The Sun God

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

13 May 1933

London

It was late afternoon on a dreary grey Saturday and the rain was pouring down in droves on Central London. A dark blue Austin taxicab turned onto Great Russell Street and pulled up to the British Museum, which sat there as a solid stone slab in the gloomy May weather. Two middle-aged gentlemen opened their black umbrellas as they stepped out of the cab and into the puddles on the street.

When the cab sped away, both gentlemen pulled up the collars of their heavy overcoats, clutched their umbrellas closer, braced themselves against the wind, and headed up the twelve broad steps leading to the main entrance of the museum. The man in front looked up to the row of Greek-revival columns that made up the façade of the museum, now sinister and looming in the dark weather. He couldn’t help but wonder at the controversy regarding many artefacts in the museum, such as the ancient Greek statues removed by the British from the Parthenon in Athens over a century ago, or the Rosetta stone which holds the key to deciphering the hieroglyphs, taken from Egypt by the French but obtained by the British during the Napoleonic Wars, or the bronze heads of a zodiac clock, stolen from China during the Second Opium War. This building has stood as a temple to human history for two centuries, and now held artefacts from all corners of the British Empire, much of them taken without permission of the local governments. He turned from the impressive façade and stepped inside.

Once inside, they closed their umbrellas and shook droplets of rain off their cloaks. Both of them wore a non-descript dark grey suit with a black bowler hat. One man was portly with a thin moustache, one slender wearing a pair of wireframe spectacles. They entered the great central reading room of the British Museum, took off their hats, and started scanning the rows of wooden reading desks. The desks were arranged like spokes of a giant wheel and were encircled by more than three miles of heavy iron book stacks. The stale air in the reading room smelled of dust, paper and ancient wood. Both men ignored the splendour of the suspended gold and blue ceiling under the huge dome inspired by the Pantheon in Rome and kept searching the room intently.

***

Their eyes fell on an auburn-haired young woman in her twenties sitting at a reading desk at the back of the grand room. She had her back turned toward them, but this late in the day the reading room did not get many female visitors, so they marched up to her without hesitation.

As they approached, they saw she was studying an ancient Arabian manuscript and was copying notations from the manuscript onto a map of what was the newly formed kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

The grey suits approached, one to her left, one to her right, but the woman had sensed their presence and spoke first.

“Treasure or trouble, gentlemen?”

The two men, still holding their umbrellas and bowler hats, briefly looked at each other, and the thin one said, “Excuse me, miss?”

She discreetly swept the map of Iran from the reading desk and out of view, while she turned to face her unexpected visitors. “What brings you here, gentlemen; treasure or trouble? Of course, it’s usually both.”

The thin gentleman smiled. “Ah, I assure you, you’re not in trouble miss Westwood.”

“Then treasure it is, gentlemen,” Quinn concluded.

“Allow us to introduce ourselves,” the portly gentleman added. “I am Henry Gordon and this is my associate Spencer Travis.” He indicated his bespectacled companion.

“We are members of the British Museum's department of the Americas.” Henry Gordon continued, “We want to hire you.”

“You come highly recommended,” Spencer Travis added.

Quinn closed the manuscript, gathered her notes and deposited them into a leather briefcase.

Slight alarm showed on both men’s faces as she stood up and headed for the exit. Was she leaving?

Quinn glanced back and said, “Come on gentlemen. I can’t talk treasure without a proper drink and I believe you gentlemen are buying.”

***

The rain had lessened to a slow drizzle when Quinn Westwood crossed Great Russell street with the two museum officials in her wake. She was heading for the pub right opposite the British Museum called the Museum Tavern, which had taken that name when the museum had been built.

The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke greeted Quinn when she stepped through the pub’s entrance. It was only just after five pm and the pub was still quiet, with only a few patrons sitting at the bar. They were quietly getting drunk, most likely to try to forget the hardships of unemployment during these troubling economic times.

Quinn ordered pints of bitter from the bar and walked over to a table in the back, away from anyone who could overhear too much.

“Did you know Karl Marx used to visit this pub?” Quinn asked as they sat down.

“We know,” Henry and Spencer answered in unison.

Quinn felt a sense of impatience from both gentlemen, so she decided to forego the pleasantries.

“Tell me about the Americas gentlemen and what interests the Museum over there?” Quinn enquired after she had taken a large swig of her pint.

Henry Gordon straightened his thin moustache with his chubby index finger, then folded his hands together and took a deep breath, “The Maya’s; Kinich Ahau, to be precise,” he said rather cryptically.

Quinn had heard the name before and replied, “The Maya god of the sun.”

“Indeed,” Henry continued, “Some Maya dynasties claim to be descended from the sun, so it stands to reason that Kinich Ahau held great importance and power in the Maya world.”

Henry produced a few photographs from the inside pocket of his coat and lay them on the table. They were faded black and white images of ancient murals depicting scenes of worshipping Mayans. Quinn could make out a central figure with an elaborate headdress, sitting in the lotus position. Other photographs showed a disk with an intricate pattern carved into its surface which included a myriad of symbols, all surrounding a central figure, with a dagger as its tongue, holding a heart – human she assumed – in each hand.

“That’s the Maya calendar.” Henry pointed at the photo of the carved disk. “The dagger in the middle symbolizes the need for human sacrifices to allow the sun to continue moving across the sky - sacrifices to Kinich Ahau”

He indicated some of the other photographs.

“These other scenes, we believe to be ceremonies to worship Kinich Ahau. They are copies of the photographs taken in 1839; which accounts for the poor quality of the images.”

Quinn looked up from the pictures; “You’re talking about John Lloyd Stephens’ & Frederick Catherwood’s expedition, right?” This piqued Quinn’s curiosity.

“Correct. Their expedition into the jungles of Yucatán, Guatemala, and Honduras in search of a lost city yielded hundreds of these images. They only became of great interest to us recently. Thirteen years ago the Carnegie Institution of Washington sent an expedition to Xultun in northeastern Guatemala. As you may know, this is a large complex of Maya ruins discovered in 1915 by Guatemalan workers. The expedition found a structure containing the workspace of the town's scribe with some very unique images on its walls. There is one image depicting rows of men in black uniforms aside hundreds of numbers relating to the Mayan calendar. These predictions stretch 7000 years into the future. Combined with John Lloyd Stephen’s findings, we believe Kinich Ahau held great power in the Maya culture. Buried in Stephens and Catherwood’s journals we have found references to a statuette of the Sun God which has been revered and fought over by the Maya tribes for centuries. Recently the Americans shared their findings of the 1920 Xultun expedition with the British Museum.”

“The statue is at Xultun, Miss Westwood!” Spencer interrupted excitedly.

“The Americans found it?” Quinn asked.

“No, it was not found in any of the temples. The Americans found numerous indications that ceremonies for Kinich Ahau were held at Xultun for decades. Xultun is the logical place for the statue to be. I’m sure of it,” Spencer said with conviction.

“You seem awfully certain of this.” Quinn had a tendency to distrust overly excited people; they collided with her cynical nature.

Henry addressed Quinn’s concerns. “We are sure of this. We just don’t know exactly where to look within the Xultun complex. We need you to go the Guatemala, Miss Westwood.”

Quinn took a few moments to consider this. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid me and my associate, James Duncan, were already planning a quite lucrative expedition to the Middle East.”

“One thousand Pounds Sterling,” Spencer said without hesitation.

Quinn reclined from the table and looked at both gentlemen sceptically. One thousand Pounds was a considerable amount and could buy her a comfortable house with enough change for Jimmy to cover his gambling losses.

After a moment’s thought, she asked, “Museums and libraries are closing due to lack of visitors and funding. Why would the British Museum in the midst of one of the worst economic depressions in recent memory, offer such a large sum for the retrieval of a mere gold statuette?”

Spencer sipped his beer before answering, “Rest assured Miss Westwood, the British Museum can still rely on ample funding. Aside from the monetary value of the statuette of Kinich Ahau, it would be central to any Maya exhibitions held in the future. After all, this depression will not last forever and the museum has survived far bleaker times. Furthermore, other parties are interested in the statue and have undoubtedly figured out its likely location by now. The prestige attached to this artefact cannot be ignored and it is with some urgency that we seek to mount an expedition to Guatemala. It is of paramount importance that the statuette falls into British hands, not only for the British Museum but also for the government.”

Quinn’s frown did not disappear, however. “So funding is not an issue, but if this is of such importance, why approach me? I wouldn’t exactly call myself highly respected in my field. Most archaeologists even brand me a reckless treasure hunter.”

“Ah, right,” Spencer admitted and hesitantly explained, “In all honesty, you were not the first archaeologist we approached.”

“But you do come highly recommended,” Henry interjected.

“Yes, very highly. There is an amount of danger attached to this expedition. Guatemala is bankrupt and under the dictatorship of General Jorge Ubico. And aside from the turmoil in Guatemala at the moment, these other parties also seeking this artefact may use drastic measures to obtain it. Sailing directly to Guatemala would be ill-advised as it would attract notice from the Guatemalan government and anyone watching our movements, so we plan to send you to British Honduras where you can hire a guide to take you over the border into the jungles of Guatemala.”

Quinn leaned forward again. “Ah, so the respected members of my field, who are rather stuffy boring gentlemen of advancing age, turned you down because they’d rather dig up their treasures from the sands in Egypt with a comfortable hotel nearby rather than face the tropical rain, swarming mosquitoes and unscrupulous competition.”

“Exactly,” Spencer confirmed.

“Actually, it was Howard Carter who pointed us in your direction,” Henry clarified. “He told us he was very impressed with the work you did for him in Egypt.”

“That doesn’t sound like him,” Quinn mentioned, suspicious again.

“Well, his exact words were; if you need someone daft enough to plunge into an insect-infested jungle, at the start of the rainy season, with a heap of armed and angry competitors on her heels, in search of a shiny gold statue, talk to the Westwood-girl,” Spencer admitted.

“Now that’s more like Howard. Five hundred pounds upfront, five hundred more upon delivery of the statue,” Quinn demanded.

“We can only give you two hundred upfront, Miss Westwood.”

“Afraid I’ll disappear into the jungle and you’ll lose your investment?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, we have a deal.”

Spencer slid a manila folder over the table to Quinn. “Be at the docks in Liverpool in two days. The details are in the folder.”