“This is the Codex Borgia,” she said with pride.
“It’s amazing,” Lea said.
“It’s made from animal skins,” Pavoni said. “Of course it’s very delicate and only authorized people are permitted to touch it… but even after all these years I am astonished whenever I lay my eyes upon it. Simply to think this was created by Aztec priests before the Spanish arrived in Mexico — it’s because of treasures like this I wanted to devote my life to museum work.”
“It’s certainly very impressive,” Hawke said glancing at his watch.
“It’s astonishing…” Ryan said, his eyes glazing over with amazement. “Hold me back, Agent Snowcat, or I might steal it!”
Maria laughed and play-slapped Ryan’s shoulder. “дурачить!” she said.
“What does that mean?” he asked, looking worried. “Is it good or bad?”
She gave him a sideways glance and kissed his cheek. “Shut up.”
“How old is it?” Lea asked, interrupting the moment.
“We’re not sure. All we can say is that this codex was a Mesoamerican manuscript predating the arrival of the Spanish in Mexico — so at least five hundred years old. As a divinatory manuscript its value is beyond measure. It is quite literally priceless.”
Hawke stepped forward. “What connects this codex with the keystone fragment in the British Museum?”
“The Codex Borgia is famous for its many beguiling astronomical references. In fact, it’s these references that many contemporary archaeoastronomy researchers have focussed upon. Also, there are many references in the codex to Huitzilopochtli — and the sun wheel features his image very prominently.”
Hawke sighed. “The common theme seems to be this reference to Huitzilopochtli.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” said Lea.
Hawke looked at her, but his reply was interrupted by the professor.
“Huitzilopochtli was the god of war and the sun, but he is particularly well-known because of the method of sacrifice that was employed when priests offered humans to him. If he is the connection and these thieves have an interest in him, then I dread to think what that might be… perhaps the sacred chants…”
Hawke turned to her. “The sacred chants?”
“There are sacred chants in the codex, sung to honor the various gods.”
Hawke frowned. “But you can download copies of the codex off the internet — why would they be after this original copy?”
Pavoni was silent for a moment.
“Professor?”
“What I tell you is not in the public realm — not yet anyway.”
Lea sighed. “Here we go…”
Ryan rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Here’s where things warm up.”
“Our researchers here at the Vatican recently discovered there was a little more to the Codex Borgia than we had previously thought. Using the same reflectography technique the Uffizi used recently on the Caravaggio, we were able to study the images in the Codex much more comprehensively.”
“Sorry, you’ve lost me,” Hawke said, feeling more than a little out of his depth. “What’s reflectography?”
“Multispectral reflectography is a technology that allows us to see through the various layers in a painted document with infrared. As I say, it’s been used to see under the top layer of paint in works of art by Caravaggio and Da Vinci among many others.”
“You mention sacred chants,” Hawke said abruptly, moving the professor back to the point.
“Yes — when we applied the technology to some of the large paintings in the Codex we found to our shock and surprise more sacred chants hidden beneath the layers of paint.”
Lea spoke up. “And what do these sacred chants do?”
“They’re used to summon the gods and worship them.”
“Wait,” Ryan said, looking more closely at the reflectographic image of the codex. “This here looks like a depiction of Mictlan — am I right?”
Pavoni nodded. “We think so, but it’s very early days.”
“I’m sure it is,” he continued. “Why would a map of Mictlan be hidden within the pages of the Codex Borgia, and right next to these weird chants?”
“Well, it’s hard to say, but…”
“And look here,” Ryan continued. “This image of a man in a canoe — I’ve seen this before.”
Pavoni shook her head. “No, not this you haven’t. This was only recently discovered by the reflectography. You’re thinking of a similar image in another codex — the famous drawing of Aztlán in the Codex Boturini.”
“Ah, right…”
The gunshot was violent but as quiet as a ghost. Pavoni slumped to the floor with a bullet hole through her left temple, and Hawke, Lea and the others jumped back a step, crouching instinctively for cover.
But it was too late.
Silvio Mendoza stepped through the door, flanked by goons and holding a Beretta 92FS in his hands. Smoke was still drifting from the muzzle of the suppressor. A humorless smile played on his lips as he waggled his finger at Hawke and tutted. “How could you kill such a clever and accomplished woman?”
As he spoke, one of the goons moved over to Pavoni and lifted the codex and the reflectographic images from her dead hands. He handed it to Mendoza who sighed.
“And you got blood on this beautiful manuscript. Shame on you.”
Hawke bristled and took a step toward Mendoza, but the cartel boss raised his gun and Lea grabbed his elbow and pulled him back.
“Leave it, Joe!”
“You should listen to her,” Mendoza said, before turning to his men. “Now kill them all.”
Hawke didn’t stop to think, but grabbed hold of the metal drawer that had contained the codex. He flung it like a Frisbee at the man with the gun and it struck him hard in the windpipe before he had a chance to react. He dropped the gun and fell to his knees, hands desperately clutching at his smashed Adam’s apple as he strained air into his lungs.
The second man fired at Hawke but the Englishman simultaneously dodged it and piled a tight fist into the gunman’s face knocking him out instantly. Mendoza’s eyes widened with fear, and he ordered the other men into the fray. They raced forward, snatching up the gun on the tiled floor as they hurried toward them with murder in their eyes.
Hawke searched for a weapon but saw only the wooden chair Pavoni had used to reach the drawer. He snatched it up and spun it around, yelling at the others to take cover. This wasn’t exactly going to be a fair fight.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hawke lunged forward with the chair and rammed one of the legs into the man’s face with a savage degree of accuracy and force. It tore through his cheek and smashed his cheekbone. He howled in agony and staggered backwards, raising his hand to check the severity of the wound.
Hawke disarmed him and then used him as a human shield as he fired at the others, but Mendoza was gone as quick as smoke and the mag only had three rounds in it and was now empty. Hawke wanted to go after him but one of the other goons pulled a knife from his belt and padded over to him. Hawke was tall, but this man towered over him as he got closer. He raised the knife and after offering a string of Spanish profanities he brought it crashing down toward Hawke’s head, but Hawke dodged the attack and side-stepped the much slower man.
Before the man could respond, Hawke powered a heavy punch into his flank and brought his other fist up hard and fast into the bottom of his jaw. He heard the teeth smash as he drove the lower jaw upwards and the man screamed out in agony, spitting blood out of his mouth. It looked like he’d bitten off part of his tongue.
Hawke winced but took the moment to snatch the knife from the man’s hand and stuff it through the top of his belt. Now, one of the men grabbed at his arm and yanked him back away from the wall beneath the archive drawers. Hawke used his spinning momentum to drive home another fat punch, this time hitting the other man square in his face. He flew backwards, all smashed nose and wobbling jowls until he collided with another chair and fell over in a heap with his legs tangled up in the chair’s stretcher.