Fede’s recollection of the temple interior—and the map he had drawn for me—was most accurate. We emerged a minute or two later onto a floodlit rooftop where a number of VTOLs were parked. I spotted the one that Vargas had chartered immediately by the registration number on its tail. It was an Azzie-built knock-off of the Ares TR55, with a set of tilting rotor blades at the tip of each wing. They were turning with a gentle whine, and although I couldn’t see into the cabin, I assumed the pilot must be there. A door just aft of the cabin and forward of the wing was open, and a three-rung stepladder sat below it. The plane looked ready for immediate takeoff. I suspected that Vargas had told its pilot to keep the rotors warm. He had to be ready to flee the teocalli at a moment’s notice, should his highly unorthodox treatment of the team captain’s body be brought to light and questioned.