“Come on, Lazlo, you only live once,” Remi joked.
“Which I’ve grown quite fond of in my own way, even if dry as the desert wind. I’d hate to have my winning streak ended by a machete blade.”
Antonio waved at them from the glass terminal doors. “They’re here.”
Two silver Chevrolet Suburban SUVs sat at the curb. Three uniformed police officers stood by the vehicles, submachine guns dangling from shoulder straps, deployed as though they were expecting to be attacked at the airport. Everyone’s demeanor grew serious as the reality of the danger there was driven home by the men’s alertness, and any urge to joke about it further died at the sight of their weapons and the flat look in their eyes.
“I’ll ride in the lead vehicle with the officers and Lazlo,” Antonio directed. “Maribela, you ride in the second vehicle with the Fargos.”
Their baggage and equipment was loaded and they were out of Veracruz, on the coastal road north, within fifteen minutes. Shimmering fields of tall green grass undulated in the light breeze as they rolled past. When they left the city limits behind, the landscape transitioned into farmland, with acres of crops stretching to the base of the foothills in the distance. Half an hour from Veracruz, a massive array of mocha sand dunes lined the coast.
“That’s amazing. It looks like the Sahara,” Remi said. A four-wheel-drive dune buggy shot over the crest of one of the nearest dunes, throwing a cloud behind it as it tore along parallel to the highway and then raced back toward the sea.
Ten more minutes and they passed a lagoon, the rippled emerald water dented by the wind, ringed by palm trees and brightly painted cinder-block buildings with thatched roofs. Lazlo pointed off to their left at a peak, jutting into the sky like a monolith.
“That’s promising. I seem to recall that described rather well, actually. Looks perfect for rock climbing, if that’s your thing, what with the sheer face and all.”
Maribela glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “That’s El Cerro de los Metates. It’s well known in Veracruz. There are Totonac tombs nearby in Quiahuiztlan, along with substantial ruins on the hill. Let me know if you’d like to see them. The turnoff is up ahead.”
Remi shook her head and Sam shrugged. “Maybe once we’re done looking around on the coast. Would there have been Totonac settlements around here at the time Quetzalcoatl arrived? Around A.D. 1000?”
“Without a doubt. The region has been inhabited for thousands of years,” Maribela confirmed.
“Interesting. For whatever reason, I imagined this stretch as relatively desolate back then,” Sam said.
“Well, it’s more a question of semantics. There were definitely cities in the area, but they were small compared to modern standards.”
“So this would still have been remote?”
“Except for fishing camps, I’d say that would be correct.”
Four miles farther north, the brick-red towers of the Laguna Verde nuclear power plant came into view. Maribela turned her head slightly toward the rear seat.
“Our destination is on the other side of the plant. As you can see, it’s a large complex. It’s been in operation since the mid-nineties.” They passed the buildings, and Maribela pointed at a deep teal lagoon on their right, between the highway and the Gulf of Mexico. “That’s Laguna Verde—the ‘green lagoon’ the plant gets its name from. The road we’ll take runs north of it to the shore.”
The lead Suburban’s brake lights illuminated and signaled a right turn. Dust rose into the air as it turned onto the dirt track, and their SUV followed. They passed several homes and then made another right and followed the road until it became little more than a trail. Antonio’s SUV stopped by a dense thicket and he got out, along with the armed escorts, and waited as the driver parked.
Everyone gathered next to the rear cargo doors and waited as Antonio pushed aside the assortment of picks, shovels, pry bars, and lamps to get at the smaller items and hand them out. Sam hefted a machete and regarded the blade before sliding it back into its canvas sheath.
Antonio cleared his throat. “All right. The police will stay with the vehicles to ensure nothing happens to them in our absence. You all have canteens and machetes—my only word of warning is about snakes. There are plenty of rattlers around here, so tread carefully. And do not be in a hurry. They should be more afraid of you than you of them,
but you never know, so best to give them plenty of warning that you’re coming.”
“Nobody mentioned snakes, either,” Lazlo reminded Sam, who shrugged.
“He just did.”
Remi took over from Antonio. “We’re looking for the ruins of a temple. Exposed to the weather, it may be only remnants. I’m not sure, but if you come across anything that appears man-made, yell. I’d suggest we spread out, ten meters apart, and work our way south from this point.”
“Again, how do we keep from being bitten by snakes?” Lazlo asked.
“By moving slowly and watching your step,” Antonio said.
“Prayer might also help,” Sam added.
“Ready?” Remi asked.
They began working their way up the rise toward the summit, accompanied by the sound of the surf crashing against the rocks at the base of the cliff ten stories below. The brush was thick and untamed, covered by a canopy of tree branches, nourished by the plentiful rain and sun. Late morning transitioned into afternoon, the sun beginning its slow descent behind the Sierra Madre Mountains, when Remi called out from the edge of their line.