Raiders of the Lost Heart(2)
Corrie’s mouth slackened, but nothing came out. Person? What person? Various names swirled through her head, but none made any sense. It couldn’t be any of the people she’d previously approached for funding, because why the need to remain anonymous? And she didn’t really know anyone else who had the financial means to pull off something like this, and certainly not someone who knew her well enough to be so sure that there wasn’t even an inkling of a chance that she’d say no. Few people knew Corrie at all—at least, not the real Corrie.
“Corrie?” Miriam asked, her voice strained with worry and confusion, pulling Corrie’s attention to the matter at hand.
“Um, uh, yes,” she said, standing and walking toward the door. “How about I e-mail you this afternoon and we can reschedule?”
Corrie held the door open for Miri, who took two tentative steps back while nodding and taking one last glance at the stranger before she closed the door. With her back to the man, she took a deep breath, then turned and leaned flush against the wood-paneled slab.
“Who sent you?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Mejía, but that’s confidential.”
“All right . . . Then where would I be going?”
“Also confidential.”
Her eyebrow quirked up. “Okay . . . How am I supposed to direct this dig if I don’t know who I’m working for or where I’m going?”
“You’ll be assisting, not directing. The specifics will be left to the lead archaeologist.”
A tiny laugh escaped her lips as she tossed back her head and looked at the ceiling. He couldn’t be serious. No way was Corrie agreeing to play second fiddle on a Chimalli dig. Not even if succeeding on this dig could finally launch her into archaeology’s gated inner circle where she might be taken more seriously.
“Hold on. Let me get this straight. Not only will I not be the lead, but you want me to agree to go on a job not knowing who sent you, who I’ll be working for, or where I’ll be going, and I’ll be leaving in a few days? And, let me guess, your name is confidential, too?”
The man didn’t flinch.
Oh, there was a catch, all right. She laughed again, but this time it was a full-throated laugh filled with disbelief and annoyance. Without further hesitation, she whipped the door behind her wide open.
“Well, you can tell whoever it is that sent you that they clearly don’t know me at all. I’m going to have to pass.”
She signaled toward the door with a nod of her head, then crossed her arms. And the man smiled. Corrie wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile off his face with a full-handed smack as he finally rose from his seat and walked to the door to leave. But before he did, he stopped in front of Corrie, his face two feet from hers.
“Sorry to hear that you don’t want to partake in the discovery of your ancestor’s remains. When you change your mind, there will be a ticket waiting for you on Sunday morning at the United Airlines counter. Flight leaves at five a.m.”
Corrie stood at the door, eyes wide, as the man walked down the hall without turning back. In one word, the man had convinced her. Ancestor.
Whoever sent this man knew her better than she could have ever imagined.
* * *
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
Mexico in August was even hotter than Corrie had anticipated. She’d been many times to visit family, go on vacation, and participate in other digs, but never in August.
She’d also never gotten on an airplane after being propositioned by a man with no name, but the time to question her decisions had already passed. There had been a brief moment at SFO when she’d debated her own sanity—sometime after realizing that the man with no name had somehow gotten her passport information, but before boarding the plane. A quick call to the Anthropology Department’s administration office confirmed that Mr. No-Name had verified the details of the expedition and her travel arrangements in advance. That at least gave her a sliver of confidence that she wasn’t en route to her demise.
“Last call for passengers on flight 5468 to Houston,” the loudspeaker bellowed out.
She glanced at the note accompanying her ticket to board flight 5468 to Houston, along with its companion ticket to her final destination in Oaxaca, Mexico, once more.
We knew you’d agree. We’ll find you outside the airport once you land.
Oaxaca. There’d been many theories on the final resting place of Chimalli, Oaxaca not being one of them. Based on her research, that wasn’t the final destination. No, this was merely the jumping-off point.
Most people thought he’d fled south of Tenochtitlán into the pine-oak forests of the Sierra Madre del Sur. Others thought west, near Lake Chapala. Corrie had other ideas.
The Lacandon Jungle. The outskirts of the Aztec domain, not far from the abandoned settlements of the Olmecs, Zapotecs, and Mayans. The Lacandon provided thick cover from enemies and had an abundance of flora and fauna to consume in the absence of farmed foods. Its terrain and conditions matched perfectly with what Corrie believed were the most credible accounts of Chimalli’s disappearance.
And it was located not far from Oaxaca.
Part terrified and part eager, Corrie had boarded that damn plane, determined to at least find out who the hell had the nerve to think they knew her better than she knew herself. Besides, she could always back out if things looked shady once she arrived. Unless this was all a ruse to kidnap her. Or worse.