Day 350 – Writing exercise
He had never liked the desert, or anywhere hot, if he was telling the truth.
…
It started out a joke and ended up as the reason for defunding my project, but irrespective of the reason given, it was not unexpected because of the lack of progress, and cost overruns.
And the fact that I had suffered a minor breakdown, having laboured day and night, in very hot, dusty, trying conditions for longer than I expected.
Of course, the fact that I had assured the Management team that I would be available 24/7, and was forced to go on indefinite sick leave, was probably the final nail in the coffin.
That, and the fact that I had participated in an interview where I had confessed, in a moment of reflection, that I preferred to live in the cooler climate of the mountains than in the middle of the desert, the place where I had been running a major investigation into underground rivers.
Or, as my hard-working and cynical assistant project manager had put it, they didn’t want a woman taking my place, and worse, they didn’t want anyone to know they had run out of funding.
In the end none of it matered. They shut down the site.
…
Melanie, Acting Project Manager, resident cynic, and all-around conspiracy theorist, had dropped in on her way home, or as she put it, a welcome deviation before returning to a ‘rat hole’ at her sister’s residence while in transit between jobs.
I had just left the hospital, and arrived at my ‘Shangrila’ the day before. She had just wrapped up the operation in Mexico. She looked as exhausted as I still felt.
When Melanie watched the replay of the post-project interview, curious to see what had been said, she realised one very important point. “You were led. The interviewer had a definite plan to lead you down a particular path, and then took a run with it.”
“I was tired and wanted to get it over with.”
“You didn’t ask for the slate of questions ahead of time?”
“I did and was given a folder. There was nothing about climate preferences, or the possibility of exhaustion, in them.”
“There you are. It was nothing less than a set-up, clearly designed to derail your project.”
Melanie always suspected the organisation that funded the projects to be exactly the sort of people they portrayed to the outside world, and she had been very vocal at the first meeting, and several since, citing the world needed water, not geo-thermal energy.
In the beginning, it had been a hard sell. Until suddenly they changed their minds from a hard no to a three year deal.
That was until the two board members who agreed with her had retired in the last six months.
“If they hadn’t retired, we wouldn’t be here.”
Actually, we would. We had not found irrefutable evidence that there was water under the impenetrable rock. It was somewhere near there, I just wasn’t sure exactly where, and drilling bores wasn’t cheap.
I had been assured they’d come back to it later.
Meanwhile…
I was on administrative leave. Melanie was supposed to go to Peru, or Chile. Instead she stayed with me.
…
Melanie had also suspected the Project Management organisation of having ulterior motives. I had also heard the rumours that somewhere of the projects had two purposes.
The most recent, an archaeological dig turned into a search for oil, in a place where the local government had been prevented from prospecting.
Our project had the security team ‘enhanced’ because of ‘perceived’ threats to our safety, which, in the end, didn’t materialise.
Just before the funding dried up.
It was not as if they didn’t have a reason. Suddenly, we found it difficult to bore through the hard rock to get down to the suspected cavern where an underground river ran from the Arctic to the north to the equator.
We had found what was believed to be the entrance in northern Scandinavia, but not the outlet, other than ancient evidence of water feeding a flourishing Aztec city, not just dry dusty ruins. It had been paradise.
And as much as I would like to also give my archaeological skills a run, that hadn’t been our focus. We just had to work around the archealogical aspects of the site.
Even so, I had a feeling someone was poking around the ruins, with people going missing, and strange noises at night.
Melanie was adamant that the ghosts of the city’s once-inhabitants were rising up to protect their final resting place from us invaders.
It became the subject of a conversation one morning, after about a week, the amount of time it took for Melanie doing nothing to start getting bored.
She had just latched onto the archaeological aspects of the site, just arriving at a conclusion I had considered a possibility, but unlikely given the local government’s stand on exploration of the ruins.
“It’s an unjustified cost to bore through impassable rock, especially when we cannot prove an outcome.”
“What if it wasn’t and they’re just telling you that?”
I looked at her over the conference table with surprise. Melanie was my guru for superstitions and conspiracy theories, and was often closer to the bone than most.
She had said once after a few too many margaritas that the site we were working at had been an old Aztec temple and place of worship and sacrifice, and more than one ghost had been seen at night.
I thought I had seen one myself, but I didn’t believe in such things. But I did suspect that there might be an element of truth in another myth she had uncovered, that somewhere within the boundaries of the site was a reputed entrance to a network of caverns and tunnels, where artifacts had been hidden from the Spanish conquerors, and which several items had been found nearby.
It would make more sense to think we had been shut down so that another cladescine expedition was being funded to locate the entrance, or determine whether there was any truth to the supposition of gold and or artifacts were hidden there. That would make more money than finding underground watercourses.
“Then what are you telling me?”
“Those extra security staff sent to save us from the revolting masses would know one end of a gun from the other. Did they look like mercenaries?”
After a few more margaritas she confessed her ideal man was that Hollywood stereotype mercenary, a stereotype that was not supported by the members of of security team, or the additional people sent.
“Not really, but do we really know that security people have a ‘type’?”
“Girls who look like they just came from a fashion show in Milan. You remember Joanne and Louisa?”
I don’t think anyone could forget them. She had a point, but by that time, I was almost overcome by exhaustion.
“You think they were archaeology students?”
“Isn’t that how digs work? One or two experts and a dozen students are working towards their degrees. You went through that process.”
I had, though, not been so lucky to find a dig so rich in history. “We were strictly forbidden from any archealogical exploration.”
“And Management knew you’d assure them that nothing like that was going on. They relied on your reputation, one of the main reasons the local government allowed the project. That you’d run it and you’d find water. Especially if you found water. When I stopped at the office of the mayor to give him the keys, half a dozen of the newbies, including the girls, were still there. They were supposed to be on a plane a week ago.”
“They don’t have permission to conduct archaeological exploration of the ruins.”
“Who needs permission to do anything, other than us good guys. We’ve been running a distraction. I think they’ve discovered the tunnels and caverns. And they, more than anything else, might lead us to the water. We were looking in the wrong place. I think the city was built on top of the water outlet, and the Aztecs destroyed it themselves to spite the Spanish”
“But we were not in the business of treasure hunting.”
Or were we?
“Why don’t we go and find out?”
…
Melanie and I had worked together for nearly ten years and had know each other since university as struggling engineers. My first choice of archaeology became my second choice out of practicality.
Melanie was fun, we had a brief fling, but it was at a time where serious stuff like study, then work, tore us apart. Now we had gravitated back into each other’s orbit, and in the latest downtime it was a sign she preferred to stay with me than go home to her sister.
The bolt hole of a room filled with years of accumulated junk may have been a better reason to stay, but after three days of sleeping on the couch, she came out, took my hand, and told me we were finally too old to be making the same mistakes.
It was one of those things where you just knew instinctively that you should be together. We finished each other’s sentences. We knew what the other was thinking, but that thought was not expressed out loud. It was scary sometimes.
Like sitting on the plane heading towards Mexico City, and seeing two of the Management team that had been at the meeting that shut us down.
It had been her idea to disguise ourselves, not with fake hair and props, but by getting her friend, a stylist who worked in a Salon, to give us both a makeover.
Even I didn’t recognise myself in the mirror. And Melanie, well, I don’t think I ever looked at her other than as that sloppy eighteen-year-old who cared less for fashion and style than I did.
And we didn’t even have to try and act like we were on our honeymoon.
Off the plane and into secret agent mode, which felt strange trying to act like someone your not, was a little comical.
We followed the two ‘targets’ from the plane, to immigration, to the baggage hall and through customs, to outside the terminal building, where they were collected in a white van, the vehicle that delivered the new security team members a few months before, and their leader, who got out to greet them and stow their luggage.
“I was right. Sneaky devils.” Melanie might have had a complete makeover but her underlying personality was still there.
What had seemed a lark back in the retreat where we were safe and cosy now took on a more serious aspect. The idea of getting proof … of what, wasn’t exactly clear now … gave me second thoughts.
There was definitely something going on, but it might be legitimate, and we were just blowing smoke.
“How do you know any of this is suspect? I mean, they could be here for something else?”
She looked me up and down. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Besides, I asked Monty to bump into the Mayor’s assistant, you know, the one he’s keen on, and ask her if anything is afoot.”
Of course, Melanie had a network of spies.
“She wouldn’t tell him anything.”
“After a few Margaritas, she’s worse than I am. You really need to get out more.”
Perhaps I did, though trying to imagine Melanie as this whole other different person was a surprise.
“And…”
“It’s not what she said, it’s how she said it. I think that there’s an undercover operation going on, like there was while we were there. I suspect, given what Monte tells me, they closed our operation too quickly, on the basis of a discovery that was premature. They found the entrance to a tunnel that had been covered over to look like a roof collapse, and everyone jumped the gun.”
“No tunnel?”
“Nothing but an empty cavern.”
“Someone else stole the treasure before them.”
“Doubtful. They found bones. One of the intrepid students said it was a place for rituals, like sacrifices to the gods.”
“They did that in temples on top of hills. They’d more likely be the remains of captured Spanish invaders.”
She shrugged. “Whatever they’re doing, time is running out. Maybe they’ll ask us to come back and run interference for them.”
“Would you?”
“They know I wouldn’t. It’s why they were sending me to Peru. Purgatory.”
A battered van that had seen better days screeched to a halt in front of us, and I saw Monty through the grimy side window. The last time I saw the van, he was taking me to the hospital.
He gave Melanie a hug, with far more affection than I expected for friends, and felt a tinge of jealousy. I would have to get used to her affectionate and easy manner with everyone.
Then he shook my hand. “You still look terrible.”
“Thanks. I thought you were going to modernise?”
He had spoken about getting a new Toyota.
“Why mess with perfection? It gets from point A to point B without a hiccup.” He opened the side door, and we got in, then closed it with a bang.
Seconds later, we were on our way to the hotel, whatever cloak-and-dagger hotel Melanie had picked. It was not going to be a five-star or even four-star.
We were, she said, flying under the radar. I had expected to be given a new fake passport after the makeover.
I found it hard to believe anyone would care what we did; now we were no longer working on any project. I was still on Administrative leave, whatever that was.
“So, what’s happening.
“That is a long story and I think it’s better if I show you. Settle in at the hotel, and I’ll come and get you at 8pm. You will be … amused.”
Amused, then, it will be.
…
I spent the better part of an hour trying not to think about Melanie in a clingy black jumpsuit.
Our instructions were to dress in black, head to foot, for camouflage. I didn’t look half as good as she did, and I had to readjust my thoughts. It had been so long since I’d been that close to a woman, and I hadn’t really expected that I would feel this way.
I got the impression that she liked being admired, again, part of her persona that I would have to get a grip on. I can’t be jealous of everyone and everything.
In the jalopy, my new name for Monty’s vehicle, he wasn’t telling us much, except…
After the site was closed down, an old man, a descendant of the Aztecs, he thought came to see him.
First it was to thank him for getting it done.
Second, he said he was the last of the custodians of the city, and having no one to pass it on to, asked Monty if he would.
Monty was curious as to what it entailed.
Making sure no one discovered the true power of the city. It was dismantled when the invaders got too close. For the elders, it meant they had to kill the city so the invaders would go away.
Of course, he agreed, if only to find out what this power was.
The man took him to a certain part of the city, some distance from where it was considered to be the southern wall line, the original city with four walls and four gates, all of which had only traces remaining. The city was considered only within the walls.
The spot they were headed was out of view of the city, and, he was told, for a reason.
He ended with the fact that he had seen what the man wanted him to see, but decided to wait until we had returned. It was what he had been told what there, well, he wanted the rights to the movie because this was going to be an instalment of Indiana Jones.
I was beginning to think he was completely mad.
…
It was a dark night with a cloudy sky and intermittent moonlight. On the drive here, it had been reasonably light. Near the bushes after parking, it was very dark, and Monty had been using a pen light to minimise exposure.
Monty parked the car in a spot that was practically concealed on three fronts. It was clear the man who showed him had been there before, once recently.
From the parking spot, it was a short walk towards a copse of thick bushes that, for some reason, seemed to be growing very well when everything beyond twenty metres was dead or dying.
We watched Monty carefully pick his way through the copse, following equally as carefully. The bushes were prickly and the thorns sharp.
With several scratches we made to the middle, where an area of the ground was covered in sand.
Monty went to the other side of the clearing and looked on the ground for several minutes before he put his foot into a bush. That’s what it looked like. Then, several seconds later the sand started sinking, then moving slowly sideways exposing and opening and steps going down.
Monty had brought a backpack and distributed three torches.
“I’ll go first.”
I noticed he also had a gun. I’d never seen him with a gun before.
We went down. And down. And down. There seemed to be a lot of steps built into the walls of a hole that had been dug out of the rock that we apparently drilled through.
Until we reached a large, very deep hole that seemed to go down into the depths of the earth. At the top, there was a wooden structure that looked like the top of an elevator, though that was impossible.
On the side, more steps, heading down.
And in the background, a very faint but familiar sound. Running water.
“So, this person knew all along we were looking for water in the wrong place?”
Monty nodded. “He’s a guardian. I’m surprised he told me, but he seemed to think I had a hand in sending you lot away. He asked me to be the next guardian.”
“He has no interest in reviving the city?”
“The city is in ruins. Nothing can revive it.”
“Is there anything of value?”
“If there is, he didn’t tell me about it.”
It was not that difficult to see what had been used in this well. A system of buckets taking the water from below up to an intermediate reservoir, then redirected to the city, and elsewhere.
The real treasure here was the water.
“Now you know, what are you going to do?” Melanie gave me one of those sideways looks of hers, the one that said, There’s a right and a wrong decision. We found the waterways, but it didn’t end here. That was somewhere else, and I could plot it.
They shut the project down, and as far as I could see, it might as well stay shut. I didn’t think they’d find any treasure, and even if they did, they wouldn’t tell anyone.
I looked at Monty. “You want to become this guardian character?”
“If Juanita will have me. What are you going to do?”
“I told them I want to find the endpoint. This is not the end. I’ll be going further south, Chile, Peru, Argentina, or find something else to do. Maybe I’ll write a book about the Aztecs.”
“Good choice. That old man I was telling you about. He takes his job seriously. Those treasure hunters, they’re on borrowed time. I told him you’d do the right thing.”
“And if we hadn’t?”
“I told him you would do the right thing. You didn’t make a liar out of me. Now, let’s go eat. All this stumbling around in the dark has made me hungry.”
…
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 