Chapter II

I believe that we should die with decency so that at least decency will survive.

 Dag Hammarskjold, Swedish diplomat

Matias stood in the sand, several feet from the disc’s leading edge.  Hands on hips, he pondered the mystery before him.

Juan came down the hill from the main house, behind.  He had changed from his kitchen smock into more suitable blue jeans, untucked island shirt with palm tree print, well-worn straw sombrero, and leather huarache sandals with the tire tread soles.  He carried another straw sombrero and a pair of sunglasses.  Matias was still in his casual outfit from earlier.

“Senor, your hat.”

Matias turned and accepted the proffered hat and glasses, putting them on as he turned back to the disc.  “Thank you, Juan.  I wasn’t thinking.  The sun will get hot early today.”

Juan removed a pair of non-descript horn-rimmed sunglasses from his breast pocket and put them on while noticing, “It doesn’t look old.”

“I was thinking that, myself.  When did the war end, seventy years ago?  A bit less?”

“It would be almost as…” he let the comment drop.

“As old as I am?”  Matias smiled as he felt Juan’s self-imposed discomfort from behind him.

“I only meant,” Juan started and Matias cut him off as he turned to show the smile.

“Don’t worry my friend.  You are right.  It is almost as old as I.”

Matias turned back and stepped up to the leading edge of the craft, reaching a hand out.  The hand stopped several centimeters from the surface as he fought down the trepidation over touching the mysterious object. 

He tilted his head as he considered, “Radiation?”

Juan stared at the steady hand.  “World War II?  I would think not, senor.” 

Matias continued his movement and placed the hand flat to the metal.  He screamed in pain and Juan ran forward, grabbing his boss by the shoulders as Matias broke out in laughter.  Juan immediately released him and Matias bent at the hips with his hands slapping both knees.

Taking a knee he caught his breath and looked up at his companion.  Juan’s tight lipped stony look and flaring nostrils put Matias into another short spurt of laughter.

Juan matter-of-factly stated, “Not that funny, Senor.  I feared for your safety.”

Matias stood back up and his laughter trailed off.  “You are right, of course, Juan.”  He stepped away from Juan toward the dune which would allow him to climb onto the top of the craft.  “It would have been much funnier if I’d actually seen the look on your face when I did it.”  He started laughing again and fell to the dune, rolling.

Juan stepped around him as Matias tried to gather himself up on the slope.  “The capitan that cried wolf is what you are.”

Juan stood on the slanted metallic top and offered a hand to assist a sandy Matias who admonished, “You need to work on your sense of humor, Juan.  You take each day as a burden.”

Juan felt the scar tissue on his face as he grasped the Capitan’s hand.  Matias saw the motion and regretted his comment.  He knew his friend had reason to feel the way he did.  Even though the surgeries had actually made his face presentable, Juan could only remember the handsome young face of his youth.    Matias felt the stump of his own severed digit, knowing he would forever feel responsible for his friend.

Matias turned away from the uncomfortable moment and surveyed the top of the craft.  It seemed to have the stereotypical “flying saucer” shape with a teardrop shaped “blister” canopy, just large enough for a pilot, adorning the very center.  On either side and a bit forward of the center point and the canopy was a sand filled opening of sorts which, upon removing a bit of sand, Matias noted angled back at a downward slope into the craft like an air scoop.

He moved forward to the damaged canopy.  A good third of the canopy was shattered in the front.  There was enough room in the break to get both his arms in and scoop sand out.  As he did so, Juan kept the sand moving away so he could pile more.  He looked around at the rest of the surface while he scooped.  It was large and they would have to cover it from prying eyes.

“Juan, we need to make this ‘disappear’ from casual view.  How about using palmas?”  This was an easy fix.  Palm trees on a coconut ranch shed copious amounts of dead fronds, and the ranch had over a hundred trees so covering the saucer’s five meter diameter should not pose a problem.

Juan looked around the craft and thought for a moment.  “Does the Capitan still want a terraza and small palapa near the beach?”

“Si, but what… oh.”  Matias stopped scooping and cocked an eyebrow at a smiling Juan, returning his own smile of understanding and unspoken approval.

Juan jumped down and went back up the hill to the carport while Matias used his foot to break out a bit more of the bubble to allow him access without risking a nasty cut.  He misjudged one stomp and sliced into his webbed loafer, cussing to himself that he hadn’t taken the time to change into more reasonable clothes, like Juan.  He looked at the damage to his shoe.  Luckily the leather webbing had prevented the sharp edge from continuing through to flesh.  That would have been a nasty wound and he cussed himself again for the stupidity.

At his age skin isn’t as tough as it once was.  Whether a sliced foot or a broken hip, damage is fast and healing is very slow.  When you’re old, every minute lost cannot be recovered.  He knew he was smarter than this.

Matias moved his attention back to the widened aperture and saw that it was a lot less ragged due to that last stomp.  Kneeling down, he began to pull larger amounts of sand from the inside until enough was cleared for him to notice a hatch dog where the canopy met the metal of the ship, just to one side of the canopy front.  He had missed it because of the broken acrylic which his stomping had removed.  He leaned in and noticed another on the other side.  Common sense should have told him to look for these in the first place.  The dogs were used to lock or “dog” down the canopy tight enough to create an airtight seal when in flight.  Reaching in, and being careful of the sharp glass, he pushed and pulled on one of the dogs.  It didn’t budge.

He stood back up at the sound of a two-stroke engine behind him.  Juan was on his way back down the hill with the ATV.  He noticed it was pulling the small trailer filled with milled palm wood boards, a tool box, and a post-hole digger.  He parked the ATV in front of the disc and killed the motor. 

When the engine noise died, Matias called down to him, “See if you brought a meter long board about two by ten centimeters, and the hammer, por favor.”

Juan went to the trailer and pulled the hammer out of the toolbox, then fished around for a board that was close to the requested dimensions.  He handed the narrow board to Matias and held on while Matias pulled and helped him up.  The trailer was close enough to allow Juan step up from the trailer to the top of the craft with the little assistance.

Matias inserted one end of the board, on edge, into the canopy and placed it against the dog.  He gave the other end a good tap with the hammer and felt movement.  He gave it another tap and could see the lever visibly lift a few millimeters.  Another solid hit and it came free, releasing its three-quarters of a century vice-like grip on the canopy seal with the sound of a gentle crack.  He repeated the process with the other side.

The dogs were free, but the canopy held fast.  After years of being compressed to the metal, the seal had welded itself to the rim of the cockpit.  Matias turned to Juan, who was already rummaging in the tool box.  Juan returned with a short pry bar and handed it to Matias.

Matias turned back to the seal and ran his hand around the bottom frame the blister which was virtually flush with the metal skin of the craft.  He looked inside and saw there was more purchase for the pry bar there.  Probing the with the sharp the end of the bar he was finally able to work it, ever so slightly, between canopy and craft to what he thought would be a satisfactory depth.  He took the hammer and gave the free end several, gentle, downward taps and was rewarded with the sound of the seal parting.

He repeated the exercise on the other side while Juan donned a pair of leather work gloves and kept the frame up while Matias pried.  More sounds of the seal peeling away and shredding as Juan pulled the canopy completely open.  Sand, still filling the rest of the cockpit, cascaded down onto the surface of the craft.  Matias and Juan stared into the revealed interior.

Sand still filled the cockpit almost to the rim.  The seat back was further uncovered as the sand piled in the rear spilled free when the canopy was raised.  Staring back at them out of the spilling sand was a mummified face, framed in leather flyer’s headgear that was cracked and darkened with age.  Dried eyelids were closed over their, now sunken, sockets.  The mouth was still closed, the sand that was packed around the jaw had held it in place as the muscles and skin dried and shriveled.

Juan was first to speak, nonplussed at the sight of the corpse other than not expecting to see it.  This was not his first dead body, just his first mummy. 

“It looks to be well preserved.”  He pointed to the face.  “What is this white residue on the flesh?”  Juan referred to the thin, light crust of white mineral that covered the exposed skin.

A large wave crashed on the beach throwing up a fog of salt water to be blown across them by the breeze.  Matias watched as the salt laden mist from the ocean breaker quickly dissipated.

“Salt crystals.  There is much salt in the sand here.  Between the heat and the salt, the poor soul had no choice but to sit there like a salt packed smelt, waiting to be found.”

Juan made a sign of the cross in front of his face and kissed the tips of his fingers when finished.  “Not a proper death, even for a Nazi.”

Matias pointed at the restraining harness.  “He is still strapped in.  We can only pray this poor soul was, mercifully, already dead or unconscious, when he crashed.  Let’s see if we can extricate our guest from his conveyance, shall we?  Maybe we can give back some dignity by providing a decent burial.”

Matias moved to one side of the cockpit, so Juan could work on pulling out the sand on the other, and looked up to see Juan giving him a disapproving look and shaking his head. 

Matias spread his hands in confusion.  “Que?  What?”

“I see you have damaged your shoe, senor.  Perhaps you should change into something more fitting to the task at hand?  I can finish here and start putting up braces while you are gone.”  Juan knew that Matias would want to be here as the body was uncovered and removed.

Matias hung his head as he grudgingly admitted, “You are like a mother hen, Juan, but you are right.”  They both moved to the edge, Juan stepping down first and offering support to Matias.  As the older man walked slowly up the hill to the house, Juan got busy removing boards, tools, and a small trowel and bucket from the small trailer.

******************************

In the hour and a bit Matias had been gone he changed into more suitable work clothes, made a couple of tortas for an early afternoon comida, and packed the sandwiches, along with plastic cups and a container of water, in a small ice chest.

When he arrived back at the disc, ice chest in hand, he saw that Juan had not been idle.  Four of the longest posts, about four meters, were packed tightly in post holes with three meter sticking up from the sand in front, and two more driven in on the high side of the collapsed dune until the tops were level with the front posts.  Two bracing boards were nailed in place across the tops of three of them. 

Matias put the ice chest on the back of the trailer and assisted Juan in adding the last two top braces.  Two large brown rolls of nylon reinforced poly tarpaulin were pulled from the trailer and unrolled on the dune.  The tarps had been forgotten until Juan came across them in the workshop and realized they’d be better than lashing palm fronds together for the sides.  The men overlapped the rectangular tarps across the top of the top braces and lashing the grommets together so as to form a rough enclosure of sorts.  Juan had to fold up any excess tarp and nail it to the bottom of the posts to prevent the tarp from drawing up in a breeze.  When finished he stepped back to critique the rough tent erected over the craft.  Matias came out from a loose flap on the side, which they would use for access.  He was drenched in sweat and reported there wasn’t enough venting to allow any breeze inside.  Juan smiled.

“A bonus then, senor; you now have a much needed sauna collocated with your patio and small pavilion, si?”

Matias looked at Juan through eyes burning red from the saline sweat draining off his forehead and pointed a finger toward the glowing sun without looking.  “We live in a sauna, Juan.”

Juan raised an eyebrow as he turned to leave.  “Si, senor - we do, indeed.”  Matias listened to Juan whistle some nonsense toon and just knew his old friend was screwing with him.  He swatted at a fly and went to look for a clean rag to wipe his face.

While Juan went to gather enough material to make an ongoing construction project look plausible at the site, Matias unleashed the sea side of the tarp tent for a breeze and began the careful removal of sand from cockpit and around the mummy.  He carefully removed trowel after trowel of sand to the bucket and deposited each full bucket some distance from the tented area.  When he finished dumping his latest bucket, he sat on the dune and considered the fact that they hadn’t reported any of this to proper authorities and, more importantly, what the possible ramifications might be if they were discovered doing, well, whatever it was they were doing, because at this moment even he really didn’t know what they were doing. 

He reasoned with himself by asking his favorite question, “Why?”  It isn’t a murder; it is a seventy-five year old crash of what is, for lack of a better description, a war machine.  Is this important?   Is this machine… important?  Definitely, after all, it is a flying saucer, a Nazi flying saucer at that.  Okay, so how bad can not reporting the discovery of a Nazi mummy and flying saucer on a private beach be?  No matter how he couched the question, he came up screwed.

What will the authorities do if they find out about it, and he hasn’t reported it?  He is eighty years old, he thought, and a Ship Capitan in the Mexican navy, retired, but still deserving of respect.  What will they do?

He smiled as he said to himself, “They can pucker their lips and kiss my tattooed ass.”

Juan heard his boss talking to himself as he unloaded the construction props from the trailer.  The captain never made disrespectful comments of such color unless he was discussing an inept government agency.  He wiped his brow with a red kerchief  and look over to his boss.  “Viva Mexico?”

Matias returned his gaze and replaced his look of concern with a grin on his handsome, weathered, face.  “Si.  Viva Mexico!  Viva Mexico!

“Viva Mexico!”  Juan replied, wondering if he would get a cell next to his beloved capitan.

******************************

The poly tarp “ceiling” was translucent enough to allow a diffused soft tan colored glow to filter inside the tented area so they could see while they worked.  They kept a watchful eye through the opened flap for beachcombers, and sharp ears for any other visitor that might sneak up on them unannounced while they finished removing enough sand to free the mummy and clean up the cockpit. 

When sand removal was finished, Matias leaned in to work on the buckle of the harness holding the pressure suit wrapped mummified remains into the seat, struggling, once again, with a latch made difficult by the oxidized metal.  He saw movement, above and to one side, as a boot knife was offered up by Juan.

Matias looked at the huaraches Juan was wearing. 

“You’re not wearing boots, so, where do you hide a boot knife?”  Juan answered with a smile and Matias didn’t press him.  Juan rarely discussed any of his special forces training.  He took the knife just as the thought of Juan hiding it up his ass crossed his mind.  “Ouch.”

“Cut yourself, senor.”

“Uh, no.  Just, uh, twisted wrong.” 

“Ah.  Be careful.”

He nodded as he leaned back in to cut the restraining straps.  The nylon straps, though strong when new, were fairly rotten and cut easily after so many years.  In truth, he thought, he probably could have pulled them from the buckle with one good tug, but he kept in mind the dignity they were trying to afford the dead.  Any rough handling might harm the remains.

He handed the knife back, and Juan replaced it in the hidden sheath attached to the inside waistband of his jeans, in the small of his back.  Matias watched and smiled at how close he’d been to Juan’s hiding place.  He wondered how uncomfortable that would be if…  He shook it off and let the thought die an appropriate death.  He didn’t really want to think that hard about what would happen if his aim were off a tad while sheathing it.

Juan moved his hand under the mummy’s right armpit, and Matias did the same on the left.  It worked out fine that they had to rock the mummy forward to remove it, due to the remaining canopy behind it.  The pressure suit and the mummy, total, weighed approximately twenty kilos.  As they gently placed the mummy down on its knees in prelude to laying it on its side, the upper flaps of the suit fell open and something drop out.  They continued their move of laying it on a side.

Matias watched Juan reach down and pick up the brittle, yellowed, envelope from where it had fallen when they set the mummy down on the metal skin of the craft.  A quick glance at the front of it and handed it over to Matias who glanced at the mummy as he accepted the envelope, asking of the mummy, “What do we have here, my mysterious friend?”

The envelope was not sealed.  He looked on the face of it and saw a scrawl of faded writing penned by a hand trained to write in early years of twentieth century Europe.  Except for the yellowing paper, the suit had protected it well enough that it could have been penned yesterday if the ink had held up a bit better.

“Juan, I haven’t my reading glasses.  Is this an address?”  Matias turned the envelope toward Juan who leaned over for a closer look.

“It appears to be script, senor.  As with your own handwriting, it is difficult to read the old script.”  Juan held back his smile, “An address to be sure, the number below… oh, my goodness.”

“What is it?”

Juan held his hand out.  “May I?”

“Certainly.”  Matias handed the envelope to him.

Juan found a stream of sunlight and brought it close, but not directly into it for fear of further bleaching the aged ink.  He squinted closer to the surface, studying the writing.  He look up from the paper and back to Matias.

“It is definitely an address.  I read, Albert Einstein, 112 Mercer Street, Princeton, New York, USA.”  He handed the envelope back to Matias, who accepted it with his mouth still agape.  They both stared at the envelope, and the mummy, for several minutes in silence.

Juan asked in a low voice, “What would a Nazi mummy have wanted with Albert Einstein?”

Matias lifted the flap on the unsealed envelope and peered inside.  “What, indeed, my friend?  The mystery deepens for us.  Perhaps the contents may shed some light.”

He tentatively reached into the envelope and felt the paper, trying to ascertain if it was substantial enough to try to remove.  “The paper seems to be in remarkable shape.  Being sandwiched between the leather folds of the flight suit must have helped preserved it.”

Matias stuck his index and middle fingers into the envelope.  Using them as pincers he gently grasped and removed the single sheet of yellowed paper.  It had been tri folded.  He, very slowly, began to unfold the sheet.  The paper had, indeed, held up very well.  Other than the color of age, it seemed delicate, yet sturdy enough to handle.  He studied the writing for only a second then looked to Juan once again.

“I am sorry to impose, again.  Por favor?”

Juan reached over to accept the small sheet.  He leaned toward the light once more.  After only seconds, he leaned back toward Matias.

“Senor, the body of this letter is in the German language.  The writer is a niece of the great professor.” 

Both Matias and Juan were familiar with some German due to their time at sea, much of which brought them into contact with German vessels.  Juan had self-taught himself enough to get by, while Matias learned his from many forays during shore leave when he found that being a ladies man required some knowledge of the native language in order to “erect his flagpole” on foreign soil, so to speak.

“A niece?  What brings you to such a conclusion?”  Matias looked at the mummy.  Juan turned the paper toward Matias then remembered he didn’t have his glasses and turned it back. 

“The handwriting is, well, it seems a woman’s hand in the script taught at the turn of the last century.  She addresses him as ‘Onkel’ which, if I remember my Ingles, is close to Uncle.  In the closing I read the words ‘All meine Liebe, Sia’.  I believe that is ‘All my love’ which should confirm the writer as a female named Sia.

“So we’re assuming he was a delivery man?” 

They both looked at the desiccated mummy’s face as Juan answered, “Well, if the flight suit fits…”

Matias smiled at Juan’s, seldom heard, attempt at straight forward humor.  “It would seem an expensive delivery vehicle.”

Juan looked around at the saucer and nodded.  “Si.”

Matias started to move.  “Let us get her to the trailer.  We’ll store her in the wine cellar for a short time.  It is cool and dry there.  When we are done I will call Carlos Higuera, the funerario.  He owes me.”

“The mortician?”

“If we call a doctor they will have to report it, friend or not.  I can trust Carlos, but, we will keep what we tell him to a minimum.  El es mi amigo, but he has a history of tequila mouth.  Una boca grande.”

“Too much tequila, too big a mouth?”

“Si.”

“I understand, Capitan.”

They carried the relatively light remains to the edge of the disc, and Matias handed them down to Juan who gently deposited them on the floor of the trailer.

Matias spoke as he stepped down next to it, “I will ride back here and steady it to minimize any damage.”

Juan was fingering the leather suit.  He looked up and asked, “Might I recommend we remove the flight suit prior to senor Higuera’s exam?”

Matias looked at the suit with new concern.  “I would hate to ruin it by cutting it off.”

Juan ran a finger down the front flap.  “It seems to open down to the crotch.  If so, cutting should not be necessary.”  Matias looked at the flap and felt it down to below the waist.

“You may be right, Juan.  While I make the call, you see what you can accomplish with it.  Do not press, though.  If you find you need assistance, wait for me to continue.”

“Si senor.”  Juan climbed onto the seat of the ATV and pushed the ignition.

********************

Matias went directly to his study and opened the desk drawer.  He removed the leather bound address book Juan had given him this past Christmas and placed a fingernail under the black tab with a gold embossed ‘H’.  He opened the small book to the only phone number on that page, lifted the receiver of the desk phone and dialed.

The line was answered and a polite, mature, man announced “Buenos dias, Funeraria de Higuera.”

Matias disguised his voice by making it gravely and nasal, his words coming between wheezing breaths.  “I am dying… so you must… come and bury me.”

His comment was met with silence from the other end.  He pressed forward with his humor, “If you bury me now… I will not tell… of what you do… with your female ‘clientele’… you sick bastard”

“Matias?  That isn’t funny, Matias.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I only have one friend with a sick and twisted wit such as yours.”

“Carlos, you fraud, you only have one friend.”

“Si, and he is a sick and twisted, and his penis is a wrinkled old cigar…”

“Hey!  Be nice.” 

They both laughed, and Carlos asked, “To what do I owe this call, mi amigo.  You have obviously not moved on to your heavenly reward.”

“Well, thank you for that kind thought.”  Matias’ voice became more serious.  “Are you alone?”

“Am I ever?  Of course I’m alone.”

“I have a serious request, my friend, one that requires your mortuary expertise.  It is a sensitive and extremely confidential situation of the utmost immediacy.”

“I am intrigued, Matias.  As it happens, I am in dire need of a break, and a bit of fresh air.  If you can give me thirty minutes, I will close up for mid-day comida.  I assume you are at the rancho?”

“Hold onto your ten pesos for lunch yousqueaky carbon.”  He eyed his own untouched lunch, “I will make you a large, tasty, torta for when you arrive.”

“You?  Use a knife?  I would rather your man, Juan, make me a sandwich.  You only have nine fingers left, remember.  I cannot take your money at rummy, if you cannot hold the cards.”

“Ouch!  You strike deep, my friend.  It’s a deal.  Please come as quick as you can.”

“Si, amigo.  I am leaving now.”  There was a click, and the line went dead.

Matias glanced at the four fingers on his hand as he replaced the receiver, knowing he could still hold a hand of cards with three.

Having convinced his old friend to ‘bring his expertise’ to the ranch, he turned to go assist Juan in disrobing the mummy.  He noticed that a small, framed photo on the wall by the door was tilted at a serious angle.  Looking around he noticed that all the pictures were hanging at odd angles, or had fallen off the walls completely.  He had been so focused with the morning activity that he had not noticed the minor interior damage caused by the earthquake.

He stepped to the doorway and straightened the first framed photo.  The black and white picture was of a young Matias sitting next to a lovely young woman in a restaurant.  She was toasting toward the lens with a martini, and he with a double old fashioned tumbler full of ice, whiskey and soda, his other arm around her bare shoulders.  They were both laughing. 

He smiled at the memory of that night and thought about her in a quiet voice, his finger still on the frame.

“Elke Walburga.  You were fluent in Espanole, which was a blessing as my Deutsch was beyond poor.  If there was one woman I had come close to wedding, it would have been you, Elke.”  But, a wedding was not to be.  She had married a Deutschlander, Baron…what was his name?  “God, I call you all the time but never even think of your last name.” 

He chuckled remembering what his mother used to say, when memory escaped her, so apropos for this thought, “The German is listening.”  She was of Spanish heritage, and grew up there during WWII.  The German war machine was dissuaded by Franco, from invading Spain, through some serious ass kissing on his part.  However, military units and the Abwehr, the German military intelligence gathering organization, was able to operate in Spain with the cooperation of the Nationalist government.

German spies even operated along Mexico’s west coast, as they plotted to invade several of the port cities, a prelude to an invasion of the United States.

   

No one ever talked when German’s were listening, and if they asked questions, everyone conveniently lost their memory.

Now, it would seem, memory was all just genetics.  Mama suffered from old age and selective memory, and he took after mama.

“Mech…Mechtilde!  Baron Mechtilde.  You became, the Baronin Elke Mechtilde.”  Matias blurted out, and he smiled at his success remembering his oldest friend’s married last name. He straightened another picture frame.  Deutsch.  He could remember that meant German, but not an old friend’s name?  German…

“Oh, mierda!” he exclaimed as he reached for the desk phone, checking his watch.  He did quick math and determined the time difference.  Perfect.  It should be late afternoon to early evening there.  He opened his new address book again, found the long, overseas, phone number, and dialed.

It took a few seconds for the connection, and then he heard the unmistakable double ring of a European land line.  A young female voice answered, not the Baroness, and the connection was very clear compared to a cell phone.

The young voice stated, in a professional manner, “Guten tag, Baroness Mechtilde residenz.”

Matias knew his German would not hold up to scruitany on any level.  He always spoke to Elke in either Spanish or English.  She was very intelligent and spoke several languages.  He asked, “Sprechen sie Spanisch?”

“Nein.”

“Englisch?”

“Ja, ein winig,” she began, “a little.”

“Marvelous!  Danke.  I must speak with the Baroness.  Please tell her it is Matias calling.”

“Einen moment mein herr.”

A moment later the phone was answered by a new female voice with little accent, evidencing a penchant for language.  It was more mature, with the commanding strength of a woman born to status and who had worked hard to keep it.  Her father, a strong, successful industrialist that knew the benefit of hard work, promised he would have no spoiled brats inheriting family wealth or position.  Elke turned out to be his only child, and the jewel of his life.  She made him proud, time and again.  Intelligent, like her father, she earned doctorates in world history and business, the latter being of great use as she stepped in as CEO of the family business after her father’s death.  But, she never lost her love for history.

“Matias!  Wie geht es dir, meine Liebe?”

“I am fine as usual my gorgeous concubine.”

She laughed at his familiarity, and continued in Spanish, “You should be so lucky you old sea dog.  Come visit me.  Let us see if I can shake some of the snow off your roof.  You do still have a roof, yes?”

“Si, a full head of hair.  If I came to visit, I fear you might hurt me.  You still work out daily?”

“Oh my, yes!  I’m only five years younger that you Matias, remember?  Judo and tai chi keep the muscles stretched, the joints limber, and my focus sharp.  I can still hold my own against Juan, I think.”  They both laughed again.

During a visit to the ranch several years back, Elke had made a comment that she could take Juan down two out of three falls.  Juan balked, so she stepped up and kicked his butt before he had a chance to respond.  He excused the loss to holding back so as not to hurt her.  She had told him not to hold back.  The second bout took a bit longer before she kicked his butt again.  Juan was impressed, but doesn’t like to discuss the incident as he prides himself on never being caught with his guard down.

“Who is the young lady that answered the phone?”

“Hilda?  She is my new personal secretary.”

“What happened to Frau Betz?”  He referred to the older woman who had been in her employ as long as any he could remember.

“Retirement, the middle of last year.”

“Another?  How many does that make?”

“Three, which is why Hilda is a young lady, and much too young for you.”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh stop, Matias.  You’ll hurt your own self.”

They laughed again and Matias got down to business.  “Elke, I need your assistance.  A letter has come into my possession, written in the mid-1940s I believe.  It is part of a mystery which, we hope, it will help us understand.  Unfortunately for me, however, it is in German.  I was wondering, if you have the time…”

“Don’t be silly, for you, my love it will be a pleasure.  I assume your computer skills have not improved?  Have Juan scan it in and send it to my e-mail.  You know how much I love a mystery.  Can you tell me more about it?”

“Thank you, my dear, and no, not at this time.  We are not sure of any danger or legal ramifications that may be involved.”

“The less I know the better?”

“For now, yes, with apologies, but, as soon as we know anything, you will be the first to hear.  Do you still have contacts at the German Archives?”

“To hear them fawn over me, you’d think I own the German Archives!  I am still their largest contributor.”

“Always the philanthropist.  I have to go.  A friend is coming to assess another aspect of the mystery and I have offered to make lunch.”  He thought of the torta he should put in the refrigerator.

“Darling, stay away from knives.”

Matias audibly sighed, “Yes, I keep being reminded I only have nine left.  Love you.”

“Kisses, love.  I will call when I’ve finished the letter.”

The connection ended and Matias hung up the receiver for the second time.

******************************

Matias gingerly walked down the concrete steps into the wine cellar carrying a small plate of finger sandwiches made from the leftover torta, and another he had added knowing his guest’s appetite.  He found Juan preparing to drape the removed flight suit over the back of a ladder-back chair.  The Siemens leather flight helmet and a small pile of what he assumed to be undergarments, was already on the seat of the chair.  Matias put the plate down on a sideboard against a wall. He picked a Hanhart Chronograph watch from the pile and studied it.  The case was in great shape, though the strap had seen its day.  He gave the winding stem a turn and was pleasantly surprised to see the watch respond. 

Juan was holding the suit up to himself.  He looked at Matias as he put the watch back in the pile, “She seems to have been short, and slight of build.”

Matias stepped over to the mummy which was laid out on newspapers atop a wooden table and looked at the shriveled, mummified remains of the undressed corpse.

“She?”  He turned and was drawn immediately to the head of short cropped hair.  The leather helmet had protected the skull, keeping the yellow hair intact on the head.  He moved down to inspect the genitalia.

Juan draped the suit and joined Matias.  “An assumption, at first glance.  I would expect to find some shriveled remnant of a penis, but this person seems to have the desiccated form of a vagina.”  He, unnecessarily, pointed out the area in question.  “I say slight of build, as I found no bra that would indicate any bosoms of a size requiring one, and the corpse seems to bear that out.”

Matias unconsciously folded his arms across his own chest, and then, feeling silly for doing it, he massaged his chin with one hand as he thought for a moment before offering, “So, what we have here is a short, boyish, young female pilot.”

“Again, an assumption Senor Higuera will have to confirm.”

Matias stopped massaging his chin and told his friend, “An assumption I would have to agree with, however.  You have done good work by the way.”  He noted, “You didn’t have to cut the suit off?”

“No.  The suit fit her shriveled remains like a large condom on a young boy.  It slipped right off.”

Matias looked at Juan with a slight grin and one raised eyebrow.  “Interesting comparison.” 

Juan shrugged.

Matias pointed to the head.  “I’m amazed at the hair retained its yellow color.  I would have thought the dyes would have bled into it.”

Juan went back to the chair and lifted a piece of cloth from the small pile of undergarments, holding it up for Matias to see.  “She was wearing this silk skull cap.  The outside of it shows some discoloration from the leather, but the inside another stain I would think is more in line with what a decomposing body might cause.”

Juan handed the cloth toward Matias who held up a hand in refusal.  “No, you keep it, I insist.”

Juan dropped the cloth into the pile and lifted another, somewhat larger, envelope that seemed to be curved as though it had been wrapped around a pipe too long.  He handed the envelope to Matias.  “I found this tied loosely around her shriveled calf of her left leg.  The string disintegrated when I removed the suit from her legs.  Interesting contents, but information beyond me, I’m afraid to admit.  Advanced mathematics was never my strong suit.”

Matias opened the envelope while responding with humor, “Basic mathematics was never your strong suit, if memory serves.”

Juan nodded, “Ah, si, this is true, Capitan.”

He reached in the envelope and brought out a handful of small notes, none bigger than what an eight by twelve centimeter pad might yield. Each was crammed full of small scribbled drawings, and equations which were so small as to make reading them difficult.

A voice yelled from somewhere outside, echoing down the wide stairs.  “Hola?  Donde estas, Matias?”

Matias yelled toward the stairs, “Abajo en la bodega, mi amigo!  Come down!”  He shoved the notes back into the envelope and instructed Juan in a low voice, “Hide all of this while I entertain and distract our old friend with this mystery woman.  Go into my study and scan the letter which I left on my desk, and then send it to Baroness Mechtilde.  You will find her e-mail address in the book you gave me.  It is sitting next to the letter.”

Juan nodded and silently gathered the clothes.  He quickly placed the undergarments in a large, black, plastic yard waste bag.  He already knew the flight suit would not lend itself to folding due to the stiff leather, so he rolled it to just fit in another bag.  He pulled the drawstrings closed as footsteps were heard on the stairs.

The ample form of Carlos Higuera stood in the doorway, or, rather, filled the doorway of the wine cellar.  Carlos was of average height, and enjoyed food much too often. 

As younger men, both in their early thirties, Carlos and Matias had met downtown at the hardware store where both were purchasing supplies for their respective projects.  Matias for building the ranch and Carlos for his new funeral/mortuary services business.  They discussed construction while waiting to be served, ended up having lunch together, and found that they both enjoyed playing rummy.

They made a date to play cards a few nights later, thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company, and soon became close friends.  Whenever Matias took leave to work on the ranch, they would find time for cards and visits. 

At that time, Carlos had energy to burn, and channeled it into building his business.  By forty the business was thriving and he was enjoying the good life.  He met a woman that owned a small restaurant he frequented often due to her great food.  Her personality was as jovial as his.  By forty-five he was married and just plain fat from too much comfort.  He came into the room and Juan excused himself to take the full trash bags up the stairs, nodding to Carlos as he went by. 

Carlos considered the load.  He smiled and pointed at the full bags.  “If you brought me here to help you with spring cleaning, I have my own mess to work on.”

Matias forgot he was still holding the envelope.  Carlos and Juan watched as he closed the flap and nonchalantly placed it atop a tall shelving unit with jars of screws and nails, and boxes of spare parts for the yard equipment. 

He noted next to where he placed the envelope were two leftover packets of plastic explosive and remote detonators Juan had managed to appropriate from an old navy friend that owed him a big favor.  They had used the balance of it to remove most of the rock below the hacienda in order to sink a sturdy foundation.  He thought Juan had disposed of the illegal material some years back.  He lowered his arm and turned to see Juan standing on the second step.  Matias gave him the “we’ll talk later” look and Juan gave him an answering shrug and winked at him..  Matias gently shook his head and thought how Juan’s failure to ever let go of anything that might be of future use, just might end up being the downfall of them both if they weren’t blown up first.

Carlos turned from setting down a small leather catalogue case and addressed his old amigo, sporting a wide grin usually reserved for the poker table.

“Buenos tardes, mi buen amigo!”  Then he noticed the mummy on the table and the grin subsided as his eyes widened at the sight of the oddity.  “Oh, my goodness Matias!  What in the world do you have here?”  Carlos approached the table rubbing his hands together like a pirate inspecting a treasure.

He glanced over to Matias with an eager look.  “May I?”

Matias nodded.  “It is why you are here, my friend.  This is the object for which your expertise was required.”

Carlos retrieved his catalogue case and took several items from it including several sets of disposable latex gloves.  He stretch a pair onto his ample hands as Matias continued with a short explanation.

“It came into my possession just this morning.”  Matias explained.

Carlos held his gloved hands up like a surgeon ready for work and looked to his friend for more information.  “From where?  Who?” 

Matias shook his head and reminded, “As I explained on the phone, it is of a confidential nature.”  He let his voice take on a more serious tone.  “Carlos, the fact that I have it must remain between us, for a time.”  He hated leaving his friend out, but he did know his friend.  He added, “There may be government and legal issues involved.”

“Ah, yes.”  Plainly disappointed at not being let in on more of the mystery, he began to probe the remains with his fingers while asking, “So, what is it you need from me?  A burial?  Embalming will not be required, I think.”  They both chuckled.

“Whatever you can tell from a simple examination would be of great assistance.  We want to know all we can of this individual.”

Carlos spied the plate of finger sandwiches on the sideboard.  Matias scooted the bribe closer to his friend for easy access, and placed a stool in front of it.  Carlos eyed the plate and licked his lips.  Matias smiled at his friend’s total lack of willpower.

“Is there anything you need for the exam?”

Carlos looked up from the plate.  “No, I have brought everything I should need.”  He looked back to the plate.  “A few napkins might be in order.”

Matias finally laughed.  “I will fetch the napkins and leave you to it then.”

Carlos pulled a small LED flashlight from his pants pocket, clicked it on and added as Matias started up the stairs “Cervezas would help, as well.”  He pulled reading glasses from his shirt pocket as Matias disappeared from view to fetch napkins and beer.

******************************

Carlos looked up from the mummy, clicked off the light, and removed his glasses with a large sigh.  He reached for the last sandwich with a pair of sterile forceps he had placed on the plate.  Matias had abstained, knowing his friend would make short work of the plate of food.  He took the finger sandwich in one bite and swished the remainder of his beer around before tossing the bottle up and polishing it off.  Wiping his mouth he look over at Matias. 

“Interesting young lady.”

“So, it is a female?”

“Oh, yes.  Caucasian, possibly of Scandinavian ancestery.  The skin seems fair, although hard to confirm from the mummification, but the hair color helps with that.  She was about thirty, very healthy from the looks of teeth and bone, except for her spine.”

He looked at the last beer and Matias unscrewed the top for him.  He smiled and took a sip from the now warm bottle.  “The spine sustained a debilitating compression injury, probably at the time of death from all indications.  It isn’t broken, I doubt if it paralyzed her, but I would think the pain she endured would have been severe to the point of her losing consciousness.  Matias, I am no forensic specialist.  I dabble in it as a hobby.  Since I have so many diversified specimens on which to study, why waste the product or the opportunity?  But, again, I am no specialist and all of what I’ve just told you is conjecture, save for the obvious sex of the poor woman, you understand?”

“Perfectly, and you have given us more than we would have known, my friend, even if just food for thought.  Muchas gracias.”  

Carlos waved a dismissive hand at the thanks.  “It was my pleasure.  When you can tell more of the story, I would love to hear.”

“Of course.  And I just want to be clear; could the back injury have been sustained during the crash of an aircraft, perhaps?”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, at the innocent release of another tidbit of information. “Perhaps, but the bottom of the aircraft would have to impact the ground first to have caused such injury is this.”  Matias offered nothing further at his friend’s clarification.

Carlos began gathering up his equipment and returning it all to his leather satchel.  “Now, I must get back.  I have other several clients awaiting my expertise.”

Matias slapped his friend on the back as Carlos grabbed up his bag and turned for the stairs.  “I’m sure they’re not in any rush to make an appointment.”  They laughed as he followed Carlos up to cooling, fresh, ocean breeze.

Carlos worked his bulk behind the wheel of his late model Chevy pickup.  He waved and rolled down the window as he backed out and called to Matias, “Cards this weekend?”

Matias waved back.  “I’ll call you!”  Carlos smiled, waved again, and proceeded down the drive.  Matias mounted the steps to the upper patio, stopping half way up and turning to look at the makeshift “hanger” he and Juan had constructed over the craft at the foot of the dune.  The brown poly tarp was rippling with the breeze, but he could not make out what it was concealing.  He started back up the steps saying, “That will not keep the curious out for long.”

He heard the screen door bang shut as he reached the patio.  Juan was walking toward him with a sheet of paper.  Matias canted his head toward the beach as Juan came up to him. “We will need a more secure solution than our makeshift lean-to, I think.”

Juan handed the paper to him and said, “From the Baroness.  I will give the shelter further thought.”  Juan reached behind the patio’s roof support column near where they stood and retrieved the black yard bag from the wine cellar filled with their guest’s belongings.  He made for the steps to return the bag to the cellar as Matias read the message from the Baroness.

Dearest Uncle Albert,

      I hope this finds you well, if it finds you at all.  Upon reading this, you will know two things of certainty.  The first - my work is now in the hands of the Allied Powers.  The second - I am dead.  I write this as I make my escape, so please excuse the brevity. 

      I wanted you to understand, you must understand in order to comprehend what I send you.  I beg you have your pingala and bacon prior to making sense of my work, although, for you this will be child’s play.  If memory serves, you like this dish chilled.

      I always enjoyed our correspondence.  As an adopted uncle you were a friend and ally.  As a scientist you were a mentor, ever forcing me to teach myself, push myself.  For both, you have my debt, my admiration, and my love.

      As for me, know that I did what had to be done.  You always told me, God does not play with dice.  As Jules Verne wrote, “I wanted to see what no one had yet observed, even if I had to pay for this curiosity with my life.”  God gave me the abilities and placed me here, I believe it was for a purpose.  My regret is not to have lived, to observe the next modification.

      If you want the stars, Uncle, you have to be colder than the universe.

All my love, Sia 

“Pingala and bacon?  Hmmm.  What is pingala?”  Matias re-read the letter as he made for the screen door.  He passed through the great room, entering his study and, noticing Juan had left his laptop on, sat in front of it.  The letter was still on the screen with a note from Elke at the top.  Juan had only printed that which was necessary, leaving this personal note for his eyes alone.

Not sure what you have here, Love.  Very mysterious.  Any thoughts on pingala?  I’m thinking a south Asian dish, though one doesn’t come to mind. 

Call me when you can.

Love, E

Matias deleted the message then clicked on the search engine.  He entered pingala and several plausible entries appeared above the implausible returns further down the page.

Indian music theorist?  He saw that this Pingala also had a hand in early Indian mathematical thought.  Matias shook his head.  Not edible, however.  He looked at other entries, none of which dealt with a food item, mostly yoga and channeling one’s inner energy.  He went back to Pingala and mathematics due to the Einstein connection.

Another hour found Matias still reading through entries.  Juan came in with a tall glass of light amber liquid with a generous amount of ice.  “Whiskey and soda, senor.”

“Gracias, Juan.”  He did not look up from the screen.  “Say, what do you know of binary numbers?”

Juan gave his boss a quizzical look, raised his eyebrows, and, “It is the base-2 number system.  Without it we would not have computers.  An Indian scholar came up with the idea to describe poetic verse, I believe.  Francis Bacon also dabbled with ideas for binary encoding.”

Matias looked up from the computer screen and stared at Juan.  “Not that I ever doubt your intelligence, but how do you know all this, off the top of your head?”

“I learned about codes and code breaking while in Special Forces.  I was particularly interested in ‘Bacon’s cypher’ for hiding messages in plain text.”

They both caught each other’s eyes as they simultaneously blurted out, “Pingala and Bacon!”

Matias continued first, “She was passing a coded message to Einstein, telling him to look for a binary encoded message.  But, where did she hide it?”  He picked up the letter and re-read it.

He pointed at a possible reference and, as Juan looked over his shoulder, he explained, “Here, in the same sentence, she remembers he likes the dish cold.”

Juan scratched his chin and said, “I don’t remember seeing anything cold in the cockpit, Capitan.  After so long a time, it would surely have gone warm, I think.”

Matias thought about Juan’s statement.  He was right.  They had found nothing else in the cockpit that would help with the mystery.  “Not in the cockpit, but perhaps, in the engine?  Matias placed the letter on the desk and stood.

“Grab the household tool kit, the big one, and a strong flashlight.  We need to visit our new shed again.”  He walked toward his bedroom.

“Si senor.  Will I meet you down there?”

“I have to perform my hourly exercise.”  He would be taking a few moments where a man of his age usually finds himself, exercising his failing prostate.

“Ah, si.” Juan smiled.  “I will wait for you at the ATV.”

“Yes, I will be but a moment. Oh, and Juan?

“Yes, senor?”

“You keep smiling and you be removing my boot from your colon.”

“Si, senor.”

Matias winked and remembered the glass of iced whiskey and soda Juan had brought him.  He snatched it up and headed for the door saying, “I may be a bit longer than a moment.  I will meet you under the tarp.”

He sipped his drink as he made his way to the water closet.  He felt certain the answer they were looking for would be found in the propellant, maybe liquid oxygen.  The Germans used it to fuel the V series of weapons platforms with great success, why not a disc?  He entered his spacious restroom, took another sip and set the drink on the counter, within arm’s reach.   Lifting the lid to the toilet, he looked at the white, molded seat underneath.  It reminded him of the last sentence of the letter as he unbuttoned his pants and mounted his throne.  Even the heat of the day made little difference to a toilet seat.  “Colder than the universe.”

********************

Juan and Matias knelt under the brown tarp, studying the interior of the cockpit when Matias asked, “Well?  Any thoughts on where to begin?”

Juan removed his fraying straw sombrero and scratched his head.  “Pop the hood?”

Matias lifted his head from the cockpit and looked around on the surface of the craft.  Juan saw that the Capitan had taken his remark seriously and began studying the surface as well.  It wasn’t seconds before Juan pointed an area directly in front of the cockpit.  “There seems to be a rectangular seam that begins just forward of the cockpit and extends to just prior to the circular seam and the outer ring.”

Matias looked where Juan pointed.  “Huh.  We’ve been standing all over that, and I never noticed it.  There does not appear to be a handle.  Screws?”  Juan went to both knees and looked closely at the seam and blowing on it occasionally to remove sand from suspect areas.  He followed it down slope to ring, across, and back up the other side.

“Hmmm… nothing evident for screws, eh, Juan?”  Juan shook his head in agreement.

Matias leaned into the cockpit again.  “Let us continue with your thought, Juan.  How does one ‘pop the hood’ on a regular vehicle?”

“You pull the lever, senor.”

Matias saw a lever below the control panel, next to the port bulkhead.  An oxidizing plate of metal on the bulkhead next to it, was marked, “³He” with a direction an arrow indicating direction to move it.  He reached down to get a hand on it, lost his balance, and almost did a header into the cockpit.  He grabbed the back of the seat at the last second, thinking to stop the tumble.  The back click out of a hidden stop and swung forward toward the control panel as Matias continued unabated to the floor of the cockpit where he emitted a substantial, “Umpff!” as he hit.

He felt hands grab around his thrashing legs and pull.  He pushed off with his own hands and assisted in backing himself out.  Juan was brushing him off as he stood.  “Are you alright, senor?”

“Si, I think so.  A bruised ego, nothing else.”  Juan was smiling as he brushed.

“What?”

“Very graceful, mi Capitan.”  Matias laughed and Juan tried but couldn’t help but joined in, making kicking motions with his arms in the air, imitating Matias’ legs sticking out of the cockpit.  They enjoyed the moment.

Juan pulled on the seat which now swung easily back and forth on hinges mounted at the bottom front.  He noticed what seemed a small, sealed, waterproof toolbox.  Some sort of rubberized cloth tape had been wrapped around the seal as added insurance against water intrusion.  The tape had dried and gone brittle with age.  When originally wrapped around the seam, the tape would have assisted in keeping the box waterproof for a substantial length of time. 

Juan brought the box up and handed it to Matias who examined the crumbling tape.  “Obviously not a toolbox they used on a constant basis, probably an emergency kit.”

Juan reached back down and retrieved a heavy bundle wrapped with a square of roughly cut square of thick olive green oiled cloth tarp and unwrapped one end to expose the tools inside.

Matias raised an eyebrow.  “If those are the tools, what is in the toolbox?” 

He removed what was left of the tape and had Juan hold the box while he lifted the two latches on the front.  Inside, the contents were pristine.  The box could have been filled yesterday.  On top was a well-oiled Luger, wrapped in the softer oilcloth than the tools, obviously the cloth it had been wiped down with.  There were also two additional magazines of ammunition.  Below the pistol were more folded documents.  Matias handed the pistol to Juan and lifted out the handful of documents.  Below the documents and spread across the bottom of the box in a single layer, was shiny gold bullion coins emblazoned with Swiss markings.  Both Matias and Juan stared, speechless, at the treasure shining up at them.

Juan croaked out, “A survival kit, Capitan?”

Matias took a coin off the bottom and held it up.  “More a refugee kit I think,” looking at the documents in his other hand, “with various papers and international cash, bullion, in lieu of compass, knife, and matches.”  Juan nodded silent agreement, remembering his stringent survival courses.

The coin went back in the box and Matias fanned out the short stack of folded documents and papers.  He chose the first document as it seemed official, like a passport only a bit larger.  It had a hard spot near the corner.  Opening it he saw the hard spot had been a small black and white identification photo, shoulders and head, of a young woman.  Pretty features, with boyishly short, light colored hair.  The document had been stamped with the official Nazi seal of approval.  He scanned the information, able to interpret much of it as identification papers differ little in information, even today.

“Our guest ‘Sia’ would be, Flugkapitan Aloisia Henke.”

“Flight Capitan?”

“So it would seem.  She must have been a test pilot.”  He quickly scanned the other documents.  “Most of the signatures are of high rank and have an SS suffix.  She was a very important person, I would think.”

Matias straightened the papers back into a stack and returned them to the box as well.  He was ready to re-latch it, and looked to Juan. 

“Well?”  Matias knew what was coming.

“With your permission, senor, I will hold onto the Luger.  If the Ammunition is as well preserved as the weapon, or even with new loads, it may prove more valuable to us than the gold.”  Matias removed the additional ammo and closed the latches without argument.

“As you wish, my friend, I trust you will safeguard it appropriately.”

“Of course, senor.”  Juan patted the pocket with the pistol.

Taking the box from Juan, Matias lifted his chin toward the cockpit saying, “See if you have better luck with the handle,” as he set the box down on the disc with the roll of tools.

Juan looked at the handle, and the seat, then stepped into the cockpit and sat down.  He looked up at Matias who just laughed and said, “Well, sitting would probably be the proper position in a cockpit if one wanted to operate the controls.  Give it a try.”

  

“It seemed much safer than doing head stands, senor.”  Juan gave a slight smile as he made the Captain laugh again.

He reached down to the handle which Matais indicated and pulled the handle.  It, like everything else, was frozen in place.  He pulled it again and felt a slight grinding, but not of rust.  “Senor, the hammer, por favor?”

Matias left and was back in seconds carrying the hammer.  Juan accepted the hammer along with his Capitan’s warning of, “Don’t hurt it, too bad.”

Juan felt below the panel, examining the handle’s linkage with his fingers.  He brought the hammer under and guided several light taps to something out of sight.  He was gratified to see a handful of sand drop from his target.  He tapped several more time until the salting of sand stopped. 

He pulled the handle again, this time with more success.  One more time, and there was a reverberating clack as a smaller panel popped up at an angle near what they assumed was the bottom seam of the larger panel, nearer the outer ring.

Matias moved down to the front and examined the new opening.  He reached down and flipped the panel back to the deck on its hinge.  The shallow pocket below looked as if it had just come off the assembly line.  In it was another handle, similar to a large dual pole power switch.  He reached in and wrapped his fingers around the bar giving it a firm tug and looked up at Juan.

“Perhaps this would be more fruitful if we got off the hood, first?”

“A good point, senor.”  Juan jumped to the sand and assisted Matias to the ground beside him.  He leaned over and handed Matias the metal bucket they’d used for sand removal.

“Stepstool, senor?”

“Gracias, my friend.”

Matias tried out his weight and the bucket maintained its integrity under his weight.  He reached over the edge and found it easier to grasp the handle in both hands and pull it toward him.  His move was met by the solid sound of a larger latch, which was followed by the bigger panel popping open under his arms like the hood of a car.  Juan climbed back onto the top and moved forward near the captain and the edge of the “hood.”  Matias pushed up as Juan pulled.

Raising the hood was accomplished with little effort as the panel rose with relative ease.  One person could easily have lifted it on their own.  The opening below was filled by another sheet of similar metal, with a fluid valve located about thirty centimeters from the seam.  The valve had an attachment fitting and a hand sized wheel to open and close the valve.  The surface of the metal was textured with some minute design.

Juan reached down to feel the textured surface and Matias snatched him back by the shoulders with a loudly ordered, “Stop!”  Juan jerked his hand back as well and quickly stood as Matias pointed around at the edge of the inside of the seal.  A white frost was forming, and slowing grew to eventually cover the metal sheet like a frosted beer mug.

“What is happening, senor?”  Juan asked as he watched in wonder.

“If I’m right, our Mexican humidity is freezing on the surface of a Helium-3 containment tank.”

Juan rubbed the fingers of the saved hand.  Matias saw the gesture and said, “Without a glove your hand may have become a permanent fixture on the tank.”  Matias’ eyes opened wide as he moved quickly to close the panel.  Juan assisted in holding it down while Matias pushed the latch handle back down to lock it.

Juan looked confused.  His brow was knitted in concern as he asked, “What’s the matter, senor?”

Matias ran fingers of both hands through the hair above his ears and back to his neck as he thought.  He finally looked to Juan.  “We need the digital camera.”

“The small one, senor?”

“No, bring the Nikon and the macro lens, por favor.”

Juan didn’t have to think.  “Si, senor.  I was using both to make a photographic record of the senora and her flight suit.  I have them in the wine cellar.”

He put a hand on Juan’s shoulder.  “Good man, I had not thought of that.  It is probably good that we have records of everything, and copies!  Bring the spare battery as well and let us record as much of the craft as possible while we have light of the day remaining.  When we get back up to the house we will photograph her papers and these newly discovered documents as well.  How are your Photoshop skills?”

Juan beamed.  “I have the latest download, mi Capitan.”  He prided himself on staying up with the newest program versions.  Working for the Capitan provided ample time to indulge in art, music, and computers, as well as keeping physically fit with ranch work and his martial arts exercises.

“Muy bueno, Juan.  I will explain what I have in mind when you return.”

Juan was half way up the hill when Matias yelled up an afterthought, “And, bring two sets of our heavy leather work gloves!” 

Juan returned ten minutes later.  Matias explained his plan while he set up the camera and lens for close-up photography.  “I want to get a complete close-up coverage of the Helium-3 container surface ‘under the hood’ and make them into a mosaic.  We will have to work fast before the frost obliterates what I thought to be texturing.”

Matias adjusted his gloves to ensure a snug fit, pushing his fingers all the way in.  Juan had readied a board to put across the opening so he and Matias had something to brace themselves on other than the insanely cold container.

“A moment, senor.”  Matias had been ready to pop the hood again, but he looked up at Juan’s request to wait.

“Why are we photographing the texture?”

Matias smiled and instructed him, “You study the texture while you photograph, see if you can put it together.”

Juan nodded, “As you wish, senor.”

Matias grabbed the handle and pulled.  As before, the hatch popped up.  This time, he climbed back on top next to it and raised it alone while Juan slid the board into place.  Juan quickly knelt on the board and flicked his right hand as if it had gone to sleep. The glove flew off.  He had realized that he could not operate the camera with the glove on.  He leaned in and began photographing a mental grid pattern he had laid out, moving left to right and top to bottom.  As he got down to the board, Juan stood from snapping photos and let Matias remove the board so he could continue shooting the area beneath it.  Juan completed the shoot from the ladder they had put in place of the bucket at the front of the craft.  The shoot felt longer than the twenty to thirty seconds it really took.  The frost just began to obliterate the texturing with a soft fur of white as he took his last shot.

 “Well done, my friend.  Do you think you got some good shots?”

“It was very close, senor.  Si, I think I managed to capture all you requested.  Even missing a small portion of the code may have meant loss of important information.”

Matias noted his old friend’s comprehension of what the texture represented.  “How long did it take you to figure it out?”

Juan donned a sheepish look.  “Longer than it should have, I regret to admit.  The time this must have taken to accomplish, and under the noses of her watchdogs, the SS, would seem an amazing feat.”

Matias patted the surface of the panel as Juan continued,   “I did not notice until I looked through the macro lens, but there are several lightly impressed lines, twelve or so centimeters apart.  I think she used several “stamps,” if you will.  She might have quickly impressed them onto the clay mold while it was still pliable.”

“Yes, my thoughts as well.  By the time anyone paid any attention she could have quickly explained it away as what we assumed it was, texture; a textured surface to possibly to prevent slipping on it when icy.”

Juan followed the Capitan’s reasoning, adding, “The clandestine feat is even more impressive as she would have to create a positive mold, in order to pour a negative stamp, to make a positive imprint on the master cast for the tank.  Difficult enough when not trying to accomplish the task unnoticed and much more difficult when you are.  How she managed to do it so small and keep it all legible after several transfers is truly amazing.”

Matias looked out through a break in palm fronds.  It was getting dark out, which meant it must be around 19:00.  “Let us take this up again tomorrow.  It is time for some, well deserved, rest and another whiskey.”

Juan began gathering the camera, box, and tools as he volunteered, “I will sleep here tonight.  Someone should guard the site.”

“As you wish.”

Juan stood still for a moment, biting his lower lip in contemplation.

“What are you thinking?”

“Do you still want a ‘party’ terazza on this hill, overlooking the ocean?”

Matias put a palm to his forehead, at Juan’s considering really building the patio.  He laughed.  “Why, yes!  Yes, indeed, my friend!  As a matter of fact, I do really want that new terazza.  I will call the supply house tomorrow and confirm a line of credit.  It is something you can do alone?  Won’t you need assistance?”

“I will lease a small front loader, a Cat, and push the dune atop the craft to hide it from view again.  I’ll pull the tarp down and cover the craft with them to make removal of the sand easier when we remove it again.  I will also string a line of caution tape on stakes around the buried craft and tell the workers the hill is unstable from the earthquake and not to walk on this area as it will expedite the drift of the sand and ultimate collapse of the entire dune which, of course, would seriously piss off my capitan.  I will hire our usual team.  We trust them to follow orders.  They have much respect for you, and know their place, they will stay off of the area as told.”

Nodding approval of the idea Matias asked, “And, getting the craft under the new terazza?  We don’t know how much it weighs.”

“Your new terazza needs to be two levels, one atop the dune and a lower level behind the dune with secure storage underneath, just high enough for the craft.  I can rig something to drag it underneath, with minimal damage, I think.  If the panel we lifted is any indication of the weight of the metal, it should move with relative ease across the sand given its shape. The bowl like bottom should slide over the sand like a sled.”

Matias thought what good shape it was in, considering it crashed.  What possible damage could dragging it ten meters more over the sand possibly cause?

Matias cocked an eyebrow and gave Juan a critical look.  “How much money do you think I have for this ‘two level’ project you’re planning?”

“More than enough, mi Capitan.”

“Hmmm.”  Matias looked at the ground saying, “I need to keep you out of my ledgers.”

The ledgers were not high finance at this point in his retirement, but Matias hated doing even minimal bookkeeping and Juan knew it.  Juan dramatically spread his hands, palms up in front of him, and begged the question, “Then, who would audit them for you, senor?”

Trying not to smile at Juan’s rhetorical question, Matias knew his old friend was right.  He sighed and feigned exasperation as he answered, “Fine, I will make the call.”

He caught Juan’s slight smile at his small victory as he came to attention like, the old military man he was, and told his boss, “I will get started first thing, manana.”

Matias said, adamantly, “After you work your magic on my photos.”  He pushed the camera into his waiting hands.  “I want a mosaic, as soon as possible.  A mosaic will allow us to study it in entirety, at our leisure.”

“Ah, si, my apologies senor, I will enhance the images and pick out the clearest one to work with.  You will have a printed file by morning.”

Matias looked confused.  “One?  But, you took so many photos.”

“Si, but with new imagery programs only one clear photo will can provide us all we will require, and I think I managed to get at least one sharp photo so a mosaic may not be necessary.  We can use the other photos to enhance if needed, or study separately.”

Matias was shaking his head as he turned to go outside into cooling early evening breeze. “Very good, my friend, I leave it in your knowledgeable hands.  Promise me, though, before you let me put your safety in jeopardy again, you remind me of such trivial things.”

The tarp flap fell closed and Juan attached it to the post as he sheepishly responded in a low voice to himself, “Noted, mi Capitan.”

Matias opted for a walk back up the hill, time to think, while Juan took the ATV so he could bring back a cot, lantern, and other assorted gear he would need for a night or two guarding the craft while he brought the construction plan, and material, together.

In the time it took Matias to reach his office, Juan was already sitting behind the desk downloading the photos from the camera before he gathered his camping gear.  Matias quietly poured himself a scotch and went to the phone in the front room.  He dialed the supply house and gave them a general idea of the supplies they would be requiring.  The man on the other end worked up a rough estimate of the cost and Matias confirmed a line of credit for his account and Juan as his project contractor able to draw the materials.  Thanking the man, he hung up the phone and went back outside to the hammock by the pool.  He took a draw off his drink before laying his head back to relax.

Matias woke up the next morning.