The Mystery of the Aztech

Paul never knew how little control over his day he would have after rising to the position of vice president. He was on the way out for a round of golf with other vice presidents at the Institute only to be waylaid by a frantic phone call from Sacramento. The Institute appeared to have lost track of ten million dollars.

“The Bank of Alex Brown? The Institute put money into a bank named the Bank of Alex Brown? If we put money in the institution and it is not there, then why are you calling me, Joe? Call legal.” Paul was getting annoyed. He wanted to play golf not fly to California.

“Paul, you grew up in Big Bear didn’t you? We need somebody to make a trip to a place called Green Valley Lake to meet up with someone named Abraham Black Dog the 3rd. He claims to be the grandson of a Serrano chief who was named Abraham Black Dog, “ Joe continued.

“What the hell are you talking about? The Serrano tribe is not real. It was what the Spanish called ALL the indigenous peoples living in the San Bernardino Mountains.” Paul regurgitated his local history with ease. He had friends in high school who were part . That was what they called themselves, not Serrano.

“This guy is telling us the áswetséwet are out and about. He also claims The Institute has a contractual obligation to the Serrano tribe. An old lumber company The Institute bought over a century ago had a signed ‘treaty’ with a Serrano chief. It appears to have something to do with harvesting lumber in the early 1900s in a place called Green Valley in the San Bernardino mountains. The document specifically references this áswetséwet as well.”

“Hmm,” Paul grunted. He had not heard the name in so long, but when his colleague said it over the phone he felt a chill. Paul’s Yuhaviatam friends had taught him Cahuilla, their native language. He remembered the stories the elders told of the ferocity of the áswetséwet. He still felt uneasy when he thought of the áswetséwet.

“Damn it, Paul, what the hell is a áswetséwet?!” Joe’s yelling came through the phone and was audible to people within fifty yards. Paul waved to his colleagues. He was not going to be golfing today.

“It is Cahuilla. It is a mythical beast. It means eaglesnake. It isn’t real Joe. There is no such thing as an eaglesnake.” Paul said as his voice trailed off. He had been telling himself this for a long time. There was no such thing as an áswetséwet ever since he heard those stories. However, the elders had given him good advice over the years. They had been right about so much. They believed their stories were factual oral history. Now here were claims to reality again. Paul clenched his teeth.

“Well áswetséwet might not be real but this damn contract says we have a ten million dollar trust at the Bank of Alex Brown. I am not sure. It appears to have existed once upon a time, but if the bank still exists it is a different name. I will keep looking for the money Paul, but I need you to go there. Use your local connections. The Morongo tribe is the natural owner of this “Serrano” treaty and they are watching this intently. They have powerful lobbyists here in Sacramento. The Institute is getting a black eye.”

Paul was already packing. “Where do I meet this Abraham Black Dog the 3rd?”

“He has no address other than a post office box in Green Valley Lake, but coincidentally there is a place called the Black Dog Social Club there in Green Valley Lake. I will tell him you will meet him there in a week. “

“Yeah, that is fine Joe. I’ll be there.” Paul was already thinking about his old stomping grounds in the San Bernardino Mountains. It was a fairy tale place in his mind. Like many fairy tales, it was filled with images of ephemeral wonder. These images are only available to those who made their homes in the clouds. Fairy tales can be dark too. The áswetséwet had haunted Paul’s dreams for decades. The Yuhaviatam elders had told him this day would come.

“I am sending the courier now. I have your cell phone number. This Abraham Black Dog the 3rd is raising holy hell in Sacramento. I do not know who or how he is connected but he is getting heard.”

“Wow” Paul knew in his heart the áswetséwet might not be a mythical beast. He knew the indigenous people of the area knew this too. He understood why they were making such a ruckus, if the áswetséwet were really stirring.

“I am on my way to Green Valley Lake Joe,” Paul said and hung up the phone.

Paul learned the current headquarters for the Bank of Alex Brown was no more. The bank had been acquired by an entity called First Interstate and then another bank, and then some place called Cornerstone Trust Groupe. Paul wondered what the ‘e’ on the end represented…maybe French he thought.

In any case, Cornerstone operated a facility in Los Angeles. Fortunately, the vault where the trust was still being stored was near LAX. It was in the heart of old Los Angeles money, Century City. He told the cab driver not to wait as he pulled his briefcase and suitcase from the back seat.

Paul had no idea how long this was going to take but he knew LA well. As long as one had money, one could get around just fine. Paul made a joke about Uber and Lyft, and the Yellow Cab driver smiled broadly . He gave the cab driver a generous tip before sending him on his way.

“Thank you sir!” shouted the driver as he sped off to find his next fare.

Everything seemed to have the aura of wealth about it, even the air seemed pregnant with “money” vapor. It felt as if everything was paved with semi-precious stones. Everyone seemed to wear a Rolex. Paul’s modest upbringing meant he ALWAYS noticed these trappings of extreme wealth.

He knew it meant he needed to put his big boy pants on. The rules of big money were unforgiving. Paul had learned this young. He bore a good deal of resentment toward the rich, but Paul was a utilitarian. Rich people had their uses.

He rolled confidently into the lobby. The doorman opened the door smartly, “Hello sir”, he smiled, “good morning”

Paul smiled back, and nodded, returning the cheerful greeting. “And a good morning to you sir as well.” Paul liked to return the obsequious greetings of staff with some joy and respect.

Paul walked in with his bit of luggage and head held as regally as he could manage. Appearances and perceptions were everything in this world. Paul knew this and he played along…for the most part.

As Paul made his way to the elevator, he noted the janitor scraping gum from the floor nearby. “Good morning sir,” Paul said to the janitor.

The janitor looked up from his task, he was a little surprised. He expected people in suits to ignore him. However, after a moment, the janitor responded with “Good morning”, and he stood to push the button for the elevator. The elevator doors opened as if on command.

Paul nodded his thanks to the janitor and into the shiny metal box he went. As the door closed, he saw the janitor look toward the doorman. The doorman raised his eyebrows at the janitor’s glance. Suits who were courteous and polite to the working staff never went unnoticed.

The vaults were in the basement so Paul sent the elevator down. There were no floors between the lobby and the basement. There were only parking levels and then the vaults. The elevator traveled for some time after the lowest parking level. Paul thought the basement must be pretty deep.

The elevator doors finally opened. Paul exited the shiny metal box into a vast open area. There were armed men and women all around the large oval room. There was a desk near the center with a few people seated who looked helpfully toward him.

One of them waved him forward. Paul presented his identification. The clerk pointed to a scanner. Paul placed his thumb on the scanner. A green light flashed on the device.

“Here is the key code for #222”, the clerk slid a piece of paper to him. Paul turned and headed toward his left. Paul noted an area where others were going through security. It seemed like this was where to check safe deposit boxes, so he headed that way. “No, the other way sir. Down that hallway”, she pointed

“Oh thank you,” Paul noted that his biometrics had given him some elevated access. This place felt like a bank but not like one he had ever been in before. He smelled enormous wealth in the walls around him. He was in a special place.

“Door #222,” she repeated as she directed him toward the hallway. Down the corridor, Paul went. There was another set of biometric checks before he was standing in front of door #222.

Paul looked at the slip of paper. He entered the long string of characters into the keypad. It seemed odd with all the biometrics and technology acting as gatekeepers, he was still faced with an old-fashioned combination lock. A high-tech version but nonetheless it was essentially just that. He swung open the door to a large empty room. An empty room except for a wooden chest sitting in the center of the room on the concrete floor.

Paul walked into the room toward the chest. The door automatically closed behind him. Paul immediately walked back to the door and waved his hand at the door handle. The door automatically opened.

Paul sighed. He did not like being trapped in these vaults. He made his way to the chest in the center of the room again. It looked old. However, it was aged like it had been exposed to much weather, but rather it had been sitting in this vault for a century...untouched. The workmanship of a different era was clear.

Paul undid the latch. There was no lock. he flipped open the lid. He was just a little surprised by the contents. It just was not what he thought he would see when he came seeking The Institute’s escrowed ten million dollars.

As soon as Paul was up on the ground floor again, his phone lit up with texts and missed phone calls from Joe back at The Institute home base in DC. Down in the bowels of the earth, his phone could not be reached. The upper world just queued up the queries though. He scrolled through the messages. They were all from Joe.

“Paul, Paul. Trying to get a hold of you because Abraham Black Dog III called me.” Joe started right in as soon as he answered Paul’s call.

“Hi Joe, yep got here fine, so you spoke to Abraham? Good. Will he meet me at the Black Dog in Green Valley Lake? Is that his establishment? Coincidental they have the same name, “ Paul pointed out to Joe.

“Yes. Can you get there by tomorrow sunrise?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, that is a toughie a storm is hitting the mountains right now. Highway 330 can be treacherous in snowy weather. However, a person can get a four-wheel drive there if they are not too lame.” As he said those words, Paul recalled being lame out there and getting stuck in a snow drift. “That is some real driving I will have to do in the dark if I am to be there by sunrise tomorrow. Goodness. I guess I can do it though.” Paul assured him.

“Well, what about the ten million dollars? Remember that part of this trip. The Bank of Alex Brown is supposed to have ten million dollars deposited in escrow for The Institute to use in this áswetséwet caper. Do they have it?”

“Yes,” Paul replied

“You counted it?” Joe continued

“Well, not exactly,” Paul said

“What the hell do you mean, not exactly, there are ten million dollars there or there is not. Which is it? What about this dragon thing he wants?” demanded Joe.

“It was a chest full of gold, Joe, and yes the dragon thing was there,” Paul informed his friend.

“What? a chest full of gold bars? Really?” Joe sounded genuinely surprised.

“No, it was a large chest. I opened it up as it had no lock, just a latch. It was full of gold…um…‘items’. Jewelry, rings, pendants, crowns. It kind of looked like it might be Aztec or Mayan, but I don’t really know, but there was a whole lot of it. I tried to lift the chest and could not. I tried to lift just one side. I was able to deadlift it an inch or so. Given my last trip to the gym, I would guess conservatively this chest has 500 pounds of gold in it!”

“What the hell! I do not believe you!” Joe shouted into the phone. “You are pulling my leg. That is worth way more than ten million dollars!”

“It does not matter what it is worth. I have to get off the phone now. I have to find myself a vehicle that is capable of making its way to Green Valley Lake in a blizzard in the dark. Bye,” Paul hung up on his friend.

Paul got himself a capable vehicle. The Land Rover was nice and stable on the icy roads. It came equipped with an extra light bar too. Paul felt good about the capabilities of the vehicle on the road. He wondered about his own capabilities to meet an unknown person in a rather remote area. A person who may think he is in possession of gold.

Paul had stopped at an old and dear friend’s house the night before. He knew she had an extra shotgun she would not mind loaning him. It felt better to have some buckshot ready…just in case.

Paul now found himself in his old stomping grounds. Green Valley Lake was a tiny town in the mountains of Southern California. Paul was a native of the San Bernardino Mountains. He knew Green Valley Lake well. He also knew meeting there was going to take a 4WD vehicle.

The condition of these mountain roads was highly variable. Many portions of the road were often damaged by weather conditions. At any point, there might be an entire section washed out or blocked by a mudslide. If you had the skill and 4WD though, anything was possible.

As he crawled his way through the blizzard, he began to worry a bit. Paul switched on the second light bar. It was below the winch and did a good job of lighting the ground. The road was in poor condition. It did not take a very big rock or chunk of ice to cause a catastrophic loss of oil. Even with the additional light, inattention for even a moment was not allowed. Paul gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Paul was on high alert. A dark lonely road was worrisome enough. However, there was a possibility he was meeting a ne’er-do-well in the middle of nowhere. This unknown person might also think he was in possession of gold. Paul’s brow furrowed with worry as he navigated a hairpin.

He reached back onto the passenger seat to make sure he had the shotgun in easy reach. Paul had no idea who Abraham Black Dog the 3rd really was or why he wanted to meet in Green Valley Lake.

He was about to find out. His light bars brightly illuminated the lot near the Black Dog Social Club. A man walked from behind a tree. The man waved. He walked down onto a clearing near the road. Paul stopped and got out of the Land Rover. He pulled the shotgun from the backseat and walked toward the man.

“No need for that,” said Abraham Black Dog pointing to the shotgun.

“Yeah, well this…this is all very very weird,” Paul protested.

“C’mon man,” the mystery man whined.

The inflection of the voice and the way the word ‘man’ was drawn out plaintively sounded familiar.

“Steve? is that you?” Paul asked. It had to be Steve.

“Jeez! I figured the meeting place would have tipped you off,” Steve said.

“What the hell was I supposed to think after seeing a chest full of Aztec gold artifacts,” Paul thought of the 500-pound chest he had been given access to in Los Angeles.

“Yeah, you couldn’t carry it could you?” chuckled Steve.

“I just do not understand what all that gold has to do with the áswetséwet,” Paul said.

“You saw the gold, and you know what áswetséwet means, right?”

“Yes, I understand it is a Cahuilla word for eaglesnake,” Paul answered, “So what?”

“What might be another name for an eaglesnake? Think about it. How about a feathered serpent?

How about Kukulkan?” continued Steve.

Paul let the barrel of the shotgun fall toward the ground. He relaxed considerably now. “That was REALLY Aztec gold then? Quetzalcoatl is the feathered serpent.” Paul muttered some facts about ancient Mesoamerican history but felt unsure about some of it now.

“Kukulkan, my friend. The Aztecs inherited much of Mayan culture like the feathered serpent they named Quetzalcoatl. Likely, that was originally Mayan or maybe Olmec gold you saw.”

“An eaglesnake is a feathered serpent, is Quetzalcoatl, is Kukulcan, is an áswetséwet? Wow!” Paul said in wonderment. “What does Tina have to say about all this? Last I heard, you and she were doing archeologist stuff.”

Paul was referencing Steve’s wife. They had met during the year or so Steve had pretended he would be able to attend college. He eventually figured out it was not for him. By that time, Tina had become enamored of Steve, so even though she went off to college, she returned. Tina came back to the mountains after completing her doctorate in archeology at Colorado State.

Paul remembers how hard Steve fell for the curvy Laotian, Dr. Tina Lee. It was a good thing. Steve’s emotional state had never been a super stable one. When he left college, he just bounced from job to job.

“Sometimes you just need somebody to serve,” Steve had said quoting Einstein. Their relationship seemed literally a match made in heaven. Paul remembered his envy. Two people who wanted to serve each other so loyally and lovingly. It was a beautiful thing.

“They f’ing killed her! They killed her, Paul.” Steve sobbed. He collapsed onto a large log. He put his head in his hands. “Damn it! Damn it!” Paul put his hand on his sobbing friend’s shoulder.

“Paul?” Steve looked up his eyes swollen but no longer making new tears. “You got a doobie?” Paul was silent for a few seconds. Steve cocked his head quizzically.

“Yes…moment.” Paul returned from the Range Rover. He handed Steve a hand-rolled cigarette. He then tossed a book of matches from Blondies in Arrowbear to his old friend.

Steve caught the matchbook expertly, but then fell off the rock. He rolled about in the dirt of the clearing. Paul thought he was crying again but then realized Steve was laughing hysterically.

“Paul! Same old Paul. MBA from Stanford and vice-president at Brookings Institute. You are driving a Range Rover and wearing a Moncler jacket and boots. Nonetheless, he is packed and he is holding!” Steve laughed some more.

Steve looked seriously at him and said, “Paul, thank you for being Paul.”

Paul blushed a bit. Steve never seemed to have any money. Yet he readily recognized the trappings. Steve was a bit of a mystery but he had been a good and loyal friend over the years.

“Acapulco Gold?” Steve blew clouds of smoke above his head. He was calmer now. He was no longer racked by sobs. His breathing became less labored and shallow.

Paul shook his head. “Those old varieties are hard to find,” Paul responded softly.

“They killed Tina. They killed her!” Steve whispered.

“Wha…what do you mean? Who killed her?” Paul asked barely able to keep his own emotions under control. He knew he must for his friend.

“I dunno, the government, spooks or the military or all of them or none of them.” Steve shook his head back and forth. He continued, “I guess spy agencies like recruiting archaeologists. Lawrence of Arabia had initially been an Oxford student working with a crew of British archaeologists who were excavating Carchemish in Egypt, you know. “

His friend paused to take another drag from the hand-rolled cigarette. He handed it to Paul and went on. “It makes sense. Archaeologists spend a lot of time in foreign countries, learn the local customs, and work in remote parts of the countryside. We were down in the Yucatan near Chiapas. But wait…let me tell you why we went there.”

Steve paused and then went on, “Before going to the Yucatan, Tina met with Alfredo Figueroa, a Chemehuevi elder. He lived in a small adobe bungalow on the outskirts of Blythe. She had heard of him through his fights to protect ancient land art in Southern California, like the Blythe Intaglios.

Not only did Figueroa believe the Colorado River was the center of old Azatlan, but he also claimed many peaks around the area were named after Aztec deities. He regaled us with stories about Huitzilopochtli and Quetzacoatl. He spoke of a deep connection between the Mayans and the Aztecs who both were descendants of an advanced civilization we call the Olmecs.”

Steve continued, “Based upon this meeting Tina became very excited and motivated to go to Mexico. I went with her because that is what I do.” Steve paused and wiped away a tear. “That is what I used to do.”

“We went to Tenochtitlán first and then to the Yucatan. While there, Tina was contacted. Two women who were allegedly from the FBI told Tina America needed a little help from her.

They told her, ‘There were human traffickers operating in the area.’

They just wanted her to keep an eye out. They would drop by a few times a month. They would ask a few chatty questions, and maybe sit and have coffee or tea with Tina. I never participated. I only know what Tina told me. She seemed comfortable and not really alarmed by the two women and their periodic visits until…she found this.

Steve pulled out what looked like a dragon’s head. It was badly beaten up but still was a beautiful blue. It looked just like the ones Paul had seen at the Bank of Alex Brown. This one was missing all the gold and silver fillagree but the distinctive blue of the lapis lazuli was unmistakable. He then unrolled what looked like animal skin. There was a map drawn on it.

This is supposedly a map of Azatlan. This is the mythical homeland of the Aztecs allegedly destroyed by a Great Flood.”

“Is that an animal hide?“ Paul asked

“Yes, it is, but you will never guess what animal. Tina had it tested in Mexico City. It is the hide of a mastodon!” Steve continued, “That was when the ‘spooks’ started showing up a lot more often.”

Really?”, Paul asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know why for sure, but we high-tailed it back to California to meet with Figueroa. Tina was anxious to show him what she had found, but he was disappointed. “

“Disappointed,” Paul asked. “Why?”

“This dragon/device is damaged. It is unusable. The power source is damaged in here,” said Steve pointing to the belly and then at the areas on the dragon’s head where there had been gold and silver. “All of this is missing to transport power to the ‘weapon’ that can control the eagle snake.”

Paul was riveted by the story Steve was telling. “Who is Abraham Black Dog?”

Steve held up his hand. “Alfredo Figueroa brought in an old Serrano shaman. This was Abraham Black Dog. Serrano is not an actual indigenous tribe, but as their population dwindled they embraced the appellation as the new tribe.”

“Really,” Paul said softly

“Yes, and he knew where another dragon’s head could be obtained. Abraham Black Dog showed us the map was of Southern California about 12,000 years ago. It showed the Colorado River and Mt. Whitney pretty clearly along with many of the Blythe Intaglios”

“What the hell are ‘intaglios’?” Paul was confused by the term.

“They are like giant geoglyphs, like the stuff on the Nazca Plain in Chile. We have some here in California near Blythe. The map showed them! It also showed ‘caches’ from Azatlan as they fled the Great Flood. Caches of gold and the power source for The Flame of Quetzalcoatl.” Steve’s voice trailed off mysteriously

Paul looked closely at the map. He realized Mt. San Gorgonio and Mt. San Jacinto were there on the map too. There were several places noted in the San Bernardino mountains…or so it appeared.

“These are around here,” Paul said pointing at the map.

“Yep,” Steve replied matter-of-factly. “Tina went to meet Figueroa and Black Dog at a secret previously agreed upon location in the Southern California desert. I was not allowed to go.” Steve stopped talking. He tried to continue but he was unable to utter any sound but a sob each time he opened his mouth to speak.

Paul put his arm around his friend. Steve stiffened. He stood straight and regained his ability to speak clearly.

“They found their burned bodies at a lonely intersection as if they had collided,” Steve said. “It looked like both cars had blown a stop sign late at night in Joshua Tree, but I knew better! She was going to get an exact interpretation of this map so she and only she could locate those caches.”

“What has this got to do with the áswetséwet ?” Paul asked.

“According to Black Dog, the áswetséwet are real. The Mayan long-count calendar tracks the orbit of a large dark body with an eccentric orbit. Apparently every 10 or 20 thousand years, the Earth gets bombarded by objects in the Kuiper Belt which are dislodged when the object makes a closer approach to the Solar System.”

“The old Serrano chief knew about the Kuiper Belt?” Paul expressed some astonishment.

“No, no. After Tina met with him for the first time, she distilled the oral history into a theory, which I just told you.” Steve continued on with details of Tina’s theory. “At different times these bombardments can be quite heavy. It is all a bit random, like cosmic billiard balls clacking off each other. The biggest dangers may not be actual strikes, but coronal mass ejections from the sun when large objects plummet directly into it. When this happens, life has to go underground. The áswetséwet are dinosaurs who escaped extinction by going deep underground. When the Olmec…”

“Wait! What? Nope,” interrupting Paul protested, “not onboard for this wackiness. I loved Tina too, but…”

Steve held up his hand. “Well when Tina got that animal hide tested, she had this tooth tested too,” Steve replied pointing at the lapis lazuli dragon head.

There was indeed some kind of animal teeth embedded there, so Paul naturally asked, ”Well what did those come back as…sabre tooth tiger!” Paul chuckled.

Steve looked serious. He said, ”Unknown, not corrupted, just unknown, but I pressed the laboratory for some more details. I got the tech to throw up some kind of candidate animals by asking if he could say if it was mammal or reptile or perhaps even a fish..you know like a shark or something.”

“Well, what did he say to that?” Paul asked, his disbelief waning.

“He told me it seemed like it might be some distant relative of a cassowary bird, but they do not have teeth, obviously couldn’t be a bird. I pressed him further and he said the teeth seemed more reptilian and maybe a crocodile was in the family tree too. He wouldn’t say anything more.”

Paul just looked at Steve and said, “OK, now what? Why am I here?”

“Because I needed that dragon head you have there. You see that fillagree is not just silver but a silver/gallium alloy. These are circuits. When Abraham Black Dog told his story, I told him about you. When I heard about the ‘treaty’ with The Institute, I knew who could help me find an intact version. Black Dog believed the áswetséwet were already stirring. He said they hibernated for centuries, but when the climate would warm, they would emerge from their deep caves to feast upon the people. “ Steve spoke with conviction. “Black Dog said when Dakush does not see snow, the áswetséwet will emerge.”

Paul thought for a moment. Dakush was the home of their creator God on what Californians referred to as Mount San Jacinto. Climate change had made snowfall on Mount San Jacinto a bit less but at nearly 11,000 feet she was still snow-capped….for now. Paul had not been in Southern California for a while, but he knew snowfalls were becoming more sporadic despite the blizzard he had just encountered.

“Paul, Tina never came back with the key to fully interpret these locations on the Azatlan map. I know you can help me. I need your help. Tina promised to help,” Steve glared steadily at Paul.

“Hmm”, Paul thought about the Yuhaviatam elders and his long-time fears of the áswetséwet

“I am not taking, ‘No’, for an answer here, Paul. These are scientific facts I have presented along with this wild mythology. Black Dog has been right so many times. There was a dragon head stored in a vault in Los Angeles, this is gallium, this hide is 12,000 years old and these teeth,” Steve implored while pointing at the dragon head. “These teeth are allegedly from the áswetséwet AND the DNA tests for an unknown animal most closely related to the cassowary!”

“Yes, Steve let me look at this map,” Paul felt himself giving in. “I think some of these symbols are Yuhaviatam,” Paul said, while also wondering what he was about to get himself into.