Atapoc

Atapoc(Anthony Colombo) “OH my God,” exclaimed Bill Martin, a graduate student from the University of Southern California. He had been working on an Inca site as part of his graduate studies. “Doctor Evans,” he shouted.
Doctor Evans had received her degrees in anthropology and archeology nearly thirty years before and was considered to be a world-class authority on ancient American cultures, Specifically South American cultures. The sound of urgency in Bill’s voice startled her and she almost dropped the twelve-hundred-year-old jar that she had been working on. After some effort and a little juggling, she was able to regain control of the jar and slow her heartbeat to a point where her heart was no longer likely to punch a hole in her blouse. Her face reflected her displeasure at the way Bill chose to call her, but her voice was calm and professional, “yes Bill, what is so urgent?”
“Bill, get a grip. What is true?”
“The legend, it’s true!”
“Bill, you have got to help me here. This country has almost as many legends as it has people. So, which legend specifically are you talking about?”
“Atapoc, it’s true! Look here on this stone stair. See these gliffs, unless I am mistaken, they say he was real. Look here, see it talks of a shaman called Atapoc.”
“I see that, and what you are implying, I think, is if Atapoc was real, the stories about his leg are also real. Am I right?”
“Well, OK, as real as people of that time might have reported it. I know that they were simple and to a simple people simple things can appear as a miracle. Still, look at Troy. No one thought the story of Troy was true until it was found.”
“So?”
“Well, I mean, think about it. He was a very powerful shaman. It is said that he was able to visit the underworld and that is where he got all his power…”
“I remember, and I remember too, that he was a master of the black arts. It was believed, he was in league with the devil himself. It was also said that on one occasion he was caught between worlds and as a result lost one of his legs at the hip.”
“Yeah, that is the legend I mean! They say that the leg has mystical powers. Just think if he was real, then maybe the leg thing is also true.”
“Bill, do you know what you’re saying? We are scientists not witchdoctors. If the things that were said about him are even a little true, do you realize how dangerous he was or could be?”
“OH sure, but…”
Doctor Evans stopped him before he could finish, and said, “No Bill, No! There are no buts about something like this. We are scientists. We dedicate our lives to the advancement of man’s knowledge, and we do that to the benefit of people. I don’t question the fact that there is more for me to learn but I don’t like Voodoo. As a historical figure, there are gapes that Atapoc will help to explain, and, in that capacity, he will be of great importance to us. Beyond that there is nothing to be gained from him or the stories about him.”
Bill wasn’t ready for the lack of enthusiasm on the part of Doctor Evans. He felt as if all the air had just been let out of his balloon. Here he thought he had found a Rosetta stone that would answer all the questions of the world, but the one person he wanted to impress chose to pour ice water on his find. Well, the hell with it. If she wasn’t interested, he was, and he would have his day, he thought. It may be a while, but it will come.
Five years had passed since that day in the jungle when Bill first glimpsed his future, yes it was his future because no matter how long it took he was going to go after the leg. Now Bill was Doctor Martin the Curator of Antiquities for a midwestern museum. Over the last year he spent nearly one hundred percent of his time preparing for this presentation to his board of directors in the hope of receiving funds for the guest of a lifetime. He was as prepared for them, there was no way they would deny him this, the most important gem for his crown, as any man who was betting his life on one throw of the dice. Besides, the finding itself would not only make the museum the talk of the town, but it would rocket him to celebrity status.
Bill had never been so prepared in his life; one could even say that something – no someone had been guiding him turning myth into fact. From the moment he stood, his audience was mesmerized. He talked for two hours, and no one moved. His words held each person, in their own way, lost in adventure, mystery; desire, and when he was finished, he could have asked for and received an estate on the French Riviera. So, when he just asked for the money and equipment to outfit an expedition to South America that might take up to six months, there were no objections.
Bill began his perorations immediately. He had a sizable budget, but he controlled the purse strings like a miser. He bought what the team would need and made sure it was the best, limiting purchases to necessities only, there would be no frills. This trip would not be a vacation. The people that went with Bill would be there to work. The excitement of discovery and the money they would be paid would be their reward, everything else would come later.
His team members were also picked, with getting the best for the least as well. His effort in this regard was most evident in the selection of his assistant, and the fact that she was young, attractive and energetic may have played a part, but her real assets were her Masters of Science in Archeology coupled with her outstanding work to date on her doctorate, Dale Clark was twenty-seven, 36-24-36, blond, blue eyed, five feet six inches tall and her weight was of no concern because it was perfect. OH yes, her mind, it was just as good as the rest.
“Excuse me Doctor Martin,” Dale asked, “what is the story behind Atapoc?”
“Until recently,” began Bill, “he was just a name. Someone I dreamed about since I was a boy watching National Geographic on television. Legend has it that he was a shaman for the Toltec. No one knows how old he was, but his name appears in Toltec history over a period dating from 900 AD to around 1200 AD. It is said that he could pass between worlds and that he was given his mystical powers from the head of the underworld himself. At around 1200 AD the ChiChimec invaded the lands of the Toltec and while trying to escape the ChiChimec he lost his leg when the portal between worlds slammed shut on him. The consensus is that anyone in possession of the leg would possess the power of the gods. If that were true, just think of all the good that could be done. There would be no more war, disease would be a word in the dictionary, and man would need for nothing.”
Doctor Martin rambled on like a boy talking about his vacation trip with his parents to his best friend. Dale really knew the story, and heard it from the good doctor several times, but liked to watch his face as he told it. Still there was the business of preparation to deal with, “I talked to Professor Doctor Garcia from the University of Mexico today,” she interrupted.
“That dog. How is Miguel,” asked Bill.
“I guess he is fine, but that isn’t why we talked.”
“I know. I was just pulling your leg,” and the mention of her leg caused an erotic thought to flash in his mind and strange grin to form on his face.
“Are you alright doctor,” asked Dale taken aback by the look on the doctor’s face.
“No. No Dale it is OK, I was just thinking about something. Did Miguel have anything to add to our up coming adventure?”
“Yes. It seems that his team working on a dig at Tupoc Amaur in Peru found a mummy bundle they called the “cotton King” because of the way it was wrapped. At any rate, they found a piece of cloth inside the bundle telling a story about Atapoc.”
“You sure he said Atapoc?’
“Yes, and he said he wants us to join him. He said he believes you now, and he said the Mexican Government believes you as well. He said they are putting a DC 10 at your disposal, and he will meet us at the Mexico City airport on the 15th.”
“Did he say, why Mexico City?”
“Yes, he did. He said that the cloth talks about a battle between Atopoc and Quetzolcoutl near a village called Tula and that is near …”
“Mexico City,” Bill finished the sentence.
“Right,” Dale responded.
“And Miguel is sending us a plane?’
“Well, him and the Mexican Government.”
Bill got a broad grin and said, “Damn I love Taco Bell.”
The plane Professor Garcia promised landed at LAX on the 13th. Bill and his team had left from Lambert Field, outside St. Louis, Missouri, and parked next to the Mexican DC 10 four and a half hours later. Almost immediately the transfer of equipment began. Miguel was there with a smile a mile wide. “Bill, I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Juan Hernandez from the Mexican Army. He and his men will provide protection while we work.”
Bill shook his hand to be polite, but in the back of his mind he was thinking that the lieutenant was there to help Professor Garcia steal his work and all that went with it, well my friend we shall see, we shall see, Bill thought, then he said, turning to the Lieutenant, “Bill Martins, its my pleasure.”
“Bill,” Miguel interrupted, “we have things to do. We have to be out of here by tomorrow, so we have much that needs to be done.”
Miguel’s response was cold, mater-of-fact, and it took Bill by surprise, “sure Professor, lets get to it.”
The plane was loaded but only Bill and Dale were in Los Angeles. The remainder of his team was still in St. Louis because this was only the 13th and they had until the 15th, so there was still time, at least that is what Bill thought. Things were happening too fast for Bill’s liking.
Dale was a real trooper, she didn’t seem to understand why things were happening the way they were, but she was keeping pace step for step. Bill on the other hand was seeing red flags and suspected he was being pulled into something he had no control over. He knew Miguel, only on a professional basis, because of lectures and correspondence, he knew the lieutenant, not at all. He thought Miguel could be trusted but the lieutenant had a hungry look, he couldn’t be trusted at all. Then there was Dale. What was he getting her into?
Could he trust Miguel? I’m being paranoid. I’m seeing ghosts where there are none. These people are just as excited about what lies before us and that’s all, he thought. Bill dismissed his suspicions and busied himself with the task of stowing his equipment on board the plane.
On the plane the atmosphere changed. The pace wasn’t as rushed and even the lieutenant was a little more human. Since there were only four people on the plane their time was spent in idle conversation. Professor Garcia told Bill about his findings at Puruchuco, an Inca Cemetery at Tuapac Amaru.
“I don’t understand,” said Doctor Martin. “Tupoc is in Peru.”
“Yes, that and the stone step you found in Ecuador five years ago seem to indicate our priest was heading north. As you told me, he was at least 300 years old, more than enough time for travel. Now with the cloth we learned that he was in Tula near Mexico City where he may have ended his days on this side of the barrier between our two worlds.
“I understand that there have been some digs in the area of Mexico City,” Bill stated questioningly.
“There have been, and there have been several interesting things uncovered, but nothing regarding Atapoc – at least not yet” said the Professor. “When I last spoke to Alejondro, my site supervisor, he told me they were days away from the find of the century.”
“Well, that can mean anything,” responded Bill.
“No, my friend, he knows that we are looking for Atapoc. I personally told him to put everything on hold until we settled the Atapoc issue once-and-for-all. So, I hope we will have that news by the time we land.”
Bill couldn’t put the apprehension that something ominous was about to happen out of his mind. He was uneasy and, try as he might he knew that he could not trust the Professor very much and Lieutenant Hernandez not at all. He kept thinking about Dale; wondering what he had gotten her into. He knew that they both would be at the mercy of the lieutenant and his ARMED men. He would be hard pressed to defend himself let alone a young attractive woman in the jungle.
Still, the flight was as pleasant as circumstances would permit. The in-flight meal was simple fare consisting of tortillas, Mexican beans, sweet meat and fruit. The meal was prepared and served by a woman dressed in the style of an Incan peasant. She was a plump woman in her fifties and gave one the feeling that his mother had gone to heroic ends to make her children the best meal a poor family could afford. The meal and the manner of the old woman help tremendously to set Bills mind at ease. He felt content and was even able to nod off after his third serving of what he thought was the best meal he had eaten anywhere at anytime.
The plane landed with a jolt and Bill awoke with a start. His mind spun trying to grasp what was happening and bring itself under control. As he became more awake, he looked out the window of the plane and saw all the normal activity of a large city airport. The sight settled him, and he eased back into his seat further preparing himself mentally and physically for the coming adventure. The plane taxied to a hanger at the far end of the field. There were several military jets fighters parked outside the hanger, and the sight of the jets caused that uneasy feeling to creep back into Bill’s conscious mind. There was no doubt left in Bill’s mind as to who was running the expedition. The jets removed any uncertainty that might have existed. The government of Mexico would be a part of this only as far as their money was concerned. The military, or rather, the lieutenant was in control, and how much the Professor had to say was still in question. The sight of the military only increased the sense of impending doom and grew worse as the planes door opened and two Mexican solders pushed the ramp to the plane, I wonder if the early Christians felt this way as they entered the Coliseum, he thought.
Professor Garcia was the first on his feet. He walked over to Bill and said, “Come Doctor, it’s time we deplane. There is a great adventure out there and it calls to us.”
Bill looked up to see the Professor smiling and felt this must have been what a condemned man saw as he looked up at the headsman before being asked to kneel.
At the foot of the ramp, Bill saw a thin man dressed in dirt covered khaki pants and short sleeve shirt. He was nervously dancing from one foot to the other like a small boy in need of a restroom. “Alejondro, my friend,” shouted Miguel.
“Senior Professor,” called Alejondro, “I have wonderful news. We have found the tomb of a priest.” “Atapoc,” Bill asked.
“No senior. Not Atapoc, but I think just as good,” Alejondro proclaimed.
“What are you saying,” asked Miguel as he continued down the stairs of the ramp.
“You must see for yourself,” answered Alejondro. “It is magnificent. The carvings are as fresh as if they were tooled yesterday, so crisp, and so clear. I… I, well you must come! You must see!”
Miguel turned to Bill, “I don’t know what this fool is talking about. I know you must be tired, but I think we should go before this idiot has a heart attack right here.”
For reasons unknown to Bill, his fears seem to evaporate, and he said, “No, no I feel fine I had a good nap on the plane. Please. I agree. We must go now. I don’t think I could wait until tomorrow.”
Alejondro led the way to what used to be an American Army duce-and-a-half truck. The American markings had been painted over with a green paint, that was a poor match for the olive drab used by the American Army, and Mexican markings were then added.
Bill and the lieutenant were shown to the rear of the truck, while Dale and the Professor were seated in the cab. The ride was long and hard, for the men in the rear of the truck. Two hours later the truck pulled to a bumpy stop in Cuircuilco. Alejondro had driven through the small village to where his team had been digging, and as he waited for his passengers to climb down from the truck, he began to dance again. His excitement was beginning to boil over and if his passengers took much longer, he would explode. “Seniors y seniorities, please we must go this way. It is not far, and you will see, you will see. It is magnificent. Professor, please.”
The walk wasn’t far, but dense undergrowth and trees blocked the dig sight from immediate view, and when it finally was visible, there wasn’t much to look at. “Here we are. Now you will see. This way, we have not much farther to go. Please.”
Alejondro led the small group to a stone pyramid about the size of a two-story house. The structure had only partially been excavated. The front of the tomb was exposed, and the remainder was still covered by dense jungle. The entry to the tomb stood open, “please we go inside, you will see, very important. Inside, please.” Alejondro did everything except push.
Miguel, followed by Bill, Dale and the lieutenant with Alejondro bringing up the rear entered the tomb. The room was unlike Egyptian tombs in that the walls and ceiling were bare. In the center of the burial chamber, a room thirty feet wide by forty-five feet long, stood a granite sarcophagus. Bill noted that the sarcophagus did resemble those, he had seen in museums, of Egyptian sarcophagi. The granite lid, massive and obviously heavy, was covered with magnificently carved hieroglyphics. The carvings had covered every inch. Bill’s eyes lit up. At a glance, he saw the name Atapoc.
Professor Garcia clapped his hands and said, “ladies and gentlemen, we have had a long day. I think a bath, dinner and a good night’s rest would do us all a lot more good right now than any thing we could do in here tonight.”
Everyone but Bill and Alejondro heard him. Both Bill and Alejondro were deep into the glyphs on the sarcophagus lid. Miguel walked up to Bill and put his hand on Bill’s shoulder. The sudden pressure almost caused Bill to jump through the roof, and Bill’s surprise startled Miguel. He pulled his hand away and said, “I am sorry my friend. Please forgive my stupidity.”
“No, no Miguel, it is me I’ve just gotten so into this that I lost all track of who is where. It’s me who is sorry.”
“Please, my friend, let us get some rest. We can start tomorrow.” If it’s OK with you, I would like to start now.” Alejondro and Bill stayed behind. Alejondro saw to the generator. Once light was assured, both men turned their attention to the slab of granite. Bill was the first to speak, “this reads like a historical proclamation. It seems to disagree with the legend as well.”
They worked well into the night and then into the early morning. By the time the clock told 3 AM, local time, both were ready for bed. Breakfast came and went without Bill or Alejondro, but when Bill and Al, as Bill had begun to call him, did make an appearance, they were real buddies. Bill had developed a found appreciation for Al. He was impressed that here was a man working for knowledge and not fame contrary to what he felt motivated the actions of his Mexican counterpart. Both men fielded questions from Professor Garcia and Dale, while the lieutenant, who was present, remained curiously silent. Bill said, “Well the glyphs are more a historical account of Tuletec, the priest in the tomb. He, as it turns out, was a general in the army of Quetzalcoatl. It tells of a great battle between good and evil. The battle lasted four days and nights without a stop. It tells how Atapoc called up lightening from the clouds and directed the bolts against the priests of Quetzalcoatl. If one were struck, he was blasted into a million pieces. Our priest is personally credited with destroying over a thousand of the evil enemy before he was killed.” Bill concluded by saying, “the legend isn’t what we have been led to believe happened to Atapoc. He wasn’t caught between worlds; if he were he might be able to return. What actually happened was that Quetzalcoatl turned a thunderbolt thrown by Atapoc back on him. It seems that Atapoc was so busy with the battle that once the thunderbolt was thrown, he directed his attention to something or someone else. Being distracted, it was easy for Quetzalcoatl to dispatch his archenemy. At any rate, the thunderbolt blew Atapoc to pieces. The stone tells how the priests took days to collect all the parts of Atapoc. When he had them all, Quetzalcoatl ate them. The pieces were so evil, however, that they nearly destroyed him. Well as you might have guessed he wasn’t able to eat the leg, the only part left.” “Did the slab tell what had happened to the leg,” asked Miguel, his lack of concern for the history on the lid was obvious in the tone of his voice.
Alejondro said, “Yes it did. The great Aztec god prepared a lead casket and a great stone sarcophagus to house it. Then it was buried.” Again, the tone of voice gave away the true feelings of the Professor when he asked very seriously, “where!” “The exact location isn’t given, but the implication is that the site isn’t far from here,” answered Alejondro sheepishly. “Well, where shall we start looking,” insisted Miguel. “It isn’t as if we don’t have any clues,” responded Bill more than just a little irritated with the way the Professor was treating Al. “We for example, have local lore,” Bill continued. “The natives speak of a land where no one goes. They refer to it as the evil place. It is said that nothing grows there. How hard would that be to find,” Bill’s phrasing of the question dripped with sarcasm. With absolutely no acknowledgement of what Bill had just said, Miguel turned to the lieutenant and said, “How soon can you have a helicopter here?” “The helicopter will be here within an hour senior. I’ll take care of it immediately,” he said, and then he was gone. “What the hell is happening here,” asked Bill? “Are we advancing knowledge here or just lining our pockets?” “Doctor Martin, my friend,” said Miguel apologetically, “you misunderstand my enthusiasm. It is, well, we are so close to our goal…” “No professor, you misunderstand,” retorted Bill, “this is evil and not just movie evil and it is so wicked that it almost killed the most powerful of Aztec gods. I think we need to take our time and rethink what we are doing and how we are about to affect the world we live in.” “Sure, sure my friend let us slow down. We will go to our tents and rest for now. Tonight, at dinner we can talk more.” Bill was angry, he was feeling used. Al on the other hand felt like a servant who had offended his master and feared his displeasure. Both men left with out another word and walked to their tents. Bill threw the tent flap back with such force that if it were a door would have been torn off its hinges. He stomped up to his cot and plopped down on his back with his hands behind his head staring at the tent above his head, boiling at the way things were developing. “Bill,” said a soft voice from outside the tent, “may I come in?” Bill recognized the voice immediately. “Dale? Yes, sure please come in.” “Doctor, are you alright? You seemed a little short with the professor.” “I’m confused. I don’t know what we are doing anymore. I was told once, a while back, that I should leave this alone. I didn’t understand then, but after seeing that slab…well I just think we maybe getting in over our heads. I can’t help feeling that we are going to open Pandora’s Box for a second time, and this time it’ll be the last for not only us but the world.” “I see, and I agree if something evil is used by evil people to do evil. But, well what if the thing isn’t good or bad? I mean, if the leg only had mystical power, the kind of power that could be used for good or bad and had no moral value of its own. Well, if the leg is neutral, then it would do whatever the user willed, and if he or she were good, it would do good because it has no will of its own. Does that make sense?” Bill sat up and looked at Dale. She looked like a little girl, eyes sparkling, talking to another little girl about what little girls think are important. She looked innocent and trusting. “I’m not so sure. I’m not … the glyphs are so… I got the feeling that I was looking at the end of the world.” “OH, Doctor,” Dale gasped. “No Dale. It’s not OH Doctor! It’s my God what are we doing?” “But we have a chance to turn the world around. Just think. What if it was God’s will that we have this leg? If He actually is pointing the way that He wants us to follow. It must be for a reason. Maybe He wants us to find this thing because He knows we can stop wars, illness, hunger and… why would He lead us to something so evil?’ Bill started to answer but was cut short by a WHOPP-WHOPP-WHOPP outside his tent. The sound grew louder as it got closer until the tent began to vibrate violently, it didn’t take a genius to know that the military helicopter had just arrived. He and Dale could hear Miguel calling Lieutenant Hernandez, but the noise of the copter was so loud that their exact words could not be deciphered. As the drone of the motor died away, Miguel yield, “Doctor, we’ll be leaving in about an hour. I’d like you to join us!” Miguel’s voice left no doubt, this was not a request, it was an order. Bill thought, for God’s sake what have I started? God forgive me. Getting to his feet he felt as if there was a ton of lead on his shoulders. He was taking his time because he was sure he was going to his death, and he was hoping that there would be a last minute reprieve from the governor. Sitting about one hundred yards from Bill’s tent was an American built helicopter. He didn’t remember who the manufacturer was but he had seen enough newsreels to know this was the one the military used in Vietnam. This too had been repainted and remarked, but unlike the truck there was something that made the copter stick out. He studied it and then it came to him, patches. There were about a dozen small metal patches in evenly spaced rows along the side of the passenger compartment. It came to Bill that the rows were what one would expect to see if the vehicle had been strafed by machinegun fire. Looking at Miguel, he said, “This thing has been shot at!” “Yes, my friend, your Army used it in drug raids in Columbia.” Then as an attempt to placate Bill he added, “Not to worry though, they fixed it up fine before they sold it to us. Shall we get on board?”
The side doors of the copter had been removed, if they had ever been on in the f
irst place, and inside were seats for six. Bill, Dale, Miguel, and Lieutenant Hernandez got in and strapped themselves down. The pilot looked back to make sure all his passengers were seated and safely secure. When he got a nod from the lieutenant, he turned his attention to the front of the craft, and it began to lift like an elevator. Suddenly, the nose dipped sharply, startling Bill causing him to grab the edge of the seat. His actions and the look on his face brought laughter to the others further embarrassing him.

The pilot pointed the bird south and began a grid search. When they were an hour into the flight the pilot turned and shouted, “Just ahead, and to the right, look at that!” Everyone turned to look but had to wait another ten minutes until the copter had gotten to a spot where they could see what the pilot had been looking at. All sound seemed to stop. What they saw was beyond words. They were looking at a baron piece of land almost two hundred acres in diameter. Dale was the first to break the silence, and said, “You know, if the earth could get cancer, it would look like this.” Dale’s description was a little more polite, but in fact the place looked like a festering sore. The land was a seething liquid pool of pus and even at five thousand feet all on board could smell the vile stench emitted by the foul pool below. Everyone was so engrossed that no one saw the pilot scribble something on a piece of paper and hand it to the lieutenant. Hernandez quickly read what had been written and nodded. The pilot banked the copter to the right and headed back to their campsite. The country they had seen required special e1quipment. There was no adequate landing site so they would need jungle penetration equipment. A team would have to be sent in to clear a site to act as a base of operations. They would need equipment to deal with what looked to be a pool of hazardous material, and depending upon how deep the pool was they would need boats and diving gear. Lastly, and almost as an afterthought, they needed surveying equipment. Miguel seem to have access to unlimited recourses because what he asked for, he got. The time the group spent waiting for their base and equipment passed all too slowly for Bill. At one time he would have had a time fighting his excitement to get started. Now, however, he was fighting fear. Not just the fear of the unknown; he was afraid of the people he was with. Even Dale had begun to change. No matter what Bill told her of his feelings of dread, she would make light of them, and side with the Professor. In fact, she seemed to be put out with Bill, and lately it appeared as though she was avoiding him. He now truly felt alone. Whatever happened, he would have only himself to depend upon. The base camp was at the end of a mile-long road and even at that distance the stench was unbearable. Eating and sleeping were nearly impossible and work was limited to twenty minutes because even with the HAZMAT suit’s strength and will power were both drained quickly. If it could be considered an advantage, they found that the muck was only ankle deep. After sinking over a hundred exploratory holes, the group was no closer to finding the final resting place of the leg. Bill was hard pressed to figure out why he wanted to help but help he did. He recalled that from the air the pool formed a perfect circle. He reasoned that if a disease like the leg caused the blight, it must be at the center of the sore. He, therefore, suggested that lasers be set at two separate locations around the edge of the pool and where they intersect, they would most likely find the tomb. A cofferdam was erected around the area where the two beams met and the slim was pumped out. The ground remained soggy and the pumps worked overtime trying to keep the ground dry enough for the men to work. The earth itself seemed to be bleeding the poisonous slim. The men dug and shored inches at a time. The more they dug the more the ground seeped oozing in on them, and still they dug. Hours turned into days, and they dug. The Professor and the Lieutenant seldom went near the site. Repulsed by the conditions, they sent orders by messenger. The messages became heated as their anger increased caused by what they perceived as a lack of enthusiasm on the part of the laborers. The notes threatened and berated the men demanding they work harder. Inch by inch they finally reached a stone slab. Even with the slab in sight, it still took the diggers another two weeks before the granite sarcophagus was exposed. Finally, a sling was put in place so that the granite casket could be lifted using a skyhook helicopter. The heavy-duty copter strained to lift the stone case. The pilot need all his skill to keep the bird in the air and later said, “It felt as if I was lifting the Temple of the Sun itself.” The granite block was dropped at the base camp because all the gauges had redlined, and the pilot was afraid the copter would go down if he tried to go further. Two things happened as soon as the stone touched the ground: First, at the dig site, the ground dried, and the plants sprung up at such a rapid rate that within an hour’s time the whole area was lush and green and healthy. Second, at the base camp the plants in the area began to wilt and die. Standing around the stone case were the Professor, Dale Lieutenant Hernandez, and Bill. Smiles were on the faces of the first three and only Bill was filled with doom. The first three looked like pirates getting ready to open a treasure chest. Bill could see that there was something chiseled on the stone beneath the slim. He moved closer to the stone fighting the urge to empty his gut. His breathing became difficult. He grew weaker the closer he got to the stone, and with a trembling hand he wiped the surface exposing hieroglyphs carved into the lid. His face went pale, and his knees buckled – no one offered to help him. Scowling, the Professor asked, “What’s the matter with him?” Now on all fours, Bill gasped, “Can’t you see it?” “I can read my people’s writing! Yes, I can see it and only old women and children would fear nonsense like this,” snapped Miguel. “But the leg is guarded by the god Quetzalcoatl himself!” “Well, if I see him, I will be sure to pay him my respect,” snarled Lieutenant Hernandez. “The warning…There were warnings all over Egyptian tombs and we are still here,” interrupted Miguel. “Now I think it is time to be a man of science, or at least just a man,” Miguel said to the smiles of all in the tent except for Alejondro and Bill. Bill moved back from the sarcophagus feeling weak, no longer caring about the laughter in the tent. Then as if to add to Bill’s humiliation, Dale said, “well, it looks like we will have to settle for the man of science because there doesn’t seem to be a man here,” and she laughed the loudest. It seemed that the longer he was in the presence of the leg, the weaker he was getting and the stronger Miguel, the lieutenant and Dale, no not Dale, were getting. Miguel looked at Bill and said, “Doctor, will you do the honors?” “What,” asked Bill. “The honors, OH, I see. Would you like to open the sarcophagus?” Then with a look of disgust, the kind of disgust one man has for a coward, Miguel said, “Alejondro! Bring the tools!” Alejondro stood without moving. He too felt ill, drained of his strength. “Alejondro” Miguel’s voice was sharp and angry. “You and the doctor, have you become women? No, not women, you couldn’t be a woman because we have a woman here with more courage than both of you together. Why don’t you just stand in the corner with the other sheep we will do the job of both man and science,” exclaimed Miguel. Miguel picked up a mallet and a chisel and began to hammer on the lid. There was no science to his technique and no care for the preservation of the lid as a relic. Chips and chunks flew with each swing of the mallet, and as the pieces grew bigger a hissing sound began. The hissing got louder, and the tent filled with a sickeningly vile smell. Both Bill and Alejondro heard and smelled it, but no one else in the tent seems to be affected. Instead, the others looked like people at an orgy briming with an almost sexual pleasure. Bill and Alejondro were horrified, they were looking at a world spinning out of control, and they were helpless to stop it. Miguel was no longer just a scientist; he was a mad scientist watching his Frankenstein monster come to life with the other two reveling in his glory. Finally, when the lid had been completely removed from the sarcophagus, the three found it contained a box of lead. Like starving children at a banquet, the trio scrapped, clawed, and pulled the lead container out as if it had no weight at all. Now, it was Dale’s turn, she scooped up a battery-operated handsaw and began to hack a hole in the top of the lead box. No sooner had penetrations taken place than the tent was filled with a suffocating green slim. Bill and Alejondro found themselves unable to stand. Weak beyond belief they sagged to the floor. Miguel snatched the saw from Dale’s hands, angry at how slow the cutting was going. Dale grew furious at having the saw pulled away from her and grabbed for it. The lieutenant too was getting angry at the behavior of the other two. With a swift backward motion of his right hand, he caught Dale just below her nose. The full force of the back of his right hand landed across her mouth. The blow was so forceful that it knocked her off her feet and sent her sprawling to the ground. When Miguel saw the viciousness of the lieutenant, he blew up and tried to use the saw as a knife to stab the would-be general. Miguel’s thrust however, fell short and as the lieutenant fell backward he pulled his war-surplus American Colt .45 from its holster, cocked it and fired twice. Both bullets hit their mark lifting the Mexican Professor off his feet flinging him through the tent flaps like a piece of paper in the wind. The lieutenant stepped through tent openings to make sure his bullets did their job. He was so intent on satisfying his morbid desire that he failed to see Dale coming at him from behind with a three-foot-long pry bar in her hand. With all the force she could muster she swung it for his head. There was a sickening thud and a gush of blood as the bar made contact with flesh and bone. The lieutenant dropped to his knees. His eyes were glazed over and he hit the ground more dead than alive. He look back to see Dale preparing to hit him a second time. There was no second thud; instead, there was a third explosion that rang out and a red cloud burst from the center of Dale’s back. She staggered back two steps with a look of disbelief and fell flat on her back, dead eyes staring up at the tent roof. The lieutenant lunged forward stopping his fall with both hands. Kneeling on all fours, he was gasping for breath. Before he could gulp in three lungs full of air he slid face first to the ground dead. Bill and Alejondro could only watch the macabre scene play out before them by the people who just days ago were colleagues and friends. Bill tried to move to Dale to help and had only enough strength left to lie down on the ground too tired to move. Alejondro had strength enough to shiver when a gust of wind swept through the tent pinning the flaps to the inner roof of the tent.
Through the opening blazed light white and blinding. The wind increased swirling into a mini-tornado kicking up dust, stone chips, and chunks of granite. The chunks, stones, chips, and dust melted and congealed into a solid mass. The lead box glowed red, white, orange and yellow fusing the fragmented ends into another solid mass. Finally, the light became so bright that nothing could be seen, and the noise of the wind so loud that nothing could be heard. The maelstrom continued forever until all sight and sound evaporated into deathly silence. When all was done only the bodies of the five people remained in the tent. Nothing moved because nothing lived. There was no sign that anything, but the bodies had ever been in the tent, and nothing remained to indicate what had happened or what had caused it.

This is not the end of a story. It is the start of another legend.




“OH my God,” exclaimed Bill Martin, a graduate student from the University of Southern California. He had been working on an Inca site as part of his graduate studies. “Doctor Evans,” he shouted.

Doctor Evans had received her degrees in anthropology and archeology nearly thirty years before and was considered to be a world-class authority on ancient American cultures, Specifically South American cultures. The sound of urgency in Bill’s voice startled her and she almost dropped the twelve-hundred-year-old jar that she had been working on. After some effort and a little juggling, she was able to regain control of the jar and slow her heartbeat to a point where her heart was no longer likely to punch a hole in her blouse. Her face reflected her displeasure at the way Bill chose to call her, but her voice was calm and professional, “yes Bill, what is so urgent?”

Bill, having trouble containing his excitement proclaimed, “It’s true! It’s true!”

“Bill, get a grip. What is true?”

“The legend, it’s true!”

“Bill, you have got to help me here. This country has almost as many legends as it has people. So, which legend specifically are you talking about?”

“Atapoc, it’s true! Look here on this stone stair. See these gliffs, unless I am mistaken, they say he was real. Look here, see it talks of a shaman called Atapoc.”

“I see that, and what you are implying, I think, is if Atapoc was real, the stories about his leg are also real. Am I right?”

“Well, OK, as real as people of that time might have reported it. I know that they were simple and to a simple people simple things can appear as a miracle. Still, look at Troy. No one thought the story of Troy was true until it was found.”

“So?”

“Well, I mean, think about it. He was a very powerful shaman. It is said that he was able to visit the underworld and that is where he got all his power…”

“I remember, and I remember too, that he was a master of the black arts. It was believed, he was in league with the devil himself. It was also said that on one occasion he was caught between worlds and as a result lost one of his legs at the hip.”

“Yeah, that is the legend I mean! They say that the leg has mystical powers. Just think if he was real, then maybe the leg thing is also true.”

“Bill, do you know what you’re saying? We are scientists not witchdoctors. If the things that were said about him are even a little true, do you realize how dangerous he was or could be?”

“OH sure, but…”

Doctor Evans stopped him before he could finish, and said, “No Bill, No! There are no buts about something like this. We are scientists. We dedicate our lives to the advancement of man’s knowledge, and we do that to the benefit of people. I don’t question the fact that there is more for me to learn but I don’t like Voodoo. As a historical figure, there are gapes that Atapoc will help to explain, and, in that capacity, he will be of great importance to us. Beyond that there is nothing to be gained from him or the stories about him.”

Bill wasn’t ready for the lack of enthusiasm on the part of Doctor Evans. He felt as if all the air had just been let out of his balloon. Here he thought he had found a Rosetta stone that would answer all the questions of the world, but the one person he wanted to impress chose to pour ice water on his find. Well, the hell with it. If she wasn’t interested, he was, and he would have his day, he thought. It may be a while, but it will come.

Five years had passed since that day in the jungle when Bill first glimpsed his future, yes it was his future because no matter how long it took he was going to go after the leg. Now Bill was Doctor Martin the Curator of Antiquities for a midwestern museum. Over the last year he spent nearly one hundred percent of his time preparing for this presentation to his board of directors in the hope of receiving funds for the guest of a lifetime. He was as prepared for them, there was no way they would deny him this, the most important gem for his crown, as any man who was betting his life on one throw of the dice. Besides, the finding itself would not only make the museum the talk of the town, but it would rocket him to celebrity status.

Bill had never been so prepared in his life; one could even say that something – no someone had been guiding him turning myth into fact. From the moment he stood, his audience was mesmerized. He talked for two hours, and no one moved. His words held each person, in their own way, lost in adventure, mystery; desire, and when he was finished, he could have asked for and received an estate on the French Riviera. So, when he just asked for the money and equipment to outfit an expedition to South America that might take up to six months, there were no objections.

Bill began his perorations immediately. He had a sizable budget, but he controlled the purse strings like a miser. He bought what the team would need and made sure it was the best, limiting purchases to necessities only, there would be no frills. This trip would not be a vacation. The people that went with Bill would be there to work. The excitement of discovery and the money they would be paid would be their reward, everything else would come later.

His team members were also picked, with getting the best for the least as well. His effort in this regard was most evident in the selection of his assistant, and the fact that she was young, attractive and energetic may have played a part, but her real assets were her Masters of Science in Archeology coupled with her outstanding work to date on her doctorate, Dale Clark was twenty-seven, 36-24-36, blond, blue eyed, five feet six inches tall and her weight was of no concern because it was perfect. OH yes, her mind, it was just as good as the rest.

“Excuse me Doctor Martin,” Dale asked, “what is the story behind Atapoc?”

“Until recently,” began Bill, “he was just a name. Someone I dreamed about since I was a boy watching National Geographic on television. Legend has it that he was a shaman for the Toltec. No one knows how old he was, but his name appears in Toltec history over a period dating from 900 AD to around 1200 AD. It is said that he could pass between worlds and that he was given his mystical powers from the head of the underworld himself. At around 1200 AD the ChiChimec invaded the lands of the Toltec and while trying to escape the ChiChimec he lost his leg when the portal between worlds slammed shut on him. The consensus is that anyone in possession of the leg would possess the power of the gods. If that were true, just think of all the good that could be done. There would be no more war, disease would be a word in the dictionary, and man would need for nothing.” Doctor Martin rambled on like a boy talking about his vacation trip with his parents to his best friend. Dale really knew the story, and heard it from the good doctor several times, but liked to watch his face as he told it. Still there was the business of preparation to deal with, “I talked to Professor Doctor Garcia from the University of Mexico today,” she interrupted.

“That dog. How is Miguel,” asked Bill.

“I guess he is fine, but that isn’t why we talked.”

“I know. I was just pulling your leg,” and the mention of her leg caused an erotic thought to flash in his mind and strange grin to form on his face.

“Are you alright doctor,” asked Dale taken aback by the look on the doctor’s face.

“No. No Dale it is OK, I was just thinking about something. Did Miguel have anything to add to our up coming adventure?”

“Yes. It seems that his team working on a dig at Tupoc Amaur in Peru found a mummy bundle they called the “cotton King” because of the way it was wrapped. At any rate, they found a piece of cloth inside the bundle telling a story about Atapoc.”

“You sure he said Atapoc?’

“Yes, and he said he wants us to join him. He said he believes you now, and he said the Mexican Government believes you as well. He said they are putting a DC 10 at your disposal, and he will meet us at the Mexico City airport on the 15th.”

“Did he say, why Mexico City?”

“Yes, he did. He said that the cloth talks about a battle between Atopoc and Quetzolcoutl near a village called Tula and that is near …”

“Mexico City,” Bill finished the sentence.

“Right,” Dale responded.

“And Miguel is sending us a plane?’

“Well, him and the Mexican Government.”

Bill got a broad grin and said, “Damn I love Taco Bell.”

The plane Professor Garcia promised landed at LAX on the 13th. Bill and his team had left from Lambert Field, outside St. Louis, Missouri, and parked next to the Mexican DC 10 four and a half hours later. Almost immediately the transfer of equipment began. Miguel was there with a smile a mile wide. “Bill, I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Juan Hernandez from the Mexican Army. He and his men will provide protection while we work.”

Bill shook his hand to be polite, but in the back of his mind he was thinking that the lieutenant was there to help Professor Garcia steal his work and all that went with it, well my friend we shall see, we shall see, Bill thought, then he said, turning to the Lieutenant, “Bill Martins, its my pleasure.”

“Bill,” Miguel interrupted, “we have things to do. We have to be out of here by tomorrow, so we have much that needs to be done.”

Miguel’s response was cold, mater-of-fact, and it took Bill by surprise, “sure Professor, lets get to it.”

The plane was loaded but only Bill and Dale were in Los Angeles. The remainder of his team was still in St. Louis because this was only the 13th and they had until the 15th, so there was still time, at least that is what Bill thought. Things were happening too fast for Bill’s likin