The Sun God

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Quinn stepped down onto a very crowded platform in Liverpool’s Lime Street Station. Behind her, Jimmy struggled with their luggage and nearly fell from the second-class passenger car, clumsily dropping one of their suitcases onto the platform below. Quinn didn’t notice and had already set off through the throng of people. Jimmy took his time sorting their bags because he already knew where she was headed anyway. Quinn had grown up around railways and had eagerly accompanied her father in his travels working for various railway concerns. Though less interested in the business economics of the railways, she shared her father’s fascination with the mechanics of, and particularly the speed of locomotives. He knew she was headed for the locomotive.

Small clouds of steam drifted lazily over the platform. Quinn pushed through the mass of moving people when a sudden gust of wind blew down the length of the train sweeping her long auburn hair into a tangle. She was disentangling her hair and combing her fingers through it when she spotted the deep green Lord Nelson-class locomotive through the dissipating steam clouds. She caught the smell of machine oil and burning coal and savoured the childhood memories they brought with them. When her father, Harvey Westwood, had been Director of Operations of the Great Eastern Railway he had always made time to talk to the engine drivers, conductors, machinists, brakemen, even the baggage handlers. He said they were the beating heart of the Railway. As he passed through the stations on these tours he’d often bring his young daughter along with him. Barely eight years old, Quinn had admired the hulking locomotives, asking the drivers endless questions about them.

Jimmy caught up with her, hauling their luggage over the platform.

“A hand here?” Jimmy suggested trying to catch Quinn’s attention.

She replied without taking her eyes off the locomotive, “Look, Jimmy; 140 tons of engineered power, capable of hauling 500 tons at 55 mph.”

“Yes, yes, very nice train. We’re already late, Q, so forget the train and let’s get all our stuff into the first available cab.”

Jimmy pushed a suitcase into Quinn’s hand and headed down the platform for the station’s exit. He briefly glanced back to check if Quinn was following him, which she was.

***

A blue Austin cab stopped at the waterfront with screeching brakes. Quinn swung open the door before they had come to a full stop. Jimmy pulled their luggage from the boot while Quinn paid the driver. Before them lay the impressive waterfront of the grand port of Liverpool. Though the Great Depression had left thousands unemployed and shipping had suffered considerably, the dockside seemed thriving with activity that day, with workers loading and unloading cargoes from tea and sugar to silk and brandy. As they worked their way down the waterfront in search of their transportation to Central America, they passed countless brick warehouses and several moored cargo steamships speckled with rust. It didn’t take them long to spot the sleek white modern diesel-powered Reina Del Pacifico, which would be taking them to British Honduras. Its pristine coat of paint, brightly reflecting the sunlight, showed that the cruise liner had not been in service for more than a few years. The ship looked new, fast and luxurious to Quinn. Black smoke was already trailing from the latter of the two short twin chimneys as the Reina’s four diesel engines had been started up readying the ship for departure.

“Miss Westwood! Mister Duncan!” A slender bespectacled man wearing a dark wool overcoat and hat pushed his way through the crowded chaos on the dock, trailing an umbrella and a briefcase behind him.

“Hey Q, is this the British Museum guy?” Jimmy called to Quinn.

“Mister Travis.” Quinn greeted the man. “This is my associate James Duncan,” she said as she laid a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. Jimmy grabbed Spencer’s hand and shook it so vigorously the man’s spectacles slid an inch down his sharp nose. He pushed them back in place with the index finger of his other hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr Duncan. I’ve been looking for you two up and down the dock.”

“We’ve only just arrived,” Quinn explained. “We’re a bit late.”

Spencer fiddled with the locks of his briefcase, pulled out a thick sheaf of papers and started to address Quinn. “I have here all the information you’ll …”

Quinn interrupted him bluntly. “Start with our money. You have the advance we talked about?”

“Eh, of course.” He produced a brown envelope from the briefcase while juggling both the sheaf of papers and the briefcase, which he offered to Quinn.

“Jimmy will take that.”

Quinn accepted the sheaf of papers, while Jimmy opened the envelope and immediately started counting the money.

As Quinn leafed through the paperwork, Spencer Travis explained, “What you have there are copies of John Lloyd Stephens’ journals of his 1839 expedition to Central America. The journals describe a lot of territory and several Mayan sites, and there is quite an extensive passage about Xultun. His partner Frederick Catherwood took several photographs of the site, also included in the journals. Of course, the site was rediscovered much later and only mapped in the 1920s, so aside from the journals we’ve also included all the information from the American expedition that we could get our hands on. The Carnegie Institution of Washington made three visits to the site about ten years ago. They sent an expedition to Xultun itself.”

“Thank you Mister Travis; this will certainly help in tracking down the location of the statue.” She looked questioningly at Jimmy.

“All here Quinn. Two hundred pounds as discussed,” Jimmy confirmed.

“I strongly suggest you keep the purpose of your presence in British Honduras quiet. It would be best if you have a good cover story concealing your true identities,” Spencer remarked.

Quinn gave a small sigh. “You’re right. However, we haven’t had much time to think about it yet. We were hoping to work out something during the Atlantic crossing.”

“I may be able to help with that. You see, my colleague Henry Gordon and I already discussed this in detail. The government has been regularly sending over officials to British Honduras to discuss and provide financial backing to the local banana growers over there, ever since it has become clear that the Americans are dominating the market through the United Fruit Company. We suggest that Mr Duncan poses as such a government representative, travelling there to work out another agricultural backing scheme. You, Miss Westwood, could be his assistant.”

Quinn made a very unambiguous facial expression at the word “assistant”, while Spencer handed them two counterfeit British passports registered to an Alastair Berkley and an Imogen Fairfield.

Jimmy’s smile broadened as he commented, “Splendid idea! Quinn Westwood, assistant to Mister James Duncan of his majesties’ government. I think we can keep that up all the way to Guatemala.”

“You’d better be sure you make it to Guatemala if you’re expecting me to fetch you your tea and bat my eyelashes every time you say something witty,” Quinn growled through her teeth. “We could make that work though, provided we don’t get asked any detailed questions on agricultural issues,” Quinn admitted.

***

“You are headed for Guatemala?” a heavily accented deep voice sounded from the crowd to Quinn’s left. A tall, broad-shouldered man with long unkempt blond hair and a tick full beard stepped toward Quinn.

“I am Lars Hammer, my lady,” he pronounced loudly while winking at Quinn.

Quinn gave him a half-smile. “What is that; a Scandinavian accent?”

“I am Swedish. I am a great adventurer and hunter of treasures and wealth.”

She could just feel Jimmy grinning behind her as she ground her teeth. Wait, he’d mentioned Guatemala. Had he overheard them?

She forced a smile. “We’re not heading to Guatemala. That would be too dangerous.”

Jimmy interjected, “Yes, we aren’t all as adventurous as you. Mister Hammer, was it?” his tone barely concealing amusement.

Quinn continued, “We’re working for the government.”

“Well I am, she’s my secretary,” Jimmy explained. He’d probably have to hear a tirade about that later, but he just couldn’t help himself.

Lars grabbed Quinn’s hand and brushed it lightly with a kiss. “And such a beautiful assistant you have, Mister…?”

“Duncan, James Duncan,” Jimmy replied, completely forgetting that his new passport stated a different name.

Luckily Lars’s attention was fully on Quinn, whose hand he still hadn’t released. Quinn was holding back her fury at being fawned over in such a way, well aware that they could not afford to make a scene and attract attention to themselves before even having set off on this mission. Jimmy was, of course, endlessly amused and all too happy to add oil to the flames.

Jimmy asked, “So Lars Hammer, astound us with your tales of bravery and adventure. Hammer, as in hammer of the gods? Doesn’t one of your Viking gods lug about one of those?”

Lars wasn’t listening. He was entirely focused on Quinn.

“May I know your name?” Lars asked, his accent twisting the vowels strangely.

Quinn, who, unlike Jimmy, had glanced at her counterfeit passport, replied, “Imogen Fairfield.”

Lars exclaimed, “The beautiful Miss Imogen, as fair as Freyja, goddess of love, s*x and beauty.”

Jimmy nearly folded double in his mirth while Spencer Travis said a quick goodbye and made his exit, disappearing into the crowd on the dock.

Quinn gently touched Lars’s shoulder. “So tell me, … uh, Hammer, … you were talking about Guatemala? One of your hunts for treasure?” She was fishing for information, making sure he hadn’t overheard anything more of their conversation with Spencer. A Swedish treasure hunter on the same ship as them? That was unlikely to be a coincidence. Oh damn, she’d carelessly mentioned the statue when they’d been talking to Spencer, hadn’t she? Had Lars already been standing behind them then?

Lars looked up into the distance. “Yes, I am on a dangerous mission into the jungle, in search of ancient treasure, that will make me rich.”

“Oh, do tell me more,” Quinn asked with what she thought must be her most fawning idiotic tone of voice.

Just then two loud chimes sounded from the Reina del Pacifico, signalling the passengers to hurry along with embarkation.

“Miss Imogen, I must leave you now but I will find you on the ship. I will tell you more about my adventures.”

As Lars hoisted up his heavy backpack and headed away from them, Quinn thought to herself that Mister Hammer would be having a very hard time finding her on the ship. She turned to Jimmy, who was desperately trying to keep a straight face.

***

Quinn’s suitcase made a dull thump when she roughly dumped it on the bed in their cabin while Jimmy was closing the door. Apparently, Mr Travis had only booked them a standard cabin and not the deluxe one she had hoped for.

“He’s got to be going for the statue,” she remarked worryingly.

“You don’t know that for sure. The Sun God is just one artefact in a wealth of South American history,” Jimmy countered.

“He’s a treasure hunter and he just happens to be travelling to Guatemala at the same time as we? No, that is too much of a coincidence. Mr Gordon told me there would be other parties interested in the statue. Does he know who we are? Is that why he approached us?”

“Q, I don’t think he has a clue who we are. Sure, we need to work on our cover story, but he didn’t seem to question anything we told him.”

Quinn sat pensively beside her suitcase on the bed for a moment. If Lars was a rival treasure hunter why would he approach them and give away his presence so easily? Or was he assessing the competition?

“You have to talk to him again. Have a drink with him, no, better, get him drunk. Find out if he knows about the statue; what he knows about its location,” Quinn ordered.

Jimmy hesitated. “I think maybe he’d respond better if you asked him.”

Quinn looked questioningly at Jimmy. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know. He clearly fancies you, Q. He was practically bursting to tell you everything about his adventures. Surely, you can handle a bit of flirting without, you know, losing your temper and smacking him in the face. ”

Quinn grumbled but grudgingly conceded that that seemed the logical approach.

“Fine, I’ll have a drink with him. I’ll even try to control my violent impulses, but you had better start going through the information Spencer gave us. Look for anything relating to Kinich Ahau or Xultun and find the best spot for us to start looking once we’re on site.”

“Isn’t that a job for my secretary?” Jimmy asked with mock indignation.

Quinn punched him viciously on the upper arm. “I haven’t started controlling my violent impulses yet. Do you require anything else, Mr Berkley?” Quinn asked tauntingly, referring to the name on his new passport, which he’d so carelessly forgotten to use back on the dockside.

Jimmy cradled his arm and replied weakly, “No, Miss Fairfield that will be all.”

A question popped into Quinn’s mind. “How did two British Museum guys, get hold of intricately counterfeited passports anyway? There is something wrong about those two and something about this whole mission just seems off.”

“Seems quite straightforward to me; the Museum wants this item as the centrepiece of a Mayan exhibition and they are willing to go to some length to acquire it. I say, as long as they’re paying us, who are we to question their motives?” Jimmy remarked.

“You’re right, we’ve never questioned our buyers before, but up until now, they’ve always been private collectors. This time, I think we should be cautious and make sure we keep our eyes open at all times.”

“Agreed.” Jimmy nodded.