a small door to his tiny office filled to the brim with dusty books, rugged topographical maps, broken pottery, and statues of strange anthropomorphic beings labeled with long, unpronounceable names. He offered us the mismatched chairs on the opposite side of his desk as he settled into his shabby seat that squeaked loudly when he sat.
“I am sorry for the cramped quarters. The Mexican government does not offer us much in the way of funding.”
“That’s quite all right, Dr. Mora. We appreciate it.” You filthy piece of— “Would you mind if I recorded our interview?”
“I guess not, though I would have worn something more official had I known I was going to be on tape. I might have a nametag here somewhere …” he said, searching under piles of papers on his desk.
“The recording will only be used for my own perusal later; please don’t give it a second thought,” I said, proud of my professional tone. He relaxed and stopped rifling through piles. I opened my laptop and trained the small camera mounted into the back of the screen on his face.
I was recording the interview, but he was unaware of exactly how monitored he was going to be. My camera documented Dr. Mora’s words, but it also took continuous biofeedback information from him. His heartbeat, breathing patterns, perspiration, and pupil dilation were all being meticulously recorded for any aberration in the pattern, which would point to the subject telling a lie.
Since Gideon believed all humans to be inherent liars and thieves, he demanded we record our important fact-finding interviews for his later examination, though he hadn’t asked for the recordings in over a year.
“What can I do for you today?” Dr. Mora crooned to Savannah. “I usually don’t get visitors asking for interviews, especialmente a una mujer bella como tú.” Annoyed by his blatantly lustful gaze, Savannah narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. I knew she must have a torrent of things she wanted to say; I’d seen her expertly shut down men like him before. But she surprised me by just giving him a stiffly polite smile. I spoke up so he would have to peel his eyes off of her.
“The group that funds our research is interested in ancient religious artifacts. They have recently turned their attention to the ancient peoples of the Americas. Their financial support helps to preserve archaeological sites if the area is important enough to receive outside funding.” Usually the promise of funding was enough to make any academic show or tell us whatever we wanted.
“Well,” he said, his beady eyes glinting with excitement, “I wouldn’t mind pleading my case for a little extra funding. There are whole cities, only a few miles into the jungle, completely undiscovered because we lack the money to excavate them. If your financial backers are truly interested in preserving ancient artifacts, this is the place to invest!”
He sounded like a bad commercial.
“I’ll pass that along, “ I said, clicking the record button on my computer. “So, Dr. Mora, what can you tell us about the legends of Quetzalcoatl and Kukulkan?”
“How much time do you have?” Dr. Mora asked with a wry smile. “I know just about everything there is to know.”
“We are just starting our research. Just give us the layman’s version.”
“The two gods you mentioned are from two different ancient cultures—the Aztecs and the Mayans. Their religions have many similarities, especially when it comes to these two gods.
“Quetzalcoatl was one of the most important Aztec gods, and they brought the legend to the Mayans, who named him Kukulkan. Both names translate into the words ‘feathered serpent.’ I assume you have visited El Castillo, the largest temple here at Chichen Itza.”
“The one I can’t climb,” Savannah said sadly.
Dr. Mora laughed.
“The very same. The giant feathered snakes on the temple represent Kukulkan. In fact, the whole temple is dedicated to him. If you’d like, I could give you a private tour myself, take you where only we archaeologists are allowed to go,” Dr. Mora started.
“What were the gods’ characteristics?” I asked quickly, stopping him from asking her out on a date with me sitting right there.
“Quetzalcoatl is the god of creation. He was said to have sacrificed himself to resurrect mankind. Some legends say that he promised to return one day to bring peace and a perfect society. Physically, he was tall, white-skinned, and bearded—very different from the ancients themselves.
“In fact, I have a very good representation of that particular god here somewhere.” Dr. Mora hastily disappeared into a side closet. Savannah looked at me, exasperated.
“I don’t like that guy,” she mouthed soundlessly. I tried not to laugh. I also, to put it very mildly, did not like that guy.
He finally emerged with a long, flat stone. It was covered with intricate carvings of a man in an elaborate feathered headdress and holding serpents in his hands.
“Dr. Mora, may we photograph this for our collection?” I asked. “My financiers would enjoy photos of such a well-preserved rendering.”
“Be my guest,” he said happily. Mentioning people with money as often as possible was going to go a long way with him. Savannah pulled out Claire’s camera from her backpack and then paused.
“With your permission, I’d also like to sketch it,” Savannah said.
“Of course, senorita linda! Puedes tener lo que quieras,” he said, his voice dripping like Spanish honey. From the sardonic look on her face, Savannah wanted dearly to put Dr. Mora in his place. She was holding her tongue, trying to be professional so I could continue the interview.
“If I may venture a thought, Dr. Mora, this god sounds a little like the same god that is worshiped so universally throughout the Christian world.”
“Ah, you are referring to Jesus Christ.”
“Well, from your description …”
“You are not the first to wonder at the similarities,” he conceded.
“And when we consider that the Mayans and Aztecs are not the only ones living on this continent to have such a legend, one has to wonder if there is a connection.”
“To what other cultures are you referring?” Dr. Mora asked, cocking his head to the side.
“The Hopi Indians’ legend of Pahana, their ‘lost white brother’ that came from the east, who said he would return, bringing with him a new purified society where the wicked would be destroyed. Then there’s the Tlingit Indians of the Yukon, with their legend of Raven, who created the world, another bird symbol like Quetzalcoatl, who also said he would return. The Chippewa speak of Waicomah, the pale god who healed any man he touched and brought them religion. The Papago Indians of the Southwest, who talk of the Healer, E-see-cotl, sent by his father from heaven to teach religion. There are dozens of other Native American legends telling close to the same story over and over again across this continent,” I said.
“Those are not legends many people know about, even in the academic world,” Dr. Mora said.
“The Internet is an amazing tool, isn’t it? I do wonder what your scholarly view is of the possible link,” I said excitedly, betraying my calm façade. He saw my burning interest; he would use it to his advantage.
“As a scholar, I shouldn’t comment on any culture outside of my area of expertise, but here is what I know,” he said, leaning across the table. “We must remember a few things when comparing Quetzalcoatl and Jesus. The stories that we have of Quetzalcoatl come from two different sources—hieroglyphics made by the ancients themselves and histories written by missionaries who came to Mexico during the Spanish conquest of Central America.
“Mayan and Aztec hieroglyphics were made prior to Spanish contact so they are untainted by any Catholic influence. But these sources are up to a great deal of interpretation, since they are mostly pictographic.
“During the period of conquest, Christian missionaries came to the native people and tried to ‘civilize the heathens.’ They wrote down the natives’ oral legends in order to preserve them, but sometimes they would Christianize the stories, making them seem more Christian-ish than they actually were.”
“They purposefully corrupted the native population’s oral histories?” I asked.
“‘Corrupt’ is not the word they would have used. They were trying to save the natives’ souls by converting them. Let me give you an example. Jesus was most likely born in the spring, nowhere near December twenty-fifth. Early Christians, in order to bring their religion to the masses, took pagan holidays and turned them into Christian holidays, to help the masses accept the new religion. In the case of Christmas, they took the date of an important pagan festival, December twenty-fifth, and made it the day to celebrate the Christian god’s birth. Making the symbols and dates of the two religions similar helped ease the pagans into Christianity.
“Spanish missionaries did the same thing to the oral histories of the Mayans and Aztecs. Sometimes it is tough determining what was pre-Columbian native belief and what was added by the missionaries. But, in this case, there are a lot of places where the sources match, leading us to believe that many of Quetzalcoatl’s inherently Jesus-like qualities are not influenced by Catholicism.”
“So where does that leave you on the tie between Quetzalcoatl and Jesus?” I asked, exhilarated. Even though I didn’t trust him farther than I could throw him, I had to admit that he was knowledgeable.
“Well, the idea is preposterous if you ask anyone in mainstream academia. Even the legend of Jesus making it to the native people of the Americas would make most academics squirm. It has always been believed that the old and new worlds were completely separated at that point in time. It’s impossible.
“But,” he continued, “I have noticed that every time we say something is impossible, it isn’t too long until we find that what was once deemed impossible is absolutely not. Man once knew the Earth to be flat. Man once knew the sun revolved around the Earth. These were indispensible facts at one point—but not true.”
“Nothing is impossible,” Savannah said as she stopped sketching and closed her book.
“Exactly! I don’t think academia gives our predecessors the credit they deserve. I think the Americas were very much known to the rest of the world in ancient times. And though my belief is not a popular one, there is evidence to support it. That is why I believe that the legend of Jesus may have made its way to the Americas, but—que lástima. We are out of time!” he said, glancing at his watch. This was about the time when scholars would usually ask for a handout in exchange for more information.
“But I am free tomorrow. Would you be interested in taking a hike with me to the nearest of the ancient cities we haven’t been able to excavate? I want to show you what a little financial backing could do for this area.”
“That could be arranged.” He held my interest hostage. He knew it. I was going to pay whatever it took to get more information out of him.
“I will arrange for a crew of men and supply the gear. I will, of course, need money up front to get the ball rolling,” he said expectantly. I opened my jacket pocket and withdrew a number of traveler’s checks. I quickly signed them and passed them over to him. His eyes lit up as he added the amount together in his head.
“Will that do?” It was more than enough. Much, much more.
“This will do just fine,” he managed to choke out.
“Well, that was interesting,” Savannah said after we escaped Dr. Mora’s office and made it to the museum cafeteria. She completely ignored the food I had set in front of her. She looked a thousand miles away.
“Yes, it was interesting. What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“About how life is just like that. Just when you think you are sure about something, just when you think you know, life has a way of showing you how little you actually know. It’s fascinating.”
“Nothing’s impossible, right?”
“I guess not,” she said.
A sudden urge to blurt out my secrets caught me off guard. I violently wanted to tell her everything that I was keeping hidden. But that was completely ridiculous. How exactly would that conversation go?
Oh, by the way Savannah, aliens do exist. In fact, you are talking to one right now. Also, Earth may be in a great deal of danger from said aliens. In addition, I really want to kiss you. I want it so much that it keeps me up at night. I could end that ludicrous conversation with, And did you know that I’m an idiot? But she probably already knew that.
“Are Mateo and Chase going to go with you tomorrow on the hike with Dr. Mora?”
“It will be dangerous and uncomfortable, so they will be the first in line. Would you rather stay back at the pool with Claire, since we are probably spending the night in the jungle?”
“Isn’t this the exact reason I am here? I’m supposed to be helping. But even were I not under your employ, I wouldn’t miss this!”
“Claire may try to change your mind.”
“She can try, but you aren’t getting rid of me that easily,” she said, slowly sliding her hand toward mine.
In a momentary lapse in my constant calculation and planning, I started sliding my hand to meet hers. I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t even remember why I should be trying to stop myself. Our fingertips connected. I was about to go too far, and I couldn’t decide whether I cared or not.
The phone vibrating loudly against the metal hotel key in my pocket broke our trance. It was Claire. I knew it was. Only Claire was capable of such timing. I flipped the phone open.
“Yes?” I murmured.
“Are you done yet?” she whined.
“Just now. We’re getting lunch,” I said in a strained voice, furiously sifting through what had happened in the last few seconds.
“Perfect! We’ll be right there!” she said happily.
“Here comes the cavalry,” I whispered. Savannah pulled a slightly trembling hand away from mine and sat up in her chair. I did the same.
“Hey, kids!” Claire exclaimed. “Clear the table, will ya?” My computer and Savannah’s sketch pad were taking up too much room, so I slid both into my bag absentmindedly.
“How’d it go?” Chase asked lightly, though he exchanged a weighty glance with me.
“We’ve been invited on an excavation tomorrow with Dr. Mora.”
“Sounds like a good time. Are we footing the bill?”
“Of course. Where’s Mateo?” I asked.
“He sent me a text an hour ago. He met someone back at the hotel who is showing him around. He said she was a friend of yours. I think her name was Marguerite,” Chase said.
I laughed out loud despite myself. The others looked at me with puzzled expressions. “Yes, I can imagine she is showing him around.”
Is that what they were calling it these days?
“Claire, what’s your plan for the rest of the afternoon?” I glanced at my watch. It was past two already.
“Savannah and I are going into town to explore and shop!” she sang. Having another female to share in her shopping pleasure was the most exciting thing to happen to Claire in months, possibly years. She usually had to settle for me, and I was rarely pleasant on shopping trips.
“There’s no shopping around here outside of local handicrafts, which is all junk,” Chase said.
“Then we’ll buy junky local handicrafts,” Claire said tartly.
“Okay, then I don’t like the idea of you two going anywhere by yourselves,” he admitted. I had been thinking the exact same thing.
“If you don’t like it, then come with us,” Claire challenged. She knew she had him beat.
“Ugh, fine! Go. Just take your cell phone with you,” he said, resigned.