“I let him go. I couldn’t shoot an unarmed man in the back even if it was Benedict.” He explained what had happened.
Remi reached down and took Sam’s revolver from him. She peered at it in the moonlight, flipped open the cylinder, and then turned to him.
“Good thing. You were out of bullets.”
Sam and Remi watched as the heavily armed soldiers ringed the temple area and four medics came toward them. Remi pointed to where Lazlo was slumped against a wall and two of them went after a stretcher as the other two followed Antonio down the steps to Reginald.
Sam moved to Lazlo, who reached toward him with a shaking hand.
“Don’t try to talk. They’ll take care of you,” Sam said.
Lazlo motioned for him to come closer. Sam exchanged a glance with the medics, who shrugged as they stood, having stabilized Lazlo. Sam knelt by him and offered a grim smile.
“Save your energy, my friend. You’re going to need it.”
Antonio burst from the temple, a look of alarm on his face. Remi glanced at him.
“What is it?”
“The Eye of Heaven. It’s gone,” Antonio whispered, eyeing the dozens of soldiers who were milling around in the interior. “This is a catastrophe.”
Lazlo coughed and winced. “My . . . my jacket,” he said, turning his head to where one of the men had placed his bloody windbreaker.
“Are you cold?” Sam asked, alarmed.
“No. The . . . the jewel’s in one of the pockets.”
“What?” He scooped up the jacket, feeling the weight, and retrieved the emerald.
“I thought it might . . . be best . . . to remove temptation . . . if we were expecting . . . a crowd,” Lazlo said and closed his eyes, exhausted by the effort.
Remi and Sam exchanged a glance and Sam handed the jewel to Antonio, who took it reverentially. “Be careful, Antonio. That’s an important piece of history you’re safeguarding.”
Antonio nodded, a conflicted look in his eyes as he studied the gem, the memory of his sister clearly at the forefront of his thoughts as he held the treasure of the Toltecs in his hands.
Seven hours later, Lazlo regained consciousness at the military hospital in Veracruz after a two-hour surgery. The prognosis was good, and, with a little luck, he would mend, a puckered scar and a crescent-shaped incision as bragging rights.
Sam and Remi approached his bed as his eyes opened, his complexion still waxy and gray even after countless bags of blood and plasma. He cleared his throat and tried to talk, but Sam shook his head.
“Don’t. We’ll be back tomorrow. We just wanted to stick around until you came to. Looks like you cheated the Grim Reaper once again. Nine lives, the man has.”
“I . . .”
“Just take it easy. There’s nothing that needs to be discussed right now. We just wanted you to know we’re here for you and we’ll be staying nearby. Rest, and we’ll come back tomorrow, all right?” Sam said, and Lazlo managed a weak nod, then closed his eyes and drifted off.
The area around the temple was cordoned off and a small military encampment had been set up blocking the access road. Sam and Remi showed their passports and, after a stony-faced corporal checked their identification against a list and radioed for approval, they were allowed onto the grounds. Another soldier pointed to an area filled with military vehicles, where they were to park. The trail leading the two hundred yards to the temple was now a dirt road, cleared and widened to get equipment and staff to the area. Armed soldiers lined the track every dozen yards or so, and Sam and Remi could see that they were taking the security precautions seriously.
They arrived at what had been a dirt mound only hours before. It now resembled an anthill, with workers crawling over it and clearing soil under Antonio’s watchful eye. A large tent had been pitched nearby, along with a tarp suspended from four beams, under which technicians were setting up equipment accompanied by the steady drone of a generator.
“Antonio, did you get any sleep?” Remi asked as they approached the temple.
“A few hours. I knew I wasn’t going to get much and there’s work to be done here. As you can see, we’re clearing the exterior, with another team working inside. It will take some time to catalog everything.”
“And the Eye of Heaven?”
“Under guard in the base commander’s safe until we can fly it to Mexico City.”
“How long do you plan to be on-site here?”
“At least a week. I’ll be commuting back and forth between Teotihuacan and this site for a while. Both finds are monumental. For which the Mexican people owe you a deep debt of gratitude.”
“The work is its own reward, Antonio,” Remi said and Sam nodded.
Antonio pointed at an area near the flat roof of the temple that had been cleared and called out to the workers in Spanish, then turned his attention back to his guests.
“How is Lazlo?”
“He’ll recover.”
“Have you heard anything about Reginald?”
“Under arrest, being treated at the same medical facility. Reginald’s in guarded condition from blood loss, but he’ll survive,” Sam said.
“I wanted to talk to you about that. I don’t feel comfortable asking but I have to for the sake of my parents. Is there any way you could leave Maribela’s involvement with Benedict out of the official account?”
Sam and Remi smiled together. “We’ve already discussed it. As far as we’re concerned, she died in the line of duty,” Sam said.
“There’s nothing to be gained by tarnishing her memory,” Remi added.
“I thank you. You’ll never know how grateful I am.”
“We’re both very sorry about how this turned out . . . about her untimely death.”
Antonio looked off at the sparkling surface of the Gulf of Mexico, a distant expression on his face. When he returned his gaze to them, his eyes were moist.
“In spite of it all . . . she was my sister.”
Sam nodded as Remi swallowed hard.
“I know, Antonio. I know.”
LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA
Four days later, and one good night’s sleep, Sam and Remi sat in the kitchen, gazing at the cobalt blue of the Pacific stretching to Japan. Selma brought a pot of coffee and set it next to her tea. She cleared her throat as she sat down opposite and studied them. “You two look tan and fit.”
“Yes, lounging around Mexico seems to agree with us,” Sam said.
“I’d say you had a healthy dose of Fargo excitement,” Selma commented.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” Remi said. “Gunfire, cartel killers, hidden treasure. All in a day’s work . . .”
Sam sipped his coffee as Selma filled them in on the news since they’d been gone. Kendra had finally been offered her dream job at the University of California at San Diego and would be starting the following week.
“That’s wonderful, Selma. Thanks again for bringing her aboard to help.”
“I know she really enjoyed her time here. And she made a big point about how we could always call on her if needed.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“She’ll be stopping by tomorrow to get the rest of her things and say good-bye.”
“Good. I want to thank her personally,” Sam said.
“Oh, and did you hear? Antonio was named the new head of INAH. The youngest ever,” Selma said.
“He deserves it. He’s a dedicated archaeologist and he’s paid his dues,” Remi said. “We’ll have to send him a note congratulating him, Sam.”
“Of course.” Sam paused. “And, Selma, may I say that you’re looking great?”
“Well, thank you. I’m actually feeling pretty close to a hundred percent. The doctors gave me two thumbs-up. They said I’ll still need to be monitored, but the procedure and physical therapy have been a success. In fact, I’m taking up tap dancing. Doctor’s orders. Something about it helping with the hip joints.”
Remi looked at her with a look of disbeli
ef. “That’s wonderful. But tap dancing?”
“Tell me about it. But the bad news is that I’m fit for duty, so you’re stuck with me.”
“The best researcher in the whole world,” Sam countered. “Hardly ‘stuck.’”
Color rose to Selma’s face and she turned to look out at the ocean.
“What about Benedict and his brother?”
Sam frowned. “Reginald’s being held, pending trial. We’ll probably have to fly back at some point and testify, but between our account and Antonio’s he’s going to be put in jail for the rest of his life.”
“There’s no way for him to slip out of it?”
Sam shook his head. “None. A major Los Zetas cartel boss was with him, along with a host of cartel killers. Ballistics and prints matched Reginald’s gun to the bullet that killed Maribela. No, he’s history, although there’s some concern that he’ll never make it to sentencing. Apparently, the Los Zetas are holding him responsible for Guerrero’s death, so he’s in solitary confinement for his own safety.”
“And Janus? Did he ever surface?”
“We’ve sworn out a complaint, but there’s some question how that will play out—he’s disappeared. The case against him is trickier because they can’t show him actually pulling the trigger and the only eyewitness who could have confirmed his involvement was Guerrero—and he’s not talking to anyone but the Devil.”
“But Janus was there. You can put him at the scene,” Selma said.
“I know. But it’s complicated. If he was still in Mexico, it might not be, but since he isn’t—”
“Then he might get away with it,” Remi finished.
“Antonio has taken a very personal interest in ensuring that neither of them walk. My money’s on him doing everything possible to make the wheels of justice grind forward,” Sam said.
Selma sat back. “Well, then. Another page in the Fargo book turns. What’s next? You mentioned something about Lazlo?”
“To be determined. He told us he’s going to stay in Mexico and help Antonio for a while, but I suspect we’ll see more of him around here,” Sam said.
“Assuming he’s changed his ways, that could be interesting,” Selma said.
“A bullet tends to be a big attitude adjuster. I think he’s on the right path.”
Selma’s eyes narrowed and then she smiled.
“Well, as with everything, time will tell.”
FORTY-FIVE DAYS LATER, MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
The National Museum of Anthropology was festooned with colorful banners announcing a new exhibition dedicated to the Toltec legacy, featuring the fabled Eye of Heaven—a jewel that had been the feature of countless magazine articles and television specials since its discovery. The undeniable presence of Vikings during the Toltec heyday was now established as historical fact and the jewel served to commemorate the intersection of the cultures.
Dignitaries from the government mingled with the upper crust of Mexico City society at what was being described as “the event of the season.” A sixteen-piece mariachi band played favorites in the exterior courtyard as servers circulated through the crowd, offering appetizers and liquid refreshments.
Sam and Remi stood with Antonio, sipping champagne, near the entry to the hall, where two stern armed guards framed the doorway. Lazlo, also there, shifted from foot to foot, eyeing the crowd, a soda in hand.
“You clean up pretty well, I’ll give you that,” Remi teased. Lazlo hadn’t stopped fidgeting with his tuxedo’s bow tie since they’d arrived.
“All part of my evil plan to take over the country, you know,” Lazlo said with a wink. “But you, my dear, are the envy of every man here.” Remi’s beaded chiffon evening dress by Carolina Herrera danced under the glow of the outdoor lighting. Sam’s smile was worth a thousand words.
“Your friend here has been invaluable on the dig. I even think he’s starting to pick up a few words of Spanish,” Antonio shared with a smile.
“I’m glad to see that you’ve fully recovered—not that I believed that a bullet would slow you down much,” Sam said.
“Mad dogs and suchlike. And, yes, I feel tip-top. Although I wouldn’t recommend the whole getting shot part of the experience.”
“All’s well that ends well, as they say,” Remi said, and held her champagne flute up in a toast.
Antonio’s face grew serious. “I presume you heard about Reginald?”
“No. Don’t tell me that he escaped,” Sam said.
“He was killed yesterday during a disturbance at the prison. It’s still under investigation, but my sources tell me they believe it was a mini-riot that was staged to create a diversion so that several Los Zetas cartel enforcers could exact retribution. Apparently, it was brutal.”
Remi shook her head. “Live by the sword . . .”
“Can’t say the world’s the poorer for it,” Lazlo said, at which Antonio nodded.
“And has there been any word on Janus?” Sam asked.
Antonio shook his head. “No. It’s like he disappeared into thin air. There’s a warrant out for his arrest in Mexico, but it’s difficult to enforce outside of our borders. He hasn’t been convicted of any wrongdoing, so cooperation, especially against a man with considerable money and power, is . . . grudging, to say the least.”
The band stopped playing and an elegantly dressed matron approached the microphone and made an announcement in Spanish. Antonio offered a hushed summary when she was done speaking.
“They’re going to open the doors in two minutes, and, for the first time in history, the Eye of Heaven will be on display for all of Mexico to see. It’s an exciting moment. I hope you don’t mind saying a few words inside and having a brief photo session with the jewel,” Antonio said. “The papers have been clamoring for it.”
“Do we have to?” Sam asked.
“I’m afraid so. It is all part of the pageantry,” Antonio said.
“Can’t Lazlo stand in for us? He’s a far more persuasive speaker, and he’s got the tux and everything,” Sam said.
“You look quite dapper yourself, old chap,” Lazlo said, eyeing Sam’s navy blue Canali silk suit. “No way out of it. Goes with being an archaeological rock star.”
Sam shrugged and turned to Remi. “Well, Remi, looks like it’s time to strut our stuff.”
Remi winked at Lazlo and then turned to her husband. He waited expectantly. Her eyes filled with mischief, she leaned into him and stood on her tiptoes, her lips inches from his ear.
“Pwuk-pwuk.”
TWO YEARS LATER, MONTREAL, CANADA
The longship rested on handcrafted wooden wedges to keep it upright, its keel surprisingly sturdy despite being a thousand years old. Strategically placed lighting illuminated the craft, which had been lovingly restored by a crew that had worked tirelessly, often around the clock. Members of the press roamed the newly built structure adjacent to the museum that had been designed especially for the ship, photographing the imposing hull and the display of artifacts in illuminated cases along the walls, as the gala attendees murmured in hushed tones.
Dr. Jennings approached Sam and Remi through the throng, accompanied by a tall, tanned man in a well-tailored Armani tux. The man’s face cracked into a wide smile as he shook hands with Sam and gave Remi a two-cheeked kiss. It was their old friend Warren Lasch, who had flown in to meet them after investing months of his time helping with the restoration project.
Dr. Jennings, Lasch, and the Fargos walked slowly around the vessel’s impressive length, admiring the care that had been taken in returning the ship to its original grandeur.
“It’s really miraculous,” Remi said as they looked up at the glowering dragon head on the bow. “You’ve done a marvelous job. It’s an amazing achievement.”
“Even the shields look like they’re in perfect condition. Bravo! Really,” Sam echoed.
Dr. Jennings smiled. “Thankfully, we had unlimited resources, due to a generous donation from an anonymous philanthropic organization, so
we were able to take appropriate care to get her here intact and do a first-rate job.” He turned to Lasch. “We couldn’t have done it without Warren’s considerable assistance along the way. He’s been a guardian angel to us.”
“I’m afraid Jennings here is prone to exaggeration,” Lasch said.
“No, I don’t think he is. And the showcases for the artifacts are really impressive,” Sam observed. “This display should be the jewel in your museum’s crown.”
“Yes. We’ve already had requests from Paris and New York to loan the smaller items for an exhibition in the coming years. But, frankly, and perhaps I’m being sentimental, but I can’t imagine letting any of it out of my sight.”
“I know the feeling,” Remi said. “You leave a little part of yourself in each find.”
A waiter approached and made a slight bow. “Mr. Fargo?”
Sam nodded. “Guilty as charged.”
“I have a note for you, sir,” the waiter said, handing Sam a cream-linen envelope.
“A note?” Sam asked, puzzled. “Who from?”
“The gentleman who gave it to me did not give his name. He merely said for you to accept his apologies for being unable to stay.”
“Gentleman? What did he look like?”
“Tall, very distinguished, with gray hair.”
Sam took a few steps away, turned his back, and opened the envelope. He read the short note and then rejoined the others, a slight scowl on his face.
Remi studied his expression. “What is it, Sam? You look like somebody stole your bicycle.”
Sam sighed and passed her the note. “It’s from an old friend.”
Remi read the note out loud in a hushed tone: “‘Looking forward to our next encounter. Enjoy our truce. It won’t last long.’ It’s signed Janus Benedict.” She eyed Sam. “You look as though he got to you.”
“When I get the opportunity, I’ll send him a reply that will burn his ears off.” Sam’s gaze flowed over the crowd, the women in colorful fashionable gowns, the men in black tuxedos looking like a regiment of uniformed elite troops, but there was no sign of Benedict. “I’m afraid he’s made his exit.”