Ruins by Kevin Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

found this time."
    Aguilar impatiently turned to Pepe, waving his hands. The young helper went to the crate and dug his nails in so that he could pry the tacks free. The lid popped open. He lifted aside the packing material, then carefully withdrew the magical artifact. Aguilar smiled magnanimously.
    The drug lord caught his breath and stepped forward, compelled and fascinated.
    Aguilar's heart pounded. This was exactly the reaction he had hoped for.
    Pepe set the object on the table and stepped back, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants again. The artifact was a completely transparent rectangular box a little more than a foot on each side. It gleamed with prismatic colors in the light, as if the workings inside were really sheets of thin diamond plating.
    The components within were strange and exotic, interlocked components, connections made of glass fibers, glinting crystals. Aguilar thought it looked like the world's most complicated clock, made entirely of lead crystal. Tiny holes had been drilled in the side of the clear case. Other movable squares marked the corners and part of the top. Etched symbols not unlike some of the incom-prehensible Maya glyphs marked portions of the clear glass faces. None of it made sense at all.
    "What is it?" Salida said, touching its side and with-drawing his fingers quickly, as if burned. "It's cold! Even in this heat it's cold."
    "This object is a great mystery, Excellency," Aguilar said. "I have never seen such an artifact before, even with all my archaeological expertise." In fact, Aguilar had very little archaeological expertise . . . though it was true enough that he had never encountered such an item before. Xitaclan was home to many unusual things.
    The drug lord leaned toward the strange object, his mouth partly open. "Where did it come from?" He was entranced—and Aguilar knew the deal was assured. A high-priced deal.
    "This artifact came from a secret new dig called Xitaclan, a pristine site. We are in the process of remov-ing many of the most valuable pieces now. Before long, though, I am certain a new archaeological team will arrive to remove more of the objects."
    Carlos Barreio's face became stormy. "They want to steal them from Quintana Roo," he said, "and take them from the land where they belong." Aguilar hoped the police chief wouldn't get distracted and plunge into one of his interminable political lectures.
    "Yes, but we will 'preserve' what we can before that happens, eh?" Aguilar said, smiling. "And you, of course, are one of our foremost citizens, Excellency Salida."
    Fernando Victorio Aguilar had grown up on the streets of Merida. His mother was a prostitute. While he was still young, she had taught him how to steal so they could live in relative comfort. But he had quickly learned that stealing was stealing, whether he stole a piece of fruit from the market or a Mercedes-Benz car. His philosophy, he had said with a laugh one night while sharing a bottle of mescal, was that if you are going to steal a mango, you may as well steal a diamond watch from a tourist and use the money to buy yourself a lifetime supply of mangoes. Stealing was stealing. Why not take the best?
    Despite his upbringing, though, Aguilar had always felt uncomfortable about the thievery. He allowed himself a touch of guilt after seeing the anger, grief, and fear on the faces of the tourists he mugged and the shopkeep-ers from whom he stole.
    But Aguilar had discovered to his delight that stealing expensive artifacts was a completely different prospect. That was stealing from people who didn't care, people who were long dead. He could make more money at it, and it wasn't as risky as robbing a tourist in Canciin.
    Unless, of course, a meddling American archaeology team happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time...
    When Xavier Salida offered to buy the relic, his open-ing price was already far more than Aguilar had hoped to get. Carlos Barreio could barely restrain himself, but Aguilar