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This particular artifact was one of the last large relics taken from the pyramid, a "chamber of wonders" the Indian had called it in an awed voice ... just before he had disappeared back into the jungles, never revealing where he had discovered the treasures.
    But now his people had the run of Xitaclan again and plenty of freedom to explore ... and exploit. For all of them who had risked so much, the time had come to reap the rewards.
    Aguilar and Barreio got out of the car, while Pepe hauled the crate containing the artifact with him, lurching awkwardly under its bulk. The mysterious object was surprisingly lightweight for its size, but the young man had short arms and legs. Neither Aguilar nor Barreio offered to help.
    Salida's second-floor balconies were decked with flowers, splashes of color that trickled between the rail-ings and across the clean adobe surface. A hammock hung on one small balcony. Wicker chairs sat empty on another.
    A guard at the door came forward, also armed with a shoulder rifle. "Hola!"
    Aguilar said, flashing his well-practiced smile. "We are here to see Excellency Salida."
    "I'm afraid he is not having a good day," the guard said. "If you see him, you must accept the risk of upset-ting him."
    "He will see us," Aguilar said, again smiling. "If you wish to improve his day, you'll let him see what we've brought for him, eh?"
    The guard looked at the box and stiffened, instantly suspicious. Before the man could ask, Aguilar said, "Another prize for your master. Even more breathtaking than the feathered serpent statue we delivered. And you know how highly he prized that carving."
    Outside in the courtyard one of the peacock males set up a racket, a raucous squawking that sounded like a chicken being slowly crushed by a cement truck.
    Aguilar looked around and saw the large bird spread its amazing plumage. It sat on top of a tall stela, a stone pil-lar carved on all sides with Maya glyphs and pictures surrounding a ferocious-looking jaguar head.
    The stela was ten feet tall and weighed many tons. It had begun to tilt, though Salida's landscaper had anchored it firmly in the ground. Dozens of sweating workers had labored for hours to bring the artifact in secret up the gravel driveway and into the drug lord's fenced courtyard.
    The peacock squawked again, flaunting its feathers. Aguilar considered yanking them out, one by one.
    The guard ushered them inside to a cool hallway and then up a curving grand staircase to the second level, where Xavier Salida kept his offices and his private with-drawing rooms. Sunlight drifted in through narrow win-dows, glistening on dust motes that fell through the air.
    Their footsteps echoed with a hollow sound. The house seemed silent and sleepy
    ... until they reached the second level. They could already hear Salida shouting as they approached down the hallway.
    The guard looked wryly at the three visitors. "I told you, Senor Salida is not having a good day. One of our small cargo planes was shot down near here. We lost a pilot as well as many, many kilograms of product."
    "I had nothing to do with this," Barreio said, sud-denly defensive. "DEA?"
    The guard looked back at the police chief. "Senor Salida has his own suspects."
    They approached the largest withdrawing room, where two ornately carved mahogany doors stood mostly closed, leaving a gap of only a few inches between them. The drug lord's shouts carried through, only slightly muffled.
    "Grobe! It must be Pieter Grobe. No one else would have the audacity!" Salida paused for a moment as if lis-tening. "I'm not afraid of escalating our rivalry," he said. "We must take out twice as much in retaliation—but make no comment, no threats. Just do it." He slammed the phone down with an echoing clang, and silence fell on the rooms like a smotherer's pillow.
    Aguilar swallowed, adjusted his floppy cap, and made to step forward. By smiling and taking the initia-tive, he hoped he could cheer the drug lord. The guard remained