“University campuses are full of valuable things — supercomputers, famous works of art, experimental devices of every kind,” said Caine. “Besides, the university has a few things you don’t — like a police force.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” said Sam. “Look into the possibility of locking it up on campus. If you find it’s practical, we’ll do it. If not, we can rent a joint safe-deposit box in a bank and you can work there.”
“Good,” said Caine. “I’ll talk to my dean and let you know. When can you leave for Guatemala?”
“Tomorrow,” said Sam. “We’d like to get there, verify the site, and get back here.”
“If you do, then maybe we can begin to organize a large team to find one of the big cities on the map this summer. I’d like you to consider joining that team. There’s nobody I’d rather have with me.”
“We’ll consider it,” said Remi, “after we finish our scouting mission.”
Sam and Remi spent the rest of the day preparing for their trip to Guatemala. They packed, arranged to have the proper scuba gear and wet suits waiting for them, and planned each step of the journey. In the midst of their preparations, Selma came in. “I’ve got the licenses you asked for.”
“What licenses?” asked Remi.
“For carrying concealed firearms in Guatemala. These are copies, but the originals will be waiting at your hotel in Guatemala City. It’s concealed carry only, by the way. Wearing a gun openly is frowned upon. I guess after their civil war, it’s intimidating.”
“Thanks, Selma,” said Remi.
“I’ve also transferred GPS maps of the Alta Verapaz region of Guatemala to your satellite phones. You should memorize the coordinates of the site because I didn’t want to program that in. I did include the numbers of the U.S. Embassy and consulate in Guatemala City and the local police. There has been a lot of crime in the area recently and sometimes Americans look like good people to kidnap for ransom.”
“We’ll be careful,” said Remi.
“Please do. Don’t take offense, but you two even look rich. I’m glad to see you’re packing the clothes you wore doing relief work in Mexico. Keep your equipment invisible.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” said Sam.
“One more thing,” Selma said. “Dave Caine says the university has assigned him a good place to work on the codex. There’s a real, full-scale safe in the library’s archival department and a spare room beside it, where he can work. When he’s done each day, he can lock the codex in the safe again.”
“That should do fine,” Sam said.
Remi said, “Now it’s our turn to tell youto be careful.”
“That’s right,” said Sam. “If either of you is watched or followed, don’t go to the university. Drive to the police station.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Have a successful trip. Call frequently, and come back soon. I promise, Zoltán will think he’s on vacation.”
In twelve hours, Sam and Remi were on a flight heading toward Guatemala City.
Chapter 10
Sam and Remi disembarked in Guatemala City and went through customs. They were about to leave the airline terminal when Remi’s satellite phone rang. She answered, and said, “Hi, Selma. You must have tracked our plane.”
“Of course. We’ve found something amazing and I thought you should know.”
“What is it?”
“Do you remember a sort of lump inside the cover of the codex?”
“I do,” Remi said. “It’s sort of a rectangle shape. I figured it was a patch.”
“It’s a sheet of parchment, folded, and then placed under the outer layer and covered with the fig-bark fabric. David and I removed it two hours ago. It’s a letter, written in black ink, in Spanish. It says, ‘To all of my countrymen, blessings. This book and other books of the Mayan people concern their history and their observations about the natural world. They have nothing to do with the devil. They must be preserved as a way to understand our charges, the Mayan people.’”
“Who’s it from?” asked Remi.
“That’s the surprise. It’s signed ‘Fra Bartolomé de Las Casas, Prior of Rabinal, Alta Verapaz.’”
“Las Casas? TheLas Casas?”
“Yes — the man who convinced the Pope that Indians were rational beings with souls and had rights. He practically invented the idea of human rights. Dave Caine is beside himself with excitement.”
“Does the paper have a date on it?”
“Yes. January 23, 1537. We may not know everything about the codex yet, but this is the second verification of the year it was hidden. We think Las Casas was trying to give the book safe passage, maybe while the man you found took it to that shrine on the volcano.”
“It’s fantastic,” said Remi. “Be sure to make a copy of it.”
“Well, get on with your trip. I just wanted you to know about this. And by the way, your vehicle is parked in the hotel lot under the name Señor de La Jolla. I bought it online, so you’d better look it over before you leave civilization.”
“We’ll do that,” said Sam. “We’ll talk soon.”
Sam and Remi checked into the hotel suite Selma had reserved and collected the documents and the equipment that were waiting for them. Then they went outside to the parking lot behind the building and found the car. It was a ten-year-old Jeep Cherokee with chips and scratches that showed it had originally been red but at some point had been painted over olive drab with a paintbrush. They started it, drove it around the block for a few minutes with the windows closed so Sam’s engineer ears could pick up any sounds that might mean trouble, and then opened the hood and checked the belts, hoses, battery, and fluid levels. When Sam had crawled under and looked it over, he stood again. “Not pretty, but not bad either.” The backseat and the floor behind it provided plenty of space for all the equipment they intended to bring. They stopped at a station, filled the tank, bought two metal five-gallon cans, and filled them too.
That evening, they marked their maps to plot a route up 14N toward Cobán, in the north-central part of the Verapaz district, and then on to Xuctzul in the Río Candelária region.
In early morning, they loaded their gear, their dive equipment, and the large backpacks that held a small cache of clean clothes and supplies. Each of them also carried a pair of Smith & Wesson M&P nine-millimeter pistols, one in a backpack pocket with six loaded seven-round, single-stack magazines, and the other in a bellyband under a loose shirt.
As the old car moved along the road, it seemed always to be laboring. Alta Verapaz ranged in elevation from one thousand to nine thousand feet. At times, the car seemed to grind upward as though it were dragging itself up by a rope coiled around its axle. At others, the car careened downward while Sam fought for control. They were able to make snack and bathroom breaks in the small towns along the way. Remi, whose Spanish had been getting plenty of practice, used these opportunities to ask about the road ahead. On one of the stops Sam said, “What do you think of our adventure so far?”
She said, “I’m glad we just spent weeks climbing a volcano and then walking from town to town, doing heavy labor.”
“Why?”
“Because now my body knows that no matter how hard this ride is, I should enjoy every second of it, because, when it ends, life could get a whole lot harder.”
At Cobán, they spent a night at a small hotel, and slept deeply. They were up early to prepare to leave for Xuctzul. The people they met seemed to be a mixture of Mayan farmers and Hispanic visitors. They knew that the farther from big cities they went, the more likely that they would reach places where people not only didn’t speak English but didn’t speak Spanish either. When they were back in the Cherokee, they found the roads got narrower and rougher by the mile.