Bosom Companions

BOSOM COMPANIONS 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When Anatoly took the assignment from Gio Giordano, the godfather of the Giordano family, it was supposed to be an easy “in and out.” Get the archaeologist, drop him in the middle of jungle in an undisclosed location in Central America, find the breastplate, and then fly first class back to his house in the Philadelphia suburbs with pockets approximately five hundred thousand dollars heavier. Called “The Ax” by those in the business, Anatoly was true to his name. He broke into the archaeologist’s house armed with Fiskar’s best model and the obligatory 9 mm with silencer. What greeted him in the two-story Brooklyn brownstone was not what he expected. Instead, Dr. William P. Boring was, for all intents and purposes, excited about being kidnapped.

           Peering over his bright purple glasses, which angled precariously at the end of an aquiline nose, Dr. Boring gazed at Anatoly with a wry smile that crinkled the edges of emerald eyes. Besides the color of his eyes, he was rather unremarkable. He had thin lips which would have benefited from either hydration or some lip balm, a lean frame exacerbated by the need to gain about thirty pounds, and greying hair that once was strawberry blonde but was now desperately clinging to his remaining follicles.

           “My dear boy,” Dr. Boring said with a laugh upon learning Anatoly’s purpose. “If you’re giving me a choice between grading Freshman essays or changing the entire field of archaeology and humankind as we know it, by all means, kidnap me.”

           Which was why, rather than having to threaten to remove the doctor of one of his fifth metatarsals, Anatoly watched him pack a small bag, leave instructions to water the plants to a no-doubt beleaguered housekeeper, and don an entirely-too-cheerful hat. The man hadn’t even objected to the blindfold Anatoly had placed over his eyes and instead regaled him with the history of the blindfold, the religious symbolism of which dated back to the 15^th Century, as if Anatoly really wanted to know.

Six and a half agonizing hours of plane trivia, one harrowing car ride that made Anatoly question his life choices, and one long walk into the jungle later, Anatoly and the nerd were together at an obscure and illegal archaeological site Anatoly had no doubt was not funded by the Smithsonian. Or any other reputable institution.

Anatoly hunkered his six-foot three-inch frame in the Aztec vault in the middle of the jungle and wondered how he wound up fending off mosquitos and dengue fever, sweat oozing from his pores in rivulets that dripped pockmarked patterns onto the sandstone floor. The vault itself was barely five feet high, the entrance a thin wedge of stone. The entire structure was a layered catastrophe of failed architecture, cultures building upon others for centuries in overlaying patterns until a hurricane in 1954 collapsed it for good. Over the years, local legends created curses around the site, spinning fantastical in what Anatoly figured was probably a good way to avoid legal liability for morons playing Indiana Jones.

“No te vayas, señor,” the locals warned. “Hay algo malo ahí.” Don’t go. There’s something bad there.

No shit, Anatoly thought, staring at the good doctor who was slowly assessing the cavern. It’s called structural instability.

There were, others, of course, who speculated that the structure had been built to cover a sacred site of the god, Quetzalcoatl, containing his breastplate of shells and stones. Devotees believed it allowed the bearer to control water and the powers of life and death. While archaeology ignored the legends, dismissing them as conspiracy theory folly, the mythos around the breastplate had suddenly taken off in the underground. Word among the family organizations said the breastplate was worth millions upon millions, if not priceless. If the legends were true and the breastplate held mystical power, then anyone who controlled it also controlled humankind’s future.

It was ludicrous.

And tempting.

Far too tempting.

Which is why he was there, miserable, with the good doctor who was, despite the situation, not miserable. In fact, judging by his little humming routine he was currently engaged in, he was feeling downright perky.

The small cavern descended a thousand feet into the earth and nearly two hundred feet in depth below it. Once through the initial tunnel, the cavern was all smooth slate walls that led the traveler deeper and deeper into the earth. The air went from hot and humid to cool and humid, crystals of ice starting to form and leave a white residue on the cavern ceiling. The deeper one went, the more the cavern suggested there was a measure of truth in the legends. Gio’s team of illegal excavators found the cavern, but stopped, either from fear, or because they didn’t know where to dig next.

“What’s all this?” Anatoly asked.

Symbols of the feathered serpent were carved into the walls with vortices and swirls indicating rain and storms brought on by the god’s wrath. Totemic heads that once held torches burst through the stone, now holding electric flashlights that provided a dim but flickering light.

“Well, I would say it’s a log of Quetzalcoatl’s power with the breastplate. This tells the story of a great flood he sent as punishment for disobedience.”

“Does it mention where the breastplate is now?”

Dr. Boring peered over his glasses at Anatoly and shook his head, his expression somehow both condescending and pitying.

“That would presume the Aztecs could predict the future. As it stands, they only speak of its use during their own time.”

Anatoly rolled his eyes. “How long is this going to take?”

“I don’t know. Days, weeks.” The professor shrugged. “You can’t hurry these things.”

“Try me.”

Dr. Boring ignored him. His booted feet were silent on the sandstone floor. He opened his knapsack and pulled out gloves and a leather wrapped bundle he unrolled to reveal brushes and trowels, some no bigger than a painter’s palate knife. Dr. Boring began brushing away layers of dust, meticulously examining the symbols on the far wall of the vault.

“You could help, you know,” the professor said. “If you are worried about time.”

Anatoly uncrossed his arms and walked over to where the professor was working. “What do I do?”

The professor gestured half-heartedly to his bag. “I have another set of tools.”

Anatoly reached into the knapsack where he found a stash of granola bars, two water bottles, some mushroom jerky, and another bundle of tools. Then, to Anatoly’s surprise, he found another item in the good doctor’s pouch. Anatoly pulled out the small stuffed donkey and raised his eyebrows.

“What’s this?”

The good doctor raised his eyebrows. “That’s Frank. A luck charm from my ex-wife who once made an unflattering comparison between the two of us.”

Anatoly eyed Frank, who was looking condescending, and shoved him back in the knapsack. “I thought it might be Eeyore.”

“What do you know about Eeyore?”

Anatoly flushed awkwardly. “Eh, my kid loves him. She makes my wife buy Winnie the Pooh everything.”

“You have children?”

Anatoly crouched down and began replicating the professor’s movements, brushing away bits of dust from the stones. “Yeah, a girl.”

“And you’re married.”

“Yeah. Why?”

Stopping his work, Dr. Boring turned to Anatoly with an expression that was a combination of shock and bewilderment. “What does she think you do for a living?”

“Freelance.”

Dr. Boring shook his head and quickly turned back to studying the symbols. “This says that there’s another compartment beneath the vault. It says the breastplate is located in the mouth of Chimalman in the cavern of gold.”

“Chimalman?”

“Quetzalcoatl’s mother.”

“So, how do you get to her cavern?”

Dr. Boring kept brushing. “Through Mictlan, the underworld.”

Anatoly raised his eyebrow.

“I don’t think it means literally.”

Anatoly chuckled.

Anatoly heard a noise at the end of the tunnel. His eyes narrowed. Anatoly drew his gun, but the footsteps stopped at the entrance of the cavern. He took a deep breath, hoping the height of the tunnel and vault were turning the intruders away. He swallowed. He should have just left the good doctor alone to find the breastplate and headed out.

“You should have listened!” A familiar voice called.

It was one of the shopkeepers from the nearest village.

Anatoly tensed. This was bad.

Then he heard it.

The unmistakable hiss of a fuse.

“Shit!” He yelled seconds before the explosion rocked the cavern, sending cascades of rocks and dust to crumble all around them. The good doctor curled himself tight against the back of the cavern while Anatoly did his best to stay on his feet. When the violent shaking subsided, he coughed and waved away the dust, banging one of the battery-operated lanterns with his hand.

“You alright?” He asked Dr. Boring. “Not that it matters. Pretty sure we’re dead.”

“Quite,” said the doctor in a voice that had Anatoly turning around. “Alright, I mean. And we are definitely not dead.”

“I appreciate your optimism.”

“No,” said the good doctor, pointing to the floor. “And watch your step.”

Anatoly’s eyes widened. In the center of the vault, a gaping maw had opened with the explosion. It easily spanned three feet wide and two feet long. The satchel hung from one of the stones jutting over the chasm, poor Frank hanging precariously over the edge. From opposite sides of the cavern, both Anatoly and the doctor crept forward and peered down.

“Holy…”

“Quite,” the doctor repeated and looked at Anatoly with a smile.

Steep stairs, carved from limestone, descended down into the earth. Anatoly’s light flickered and refracted around them, bouncing on endless mirrors of Aztec gold coins and precious gems.

“Do you see that?” Anatoly whispered.

“It’s a treasure chamber.”

Anatoly felt a soft rustle of fresh air from down below and grinned. Treasure be damned, that air was the best gift he could ask for. The Aztecs must have built the chambers with multiple exits in the case of a cave-in. He looked at the gold and then at the cave-in.

Even if the breastplate wasn’t down there, the number of gems and gold would secure his retirement.

After all, what Gio didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Especially if he was the one behind that cave-in.

“Well,” said the doctor. “Your thoughts, my boy?”

Anatoly shrugged. “I’m thinking we’re going to go into the underworld, bury that damn breastplate where no one can find it, and raid the treasure.”

The good doctor’s eyebrows raised up to his hairline in surprise. “You want to destroy the breastplate?”

Anatoly gestured with his thumb to the cave-in. “You want a target on your back for the next thirty years?”

The archaeologist sighed. “Can I at least study it before we bury it?”

“You get until we run out of mushroom jerky. We’ll have to take an alternate route and avoid the village to get back home. You’re going to want food.”

“And after?”

Anatoly shrugged. “I heard there’s a lost Da Vinci in Nepal.”

“Sounds fun. I know a bit about Nepal. In fact…”

Anatoly raised his hand. “Save it for the flight.”

The professor laughed. Peering down, he said, “Should we find out if the breastplate is down there?”

Anatoly nodded.

Dr. Boring pulled his satchel over his shoulder, tucking Frank inside with a loving pat. Together, the hitman and the anthropologist descended into the underworld.