City: A Rory Mack Steele Novel, #13

Chapter 1

DO YOU THINK HE CAN HELP US FIND THE LOST CITY OF GOLD ?" Xavier Salgado, the head of the Advocacia-Geral da União, sat back in the chair behind the Brazilian cherry wood desk, took a deep drag on his Partagas Spanish Rosado cigar and blew out a cloud of blue smoke, waiting for an answer. A hint of cinnamon hung in the hot, humid air as the wisps began curling around the room under the slowly turning fan.

General de Brigada Reynaldo Ballesteros stood with his hands behind his back, looking out the window at the light rail train that was slowing to a stop near the Arena Pantanal soccer stadium.

Salgado tapped the cigar against the crystal ashtray, knocking the fine ash off, Maybe we should have the woman sleep with him. You know, get a little conversa pós-sexo - pillow talk - going?

Ballesteros didn't answer. He looked to the shimmering air hanging over the heat of the city,  thinking for a moment before he spoke, I talked to the King today.

I was not aware his majesty was to call, Salgado said. He looked at his cigar for a moment, Is there a problem....?

No, Ballesteros said. Like you, I was contemplating a more aggressive effort to get the information.

And...?

Ballesteros turned away from the window and walked to the desk, The King prefers a much slower effort from Pretty.

I see.

Flipping over the lid on the Spanish cedar cigar humidor, Ballesteros took a cigar out and passed it slowly under his nose, inhaling the fragrance.

Opening his lips as he watched the General, Salgado allowed more blue smoke to curl lazily from his mouth before pushing it away with a sharp puff of air, Did he say why? Not that he has to, of course.

Of course, Ballesteros agreed. He picked up a cigar cutter, emblazoned with a Spanish conquistador's comb morion helmet, and clipped one end off the cigar. Setting the cutter down on the desk, he then picked up a gold encrusted lighter and lit the cigar, puffing several times, the end flaring a deep red as he got it going.

Salgado reached over and closed the lid before sitting back and waiting for the General to say something more. He knew it would only come when the man was ready. 

Ballesteros walked back to the window where he stood for a few more moments, smoking and watching the passengers getting off the light rail car, before he spoke again, The King doesn't want the young man to lose focus on what's important. A little romance is one thing. But we don't need the young man to lose his head in the clouds.

Salgado nodded slowly, That makes sense. Has she confirmed he has the Clodoveo Mapa?

He does.

Sitting forward, Salgado reached for the telephone on the desk and picked up the handset, Good. I can have my office contact their government. We can ask them to charge him with possessing a stolen antiquate and have them return the Clodoveo Mapa to us–

No need. Pretty has it in her possession.

Salgado stopped with the handset halfway to his ear, She does? He set the handset slowly back on the cradle, Okay. That's good, then. We can use the map to find the city ourselves. And I can send word to eliminate the young man. They will never find his body.

No. The King wants the young man left alive. And for the map to stay where it is.

Why? I don't understand. If we have the possibility to decipher the–

Because the King's agents say the young man may have additional information that could be vital to our quest. Ballesteros allowed himself a brief smile, Un cambiador de juegos.

Salgado's eyebrows drew together, A game changer? I don't understand. How?

Ballesteros blew smoke that rebounded off the window glass and swirled around his head, "Pretty is very good at her job. Both in the academic sense as well as the carnal way. When the King's agents determined the young man might have the Clodoveo Mapa, his majesty recommended that Pretty reach out to hire the young man in hopes she could get her hands on the map and decipher the information once she did. But it turns out she wasn't able to do that without the young man's help. He was far more gifted than we imagined. Or at least he had a way of looking at things that others like Pretty have missed over the centuries. So it was only natural that she use her charms to draw close to him in a personal way. To use him in more ways than one."

Salgado blew out a hard stream of blue smoke, All of that I understand, Reynaldo. I just don't see this game changer that you're talking about.

Ballesteros drew in a deep, self-satisfied breath and let it out slowly before he spoke, The King's agents believe the young man also has some very unique information in his possession. Information on the city that came from Colonel Percival Harrison Fawcett himself.

His head snapping around, Salgado looked at the General's back, The explorer?

Yes.

How did he get this information? How did he get it? And how does it fit in with the Clodoveo Mapa? And why hasn't Pretty said anything about it?

All good questions, Ballesteros said. All I can tell you is that Pretty is not even aware of it. We didn't want her to be too eager to get the information. After all, how could she explain it to the young man that she knew he had something like that? 

Salgado nodded as he considered the reasoning, That's true. But the fact he hasn't told her? Or showed it to her...?

Again, more good questions. Ballesteros paused for a moment, And I was asking the same thing...especially after getting the impression Pretty was getting too close and personal with the young man. She seems to have developed sentimientos - feelings - for him. It made me wonder even more why he hadn't told her.

"Compromising her professionalism in the matter is not a good thing. What does the King think? Should she be replaced?"

I expressed my concerns to his majesty but he doesn't believe there's a problem, Ballesteros said.

But–

Ballesteros cut off the conversation as he blew out a puff of cigar smoke, My man is here. I see him getting off the train.

Salgado frowned,  I still don't understand why we had to wait while he took the train from the airport. We could have sent the car and–

Discretion, Ballesteros said. We want to keep everything - what's the expression? - under the radar. Arriving out front in a limousine would attract unwanted attention.

Still–

Ballesteros turned and gestured with his cigar to the liquor cabinet, Ele sabe o que está fazendo. I would say we should have a drink and toast the possibilities that are to come from the Fawcett information.

Setting his cigar in the ashtray, Salgado shook his head as he got up and headed for the liquor cabinet, I think we are a long way from celebrating.

There is always reason to celebrate when we draw closer to our goals, Xavier.

Salgado opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Brazilian rum and three glasses, I just think you're always looking for an excuse to drink my expensive cachaça.

Ballesteros walked to the desk and set a hand on Salgado's shoulder as he watched him pour the drinks, I don't need an excuse, Just a good reason. 

Smiling, Salgado handed the General a glass and they clinked the two together. To success, he said.

To more than that, Xavier, Ballesteros said. If the King is right about the Fawcett information...and the immense wealth it will lead us to...El Orden del Conquistador will put Spain back on the world stage where she belongs.

The door to the room opened and a husky man in light cotton-clothing entered the room. He was out of breath.

Ballesteros looked at him with amusement, You ran all the way up here in this heat, Núñez?

Núñez nodded, a touch of panic in his voice, Ele desapareceu, General. Flórez tells me the young man has disappeared.

Salgado set his glass down on the desk, What do you mean disappeared?

He has not shown up at the Museum for his work for a week and Pretty has no idea where he is. And Flórez says there has been no appearance at the apartamento either.

His face turning ashen, Salgado looked to Ballesteros, If he has gone after it without us knowing where–

General Ballesteros threw his head back in a guttural scream of rage, turned and threw his glass at the liquor cabinet.

The intricate cabinet doors shattered, sending splinters of sharp glass, cherry wood, and a shower of expensive cachaça exploding in all directions.

Chapter 2

Queens, New York

RORY MACK STEELE climbed the rickety stairs to the top floor of the old, ten-story apartment building. The elevator was broken, it looked like it hadn't worked for years, and there was no air conditioning, making the place feel like a hot box the higher he climbed. Reaching the top landing, Rory stepped into the long hallway to be greeted by the stale smell of old carpeting underfoot. He was glad he didn't have to follow the threadbare carpet any further. Right across from the stairwell was Apartment 1001. He knocked softly on the battered door and waited.

The New York offices of Highlander Investigative Services had been contacted by someone here by letter. Not a phone call, email or even fax, but by an old-fashioned letter. That was unusual in this day and age. In fact, his uncle Murdock MacLeod said he couldn't remember the last time they had received anything other than a few bills or an advertising flyer through the post office. The problem was the letter only had the name and a partial address; Mrs. P. Coffman, Apartment 1001, Queens. They had to use the Internet to figure out exactly where the request came from. Plus he had no idea–

The door opened a crack and stopped, that chain still fixed across the door rattling. An eye peered out, Yes?

Hello. My name is Rory Mack Steele. I'm with Highlander Investigative Services.

The eye looked over Rory's six-foot-two, athletic frame, appraising his standard denim shirt and blue jeans and then looked into his silver-blue eyes. There was a slight shake of the head, I didn't order any room service. This is an apartment building.

Rory raised his eyebrows, not sure what to say for a moment. Then he gave the eye a smile, and spoke slower, No, I'm a private investigator with Highlander Investigative Services–

Oh! Why didn't you say so? The door closed and the chain rattled as it was being slipped off.

Blinking, Rory scratched the back of his head, not sure what he was getting himself into.

The door swung open and a pleasant looking lady, about five-foot-nothing and in her 80s or 90s beamed a smile at him, Why don't you come in?

Rory stepped through the open doorway into a well-kept apartment that made him feel like he had been transported back to the 1920s. The wooden furniture was old but had a high polish that attested to the loving care given it over the years. There was a pleasant potpourri scent of flower petals, leaves and pine needles.

The door closed and the lady held her hand out, I'm Pearl Coffman, I'm the one looking to hire your company.

Rory shook her hand gently, positive he'd break a bone in her delicate hand if he wasn't careful, It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Coffman. My name is Rory Mack Steele–

Yes, I know, you already told me. The old lady laid a hand on his arm, It's okay, I repeat myself as well. And you can call me Pearl. She turned and headed across the room.

Running a hand through his black hair, Rory wondered–

Would you like some tea?

Uh, no...thank you.

Pearl Coffman sat in a large, plush chair on the far side of a large fireplace and gestured to a similar chair opposite her, All right. Why don't you sit down so we can talk?

Of course. As he crossed the carpeted floor to the chair, Rory took note of an old painting over the fireplace. It was a portrait of a woman who looked like a much younger Pearl Coffman.

The old woman smiled, That is my grandmother. Everyone who sees it the first time always asks if it's me.

Rory nodded as he sat in the large, comfortable chair, She was very beautiful.

Pearl Coffman beamed, Thank you. She was such a lovely person. She came from Ireland, you know. She was an O'Sullivan. When my own mother passed away, she left that painting to me. She shrugged, "Of course, I was the only one left in the family so I guess she had no choice. Still...."

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Rory said, You said you wanted to hire Highlander. Your letter didn't say why–

It didn't? Mrs. Coffman looked genuinely surprised and then she fumbled for a pair of glasses hanging from a light chain around her neck. She tried to slip the glasses on several times as she looked over at a desk on the other side of the room, "I must have forgotten to include all the pages. I was sure...."

It's fine, Mrs. Coffman. If you could just fill me in...?

The old lady looked a bit flustered as she continued to look across the room.

Mrs. Coffman?

She finally dropped the glasses to her blouse and shrugged again, Old age, I guess. She wagged a delicate finger across at Rory, But there was a time when I never forgot a single thing.

Rory simply smiled.

Mrs. Coffman took in a breath and let it out in a sigh, a smile on her face as if she was thinking back to something.

Waiting a moment, Rory broached the subject again, "Can I ask you why you need a private investigator?"

She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, To investigate, of course.

Rory nodded his head softly, Of course.

Mrs. Coffman picked the glasses up again, trying to slip them on as she looked across at the desk once more, "I was sure I had put all the correspondence in the envelope...."

"It's all right. Can I ask you what you need us to investigate?"

Shaking her head lightly as she continued to look across the room, searching for whatever she was looking for she said, Oh, I don't need you to investigate anything.

Rory's brow furrowed, Then why am I here? You sent a letter to Highlander Investigative Services–

Yes, of course I did. That's what I said.

Then what–?

To find him, of course.

To find who?

Mrs. Coffman raised an eyebrow, Why...my nephew. She shook her head slightly in exasperation, I explained it all in the letter.

Of course you did. Maybe you could remind me. What's your nephew's name?

Mitchell Kenning.

Rory repeated the name with a nod, grateful to be getting somewhere, Mitchell Kenning. And I take it he's missing?

I think so.

Rory closed his eyes for a brief moment and then looked across at her, Have you talked to the police about it?

Mrs. Coffman shook her head, No. I'm afraid they're too far away. I'm not even sure how to contact them. Her eyebrows knit together, I'm not even sure if they have police there.

Feeling like he was in the twilight zone, Rory pushed ahead, How long has he been missing?

I'm not really sure. I think it's been a month since he left. She gave Rory a look of delight, He came up to see me. He used to live here, you know. After his mother and father passed away in a terrible accident, Mitch came to live with me. He was only ten or so and we got along so well. When he got a job with The American Museum of Natural History so soon after he graduated, he took an apartment near his work. I was sad to see him go, of course, but that's how life works. Right?

Of course. Rory opened his mouth to ask a question but was preempted when Mrs. Coffman leaned forward and lowered her voice, giving him a mischievous half-smile.

He had a girlfriend in the building, you know. She sat back in the chair and gestured at him with the glasses, He didn't think I knew, but I did. I would see her around and I really liked her but I never said a thing. Beautiful young thing. Indian. Mrs. Coffman chewed on the end of one of the frame's arms, eyebrows knitting together, Not one of those ones from across the ocean. No, she was....?

Native American, you mean?

Mrs. Coffman jabbed the glasses at him, a delighted look on her face, "That's it. A Cherokee is what someone told me. She's an artist and very good from the pictures I saw her trying to sell in the nearby park. A number of them get together there, you know. Although I have to say she was more like a starving artist since I heard she had a hard time meeting her rent from time to time. Then again, I also hear she has a job she just started...anyway, the point is, I think Mitch really, really liked her. Her smile fell away and she looked down in concern as she chewed on the arm again, I wonder if she even knows he went missing down there. I wonder if I should go tell her...?"

Rory saw his chance and he asked quickly, "He went missing where?"

It took a moment before Pearl Coffman looked up and answered, Why...in the Amazon jungle, of course.

Chapter 3

RORY WASN'T SURE he'd heard right. He looked at the elderly lady sitting across from him, not wanting to hurt her feelings and said with a smile, "I thought for a minute there you said he disappeared the Amazon jungle –"

Yes, that's right, Mrs. Coffman said in a matter-of-fact way, he disappeared in the jungle down there. That's why I'm not sure who to tell. Since that's so far away and–

Excuse me for interrupting but...why was he down in the Amazon?

Why looking for the lost city, of course.

Rory shook his head softly, feeling like he was in a novel, Lost city? What lost city are you talking about?

Mrs. Coffman chewed on the end of the glasses again, her eyes focusing internally, I can't recall what he called it – oh yes. L Dorbo or L Dardo or something.

Blinking for a moment, Rory's looked at her, El Dorado?

Pointing the glasses at him, Mrs. Coffman's eyes lit up, Yes, that's it. That's what he called it.

The supposed city of gold that the Spanish were looking for? But that's a myth.

Mrs. Coffman shrugged, I don't know anything about that. All I know is that Mitch had all these maps and things on his bedroom walls for years. She leaned forward for a moment, "I was just glad it wasn't one of those posters of scantily clad young women that I heard some mothers in the building say their sons had in their bedrooms. I wasn't looking forward to those talks. She sat back, Anyway, Mitch was real interested in those kinds of things. Old buildings and lost treasures and all that. He used to talk about the Royal Geographic Society and some explorer names...now what were they?...Livingstone was one...I remember that one from school...and Fawcett was another...anyway, he was very happy when he got on with the Smithsonian and–"

Did The American Museum of Natural History send him on some kind of expedition?

Oh, I don't know nothing about that, dear. All I know is before he left, he had these maps made from satellites or something and he was very excited.

Satellite maps?

She pointed the glasses at him again, "Yes. Something like that. I don't know much about it, mind you. But he was excited and looking forward to going down there again. He was down there once before after he came back from Europe. I'm not sure where he was before - well, maybe he told me but I don't remember - anyway this time he was going to a place called Cuiabá. He was going to meet up with someone named.... She thought for a moment, M...M...Mark something - they met on the first trip, I believe - Mitch said this Mark worked in a museum as well and they got along so well - anyway, this Mark was going to help him."

Do you know exactly where this Cuiabá is?

In the Amazon jungle. Her eyebrows knit together, Didn't I say that?

Yes– forget it. Rory rubbed his eyes for a moment as the woman talked and then he ran a hand through his black hair, Mrs. Coffman...I work in Canada and the United States. I hold licenses as a private investigator on both sides of the border but...we really don't work outside of those boundaries.

So if someone goes missing here, you don't try and find them if they are taken out of the country? You just give up?

Speechless for a moment, Rory shook his head, "No. I just mean we don't...we've never...."

Mrs. Coffman nodded, Yes. There's a first time for everything. Isn't that what they say? She then sat back, chewing on the glasses as she watched Rory scratch the back of his head.

Taking a deep breath, Rory let it out slowly between his lips as he pondered the situation. Then he shook his head softly, The problem is...this will be a very expensive proposition. I mean...having to mount a search down–

Mrs. Coffman eyes lit up again, If that's all that's stopping you, then don't you worry, Mr. Steele. I have you covered. She began digging into the crack between the cushion and the edge of the chair by her right hip, Isn't that the expression? I have you covered? Before Rory could say anything in reply, she pulled a dog-eared checkbook and pen from the soft crack and flipped the book open, I did up a check when I sent the letter but I thought it better to wait until I talked to someone. She tore the check from the book and looked across at Rory, holding it out to him, Here you are, dear.

Rory hesitated for a moment and then got up and walked across to take the check in hand. He shook his head softly again as he looked at it. I'm still not sure–

Do you need more money, Mr. Steele? She clicked the pen and smoothed out the next check with the side of her hand, I'm afraid I'm not familiar with this investigating business.

No, it's fine, Mrs. Coffman–

Pearl.

Rory nodded, Pearl. It's just that–

My husband left me very well off, Mr. Steele. If you're afraid that I can't afford your fee and whatever expenses you need to incur to find my nephew, I can assure you I will sell everything I have, if necessary."

The money is not really the issue. This is more than enough to start. Rory took another deep breath and let it out slowly, The truth is...I can't guarantee we'll be able to find your nephew.

Mrs. Coffman nodded, her face serious, "I know there are no guarantees in life, Mr. Steele. But what I can guarantee is that I will find someone else to find Mitch if you turn me down. I sent a letter to your company because I've heard of your family and I felt I could trust you."

Chapter 4

AS HE BEGAN the walk back down the rickety stairs from the top floor of the old, ten-story apartment building, Rory wondered how in the world he had ended up agreeing to find Mitchell Kenning in the middle of the Amazon jungle. A wry smile crossed his lips as his hands ran down the handrail. He turned the corner at the first landing and continued down the stairs. The truth was, he had no idea if the man was missing in the middle of the jungle or on one of the edges. He had no idea where in the jungle this supposed lost city was. Or if there even was a lost city. And if the Smithsonian didn't have any information on where their employee went, even contemplating a search might prove impossible–

As he started down the next flight of stairs, footsteps barreled down the stairs after him. Rory moved closer to the wall so whoever was in a hurry could pass without hindrance.

Then a voice called out, Excuse me? Could you hold up, please?

Rory paused and turned to look back up the stairs, wondering if the person was calling out to him.

The voice was light and airy and the woman who appeared on the landing with a bound from three steps up was young and willowy, with a mocha skin tone, glossy black hair and startling blue eyes that seemed to pierce his own silver-blue ones deeply. She definitely could have passed for a Native American, the blue eyes suggesting a mixed heritage, but something told him she wasn't. Not that it mattered.

She slid to a stop in her bare feet, Are you going looking for Mitch? Did Mrs. Coffman hire you to go find him?

Rory didn't confirm or deny. He just looked at her. Better to let people talk.

The young woman fidgeted for a moment and then took a step down closer. She glanced back up the stairs and then said in a low voice, I'm Tami Yellow Bird. I'm Mitch's girlfriend. She glanced back up the stairs, Mrs. Coffman doesn't know about me and–

Actually, Mrs. Coffman told me she is very much aware that he has a girlfriend in the building.

Yellow Bird blinked in surprise, She does? How...?

I have no idea. The question is, why hide it? He wondered if she was Cherokee after all, that he was mistaken. And she - or Mitchell Kenning - was afraid of some kind of prejudice. Pearl Coffman had said she liked the young woman. And she certainly didn't seem to be the type to discriminate. Then again, you never knew people until you really knew people.

The young woman looked extremely uncomfortable with the question and his waiting patiently for an answer. She finally just shrugged, I don't know. I just–

Then I don't know anything either. Rory started back down the stairs.

It took a moment before Tami Yellow Bird scrambled down the stairs after Rory again, "Look. All that matters is that I know where he went."

Rory kept walking, I know where he went. Into the Amazon to find a lost city. He turned the corner at the next landing and glanced up as he started down the stairs, "Not that I believe there's a lost city but–"

"You also don't know where this lost city is supposed to be or exactly where he went. I can help you with that."

Stopping on the step, Rory looked up, his eye firmly locking on hers, Okay. So where do I go to find him? Do you have a map of some kind that he was following?

Those amazing blue eyes glittered as Tami leaned on the railing, looking down at Rory, I'll make sure you have everything you need. She held a finger up, "But I'm going with you."

Shaking his head, Rory started down the stairs again, Nice try. I'll figure it out somehow.

There was silence for a moment and then Yellow Bird began pounding back up the stairs. Her voice echoed off the walls, Just give me a minute.

Rory walked down a few more steps, let out a brief, frustrated sigh and stopped, the heat of the day closing in around him. He actually wondered why he was waiting but his sense of decency won out. She had potentially lost a boyfriend in the Amazon and had no way of knowing if he was alive or dead. Rory shook his head again. The whole idea of a lost city in the Amazon seemed far-fetched and more like a B grade movie. 

A few moments later, Yellow Bird came running back down the stairs at a breakneck speed, actually leaping down the last three steps to land with a thud on the landing. Turning the corner, she moved halfway down the staircase and held something to Rory, her words tumbling out between gasps for breath, This...this is what...he used to find the location.

Rory took a thick pack of papers in hand. No, it was actually a number of old diaries. Very old from the looks of them. There were four, held together by a thick rubber band. The top one had the name P.H. Fawcett written on it in a fancy, handwritten script. He looked at the young woman, What exactly are these?

Tami was still breathing heavy and she gulped air before answering, Mitch and I found them at a house auction when we were in Switzerland on vacation. She tapped the set of diaries with a finger, From what Mitch told me, this Fawcett guy was British and he's the one who came closest to finding the lost city. He called it Z or something like that. He disappeared in the Amazon in the 1920s.

Okay. But how did these get to be in Switzerland?

Apparently, the guy's granddaughter or great-granddaughter lived there in a village called Schonenwerd. We were staying with one of Mitch's old college friends and his girlfriend in Zurich and the village wasn't that far away, so we went there to see the house. Mitch was fascinated with everything about this guy. Fawcett was a member of the old Royal Geographical Society. Anyway, when we found out there was going to be an auction because the owner had died, we stayed an extra week. Mitch bought a couple of old desks and a bunch of boxes with knick-knacks that nobody else wanted. Those were in a secret compartment in one of the old desks that I accidentally found.

Really? A secret compartment?

Yes–

Rory lifted a finger to his lips and looked up the stairs. A squeak of wood had caught his attention. He held the old diaries out to the young woman.

Tami's brows pulled in as she took them back in hand.

Moving lightly on the balls of his feet, Rory moved up the stairs, placing one foot on the landing and looked up the next set of stairs.

An old man with a white goatee, flowing white hair and burnished skin, was halfway up the staircase. He took two steps down with nimble feet and then stood motionless. His coal-like eyes examined Rory for a brief moment and then he continued his journey down the stairs, moving against the far wall and hunching a shoulder as he made the landing and brushed past Rory.

Tami put her side against the banister to give him plenty of room as he descended.

The old man gave Yellow Bird a single, slow nod as he passed her, the eyes glittering for just a moment and then he was gone.

Who's that? Rory asked.

Tami looked over the railing at where the old man had gone, He lives in the building and he's always around a corner somewhere. She shrugged, He's kinda creepy but he's harmless.

Okay. Rory looked back up the stairs for a brief moment. He'd had the impression the old man had been standing on the stairs up there and only started downstairs when Rory appeared on the landing. Pushing a nosy old man from his mind, Rory started back down the stairs, took a couple of steps past the young woman, and then turned with reluctance. He had a sinking feeling he would regret the question but he gestured to the old diaries, Okay. So how do they help me?

"You mean how do they help us?" she said firmly.

Look–

"No. You look. I'm going. He's my boyfriend and I have every intention of finding him." She thrust the diaries out to him again.

Rory shook his head as he took them back, "I can understand how you feel. But this