Passport? Check.

Tool kit? Check.

Pens and paper? Check.

Long johns? Alex rolled his eyes.

Having spent the majority of his time as an archaeology student in Egypt, Syria, and China, the concept of winter in June was taking some mental and packing list adjustment.

The twenty-two-year-old took a brief moment to examine and then scowl childishly at the mess that was his half of the bed, hoping fruitlessly for the pile of rumpled clothes, abused maps and books, and intimidating assortment of weaponry to pack itself neatly into his beat-up steamer trunk. Lin's things, of course, had been sitting cleanly and quietly in her own trunk since some time the night previous. Despite the constant self-reminder that his fiancé had about 1,980 years of life experience on him, Alex constantly found himself daunted by Lin's deadly efficiency in all things academic, athletic, and domestic. Lately, he'd been having difficulty keeping up with her combination of practiced internal peace and two millennia of pent-up mortal energy.

But back to packing… stupid Peru and its long johns.

It'd been a week since the mysterious telegram had appeared in the mailbox at his and Lin's London flat.

To: Alexander O'Connell, Qing Lin

From: L.P.

Subject: Project 10x28x41s76x26x51w

Your expertise is requested STOP

Please be prompt STOP

This is right up your alley STOP

Normally, Alex prided himself (not to mention Lin) in having great instincts—however, this was a hard one to read. Anyone with an IQ higher than 80 could figure out within a few minutes that the subject was a reference to the coordinates, and a short call to Evelyn and her endless collection of atlases confirmed that the latitude and longitude pointed to an area about 130 kilometers west of Cuzco.

"Espiritu Pampa," his mother was able to deduce immediately, the smugness of being right evident in her voice. "I know everyone believes that nonsense about Machu Picchu and all its superiority, but my research has led me to believe that Espiritu Pampa is the true lost city of the Incas, Alex! The final stand against…"

"…the Spanish. Yes. Mom, I know." As useful as her internal database of archaeological knowledge had proven in the past, it didn't make her patronizing explanations any less irritating.

"I know you know, darling."

"What do you think I should do?" he'd asked quietly over the phone, checking to make sure no one was around to hear the hesitation in his voice. "How do I know this is real? I mean, no one's even been there since…"

"1910. Hiram Bingham."

"That's what I was about to say."

"I know."

"Then why did you…? Never mind," Alex shook his head in frustration, gripping the phone a little tighter and collapsing into a nearby armchair. "You don't think it's another resurrection plot, do you? Like Beijing?"

"No, no," Evelyn tutted. He could hear her chuckling across the line. "Well, I suppose it's possible, previous events considered, but don't you think that would be a bit redundant?" Alex couldn't help but laugh quietly.

"Lin thinks we should go."

"I think you should listen to Lin. You can take care of yourselves, Alex—that much is obvious. And if you need help…"

"Don't worry, Mom, you and Dad'll be the first to know."

"Excellent, now… oh, yes?" He could tell she was talking to someone outside the line. "Oh? Oh, yes, of course. Alex, darling, I have to go. Hopefully we'll talk again before you leave, but if not… well, don't die."

Since when had his mother become so cavalier about death? Of all people…

"Don't worry, I'll come back with mind-blowing stories of close escapes and near-death experiences."

"And don't forget to call Jonathan when you get there, I'm sure he'd be happy to put you and Lin up for a couple of nights in Cuzco."

"Course. Mom, go do what you have to do, we'll talk later."

"Alright, Alex. I love you. Good luck."

"Love you too, mom. Say hi to Dad for me."

And that was that. Within twenty-four hours, he and Lin had officially begun what turned out to be one of the most arduous packing process of their lives, mostly because they had no idea what to expect. Lin, of course, thought that was the best part about the whole thing – the mystery – but frankly, it was making Alex a little nervous. He'd always had an idea of what he was up against, at least on some level, but then a telegram arrives begging for his "expertise" at the supposed lost city of the Incas with no indication as to what kind of expertise is needed (though he supposed they meant archaeological), and both Lin and his mother just expect him to jump on a plane to the middle of nowhere and see what happens? And besides, there had been something nagging him about the whole situation, some vague memory or association that he had yet to place. It was odd, since none of this was familiar to him outside of some light reading in high school.

Bailey… Bellevue… where on earth was his copy of Lost City of the Incas? He was sure Bingham had been wrong on a number of historical matters, but as far as clues to the point of all this went, this book would be the biggest possible source. Alex balanced precariously on an office chair (it had been propped up in his closet-sized library as an impromptu ladder for some time now) and scanned the highest shelves, the B section – his mother had appeared out of nowhere one day and catalogued everything alphabetically, of course – Beverly… Biffle… Suddenly, a silver glint a few books down caught Alex's eye, and he reached over just far enough to snatch a thick piece of paper out from between two heftier volumes. It was a 3 ½ x 5 inch photograph of a 17-year-old girl with curly brown hair, big blue eyes, and the ugliest orange cardigan on the planet – even though you couldn't tell from the monochromatic picture – with the words "Helena Pallworth, Brigadier-Lial Academy Class of 1945" silver-embossed across the bottom. He didn't have to turn it over to remember what was scrawled delicately on the back—"Mummy Man, I love you. I will love you always. –H"

That was it. That was the memory that had been nagging him for the past five days. The Pallworth plane crash had taken place in that same region of Peru. In fact, Alex and Helena had spent the majority of their senior year doing research on the area and trying to draw a connection between its history and her family's suspicious demise.

A crazy thought suddenly entered Alex's head, but he dismissed it quickly and sat down on the bed, wincing as he heard a book binding somewhere snap under his weight… he really should clean this up.

"You really should clean that up," came a soft voice from the doorway, and Alex looked up to see the his fiancé standing there in a yellow silk robe, backlit by the amber hall lights and giving him a demure, close-lipped smile. It was difficult to imagine that behind the smoky black eyes, porcelain skin that had survived thousands of Nepalese winters, and housewife attire, there was a lethal amount of force and intellect, a power not to be reckoned with, as Alex had learned on the day they'd met. She'd almost killed him then… that would've been unfortunate. He stood and walked slowly over to her, transfixed—no matter how many days and nights they spent together (studying, talking, fighting, or otherwise engaged), her beauty and deceptive delicacy never ceased to amaze him.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist and grinning when she didn't resist. Then again, why would she?

"Oh, Alex," she whispered into his ear, causing him to shiver and begin kissing lightly down the side of her face. "That's sweet…" Then, suddenly, she pulled back and pressed her hands lightly to his shoulders. "…but somebody has to finish packing so that we can sleep in our own bed tonight, hmm? No distractions."

She had a fair point. The two had been sleeping on various pieces of furniture and the apartment's softer carpets for the past two nights, as their gear was currently occupying almost every surface of the bedroom.

"What's that?" Lin asked suddenly, her eyes flitting to the corner of paper sticking out of his back pocket.

"Oh, it's, um..." Before he could finish, she'd already grabbed and was now examining the photograph curiously. Alex grimaced, praying that Lin didn't have a hidden jealous side that was about to be revealed.

"Mummy Man," she read slowly, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, "I love you. I will love you always. -H... for Helena Pallworth... she's--"

"It was high school," Alex cut in. "Years ago. I haven't seen her since I was 18. I didn't even know I still had that picture, it just showed up in my closet and--"

Lin lifted an eyebrow and smirked, handing the picture back to her husband-to-be. "I was going to say that she's very lovely. You have good taste in women, Alexander Frederick O'Connell."

Alex breathed a sigh of relief and took one last glance at the photo before sliding it back in to his pocket. "Have I mentioned lately how much I love you, Lin?"

"It may have come up in conversation. Now, my darling, my dear, my love, please... pack."