Amanda Jean Kelly

Raul Ignacio stepped into a copse of dense, emerald foliage and removed his wide-brimmed hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. This morning proved more excruciating than most. The end of the dig loomed; he could feel it. Roque let it slip over a bottle of low-grade tequila that funding now ran low. That was a week ago, and Raul could sense the man’s frustration growing every day. The team worked double-time since then, trying to find the big prize.

Yeccijil’s Staff.

Sure, they’d all unearthed some pretty decent shit: clay bowls, tools, even a necklace. All would fetch a price, but not the big one he couldn’t leave without. The artifact on which he staked all his hopes, continued to elude him. Historically, its “supernatural powers” were not to be trifled with, but even more humbling was the price Raul’s buyer seemed willing to pay.

Upwards of a million dollars. A million…

He still found it difficult to comprehend, but that incentive moved him to do the very unexpected. Raul anonymously invested almost every penny of his own money into the dig. This move created several problems. Archaeologists were not typically the suits behind a dig, and for good reason. The more personally invested, the more it affected your work, and Raul could already feel those effects.

He’d always prided himself on taking his successes and failures on the job very personally. However, when every hour he and his men labored meant his own dime, the whole experience took on a new flavor. Beyond that, archaeology was a risky business. Only those who could afford to lose a lot should spend a lot, and Raul was not one of those people. He meticulously saved everything he’d ever earned throughout his career, living a Spartan existence in the hopes that just such an opportunity might knock.

And then the big break came. One casual conversation with a man in a cantina somewhere east of San Ignacio had transformed Raul from digger to investor. An entrepreneurial fat cat with the money to blow on a big stick, Bernard Crousseau showed interest in a remote stretch of Belizean forest when he caught wind of the discovery of the Luchitak Ruins. A lumberman named Musa Pai stumbled upon the partially buried temple of Yeccijil in his search for mahogany in the virgin forests existing high up in the mountains dividing Belize. Due to a loophole in the laws of Belize, Crousseau told Raul, artifacts found in the area would immediately transfer ownership from the Mayans who left them behind to the finders who excavated them. He finagled the man’s business card and ran a thorough check of his credentials. Bernard Crousseau turned out to be everything he said and more.

A king and purported god, Yeccijil led his nation of Mayans into believing his staff could resurrect them all when their version of Armageddon arrived, supposedly in the year 2015. In the meantime, he ruled with an iron fist of brutality, sacrificing women and children to his bizarre rituals atop the very ruins Raul and his diggers now excavated. Eventually, Yeccijil’s own advisors conspired to murder him in a coup d’etat to rival Caesar’s Senate. Now, the old bastard lay somewhere in the belly of the Luchitak temple not forty yards away from Raul, probably clutching that staff like there was no tomorrow.

Raul sat back on his haunches beneath the shade of a cohune palm and took a swig from his cracked leather canteen. A recipient of only moderate amounts of yearly rainfall, the fertile clay soil of the tropical forest permeated heat and humidity on any given day, but the burning hell of impending failure made temperatures climb a few degrees.

Damn it! He needed to cool his jets.

Raul slid up against the tree trunk into a standing position. He jammed his hat on and headed off in the direction of the fresh spring, about ten minutes into the jungle. He knew braving the jungle wilds without a partner didn’t exactly constitute intelligence, but the heat got to him and he just couldn’t stand to have any of the guys around right now. Besides, he could let his machete do the talking if any enemies crossed his path, animal or human.

Raul rid himself of his shirt as he approached the spring, ready to slip into its relatively cool waters. The greenery around him thinned and just as he was about to break through to the clearing around the waters edge, a sound stopped him in his tracks.

A splash?

Probably just a keel-billed toucan stopping for some much-needed refreshment. On the other hand, it could always be a predator. Although Raul might have taken a chance with his money, he knew he could rely on his investment more than he could rely on the feeding habits of unpredictable jungle fauna.

He stepped closer to the clearing with machete unsheathed, prepared to return for a dip another time, if an angry puma showed up with the same idea. What he saw when he peered through the thick shrubbery pissed him off more than he could say.

Theresa Tustin, his favorite verbal jousting partner and dissenter, nodded to the music of her iPod with her eyes closed, completely oblivious to her surroundings. Wearing her trademark white ribbed undershirt with bra straps exposed, she floated contentedly, her head resting on the outcropping of rock at the northern corner of the spring.

Raul took a step forward, snapping a twig beneath his work boots. Theresa turned instantly, poised for action with a pistol in hand. Her fierce expression turned to one of annoyance the moment their eyes met and it enflamed him into baiting her.

“That would have been a bit late, if I was a jaguarondi,” he remarked.

Theresa gave a noncommittal shrug and leaned back into her previous position, closing her eyes once again. Her dark brows slashed against skin once pale and creamy, when she’d arrived at the site. Skin that now glowed tawny under the searing Belize sun. She pulled the toffee mass of her hair back into a ponytail, revealing dark lashes, well-defined cheekbones, a bow mouth, and that stubborn looking chin of hers. The wet undershirt clung to her body, the ribbing expanding over the curves of her petite breasts and closing together around her narrow waist. The roiling waters of the spring hid her from the waist down and Raul couldn’t help wondering what she wore beneath.

“It would have been, if I chose to carry an antiquated weapon, like you. Since I have this,” she continued, brandishing the pistol, “I’m not too concerned.”

“Obviously not,” Raul rejoined, kicking off his shoes. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have so irresponsibly chosen to come out here without a partner.”

Theresa opened one green eye for an incredulous glance and then closed it again. “I could say the same for you. And don’t even start to tell me that it’s any different.”

By that time, he’d stripped down to his boxers and entered the spring. The bubbling waters failed to soothe his irritation, but did serve to cool his smoldering skin. Next time, he promised himself, he would get wrapped up in a chillier excavation. Like an Algonquin site in New England or something. The hell of it was, all of the digs with decent temperatures were bone dry of relics by now. Such was the job.

“So, what are your plans for next week?” Theresa asked, never acknowledging him with her eyes.

Next week? Ha! Probably cry in his pillow over the loss of his savings. Yeccijil had ruined him. But she hadn’t asked him that.

He grunted out the canned response he had thought up for subordinates and interns. “I’m working on a new approach for the northwest quadrant of the temple. I have a feeling we missed a passage there and it’ll do us good to go back over that thing with a fine toothed comb.”

God help him, she laughed! Not just a giggle, but a boisterous, throaty, full-blown laugh. “Oh my God, I’m sorry,” she said, holding her midriff as the laugh faded into smaller bubbly chuckles and then a cough. “You’re kidding, right? I mean, everyone knows the green for this project pretty much dried up. I’d be surprised if we last another few days out there.” Her jade eyes sparkled with antagonism, but at his fuming gaze, she straightened up. “You mean, you haven’t heard the talk?”

“I’ve heard,” Raul gritted out. “But I don’t put much stock in rumors. Those hombres would be better served digging than running their mouths, even if lack of money is the case.” He leaned back against the rocky ledge, determined to relax despite Theresa’s grating presence.

* * *

He knew the truth, Theresa thought. Her blunt approach usually shocked men into revealing much more than intended. The cagey way Raul responded made her think he might have as much riding on this dig as she did.

Theresa stretched her legs and replaced the ear bud she had left out until now. Raul could keep watch for a while. She looked up into the canopy of trees, fascinated by the mass of epiphytic blooms that almost blocked out the bright, blue sky. Her mother might see the same sky right now from her bedroom window in Santa Jacinta. Theresa’s beautiful, high-spirited mother, lying on her back to passively watch the world.

The thought made her sick.

If Theresa could be there, right now, she would sit by her bedside and tell her mother stories of exaggerated archaeological exploits. Indiana Jones would have nothing on her. And then, when Brenda Tustin finally tired enough to be able to sleep, Theresa would cuddle up under the chenille comforter with her.

Theresa wouldn’t be able to tell those stories if it hadn’t been for her mother. Brenda Tustin did everything in her power to put her daughter through four years of college, plus another year or so of ridiculously low-paid internships. She worked several jobs simultaneously for all of those years, pushing herself to the limit, and all for the happiness on Theresa’s face when she finally told her she’d been asked to join an excavation in New Mexico, and not as an intern.

That had been three years ago and Theresa supposed those manic qualities finally caught up with her mother. If she hadn’t gone home for a visit just before joining this dig, she never would have found out about her mother’s cancer, the six months of missed mortgage payments and the bank threat to foreclose on her childhood home. Theresa couldn’t fathom the point at which her mother would have chosen to tell her own daughter any of this. She thanked God for the success of the chemo, so far, but shuddered to think what would have happened if she hadn’t come home.

Theresa used everything she had to pay off a few months of payments and explained the circumstances to the bank, asking for some time to pay the rest. She still wasn’t exactly sure how she would obtain the funds, but knew it would improve the situation if she could distinguish herself on this excavation. Maybe even get some kind of recognition or promotion. Damned if that would happen if she didn’t find Yeccijil’s Staff, though. Theresa looked high and low, even gone into the ruins at night while everyone else on the team slept, in the hopes of claiming the discovery as her own find. And now the dig would end, and she would be worse off than when she joined them.

She opened her eyes and gave a frustrated kick, splashing the dozing Raul in the face. The drops of water slid over his muscular torso like diamonds on copper. His tiger eyes flashed with indignation, drawing attention to the thick, wet lashes framing their smoky depths. Raul really didn’t like her. She could tell by the stern set of his sensual mouth. Those full lips curved into an easy smile for everyone else but her.

Theresa couldn’t blame him, really. He sensed a competitor, just like she did. She laughed then, if only just to taunt him. “Aw, you’re all wet, Raul. Just like this excavation.”

Something she said must have struck a nerve, because his fierce scowl shifted fluidly into a nasty sneer. The rush of water greeting her face shocked Theresa, to say the least. She sat for almost a full minute, her caramel locks plastered to her forehead.

Raul uttered a Spanish oath and crossed his arms, childishly pleased with himself. “I guess that makes us even… Theresa.” He executed a sardonic bow and her foot itched to kick him.

The way he said her name, though… Tay-ray-sah. She shivered. I’m a sucker for Spanish inflection.

At the sound of rustling in the undergrowth of ferns, Theresa and Raul grabbed their respective weapons. Armed and definitely dangerous.

“Raul! Raul!” Danny Kohler appeared through the brush, his curly red hair indicating a liberal dose of humidity and nerves. “Whoa!” he cried breathlessly. “Don’t shoot, Theresa.”

She dropped her weapon and rolled her eyes. The intern made eyes at her while he struggled to catch his breath. A nineteen year-old anthropology student, Danny opted to spend his summer break working as an unpaid intern and mooning over Theresa.

At the moment, he rested his hands on his knees in a runner’s pose, but didn’t take any time out from his busy flirting schedule. “So um,” he began, huffing wildly, “You look nice today, Theresa.” She cast a sidelong glance at Raul and almost burst into laughter at his scornful glare.

“Danny!” Raul interrupted. “You came here with some kind of purpose?”

He dragged his googly eyes away from Theresa and nearly jumped when he saw the look on Raul’s face. “Oh! Yeah, Boss, you’ll never guess.” He gulped and straightened. “We found it.”

Raul leapt from the water with blinding speed. In his rush to get back to the site, he donned his clothing in a blur of movement.

Damned if she would let him beat her there. She dashed out of the water, shoved her feet into her boots and ran in front of the two men. She flung her pants over her shoulder and they flapped in her wake.

Raul gaped as Theresa sped ahead, clad only in her undershirt and bikini bottoms. He turned to Danny and pushed the young man’s gaping jaw closed.

“That, my good man, is one competition I’ll gladly lose.” The sight of her supple rear and strong thighs swaying rhythmically as she ran cooled his antagonistic spirit. After all, he could afford to be generous now. The staff had finally been found, if not by him, and payday was on its way. Never again would Raul be beholden to anyone. He could go anywhere, do anything. Fund his own excavation, and still get to do the dirty work he loved.

In her haste, Theresa’s cargo pants snagged on a tree branch. She barely noticed, so intent was she upon beating Raul back to camp. Raul laughed in victory and slowed Danny to a halt while he grabbed the mislaid pants. “The spoils of war, young Daniel.” The intern’s mouth split into a wide grin as he nodded. “We’ll walk the rest of the way, I think.” He smiled with smug satisfaction. “What’s the rush?”

As it turned out, hurrying would have been pointless. The “staff” the entire team gathered around turned out to be nothing more than a hunting spear. As if Yeccijil would bury his prized possession in the food prep area, anyway.

Roque gave a fierce whistle, making the veins on his forehead stand out from the exertion. His face retained a permanent swarthiness he owed more to the burning South American sun than his Latino heritage. Not a small man, he long ago left the digging behind. Preferring instead to shout from above a site or make his way into ruins after the back-breaking labor of excavation had already been finished by someone else.

“Alright, listen up, people!” Roque’s squinty eyes flicked over his crowd of subordinates. Raul tried to hide the impatience and frustration that must have been obvious from one look at his face. “As you might have heard, or gossiped about,” he began, sending a pointed look at Danny. “The funding for this operation has run dry.”

A groan went up from the gathered interns and archaeologists.

“So, although it’s the end of the season, we won’t actually be coming back. For those of you going off to field seasons in other parts of the world, good luck. Tomorrow will be our last day of excavation. Day after that’s packing.” He rubbed the thick beard that obliterated half of his swarthy face. “As for the rest of you professor-types, have fun writing this stuff up back at your desk jobs. We unearthed a lot of important relics—”

Neither fury nor frustration described Raul’s mind-set. “Who’s taking over this site when we leave, Roque?”

Theresa turned around to give him a smug look and said, “A. H. Atkinson Corp., of course.” Damn, the woman lived to torment him.

“Asshole Atkinson?! You’re kidding me, right, Roque?” He punched a fist into the tree bark next to him, doing more damage to himself than to the tree in the process.

“That hasn’t been determined yet. What has been determined is that we’re leaving.” He pointed out various team members as he began to dole out final tasks. “Ramón and Diego, I want you two to stop trying to clear the humus from the basal axial trench. Exposing those stones on the collapse level doesn’t really matter anymore. Lab team, we still have two buckets of sherds left from the backlog. I want those all numbered by end of day today. Survey crew, nothing left for you guys to do. Go ahead and pack your gear.”

“What about me, sir?” Danny asked.

“Interns, you’re assigned to camp clean-up. Make sure we take all our food and supplies with us. I don’t want to leave anything behind that might be even slightly useful to Atkinson.”

“I’m just glad I don’t have to pine-sol the outhouse anymore,” Danny commented.

He got a few laughs from the team members closest to him and the group began to disburse.

Theresa grabbed her pants from Raul and tugged them on as she approached Roque. “Whatcha got for me?” she asked with a wink.

Sensing a bit of conspiracy, Raul stuck around for their conversation but remained out of sight. “I guess you’re a light packer?” Roque asked.

She gave him a genuine grin. “The best.”

Roque lit a cigar and inhaled deeply, savoring the pungent smoke. “I also guess you’re still trying to find that tomb in the rear western outset?”

“Good guess.”

He dragged long and hard on the cigar again, making Raul think Roque might be as stressed by their failure as he was. “Might as well keep on, then. Find that tomb and I’ll make you second in command of the next dig I do.”

Theresa skipped off; no doubt satisfied with the incentive her rotund boss gave her. She held out the same hope as Raul did about the staff still being found. Damn her. He might have gotten caught up in the dollar signs he had been seeing ever since his conversation with Crousseau, but he hadn’t lost his love for the dig or the high that only came on the heels of a big find.

Bah. She looked in the wrong place, anyway. The Mayans who buried Yeccijil believed in the ultimate power of his staff. Although they would have wanted to keep it handy for the ruler’s eventual return, they wouldn’t have left it in his tomb, the most obvious place of all. He looked up to the caves in the terrain above the dig site. No, sir. Those creative Mayans had a much better spot. And Raul would find it.