Deity (45 page)

John
raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s very generous.”

KC
smiled, pleased with the warmth washing over her. For the first time she felt a
purpose for her training and talents. Somehow, that was enough. It was all she
needed.

John
lightly tapped his knee and then pulled himself to his feet. “Well,” he said
with a grunt and a clumsy adjustment of his crutches, “I suppose there’s no
point in trying to convince you to take Peet’s seat. I’ll go inform him of your
decision.”

KC
let him go, sending him off with a rewarded smile.

* * * *

“Where
have you been, Lori? We’ve tried calling you for three days now.”

“I’m
sorry, Gabriella,” Lori said, shifting away from the festive procession now
approaching the Zócalo. She shifted her cell phone to her other ear. “I’ve been
away from my phone.”

“So
did you find your Quetzalcoatl and all that?”

Lori
paused. “It became complicated.”

“Well,
nothing’s as simple as we want it to be. Just ask Mike. Turns out the Mayan
calendar didn’t destroy his world like he expected.”

Lori
had to smile at her choice of words. No, the calendar didn’t destroy the world.
In fact, it seemed the world had destroyed the Mayan calendar. What had been
revered and reputed as ancient wisdom personified, the Long Count Calendar had
quickly fallen off the radar as a joke, a spoof—another glaring example of yet
another failed apocalypse.

And
then there was Abe - perhaps the only man on earth who had destroyed the very
calendar that ended little more than his own life in return.

Mike’s
voice erupted into the background. “You missed a great event, Lori!”

Gabriella
sighed. “Here, I’ll let him tell you all about it.”

“Wait…Gabriella…”

There
was a rustle at the other end of the line as Gabriella passed the phone along. Lori
rolled her eyes and waited. A signal from her call waiting filled the void.

“It
was the end of the world,” Mike spouted. “It was the end of the world as we
know it.”

“Mike,
I’ve got another call…”

“This
is the beginning of a revolutionary shift in human perception.”

Call
waiting interrupted again.

“That’s
great, Mike, but I’ve got to go.”

“You’ll
see,” he continued. “Prepare to open your mind to things you’ve never thought
of before.”

“
Thanks,
Mike. We’ll discuss this later.”

With
that, Lori disconnected the line and answered the incoming call.

“Lori?”

It
was Stefanie, her contact with the biological team charged with the
preservation of The Trader’s bones. This was a call she needed to take.

“Stef!
How’s it coming with the remains?”

“We’re
all but finished. You can
come
look at them tomorrow
if you want.”

Lori’s
pulse started racing as her fingers toyed with the tenderly returned Kokopelli
pendant dangling at her chest. She’d be on campus right that very moment if she
could. But explaining that she was waiting for a flight out of Mexico
would consume too much of the present conversation, so she chose a convenient
diversion.

“Maybe
I’ll wait until after Christmas to see him,” she said.

“Him?”

“Yeah.
I can’t wait to learn what secrets The
Trader might share about his Effigy.”

There
was a long pause on the other end of the line. Lori took a quick peek at the
service bars on her cell phone. It was picking up full reception.

“Stef?”

“Lori,”
Stefanie’s voice returned. “Haven’t you read any of the preliminary reports?”

“No,”
Lori admitted. “I don’t want my study to be influenced by anyone else’s data.”

“Maybe
you should at least take a look at the field notes from the dig,” Stefanie
advised.

Lori
frowned. She leaned into her phone and placed a finger over her open ear as
cheers erupted from the Zócalo. “Why do I need the field data?” she asked.

“All
this time I thought you knew,” Stefanie said. “It was determined while the
remains were still in situ that The Trader is not a man.”

“What?”

“That’s
right, Lori. Your Quetzalcoatl is actually a woman.”

* * * *

Peet stood along the fringes of the Zócalo, his eyes
taking in the Christmas lights and over-sized decorations that bordered the lit
and over-sized square. The evening carried chords of Christmas renditions
offered by mariachi musicians playing somewhere on the other side of a
manufactured tree of record-breaking size. Even the enormous Mexican flag
complimented the Christmas flavor. Children of all sizes were everywhere,
circling the giant ice rinks and flinging down the carnival-style snow slide. But
most striking were the parents there with them, not simply supervising, but participating.
It was the most striking display of family togetherness Peet had ever seen. Or
perhaps he was just sensitive to the atmosphere considering he was a mere
spectator to the intimacies of family.

It
was when the Posada procession arrived behind
Joseph,
and Mary on her donkey—a living nativity dwarfed by the holiday fiesta—that an
old desire to share in tradition struck him. That was also when John crutched
up beside him.

“Nobody
celebrates quite like the Mexicans,” John observed.

Peet
nodded, noting the tone of admiration in John’s voice. “I’ve been thinking,” he
said. “If those seats don’t open up tomorrow, I could use the Cardinal’s money
to charter a flight home for all of us.”

Ever
since Laffy and his Vol de Feu dropped them all off in Mexico City two days ago, John had ritually
checked for an available flight out. Nothing had opened up yet. In short, they
were stranded with few options but to wait. That was, until earlier this
afternoon when Peet was approached by Cardinal Balbás who promptly handed him
roughly twenty thousand dollars worth of pesos.

“I
can’t accept this,” Peet said. “I didn’t bring back your crucifix.”

The
cardinal waved a hand. “The cross is not important now,” he said. “However,
consider it payment for bringing home a transcended priest.”

With
that, Cardinal Balbás would not listen to any further protests, burdening Peet
to decide what he should do with his reward. Was this a moral test? Was he
expected to donate the money back to the church? He couldn’t even convince KC
to take it as compensation for her lost plane. So should he keep it for
himself? Would he rather make a contribution to the anthropology department?

“Keep
your money, Anthony,” John said with a pat on Peet’s shoulder. “It seems nobody
is in a great hurry to get home.”

“KC
declined the seat too?”

“If
the ladies intend to stick around, I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t go.”

“It’d
be nice if enough seats opened up for all of us.”

About
that time Peet spotted Lori pushing through the crowd gathered around a
chocolate atole vendor. Her face was beaming. Peet recognized that look. She
was excited. She was on a mission.

She
was hot on the trail of discovery.

“Is
that seat still up for grabs if it comes open tomorrow?” she asked as she
approached.

“Decided
you’re ready to go home after all?” John asked.

Her
sparkling eyes belied the coy undertone to her smile. “The Trader’s bones are
available for study,” she said. “I can finally get back to work on the heart of
my dissertation.”

Caught
up by her enthusiasm, Peet gave a chuckle. “Well, we can’t delay you any
further,” he said. “Of course you can have the first seat.”

Lori
brightened, nearly dropping her cell phone in her excitement. “Great! I’ve got
to make some phone calls. There’s a woman I need to get to know a lot better.”

Peet
was still chuckling as she bounded off, her finger punching into the pad of her
phone. Even John took an extended moment to watch her go.

“Her mind rarely strays from her work, does it?” John
said.

“That’s
a sign of someone who really enjoys what they’re doing,” Peet agreed. “I hope
that seat opens up for her.”

John took a moment to clear his throat. “You know,
Anthony, if those seats do open up, maybe you should take the second one.”

Peet turned to him, surprised. “You’re giving up your
seat? I think you’ve got the most pressing matters to return home to.”

John
waved a dismissive hand. “The FBI can wait another day or two. Besides, I doubt
they’ll be in a pinch to work on Christmas Day. And Martha’s just happy that
I’m alive. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Peet
gave him a mock-stern look. “You’re not planning to run off into the jungle
again, are you?” he joked.

John
smiled as he glanced at his crutches.
“Not hardly
.” When
he looked up again it was to watch Lori as she continued to walk away. “It’s
like she said, Anthony. I think there’s a woman you need to get to know
better.”

Peet
grinned as Lori escaped into the Christmas crowd. John had sniffed him out, but
this time he didn’t want to deny it. He didn’t want to hide it any longer. He
suddenly found himself deeply hoping for those seats to open up. A flight back
to the states with Lori, with time to concern
himself
with nothing but her, sounded perfect.

And
if those seats didn’t become available, well, maybe he’ll just charter that
flight after all.

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