Their civilization started 1,800 years before Rome.
Five hundred years before the first dynasty in China.
Even before the Great Pyramid of Giza.
Maria dwelled on the numbers as they danced through her head. ‘Four thousand years of history is tough for me to comprehend. That’s twice as long as the Catholic Church’s.’
Hamilton nodded. ‘Who knows what we might learn about the world if additional codices were found? They might change our view of everything.’
When he said it, the cocksure grin returned to his face — the same grin that had been present when he had talked about blowing her mind. It had disappeared during their lengthy discussion of the Spanish Conquest, but it was back now in full force, tugging at the corners of his mouth like the strings of a marionette.
She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You found another codex?’
He refused to answer directly, but the twinkle in his eye spoke volumes. ‘Let’s just say the last few weeks have been interesting.’
‘That’s great!’ she said, trying hard to contain her enthusiasm. Although she barely knew Hamilton, she was thrilled he had found something to cap his illustrious career. For her, it was proof that good things happened to those who worked the hardest — a thought that did much to keep her going in the male-dominated world of archaeology. ‘What’s the next step?’
‘Funny you should ask.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because the next step … is you.’
‘Me?’ she shrieked.
He laughed at her reaction. ‘Come now, Maria. Is it really that hard to believe? I mean, I flew you here for a reason — and it wasn’t to drink daiquiris.’
‘I know, but …’
‘But what?’
‘I’m not a Maya expert.’
‘Thank goodness for that!’ he said, laughing. ‘We already have one of those, and his name is Terrence Hamilton.’
She cracked a smile, despite her continued confusion. As an expert in the field of Christianity, she honestly didn’t know how she could help his cause.
‘Listen,’ he said in a soothing voice, ‘I know it doesn’t make much sense right now, but trust me when I tell you, I need your help more than you can possibly imagine.’
‘You do?’
‘I certainly do.’
‘And it has something to do with my field?’
‘Definitely. It’s right up your alley.’
She paused for a moment, thinking things through. ‘I have to admit, I’m intrigued by your project. I can’t imagine what it has to do with me. I really can’t.’
He smiled. ‘Just say the word, and I’ll fill you in on everything.’
She took a deep breath, then nodded. ‘OK. I’ll do it.’
‘You’ll do it?’
‘Yes, I’ll join your team. But only because I’m so intrigued.’
Hamilton jumped from his seat with a burst of excitement. ‘Excellent! You’ve made an old man very happy!’
‘I can see that.’
‘Seriously, my dear, I am truly grateful.’
Maria beamed with pride. It had been a long time since she had felt so appreciated. ‘Don’t go thanking me yet. Let’s hold off on the flattery until I’ve done something to merit it.’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said sheepishly. ‘It’s just, I don’t know. Now that you’re in my corner, I feel like everything is going to be all right.’
She laughed at him. ‘There you go again. More flattery.’
He shook his head. ‘That wasn’t flattery. Just confidence in our abilities. Nothing wrong with a little confidence, is there?’
‘No. I guess not.’
‘What about gifts?’
‘Gifts?’ she said, confused.
‘What’s your stance on gifts?’
‘Um … I tend to like them.’
‘Wonderful,’ he said, reaching into his pocket. ‘Because I have a gift for you.’
She immediately tensed. ‘I hope it isn’t jewellery. Otherwise, we might have to revisit the dirty-old-man conversation we had earlier.’
He brushed aside the remark. ‘Good heavens, Maria. It’s nothing like that. In fact, it’s the least romantic gift I can think of.’
She relaxed slightly. ‘What is it?’
He extended his hand to reveal a metal cross. Approximately six inches in length, it appeared to be quite old. Accented by four red stones, which were mounted near the ends of the beams, it had a small hole in the middle of the cross. At first glance, she couldn’t tell if a jewel had been pried from the centre or something had fallen off over the years. Whatever the case, the cross was still beautiful, despite the hole.
She took it in her hands. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘On a recent dig,’ he explained. ‘Unlike you, I’m not a religious person — never have been, never will be — so I have no use for this trinket. I’m simply not the praying type. However, I thought someone in your field might appreciate it. If not, I’d be happy to return it to our box of goodies. You’d be surprised what you find when you search for long enough.’
12
After dinner, Payne and Jones went to a sports bar on East Carson Street, where they could shoot pool and watch the hockey game. Led by Sidney Crosby, one of the best players in the world, the Pittsburgh Penguins were playing a late-night game against the Vancouver Canucks. Despite the bad weather outside, the bar was packed with Penguins fans, many of whom wore the team’s black and gold colours as they guzzled beer and shouted profanities at the dozens of TVs.
For Payne, a joint like this felt like home. Despite his military academy education and his title as CEO of Payne Industries, he was a blue-collar guy at heart. Raised by his grandfather, who had started out as a labourer at a local steel mill before starting his own company, Payne spent much of his childhood in a hard hat. During the school year, he was allowed to concentrate on academics and athletics, both of which he excelled at, but during the summer months, his grandfather put him to work on the floor alongside grizzled men more than twice his age who picked on him because of his surname. The experience did more than toughen Payne up. It showed him how blessed he was to have opportunities outside of the mill.
‘Nice shot,’ Jones teased as he put down his beer and grabbed the pool cue from Payne. ‘Too bad you missed.’
Payne shrugged. ‘The hockey game distracted me.’
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s still my turn. Let me show you how it’s done.’ Jones eyed the table for a few seconds, then pointed to the far end. ‘Six ball, corner pocket.’
He calmly lined up the shot, then buried the ball with one swift strike.
Payne grunted but said nothing, which was standard protocol for them. When they competed against each other, compliments were nonexistent unless someone did something miraculous — like a hole-in-one in golf or a 300-game in bowling — and even those comments came begrudgingly. Once their match was complete, their friendship returned to normal, but during the heat of battle, they were competitors who did just about anything to gain an advantage. And that included playing mind games.
‘So,’ Payne said, ‘I’m surprised you like eight-ball as much as you do.’
Jones moved around the table, looking for his next shot. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because it’s a blatantly racist game.’
‘You mean like hockey? I haven’t seen a black player yet.’
‘No, I’m talking about the game’s hidden meaning.’
Jones shook his head, trying to ignore Payne. ‘You are so predictable. As soon as I start to win, you start yapping. Yap, yap, yap. Like a little dog. It’s pathetic.’
Payne remained silent, patiently letting his remark fester. He knew the comment about race would eventually be addressed, and when it did, it would mess with his friend’s mind.