Page 22

Seven months later

The Discovery of the Lost City of the Moon

By Rafael Silva

I never wanted to be famous.

Yes, I wanted to explore the world and have my name listed as the author of articles in various magazines and publications, but fame? No. Unless you’re in the journalism and publishing world, people rarely remember the names of the authors of such articles.

Unfortunately (and if you’re reading this), by now you probably have heard of me, no thanks to my father. But in case you haven’t, here’s a one-paragraph bio of the highlights: My name is Rafael Silva (formerly Rafael Monfils), the Global Geography journalist on the most recent—but certainly not last—expedition led by Dr. Miriam Jacobs to the Cidade Perdida da Lua, the Lost City of the Moon. My father is Jean-Luc Monfils, or as I recently learned, world-class artifact thief Pierre Vautour. I was sent by my father to sabotage Dr. Jacobs’s mission in the Amazon rainforest under the guise of needing to protect the city, while, unbeknownst to me, my father was leading another team through the very same jungle so they could pillage the Moon City’s riches for themselves. Gun and knife fights, jungle chases, kidnapping, lies, deception, and other vine-swinging adventures ensued. If you want all the nitty-gritty details, I’m sure you can read about it in the dozen or so newspaper articles already covering the topic. Dr. Jacobs and my father both found the Moon City. It sits practically untouched, thanks to the vigilant efforts of os protetores da lua, the Protectors of the Moon. The city’s bounties are plentiful. Its beauty unmatched. And while we left the Moon City with most of its treasures intact, Pierre Vautour got away. Or, at least, we think he did.

Now that you know who I am, here are the answers to the most frequent questions I’ve received in the months since I returned:

How did you not know your dad was Pierre Vautour?

Do we ever really know who our parents are (or any other person, for that matter)? Relationships are built on trust. Jean-Luc Monfils was a well-respected man, undertaking various philanthropic endeavors. I trusted that the person he portrayed himself to be was the person he actually was. All of his nefarious acts were hidden from me, so I never saw him in action. I didn’t go to bring-your-child-to-work day, though I’m not sure that’s much of a thing in the underground-artifact-smuggling world anyway.

Are os protetores da lua actual guardians?

Os protetores da lua have been guarding the Moon City for centuries, although more in a figurative sense. They are not standing at the gates of the city with spears and armor. There is no directory of os protetores da lua members. Instead, they blend into society. Listening for whispers of another Moon City expedition. Posing as Amazon guides who are unsurprisingly unable to point treasure hunters in the right direction. Sending archaeologists on wild goose chases. But always in a peaceful way.

But if you think you’re going to search for the Moon City after this, beware. The Amazon is no place for the faint of heart, after all. If you don’t manage to get lost or succumb to the torrential downpours, heat, or plethora of creatures that could off you in a single bite, prick, or attack, you still must contend with os protetores da lua, and while they are not violent and they are not murderers, they will do anything to protect their ancestors’ home.

Is Dr. Miriam Jacobs the next Dr. Socorro Mejía?

In my opinion, this is an unfair comparison and a bullshit question.

First, the only reason they’re being compared is because they are successful female archaeologists. Second, each of these women is her own person and amazing in her own way. Why the need to compare? But if you really want to know what I think of Dr. Miriam Jacobs, I’ll tell you right now—she is the raddest (sorry, inside joke), funniest, most badass woman I’ve ever met.

Full disclosure: she’s also soon to be my wife, so I might be slightly biased.

But in case you don’t want to take my biased word for it, keep this in mind: the Moon City has been the subject of many an Amazonian expedition. Yet in less than a matter of a few hours, Dr. Jacobs figured out the mystery that has been stumping people for hundreds of years. I’m not going to tell you how she did it. But using her research, she found the Cidade Perdida da Lua. So if that doesn’t inform you of how brilliant she is, then that’s on you.

Did your parents ever genuinely love each other or was your mother just another pawn in your father’s schemes?

You may have read that my mother was a member of os protetores da lua and that she was posing as a guide to throw my father off the scent of the Moon City. That is true. You may have also heard that she and my father were supposedly lovers (I came from somewhere, after all), but that perhaps he was merely tricking her to get information.

Assuming you know all that, then to answer your questions, seeing as my father has managed to evade the authorities and I’m writing this article revealing his identity, I’ll probably never know the truth because he’ll probably never speak to me again. I’d like to think my father isn’t pure evil, though, so unless and until he confirms otherwise, I choose to believe that at least some part of him cared for her for more than the secrets she kept.

So what about all of the other players in Pierre Vautour’s web? Dr. Bradley Quinn, Hunter Johnson, etc.? Where are they now?

Well, Dr. Bradley Quinn is off living in some remote cabin in middle-of-nowhere Saskatchewan, excommunicated from the archaeological world. Hunter Johnson got away, and if the universe is at all fair, then he’s probably rotting somewhere alone in the Amazon. The other gang of criminals are getting to know Brazilian prison up close and personal.

As for my father, Jean-Luc Monfils is dead. To me at least. But Pierre Vautour? Who knows where he is. Now that people outside of the criminal underworld know what he looks like, however, he’s bound to get found someday. Or maybe he’ll have to live in hiding for the rest of his life, never having to pay for his crimes or the pain he’s caused. An unfair punishment in an unfair world. But I’m of the personal opinion now that not all that is lost needs to be found.

Did you really find the Cidade Perdida da Lua? And if so, where is it?

Believe me. The Cidade Perdida da Lua exists. We have proof if we ever truly need it .

But are we going to tell you where it is?

No fucking way.

The Global Geography editor in chief, Luca Chibonelli, set the paper down, then removed his reading glasses as he looked across his desk at Rafa on the other side of the Zoom screen.

“Hmm…well, it’s not so much a GloGeo piece as it is a human-interest story, but it’s entertaining as hell. You know I can’t print this, though, right? Not in GloGeo ,” he said.

“I know,” Rafa said.

“Then what am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, lifting the pages.

Rafa shrugged. “Do whatever you want with it. My assignment was to accompany the expedition to the Moon City and write an article about it. That’s what I did.”

“Well, I’m not quite sure it counts as an article. And when you asked for time off to write and to recuperate after what had happened in the Amazon, I didn’t think this was what you’d give me after seven months.”

“I’m sorry if it’s not up to your standards, but I’m sure you can understand that my life has essentially been turned upside down. It’s a little hard to focus after finding out your father is a wanted criminal who’s been lying to you your entire life. But I met the terms of my employment contract. If you don’t want the piece, then I’m posting it on my social media tomorrow.”

Mr. Chibonelli chuckled to himself. “You’ve got balls. So what’s with Silva?”

“It was my mother’s surname. I think my reasons for changing it are probably self-explanatory after reading that,” Rafa said, pointing at the papers on the other side of screen.

Mr. Chibonelli nodded, tapping his fingers on his desk. “So, is all of this true?”

“Every last word.”

Mr. Chibonelli’s mouth pursed, and he nodded, taking it all in. “Gun fights and ancient protectors, huh?”

“Yep.”

“And you have proof?”

“I do.” Rafa gave a single nod.

“What sort of proof?”

“I have photos that are tucked away for safekeeping. Photos of the Moon City. Of os protetores da lua. Photos of a room in the main temple full of riches beyond your wildest imagination. And the medallion. The investor has that, though. Os protetores da lua agreed to let us take it if we helped protect the city.”

“You know, to lend credibility to your piece, you should include a few of those photos.”

“Absolutely not,” Rafa said, folding his arms and leaning back. “I swore to os protetores da lua that I won’t use those photos unless I have to.”

“And you don’t think preserving your credibility is one of those moments where you have to?”

“No, sir, I don’t. I honestly couldn’t care less if people don’t believe me.”

“I see. So where is it?”

“Where’s what? The photos?”

“The Moon City?”

Rafa laughed to himself and shook his head. So predictable.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Chibonelli, but I can’t tell you that. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

Of course, that didn’t mean that the Moon City wouldn’t get found eventually. Or even that Vautour or Hunter might not reveal its location. Though the chances were unlikely, seeing as they were too busy hiding from international artifact-smuggling charges. People would always be searching for the Cidade da Lua, and inevitably someone else would find it, especially with the continued deforestation of the Amazon.

But for now, the secrets of the Moon City would remain lost. And Rafa would carry on in the footsteps of his mother as a member of os protetores da lua.

“Well, it certainly makes for one hell of a story. When will you be back in the office?” Mr. Chibonelli asked.

“It’s all in your email.”

“What email?”

“The one I just sent you,” Rafa said, motioning to the screen. “Check your inbox.”

Mr. Chibonelli’s face looked away from the camera as he clicked around on his screen. Rafa watched as he read the email, Mr. Chibonelli’s face turning from confused to agitated.

“What’s this?” Mr. Chibonelli asked.

“It’s my resignation letter.”

Mr. Chibonelli eyed him curiously. “I can see that, but why? Being on this expedition could open doors for you. You know that, right?”

Rafa shrugged. “Open doors how? By people trying to earn my trust in the hopes that I might slip up and tell them the location of the Moon City? And you said it yourself—it’s one hell of story. For all anyone knows, I did make it up.”

“Well, fictional or not, the art of storytelling is a talent not everyone has. Your account may not be true, but frankly, I don’t care. Mystery. Intrigue. Lost cities. Stuff like this sells.”

“Which is why I’m going to pursue a career writing fiction. You may not care if this story is a lie and may have no qualms about presenting it as fact in GloGeo , but I do. My whole life has been a lie. Everything I have I got because of my father. I don’t want any part of him in my life. This job included.”

“Rafael, this article might not be up to your normal standards, but you’re an award-winning journalist. Your father didn’t give you that,” Mr. Chibonelli said, exasperated.

Mr. Chibonelli would never understand. Yes, Rafa had won countless awards. Been to dozens of amazing locations. Seen and done things that most people could only dream of doing.

But those things were only made possible because of his father. Fruits of the poisonous tree.

“It’s time for me to make my own path. To figure out who I really am.”

“Time to find out who you are? Rafael, where are you going to—”

Click.

Rafa looked up at Miri standing at the side of the table with her hand shutting his laptop screen and a devilish smirk on her face.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, smiling back at her. “You know you cut off my boss, don’t you?”

“Whoops.” Miri tilted her head to meet her raised shoulder. “Oh well, he’s your ex-boss anyway.”

Rafa let that sink in. Ex-boss. He let out a long breath, running his hands up his face and through his hair.

“Are you having second thoughts?” she asked.

“Not a single one. Come here,” he said, pulling her arm and bringing her onto his lap for a kiss. “Mmm, do we have to do anything today, or can we stay in the hotel room all day and make love half a dozen more times?”

“Well,” she said, lifting her head to look at the ceiling, “we’re supposed to meet Sérgio for breakfast and then head to Avó Isadora’s for an empanada party, but if you want to explain to your avó why you are canceling, then by all means,” she responded with a flare of playful sarcasm.

This was their second visit to Brazil since the Moon City expedition ended. The first had been arranged by Sérgio so Rafa could meet his mother’s family. After spending a lifetime with no one but his father, it was almost overwhelming to suddenly come into a family with a grandmother, five aunts and uncles, sixteen cousins, and countless second cousins. But whenever he didn’t know what to say, thankfully Miri would jump in and save him, always finding an abundance of words to fill the silence and leaving the family in stiches with her hilarious stories. They seemed to love her as much as he did.

Almost.

Everyone commented on how much he looked like his mother. After finally seeing a photo of her, he had to agree. As Miri had predicted, she was beautiful. And based on what he’d learned about her from his avó and his aunts and uncles, her beauty wasn’t only physical. She had been kind and caring, beautiful on the outside and within. It gave him some consolation that perhaps his father hadn’t only been attracted to her ties to os protetores da lua. Perhaps he really had fallen in love with her. That’s what he liked to tell himself, at least. Why he still cared about his father in any way was a mystery. But those were emotions he was still unpacking in therapy.

On this weeklong trip, they’d delve further into os protetores da lua. In order for the Moon City to remain protected, they needed numbers. With Rafa’s newfound fame, he wouldn’t be able to hide in plain sight like the other protetores, but he could still do his part to honor his mother. And protecting the city was one of Miri’s top priorities with her new career endeavor.

“Right,” he said, remembering the schedule for the day. “I’m telling you, we need Anissa to come on these trips to keep things in order.”

Miri laughed. “Well, when we head to the ribbon cutting next month, you can ask her to be your personal assistant.”

“Hey, you’re the one with the busy schedule now that you’re launching the Institute. Plus, with your requests for speaking gigs and interviews all over the world, you probably need an assistant, not me. I’m unemployed, remember?”

Miri’s efforts to open the Archaeological Preservation Institute—a nonprofit dedicated to protecting archaeological sites and drawing attention not just to artifacts but to the people who lived in these areas—had garnered lots of attention. Her TED Talk on safeguarding the Moon City and the use of lidar in archaeological exploration had more than three million views in only two months, and it left people clamoring for more. People wanted to hear her talk. They wanted her to go on and on, fascinated by the way she expressed her passion. At first, she had been surprised by what Rafa had dubbed Pringles Fever .

But he wasn’t. Miri’s confidence when she spoke on the things she cared about was palpable. So she turned that newfound confidence into action, bringing with her Felix and Logan, who said she’d led them on the best damn adventure of their lives .

They even got her a coffee mug that said “World’s Greatest Boss.”

“I’m sorry we’ve been on the go so much,” she said.

“Sorry? What for?” He eyed her curiously.

“Well, we haven’t even settled into the new apartment yet. And you haven’t had any time for writing lately.”

Rafa smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “There’s plenty of time for that. You’re doing great things, remember?”

“I know. And I’m really excited about everything going on with the Institute. Like, seriously. I’ll never forget the look on my boss’s face when I told him I was starting my own nonprofit and taking with me all the funding people had pledged after the expedition.” She smiled thinking about it. It was a badass move. “But,” she continued, now with a slight pout to her lip, “I want to buy you a plant.”

“A plant?” He cocked his head, grinning at not knowing where this conversation was going. Yet another one of the things he loved about her.

“You said before that you’ve never felt settled in a home, and that your plants always withered away and died. So I wanted to get you a plant as a housewarming gift for your office, though one of those self-watering plants you only need to water once a month, just in case.”

“Just in case?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t want to get ahead of ourselves. You said it was from lack of watering because you were never home, but, hey, what if you just have a black thumb?” she teased.

He pulled her in for a kiss, unable to keep from smiling as he did so. “You want to buy me a plant,” he said, as if it was the most romantic thing he’d ever heard.

And frankly, it was.

“Well, I want to get back because I got something special for you, too,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Can I know what it is?” She looked at him sweetly, twirling her delicate fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck.

“It’s an international snack subscription box. A new box will come every other month with treats from all over the world.”

Miri’s eyes lit up and she gasped. “You know snacks are my love language.”

“I do.”

“You really do love me, don’t you?” she said playfully.

“With my whole heart. I’d get you all the snacks in the world if I could.”

“Would you slay for snacks?” she asked, then she perked up. “Oh! Are you my snack slayer?”

Rafa laughed. “I don’t think that means what you think it does.”

But she didn’t care. She smiled from ear to ear anyway, proud of her joke.

“Well, I’d do anything for you, too. I’d even give you a job,” she said. “You can write the copy and design the marketing brochures for the Institute.”

He shook his head. “No, Pringles. I’m done taking handouts. Even if it’s for a good cause.”

Her mouth turned down. “Even if it’s for me?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

Rafa wrapped his arm around her and stared at her.

“This isn’t fair. You know I have a soft spot for Pringles.” He smiled, and she smiled back at him.

“Oh yeah? What kind?” she said with a waggle of the brow and a shimmy of the shoulders.

“Hmm…” he said, looking up as if he were debating. “ Probably sour cream and onion.”

She teasingly elbowed him in the stomach. But as he went to play-wrestle her, she jumped off his lap, laughing as he chased her around the hotel room. He finally cornered her, both of them huffing and puffing.

“You’ve got nowhere you can go,” Rafa said. Her back was to the wall with no way around him. She scanned her surroundings, assessing her options. Curtains draped over the tall, wrought iron canopy bed frame. Beside it sat a nightstand and a chair.

“Lache pas la patate!” she called out, sprinting toward the chair and running over it and the side table. She then grabbed the curtain hanging from the bed frame and launched herself into the air, swinging above the mattress like she’d mastered on those vines—and ripping the curtain from its iron rod and landing on the bedspread flat on her back with a crash.

They both burst out laughing, and Rafa crawled across the king-size bed, moving the curtains covering her face and hovering over her.

Her eyes watered from all the laughter, and God, he loved this woman.

“You know we’re going to have to pay for that,” he said, unable to stop smiling.

“Yeah, but it was pretty badass, wasn’t it?” She looked proud of herself. And, honestly, Rafa was proud whenever he got to say that she’d picked him.

They deserved each other.

“No, Pringles. But it was pretty fucking rad.”