Legacy of the Sun

By Michael Craig

Marcus Cairen and his partner Paulo Touvac, two archaeologists working in Peru, just made the discovery of a lifetime, Incan ruins north of the Amazon river. They return from the jungle ready to celebrate. But instead they learn that their friend was murdered, his throat cut with an obsidian blade, a strange symbol etched into its hilt. Because of his expertise with antiquities, Marcus is drawn into the investigation. After surviving an attempt on his own life, the investigation takes on greater urgency as he enlists the community of expat anthropologists to help. While following leads Marcus meets Teravici, the beautiful daughter of a Peruvian aristocrat who may be responsible for his friend’s murder. As he finds himself increasingly drawn to this girl, Marcus realizes that he has stepped into something far more complex than he could possibly have imagined. He finds himself embroiled in a mysterious society and a legacy spanning half a millennium into the past.**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9780359966622

Book preview

Craig

Copyright 2020

Copyright 2020 by Michael Craig

All rights reserved.  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

IBSN 978-0-359-96662-2

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Part 1

~Cuzco Peru -Capital of the Incan Empire- 1533 AD

Apavici sat in the corner of the chamber playing with Wamavipa, teasing the babe with a white feather.  He snatched at the feather as she touched it to his nose, giggling in delight at the game.  She enjoyed playing with him, although this was not her usual duty.   His wet nurse had taken ill with the spotted skin fever, the curse that struck down so many of the people now.  She shuddered to even think of that and uttered a silent invocation to the Gods to protect them.  Until recently she would have prayed to the emperor to intercede.  As he was both man and God, he would be more sympathetic to the petitions of mortals.  But things were so different since the strangers had come.  Somehow it was as if they had robbed him of his power.  Some said that the Gold Eaters were not human, but demons.   The priests said that the Gods were angered so they had loosed the strangers among them.  People said that they demanded more sacrifices now.  Apavici hoped this was not true.  Her own sister had been one of the chosen.  Though they said she had been favored by the Gods and now sat by their fires, Apavici still missed having her here.  Yet it was her sisters’ honor as chosen, which brought Apavici to the Serpent Palace to be a handmaiden to the Emperors first wife.  That had been two winters past, just after Apavici’s 14th name day.

And today her Lady had summoned her to take care of the child, as she had affairs of state to attend to.  Apavici certainly believed that.  Lady Toreital was favored by the Emperor himself, much to the consternation of his lords who disapproved of a woman involved in decisions of state.  But the Emperor felt differently.  Apavici was attending her Lady once, when the Emperor told his advisors that his first wife alone possessed more wisdom than all of them together.  Between his favor and her wisdom, Lady Toreital wielded more power than nearly any other at court beneath her husband.  And now she stood talking with Pavamorac, one of the high priests and Lord Dantakasen, Captain of the Serpent Palace Guard. 

Apavici liked Lord Dantakasen.  He had always been kind to her, smiling each time he passed the young hand maiden while most of the other lords barely acknowledged her existence.   And he was handsome too.  Great muscles rippled beneath his sun darkened skin in such contrast to the pale little priest, Pavamorac, with the toad face and effeminate manner.  Dantakasen still wore golden bands of rank around his upper arms and wrists.  He practically dared the Gold Eaters to take them.  Not even Lady Toreital wore the yellow or silver metals anymore.  Almost no one in the city did for that matter.  Most had gone to ransom the Sun Emperor from the Gold Eaters.  A great horde had been offered, but it was never enough for their greedy Gods.  She did not like to think about that either.  Everyone knew that the emperor had to face the Demon Gods in the final battle.  Otherwise prophesy revealed that the sun would be defeated, and the world would be plunged into eternal darkness.  But that was a problem for the priests and lords to solve.

She glanced back at Lord Dantakasen.  He was in animated conversation with her Lady and the Priest.  He had once been Anachichen, or Captain of the Imperial Guard.  He stood equal then to the General of all the Emperors Armies.  But in a dispute between he and the General, he fell from favor.  The General urged the Emperor to have him killed or at least exiled as was custom, but the Emperor remembered his years of faithful service and gave him this largely ceremonial role of Captain of the Serpent Palace. Technically he was still Anachichen, but only because the Emperor had not yet chosen a replacement. But as the Serpent Palace was largely Lady Toreitals’ domain, he became her de-facto Guard.

And now the three argued among themselves, all obviously worried about something.  Apavici tried not to listen, but she could not help but hear. 

We must go My Lady, Dantakasen exclaimed!  The Gold Eaters, he nearly spit the name, have already arrested many of the lords and even some of his wives and children.  My informants tell me that they will be here soon. They are demanding still more ransom for the Emperor. 

No! Pavamorac cried just as certainly. We must do as they demand.   The Emperor must be free to face Ancca’drata.  Apavici winced at hearing the Dark Ones name spoken aloud.   It scared her terribly to know that even they, did not know what to do.

"The people are drawing all the gold that can be found, but I fear that will not be enough.  I believe that we must release the Final Offering."  The suggestion seemed to stun all of them, including the priest who made it.  But these were desperate times.  The Final Offering, amassed by their forefathers, was to be used to placate the Gods only during the direst need for their people.  To suggest that they set the Final Offering before the Gold Eaters would mean that the newcomers stood as equals to the Gods.  Lady Toreital stepped to the window, and gazed out into their city, a cold resigned look on her face. 

It would not matter, she stated simply.  The Emperor will never be released.  The Gold Eaters are men, not Gods.  Father Sandoval told me so himself.  Squandering that which was meant for them would only bring our Gods wrath upon us. 

But Lady Toreital, what of the Prophesies?  The Emperor must stand against the Dark One in the final battle. 

An Emperor must stand, but I do not think it will be my husband.  Their priest, Father Sandoval told me this day would come.  I did not want to believe him.  But he was right.  His people will never release the Emperor. 

How can you trust him? Pavamorac demanded.  He is one of the Gold Eaters, A hint of desperation in his voice.  He may be leading you along his own path. 

No Pavamorac, Lady Toreital explained soothingly. He is not like the others.  He understands us.  He told me that we are the chosen of the Highest God, but that his people refuse to see it.  He understands that we know the ways of heaven that his people have lost.  But in their arrogance, they refuse to see this.  And he told me that there is far worse to come. Most of our people will not survive.  But our ways must not be lost.  She paused as if remembering something from long ago.  I honor and fear for my husband.  But the Sun Emperor must stand in the final days.  And the task of ensuring this has fallen to us.  Seeing the words of Lady Toreital flowed true, the men bowed their heads in acceptance.  So now we must act, she went on.  Who outside of this room knows of the Final Offering? 

Pavamorac considered this.  Some of the priests, and the laborers, and the guard posted there now.

Are the guards there to be trusted?   

Lord Dantakasen answered without hesitation.  I handpicked each my lady.  They will die before surrendering their charge.  She nodded solemnly. 

Then, turning back to Pavamorac she said, You must select the most trusted and wise of the priests and take them to the Temple of the Shadows, and the Final Offering.  The others, the laborers, and priests, any who know of it, must be offered in sacrifice, in the old way.  We must prevent any from revealing its existence. 

Sacrifice Priests? Pavamorac’s eyes went wide. Lady, Priests are not sacrificed. 

They were once, Pavamorac, She explained her eyes grave, and we are in desperate times.  Without waiting for a reply, she went on, "then find a child, a boy resembling Wamavipa. You will bring him here to the palace.  Wamavipa will be taken to the Temple of Shadows.  From there we will find a new home.  He will be reared in the ways of an Emperor.   The imperial line will not falter.

Then she turned and called, Apavici.  Apavici was startled to have her Lady address her in the midst of this momentous conversation.   But she regained her composure and approached bowing her head.

You will take Wamavipa.  You will tell those who ask that he is your own child. Apavici felt hot, as dampness beaded along her face.

No mistress, please I could not.  I am afraid.  I would not know what to do.   

You must child.  You are the only one I can trust. 

Please Lady Toreital, Apavici pled, Flee with me. 

No child, I am afraid unlike you, my absence would be noticed, and they would soon find us.  I will join you when I can, but above all, the heir must survive.  I am counting on you.  Your people are counting on you.  Apavici felt as if she could not breathe.  She did not want this responsibility, but she could not refuse. 

Looking down she said formally, I will do as you bid my Lady. 

Lady Toreital nodded and spoke gently.  Thank you Apavici.  I am sorry to place this burden on you, but I know you have the strength necessary. Yet we must act quickly. You know how to find the Temple of Shadows?  She nodded weakly.  She had attended her Lady on a journey there once before, past the Hidden City and deep into the jungles beyond, for a sacrifice in the Temple of Shadows. But then she had been among the sacred entourage.  The idea of going alone was terrifying.  Trust no one but those in this room, and she said as an afterthought, the priest called Sandoval.  Apavici felt another wave of panic.  She was to trust one of the Gold Eaters. But her worry over this was forestalled as one of the servants burst in. 

Lady, in the square, some of the strangers come. Lady Toreital glanced out the window and saw a party of the Gold Eaters approaching. 

Stealing herself, she said to Apavici, Go now.  And may the Gods watch over you.  And without waiting to see that Apavici complied, she turned to Pavamorac.  You will see to it that my commands are fulfilled priest.  Leave no one behind who knows of the Final Offering.  When you have ensured that this is done, you will gather the most trusted of our people.  You will take them to find Apavici and the babe.  You must instruct him in our ways that he or his sons will be ready when the time comes.  Pavamorac bowed in acceptance of his duty. 

Outside, seven men approached from the direction of the imperial palace.  They paused in the square as one of them seemed to issue orders.  A moment later four of them took up position out front in the square.  The other three, the leader and two others, turned and marched directly for the Serpent Palace.   At the same moment, another servant raced in and announced that other Gold Eaters had taken up position at the rear exit and would not allow anyone to pass. 

We are trapped, Pavamorac stuttered.  They had no time to consider this as the three men entered the chamber unbidden.  The leader was a foul looking creature with mangy hair on his face and a ragged scar across his cheek.  And Apavici saw that one of the three was actually Incan, one of the converts that were used as interpreters, wearing a brown robe like that of the Gold Eater priests.  The leader growled something in their unintelligible tongue, and the interpreter spoke with uncouth disrespect for a person of Lady Toreital’s station.  

Lady Toreital, you and your son are ordered to come with us. 

By whose authority?, she demanded coldly. 

By the authority of Lord Pizarro, 

And why would this Pizarro need my son? 

The interpreter was increasingly uncomfortable, about displeasing his new masters, and replied harshly, Because he does not want any of the Emperors’ whelps around to cause rebellion.  His tone was arrogant, but Apavici could hear fear in his voice as well, as if he were just learning the trait.  Years of enforced respect for the Emperor did not fade so easily.   But his arrogance would not have time to grow further.

Dantakasen having made up his mind, exploded forward, and slammed his war axe into the throat of one of the Gold Eaters, leaving an astonished expression frozen on the man’s face.  The leader stumbled backwards but recovered and drew his sword.  The convert was screaming now, seeing that his new allies were not invulnerable.  The Spaniard knocked him aside and swung his blade at the Captain of the Guard.  Dantakasen easily dodged the blade and swung his own axe with incredible force, but his obsidian axe only shattered on the metal chest plate.  The Spaniard was knocked backward, and his armor dented, but he managed to jab his sword savagely into Dantakasen’s side.  Dantakasen brought the now un-bladed handle of his axe down on the man’s hand sending the sword clanging to the ground.  But the Gold Eater instantly drew his long dagger and moved in for the kill.  Dantakasen fell against the wall, trying to regain his strength, but it was apparent that the fight was over.  Apavici screamed in horror, but there was nothing she could do.   Then suddenly the Gold Eaters eyes went wide with surprise.  He staggered one step then fell forward and Apavici could see his metal sword embedded in his back, just below his armor.  Lady Toreital had picked up the blade and thrust it into him. The interpreter tried to bolt from the room, but Dantakasen grabbed him by the back of his robe and threw him to the floor.  Even in his weakened state he used the handle of his axe, to smash the traitors’ skull. 

Standing with an effort, he turned to Lady Toreital and said, It has been my honor to serve you.  Then he turned to Apavici and smiled.  And in a voice filled with resignation and sorrow he said, Much rests on you girl.  Do not fail your people. With that he turned back to the door pausing for just a moment and Apavici could see that he was bleeding badly, then picked up a spear and charged the soldiers in the square.  He fell to their thunderous weapons before he ever reached them. As she watched the scene of horror outside, the sound of real thunder announced the storm breaking around them.  It was as if the Gods were screaming their fury at the loss of this great man.  She wanted to grieve, but there was no time.  Her Lady stepped up beside her and placed her hand on Apavici’s shoulder. 

Now Apavici, Lady Toreital said, you must go.  Then without another word, the Lady walked out towards the men with all the dignity of her station.  Apavici was sobbing as she darted out into the storm with the infant, while the men were busy dealing with her Lady.  Without looking back, she ran as fast as she could for the north road.

Apavici wiped tears mixing hopelessly with the rain, from her eyes.  She ran blindly along the cobblestone path, the swaddled infant, held close to her breast to shield it from the drenching downpour.  She wished desperately that she would wake from this terrible dream.  Just an hour ago, she had been contented living as a lady in waiting.  Life had been simple.  Now she had been given this monumental responsibility and she could only pray that someone wiser than she would take it from her. But for now, it was hers alone, so she did the only thing she could, she went on. 

Apavici suddenly realized she was too exhausted to run anymore.  She barely noticed when she had first fled, but now her burning lungs reminded her.  She had to stop and breathe deeply both to rest and to calm herself.  The smell of death was heavy in the earth.  There had been so much death since the others came.  It was as if everything they touched withered and died.  And that thought made her realize that she wanted desperately to be away from the city. 

The howling wind had died down and the rain slowed to barely a mist.  Apavici’s sandals slid precariously on the wet stones of the path as she hurried along.  She forced herself to be careful, so as not to fall with the babe in her arms.  Her clothes were soaked, and her long black hair was matted along her face.  She did not know where she would stay that night and worried about how she could find a wet nurse for the child.  If she told any of the people along the way who he was, they would certainly help her.  But Lady Toreital had instructed her not to reveal his identity for fear that the Gold Eaters would learn of him.  The thought filled her with dread.

And then her fear came to life, as a man stepped in front of her from behind the stone wall lining the path.  He was one of the Gold Eaters, a long metal blade rested on his shoulder with a casual menace.  She turned to flee back the way she had come, but two more of the strangers appeared behind to block her way.  She tried to dart around the first man but felt the iron grip of one of the others on her shoulder, as he pulled her back too close to him. He laid his chin against the side of her head.  She could smell his foul breath as it passed over her ear, and he pressed himself against her.  A flash of despair surged up, as she felt him hardening behind her.  He pulled her around to face the other man, wearing a rusting metal breastplate and helmet, who she took to be the leader.  

The man said something in their guttural language and then they all laughed.  Then he reached up and grabbed her roughly by the leg.  A minute before she had thought that she could not be any more afraid, but now as these brutes groped her, the fear took on physical form. She wrenched herself free just long enough to place the child in a niche in the stone wall but was jerked back into their midst a moment later, as the men pawed at her and tore her clothing.

The babe wailed his protest from the niche. She prayed to all the Gods that they would have mercy on him, but in her heart, she knew that mercy was not in these animals. She found herself crying, not so much for what they would do to her, but for what they might do to Wamavipa.  She cried for failing her Lady and she cried for failing her people.   By then they had torn nearly all of her clothes off and bent her face down over the low stone wall. Two of them held her and she could hear the third removing his clothes.  She did not even bother struggling anymore.  It was useless. She just waited for the inevitable as she softly sobbed, oddly detached from what they were about to do. 

Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw another man approach, riding one of the beasts that she had once believed were actually part of the Gold Eaters, as if beast and man were a single creature.  The man wore the strange robes and cloaks of their priests.  She watched as he rolled off the animal effortlessly and approached.  She saw anger in his eyes.  She did not care, just one more.  She only hoped that they would kill her when they were through.

He was a big man, larger than the others, she thought absently through her despair.  Then she felt the first man starting to mount her from behind and her momentary detachment evaporated in a new wave of anguish.  But then suddenly she felt the man being torn off her.  She turned and saw that the one in priest robes had thrown the other to the ground, and he was roaring furiously.  She assumed that he was of high rank and was demanding to take her first.  Then he bellowed at the others who released her and stepped to the side. 

She rolled around and instinctively picked up Wamavipa, calming him and stilling his wailing.  The big man was still raging furiously at the others.  Then the two who had held her, retreated down the path.  But the other, the one who had been pulled off her, was yelling back indignantly at the big man, apparently enraged at being robbed of his pleasure.  Apavici could not make any sense out of what was happening.  It was almost as if the big priest was protecting her and the child.

Suddenly the first man drew his metal sword and swung it at the newcomer.  The priest moved with unbelievable speed, charging in too close for the blade to reach him.  At the same instant, he grabbed the man’s hand and slammed it into the stone wall.  The sword slipped from his hand and clattered on the wall, but before it fell to the ground the big man snatched it up and pressed its tip against his opponents’ throat.  She had always believed that the Gold Eater priests were effeminate like Pavamorac, but this man was clearly a warrior priest.  She heard him mutter something in his language.  She could not understand the words, but she thought he might be cursing, and a moment later the defeated man turned and fled after his companions.

After he was gone, the big priest turned back to Apavici and the child in her arms.  At first, she wanted to cower, her fear growing again, but she refused to show it.  She stood defiantly before him, ignoring her nakedness as she held the child protectively.  She felt her stomach clench as he moved toward her, but then inexplicably he pulled off his cloak and draped it around her.  She heard him speak, but it took her a moment to realize that he was speaking in her own language, as his words were pronounced so strangely. 

It is alright, he said soothingly.   Your Lady Toreital asked me to find you.  I am Cristobel Sandoval.  You are in the hands of God now.  She didn’t know which of the Gods he was referring to, but she hoped he was a kind god.  She thought he must be because he had sent this priest to help her.  And somehow, she felt safe with this strange man from another world.

Chapter 1

~Present day

Dr. Marcus Cairen absently rubbed his three-day growth of returning beard.  He had shaved and cut his hair military buzz style for last week’s meeting in Mexico City with his university administrators.  He decided it would give him a more clean-cut look, making it easier to negotiate with them, to continue his research project here in Peru.  In truth it probably did not matter.  He regularly made large endowments to the University, and they would be loath to jeopardize that proverbial cash cow.  Still it never hurt to cover one’s bases.  He did not need the Universities salary, only the Universities auspices.  And predictably they had come through for him once again.

He was sitting in Cocodrilo Verde, a swank, upscale bar in the modern Mira Flores district of Lima Peru. The two young ladies with him just excused themselves to go in tandem to the powder room, leaving him nursing his scotch and throwing down peanuts from the crystal dish on the bar.  He glanced in the mirror behind the bar and decided that he was under dressed for the place.  Wearing his leather bomber jacket over a T shirt, jeans and worn desert chukka boots, he stood out from the usual suit and tie crowd here.  Good he thought, he was never one to mind standing out.  

Glancing at his watch, he noticed it was past 9:00 and wondered where Paulo was.  He swiveled the bar stool around just in time to see his friend arriving fashionably late, flashing a broad grin when he saw Marcus.  Marcus raised his glass in mock salute as his friend approached.  He was as underdressed as Marcus, with his colorful indigenous woven vest, and jeans.  He wore his hair combed back and sported an impressive barred mustache running into a short chin beard, framing his ever-present smile.  They had been research partners for the last four years and friends even before that.  Paulo was still working to complete his dissertation in Applied Archaeology, hoping their current survey would provide enough material to finish.

As Paulo approached, Marcus inclined his head, at the two girls exiting the ladies’ room. 

Robbing the cradle again are we? Paulo observed, as he appraised the two twenty-something beauties weaving gracefully back through the crowd of businessmen. 

Not yet Marcus said, shaking his friend’s hand, But the night is still young.  Paulo shook his head with a familiar chuckle.  

May I present my colleague, Paulo Touvaac, Marcus announced formally when the ladies returned.  And then to Paulo, These are my new friends, Emmy and Sevilla.  They both wore tight short skirts and low-cut blouses accented with expensive jewelry and Italian high heels, the height of fashion for the young and wealthy in Lima.  They would not be out of place in the streets of Paris or Milan.  Marcus was struck once again at how life in modern Lima, was a world apart from much of the rest of Peru.

Through the evening, they regaled the girls with stories to entertain and impress.  And it certainly appeared to be working as they giggled in delight at the exaggerated tales of the two anthropologists’ exploits. But as the night progressed, Marcus noticed Paulo overtly checking his watch, a less than subtle reminder that they had to fly back to Iquitos at an obscene hour this morning.  Marcus ignored him.  He was having too good a time. 

But then Emmy asked, You must be married?  Her eyes were twinkling with enthusiastic hope that the answer would be negative.  An innocuous question, but it seemed to hit Marcus like a truck.  An icy shadow swept over his face, unmistakable to all of them there, though only Paulo understood its meaning. 

I…a… he began, but then his voice failed him.

The suddenness of the change and its intensity froze the girl mid-sentence.  Her friend Sevilla just stared as an uncomfortable silence hung in the air.  It only lasted a moment, but its depth was magnified by the bar sounds around them.

Paulo was about to speak, to fill the silence, when Marcus cleared his throat, recovering his mask of composure, wife, who the hell would be foolish enough to marry me?  He downed his scotch and motioned to the bar tender for refills. 

His recovery was so complete that the girls wondered if they had imagined it. Soon he had charmed them with more anecdotes that once again had them laughing to tears.  But when he glanced at Paulo, he saw concern in his friends’ eyes.  

An hour later the girls had to leave, but not before writing down their numbers and insisting that their new friends call when they returned to Lima.  In an exaggerated gesture of gallantry, Marcus kissed each of the girls’ hands, clearly delighting them.  Paulo only held their hands as he said his good-byes to the obviously enamored young ladies. 

Are you alright? Paulo asked as soon as they left.

I’m fine, Marcus replied too sharply, then in a more contrite tone, Sorry Paulo.  I’m alright.  She just caught me off guard.  Paulo wondered if he really was alright.  It had been nearly six years now, but the mere mention of his wife could still tear Marcus up.  Mara had been involved in a terrible accident back in the states, when she lost control of their SUV and rolled over an embankment.  She had not been injured but their infant son, Adam, had slipped out of his child restraint and died that night as a result of his injuries.  Though Marcus tried, his wife had been inconsolable.  Two months later he found her lying in the bathtub.  She had carefully opened both of her wrists.   He never stopped blaming himself.

After completing the arrangements and attending his second funeral in two months, Marcus decided that he could not return to his military career as he had planned.  Instead, he went back to school and threw himself into his studies as if trying to fill his mind with something besides guilt.  And after listening to a guest lecture from the professor who would later become his mentor, he transferred to Catholic University in Peru, where he completed his studies, far from any reminders of his life before.

So, when do we brave our trip tomorrow? Marcus asked, changing the subject.

Juan wants us there at 5:00 AM, which means we have to be up at O-dark-thirty to make it.  He said he’s on a tight schedule, and can’t wait, so if we aren’t there, he is going on without us. And we sure don’t want to pay regular commercial fare.

Marcus nodded, saying nothing.  But the cost would not have mattered to him. Though few people knew it, he was extremely wealthy.  Just before his wife died, his Great Aunt passed away, leaving her considerable fortune to Marcus and his sister.  But for reasons that he could not readily explain, he had no interest in the money.  It was as if he associated it with the deaths.  And perhaps just as importantly, he did not want his friends to treat him differently just because he had money.  So only he and Sarah, his attorney back in the states, who he had also inherited from his Great Aunt, knew he was wealthy.  Even Paulo, his partner and best friend, believed that he lived on little more than the university salary.

Chapter 2

Marcus groaned and squeezed his eyes shut against the bright glow intruding cruelly on his sleep when Paulo flooded the hotel room with light. 

Come on now, it’s time to greet the morning.  Paulo’s cheery voice did nothing to improve Marcus’ headache, nor his mood. 

Go away!, he protested feebly as he pulled a pillow over his eyes.  But Paulo’s insistent laughter made Marcus smile despite his throbbing headache. 

Sorry my friend, but I can’t do that.  It’s time to get up.  We have a plane to catch.  With another dramatic groan, Marcus rolled out of bed.  Hurry up now, Paulo chided as if readying a child for school.  I’ll make coffee. We have to leave in half an hour.  Marcus grunted his acknowledgement and dragged himself into the bathroom.  He ran the shower full cold and with just a moment’s hesitation, stepped in.  The jolt caused him to catch his breath but served to jerk his eyes wide open.   The cold shower was only partly to drive away sleep.  It had become a kind of ritual atonement for drinking too much the night before, an atonement that he had experienced often lately. 

After finishing his symbolic self-flagellation, he dried off.  He pulled on his jeans and T Shirt before pouring down a cup of Paulo’s special extreme coffee.  Five minutes later they tossed their bags into the cab and were off to the airport.

They met their friend, Juan Castillo, at the airstrip where he was completing a final equipment check on his plane, a twin-engine Beech Baron G58.  He used this small airstrip north of town to avoid the traffic and exorbitant fees at the international airport in Lima.   Juan wore his uniform black slacks and epauletted white short-sleeve shirt.  On his chest he wore the gold wings of his own Soaring Condor Airlines.

Hey Marcus, Paulo, I trust you two had an enjoyable excursion into the urban jungle.  Paulo flashed an enigmatic grin, and Marcus nodded weakly, but then thought better of it and massaged his forehead.    Apparently not noticing, Juan continued, They just finished refueling her so we should be able to take off in ten or fifteen minutes.  Just stow your bags in the back while I finish up here. 

They threw their gear into the small cargo hold then strapped themselves in while Juan continued circling the plane, poking and prodding every piece of equipment until he was satisfied.  He was a careful pilot; a fact they appreciated each time he flew over the jungle. 

They had first met Juan at the University while researching Incan and Pre-Incan habitation in the Amazon Basin.  Juan was just completing his undergraduate work there. At the time he intended on pursuing a career in anthropology, but after he finished school, he returned to his previous vocation as a pilot.  He had flown for the Peruvian Air force before college.  And when he graduated, his father offered to set him up in business.  So despite enjoying anthropology, it was an opportunity too good to pass up.   With the money his father loaned him, he was able to buy a small aircraft company, flying tourists over the famous Nazca Lines.  Starting with just three planes and a small hanger, the business proved to be surprisingly lucrative and soon he was expanding. 

Now the business took up four hangers with fifteen planes and nearly forty employees.  The tourists were still his mainstay, but he also did a good business as an air courier, transporting documents or high valued items around the country.  And he preferred doing most of the courier runs himself, especially this regular flight ferrying research equipment from Lima to a bio research firm in Iquitos, and potentially valuable biological samples back to Lima to be shipped to better equipped labs in the States.  He usually had room for passengers but preferred taking friends on the long-cramped trips.  And his flights were usually more convenient for Paulo and Marcus, than using the regular airlines.

Juan took his seat next to Marcus and strapped himself in.  

We all set? he asked, Let’s go for a ride.  He strapped his flight checklist onto his leg and went over the final pre-flight items after firing the engine up. He waved to a mechanic who pulled the chocks from the tires, then adjusted his flaps, set the throttle, and taxied out to the runaway.  Pausing briefly at the flight line, he slid on his headset and requested clearance from the small air traffic control tower across the tarmac, then gunned the engine, released the brakes and allowed the twin-engine beast to surge down the runway. In seconds they felt the nose begin to rise and the final shudder as the rear landing gear eased off the surface. 

Nice take off Juan. Paulo said, as he settled in for the long flight. 

Any takeoff that allows us to stay in the air is a good one my friend, Juan said. 

I thought that saying was, ‘any landing you can walk away from is a good one’, Paulo observed.

That works too, Juan replied with a grin, then to Marcus, So, was your journey to Mexico successful? 

It was indeed, Marcus said smiling to himself.  It seems my lease on life down here has been renewed. 

Good, I believe I would have missed you.  I always enjoy hearing about your larger than life adventures.

And we always enjoy making them up, Paulo added, eliciting a shake of the head from a grinning Juan.

So how has the survey been going?

Man, we are so close now I can almost taste it, Marcus replied confidently.  You should have stayed in archaeology; you could have been in on some of the glory. 

Oh, I think basking in your glory will be enough for me, Juan replied, Especially since I won’t have to do my basking on an archaeologist’s salary. 

In truth Juan continued to have a deep interest in anthropology and liked to keep his fingers in it, if only in a small way.  The fact that his business was built on showing tourists the Nazca Lines, one of the most famous ancient sites in the world, was one way he did that.  He also spent much of his free time as an amateur archaeologist. 

And the two archaeologists considered Juan almost one of the team.  He had visited their previous sites and occasionally accompanied them on their surveys.  And when he could not join, he still experienced their adventures vicariously.

Once they were airborne, Marcus asked Paulo, Can you pass that thermos up here?  He poured himself a cup and downed a couple of aspirin with a chaser of coffee to combat his fatigue and throbbing head, an all too frequent breakfast for him these days.  

How is that wife of yours, Marcus asked, but Paulo interjected, Juan is like a mariner of the air.  He’s got a girl in every port. 

"Not every port," Juan protested emphasizing the word, spurring another spate of raucous laughter. 

Chapter 3

Marcus woke with his head leaning heavily against the side window. He could hear Paulo’s rhythmic breathing of sleep, and saw Juan was silently focused on flying.   The clock on the instrument panel read 8:20, three hours and twenty minutes since they took off, and they were already circling the Iquitos Airport.   From their aerial vantage he could see the glow rising in the east for most of the trip.  When the light finally reached the forest, he was treated to a magnificent view of the endless field of green beneath them.  He only had a few minutes to appreciate it though, before Juan cleared their approach with the small tower and descended into the city for a smooth three-point landing. 

Marcus smiled, happy to be back. He always found Iquitos a fascinating city, a thriving river port of half a million people surrounded by unbroken jungle, and still only accessible by air or river.  There were no roads into the city from the outside world.  In the latter half of the nineteenth century, the sleepy frontier village exploded as people made vast fortunes in the rubber trade.    Many of their ostentatious mansions still lined the finer areas of the riverbank, though most had seen better days.  Eventually the demand for rubber fell and the boom economy crashed but the city survived despite its isolation.

As soon as the plane pulled to a stop, they hopped out of the air-conditioned cockpit into the Amazon heat, which even this early, was oppressive.   The air felt as thick and damp as a Swedish steam bath.   It always took time for Marcus to adjust to the moist inferno here, and he knew that it would only get worse outside the city.  He was about to complain but stopped when he saw the broad smile on Paulo’s face.  Paulo was home and he was happy as a kid here.  Although he was well traveled, Paulo firmly believed that the rest of the world paled in comparison to his Iquitos.  

A jeep from the bio research firm that hired Juan, sat waiting on the Tarmac.  Juan greeted the driver then pulled out a small crate of research instruments and carefully placed them in the back of the SUV.  

So we’ll meet back here at the airstrip a week from tomorrow? Paulo confirmed. 

I’ll be here, as soon as I’m done with my girl in this port, Juan quipped, with an innocent grin. 

They hitched a ride in the jeep and the driver dropped them off at the open market near the Plaza de Armas. 

You can catch me at the Hotel Acosta., Juan yelled as the jeep pulled away.   They waved to their friend and then waded into the crowds forming at the market.  The town was just coming to life and the sound of traffic and milling people was rising rapidly. 

So what’s next on the agenda? Paulo asked.

I think we should check in with Velez and let him know our plans for tomorrow.  Then I’m going to have a drink and go to bed.   Javier Velez was the district police captain.  He was also the go-to man for any permits including those needed for any archaeological surveys in the area.  They had worked with him often in the past, and over the last few months, he had become a good friend.

Shifting the duffels onto their shoulders, they began snaking their way into the claustrophobic lanes of old Iquitos.  As soon as they entered the warren like maze of stalls on the markets land side, Vendors began hawking their wares.  A sun wrinkled man in a brightly colored vest offered Marcus a small snake, by thrusting the writhing animal at his face, as Paulo paused to smell some aromatic spices in bowls on one of the counters. 

It’s good to be back. He exclaimed with a sigh of pleasure.  Marcus took the snake from the man and examined it critically, its bifurcated tongue darted towards him, then passed it back shaking his head and gesturing he wasn’t interested.  Yep, he agreed, It is good to be here.

Marcus bought fried plantains from one of the venders, to hold them over until lunch.  He would have considered spending more time in the market but decided to plunge forward instead. Though he usually enjoyed hanging out at the market, the coffee was rapidly wearing off.  Now he just wanted to take care of business and then crawl into bed. 

Dodging waves of scooters and the three wheeled rickshaw vehicles known here as moto-cars, they made their way along the river front.  They passed some of the old riverfront mansions and then into the poorer district and the ramshackle wooden houses standing on stilt like piers over the river.  They skirted around Iron House, the famous if somewhat odd metal building designed by Gustave Eiffel, of Eiffel Tower fame and headed on through the large Plaza de Armas.

As they passed along the waterfront Marcus stopped abruptly and grabbed Paulo by the arm, pointing towards one of the piers. Paulo blinked in confusion at what he was seeing, passengers on a large riverboat being off loaded by police officers armed with rifles.    

What the hell is going on over there? Marcus asked as he watched the people filing off the boat.  Many of them were bandaged and some were being carried off in stretchers.  All of them seemed to be distressed.  They stood there, trying to make sense out of what they were seeing when a woman standing nearby, tapped Marcus’ shoulder, and pointed to a newspaper in a nearby stand.  The headline read,

"Guerilla insurgents attacking indigenous people near Iquitos claim to be Sendero Luminosa." 

Marcus shook his head in disbelief.  The Sendero Luminosa or Shining Path, was a Maoist Terrorist organization active in Peru during the 1980s. 

Terrorists, Marcus said incredulously as he stared down at the boat.  Paulo