Chapter 9

 

There was no oxygen in Bolivia’s capital city. None. The air was so thin that they may as well have been on the moon. After a sleepless night worrying about Alice and listening to her gran snore, the last thing Julia wanted to do was catch an early morning flight to La Paz.

And now, she was going to die on the runway, in Bolivia. Somehow, it seemed a fitting end to her rather pathetic life. By the time Julia had made it down the stairs from the plane to the tarmac, her head was spinning and she was fighting the urge to vomit. Just as her legs gave way beneath her, she felt Joe’s arm around her waist.

“Altitude sickness.” He kissed her temple before calling to someone in Spanish.

A minute later, Julia was riding in a golf cart with a flashing light, with a mask over her face and a bottle of oxygen at her side. If she hadn’t felt so bad, she would have been humiliated. The whole thing was made even worse by the fact her grandmother was unaffected.

“Don’t feel bad.” Patricia reached over from the seat behind her to pat Julia’s shoulder. “I’ve been in South America for a while. I spent weeks in high altitude before going to Lima. You’ll get used to it. The key is to move really slowly until your lungs adjust to having less oxygen. Coca leaf tea helps too. We’ll get you some. It’s going to be fine.”

Julia groaned. She thought it had been quiet, but Joe must have heard. His arm wrapped around her and he pulled her tight to his side. She was feeling too ill to object. Joe was strong and warm and solid. And Julia was in no state to worry about the dangers of getting close to him, not when there were so many other worries vying for attention. The one uppermost in her mind was the fear of dying. She was pretty sure that if someone took the oxygen tank from her, she’d collapse and expire on the runway of the highest international airport in the world.

“It’s going to be okay.” Joe rubbed her arm.

Julia whined. It was pathetic, but she wished someone would knock her unconscious and wake her when they turned the oxygen back on.

Getting through the airport was a blur. All she remembered was handing Joe her passport and fighting nausea. The next thing she knew, she was in the back of a minibus, minus her oxygen tank which had to stay at the airport, racing through crowded streets into downtown La Paz.

“La Paz is the highest capital city in the world,” she told Joe, aware that she sounded a little drunk and a lot disorientated, but unable to do anything about either. “Twelve thousand feet above sea level.”

“Is that right?” There was a smile in his voice as he held her against his side.

Part of her thought she should probably fight his proprietary hold on her. The rest of her was too comfortable to care.

Julia rested her cheek on his chest, mainly because she had no strength to hold her head up, but she found she liked it there. “Over a million people live in and around the city.” Yep, every fact she’d read on the plane was spilling out of her mouth—whether she wanted it to or not. She lifted a weak hand in an attempt to point at the snow-covered peaks surrounding the city. “That’s the Cordillera Real range. That peak there is twenty-one thousand feet. This city is more than halfway up that mountain. Can you believe it?”

“No, baby, I can’t believe it.” Joe’s chest shook beneath her, and if she’d had the energy she would have glanced up to see if he was laughing at her.

She continued her rambling, unstoppable guided tour. “We’re only forty-two miles from the highest navigable lake in the world. Lake Titicaca. That’s Lake Titty-Kaka.” She mustered enough energy to look up at him. “That name is all kinds of wrong, Joe. It brings to mind images that shouldn’t be in my head.”

“Baby.” He shook his head. His grin was wide and he was definitely trying not to laugh.

“La Paz sits in a canyon that gives it some protection from the elements,” Julia continued. “Although it’s expanded quickly over the past few years and now reaches the high plains area of the Altiplano. That’s where we just came from. That’s where the airport is.” She looked back up to Joe. “Does it mess with your head that we flew up twelve thousand feet to land? I mean, shouldn’t you go up then come back down? Isn’t it against nature to go up and then stay up?”

Laughter came from the front seats in the van, and Julia forced her head to turn to see who it was. Her gran and Ed were smiling back at her. Huh. Julia hadn’t even noticed they were there. Her head felt too heavy, so she rested her cheek back against Joe, her focus on the view zooming past their window.

“There aren’t that many Spanish-style buildings here,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

“There are in the older areas,” Joe said. “Some of the government buildings and museums have great Spanish architecture.”

“Not as many as Lima.” Julia nuzzled against the warm cotton of his t-shirt. She could have sworn it helped with her nausea. “I wanted to go to San Francisco Monastery in Lima. It has an ancient library and a mosaicked courtyard. The ceiling is carved Moorish design, and there are catacombs underneath it.” She felt wistful. All she’d seen of Lima was a prison, a bar and lots of bad roads. “Did you know that someone rearranged all of the bones in the catacombs in pretty patterns? There’s a circular pit full of skulls arranged in matching concentric circles.”

“Bones in circles, huh? You’ll get to see it, baby. Once this is over, I’ll take you sightseeing.” Joe’s voice rumbled through her cheek, making her melt inside. “We’ll take the train from Cuzco to Machu Picchu village, then the bus up the winding mountain road to the old ruins. You’ll feel like you’re sitting on top of the world.”

“Joe.” Julia gave him what she hoped was a stern look. “I feel like I’m at the top of the world right now. Hello? Altitude sickness, remember?”

He laughed again, making her body shake along with his.

Julia’s attention turned to the strange city around her. It seemed to be made up almost entirely of tall buildings crammed into small spaces, each one vying for the title of highest residence in the highest capital in the world. It made her dizzy looking up at them.

“I didn’t realise,” she said.

“What, baby?”

“I mean, I knew academically that we would be at a high elevation. But we’re on the same level as the mountaintops, and if that wasn’t high enough, I booked the presidential suite at the top of the hotel.” She looked up at Joe. “I can’t go any higher. I can’t. You need to change the room. Get me something on the ground floor. Or a basement room. I can do a basement room.”

“You’re going to be fine.” He kissed her forehead, making her shiver.

“I’m going to be sick, that’s what I’m going to be.” She’d been given medication at the airport by a sympathetic man with a medical bag and a big red cross on his vest. Seemed she wasn’t the only idiot tourist who turned up in La Paz and instantly fell ill. The medication had helped, but she still felt like she was travelling inside a tumble dryer.

“It will get better. Some rest, taking things easy, some tea, and you’ll be good as new.”

“You think you can tell someone anything in that sexy drawl of yours and they’ll believe it, don’t you?”

His grin was smug. “You think I’m sexy?”

“I didn’t say that.” She felt her cheeks burn and concentrated on the view, instead of on the man she was draped over like a limp noodle.

“You booked the presidential suite?” Joe asked,.

“It was the only one with three bedrooms.” She groaned. “I forgot to tell them we needed four beds. I’ll get them to reconfigure the queen-sized one when we arrive. Gran and I will share a room.” She gave him a hopeful look. The thought of another night listening to her gran snore was really too much. “Unless you want to share with Ed.”

“We aren’t that close.”

There was more laugher from the front of the van. Julia ignored it. The van was pulling up in front of another massively tall building. She felt nauseated looking up at it.

“I can’t go up there,” she said.

“Sure you can.” Joe climbed out of the car and reached in for her.

Julia had no option but to let him help her. Her limbs had turned to jelly. She felt like she was weighted down, and each step was taken through ankle-deep mud. By the time they’d made it the short distance into the marble and brass lobby, she was completely weak and gasping for air.

“I need to lie down.” She hated saying the words, but it was true. And she didn’t mean in a bed. She meant right there, on the lobby floor.

She heard Joe and her gran talking, and the next thing she knew, Joe had put one arm under her knees and the other around her waist, and then he was cradling her to his chest like a child. She was too disorientated to protest. She lay in his arms, shutting her eyes tight, and let him take her to their suite. The long ride up in the elevator didn’t help her nausea.

“I feel silly that you’re carrying me,” Julia said as they entered the suite. She noticed nothing about it—she was completely captivated by the man who held her tight against his chest.

“And I feel honoured.”

His words melted something inside Julia, and the wall she’d built between herself and Joe crumbled a little.

“I don’t understand you,” Julia mumbled as her eyes closed.

“You will, baby. You will.”

Joe gently placed her on the bed. With her face against the cool cotton sheets, Julia felt the world stop spinning and sleep overtake her.

 

Two hours and several cups of coca leaf tea later, Julia felt much better. Not right, exactly, just less likely to vomit on the people around her. She still felt weak and exhausted, but she didn’t feel dizzy. She wasn’t sure if that was due to the tea, which tasted better than she thought it would—and according to Google, wasn’t at all addictive—or the medication Joe shovelled into her. Either way, she was ready to go find Juan Pablo de Santos and, hopefully, the mummy.

The taxi dropped them off in one of the city’s meeting areas, Plaza San Francisco, a concrete intersection with a grassy area above a busy underpass. The area was nothing special—lots of traffic and people waiting to catch buses, generic office buildings and large billboards. In the distance, behind the many high-rise buildings, were the suburbs that went up into the hills. They looked like sheer walls made up of houses built on top of one another. And above it all were the snowy peaks of the mountain range, so close you could almost touch them.

And in the middle of this industrial area was San Francisco Church.

The massive sandstone building, with its dominating bell tower and ornately carved stonework, was completely out of place.

“Eighteenth century,” Joe told her leaning in. “I know how much you like facts and figures.”

Julia cringed at the reminder of her earlier insanity, which made Joe laugh. Julia ignored him, looking around like the tourist she wished she was instead of a woman on a mission. A small market was set up facing the church, selling flowers and candles for worshippers who sat on the steps leading up to the colossal wooden doors.

“This isn’t how I imagined South America would be,” Julia said to no one in particular.

“South America is a mix of everything,” Joe said, showing just how closely he paid attention to her. “It’s as modern as anywhere on the planet, but at the same time it’s steeped in the past like nowhere else.” He pointed at a traditionally dressed Quechua woman, with her mass of coloured skirts nipped tight at her waist, a multi-coloured woven shawl around her shoulders and a black bowler hat on top of her head. Plaited black hair ran down her back, and her face was weathered by the sun. “See? You get the traditional with the new.” He pointed at a woman in a business suit, complete with briefcase, designer heels and a phone at her ear.

“It feels more diverse than Lima.” Not that she’d been in Lima for long enough to judge.

“More concentrated, maybe.”

They rounded the corner of the church into a narrow street with smaller, older buildings. These ones looked more traditionally Spanish, their exteriors a combination of fading stucco and wood. Julia tried to avoid the mass of people and tripped on the cobblestone road. Before she’d managed to steady herself, Joe snatched her hand and held it tight.

When she tried to pry it free, he gave her a look of reprimand. “I don’t want to lose you in here. It gets crowded.” He looked back at Patricia and Ed. “Keep a hold of her,” he ordered.

“My pleasure,” Ed said before taking Patricia’s hand.

Julia watched as her gran blushed and tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal to be walking around a strange city holding a strange man’s hand. It was hard, for a second, to remember that they weren’t two couples sightseeing in Bolivia. They were there for a reason. Alice’s life was on the line.

Plus—Julia shuddered—that was too close to going on a double date with her gran, and that was far too disturbing to contemplate.

They strode up the crowded street, mixing with locals and tourists alike.

“Does everything in this city have to be uphill?” Julia complained.

“You’ll feel better soon and you won’t even notice the incline,” Joe said.

“I doubt it.” Julia’s idea of a workout was walking up the three flights of stairs from her office to her tiny apartment. “I don’t work out like you do. I’m not fit.”

“You look good to me.”

She felt the blush heat her cheeks and snapped her attention away from the man holding her hand, to the market stalls against the buildings. Some of them were set up for the day, while others seemed to be an extension of the small shops behind the outdoor tables. She saw colourful woven ponchos, shawls and bags. Woollen sweaters and knitted hats with earflaps. Large woven blankets with hot pink stripes, hung from poles. Table tops were crowded with all kinds of clay work, from copies of Incan pots to the round-bellied figure of a woman.

Joe noticed where she was looking. “Pachamama. Earth mother. She’s worshipped here.”

“I thought Bolivia was Roman Catholic.”

He shrugged. “They mix it up. There’s a church where the old friars commissioned a painting of Mary done in the local style. They didn’t realise the image could be read in two different ways—Mary or Pachamama. The locals knew they were looking at Mother Earth; the Spaniards knew they were looking at Mary. They both won.”

Julia eyed him with admiration. “You know a lot about this place.”

“Like I said last night, I spent some time here when I was in the Marines.”

“Doing what?”

“Secret stuff.” His grin was wicked, but it didn’t quite make it to his eyes. Julia could only guess at the minefield of memories he had from his time in the service.

“This way.” Patricia consulted the map in her hand. “I’ve only been here once before, but I’m fairly certain De Santos has a shop around this corner.”

They turned into an even narrower street. The buildings rose above them, balconies poking out into the street over their heads. There was graffiti scrawled on the walls, and the stalls seemed smaller and darker somehow.

“Mercado de las Brujas,” Joe told her. “Witches’ market.”

Julia ogled the stalls and felt her eyes bug out. Hanging from the awnings were hundreds of dried creatures.

“Llama foetuses,” Joe said. “They bury them in the foundation of buildings as an offering to Pachamama. For protection.”

Julia jerked when she spotted jars of dried frogs.

“For Aymara rituals,” Joe said. “The regional tribe.”

There were dried snakes and turtles. Jars with strange concoctions. Statues that looked a lot like voodoo dolls. There were long pieces of string holding hundreds of feathers. Small packets of various powders. And bundles of cheap beaded necklaces, like the ones they handed out for Mardi Gras.

“See the things that look like toys or key rings?” Joe pointed at the kitsch objects. There was everything from baby dolls to fake money. “They’re buried along with the foetus offering. They represent what people want Pachamama to bless them with.”

“This is all very dark,” Julia said.

“This is the tourist part, babe. People use this stuff, but it’s the milder version of what’s available up some of these alleys. Trust me, that you don’t want to see.”

Julia took a step closer to Joe. She was equal parts fascinated and frightened.

“It’s so unhygienic,” she told Joe. “All those dead, dried things. The bacteria alone must be shocking.”

Joe burst out laughing and let go of her hand long enough to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

“What’s so funny?” Julia was torn between removing his arm and letting it stay where it was. She hated that she felt a whole lot safer while plastered against him.

“Nothing, nothing’s funny.”

Julia frowned up at him, about to call him on his obvious lie when her gran stopped dead in front of them.

“That way.” She pointed into a dark alley that was so narrow they would have to walk single file.

“You sure?” Joe said.

“Yes, I recognise the alley. And the stink.” She scrunched her nose. “I’m fairly certain that smell is from the dried animals they grind into powder.”

Julia stared at her grandmother in horror before looking up at Joe. “I need a mask.”

She was grateful he didn’t mock her. “Pull the neck of your shirt up over your mouth.”

“That would look stupid.”

“And wearing a mask wouldn’t?” her grandmother said.

“Stop,” Joe told Patricia. “You have your worries, Julia has hers. Keep your opinion to yourself.”

Patricia’s eyes went wide, but she nodded once at Joe. Patricia reached into her handbag and came out with a silk scarf. “Wrap this around your neck and you can pull it up to cover your mouth.”

“Thanks, Gran.” Julia gratefully took the scarf and did exactly that. All the while, her cheeks were burning at how stupid she was to do it. Nobody else seemed bothered that they’d be breathing in the dust of ground-up dead things.

“You good?” Joe said.

She nodded, but couldn’t look at him.

“That’s better than a mask.” Joe leaned in until his mouth was at her ear. “Although that silk scarf is giving me all sorts of ideas on other ways we could use it later. Private ways.”

“Joe!” Her eyes sprang up to his and saw they were heated and amused.

“You ready?” he said without a hint of impatience.

She nodded. Joe kissed the tip of her nose. “That’s my girl,” he said before tugging her into the dark alley.