“That's right,” Gamay said, resuming her explanation. And the number eight goes to the heart of the matter.“ Noting .the blank expressions, she said, ”Quetzalcoatl and Kukulcan were incarnations of the Maya's most important god, Venus. The Maya plotted the planet's course with incredible accuracy. They knew there were eight days in the Venus cycle when the planet disappeared. The Mayans believed Venus went to the underworld during that time. They used architectural features to keep track of Venus and other celestial objects. Doorways, sculptures, pillars. The placement of streets. Professor Chi thinks these observatories were part of a greater plan. A map. Chart. Even a crude computer meant to solve a problem."
“Like the problem of the Phoenician, excuse me, the as-yet-unidentified boats?” Austin said.
“Exactly” Paul replied. “Page two in your folder is a map showing the locations.”
Another rustle of papers.
Gamay said, “We tried connecting the temples, drawing parallel lines from them. Nothing made sense. While we were tearing our hair out we got a call from Dc Chi. He had come in from the field for supplies and heard we were trying to get in touch. We told him we were groping in the dark for something we were sure was there and needed his help.”
Paul announced, “Page three in your folder, gentlemen. Dc Chi had this faxed from the national museum. The Spanish destroyed all but a few of the Mayan books. Thus is one of the few that survived. The Dresden Codex. It has detailed observation tables for Venus. The data were collected from observatories.”
“What bearing does it have on our mystery?” Gunn inquired.
“Mainly as an example of the type of information that was so important to the Maya,” Gamay replied. “Try to imagine the Mayan priests night after night gazing at the stars. They collect the information on the movement of the stars, then, using architectural features built into these same temples; forecast what the stars and planets would do.” .
“I've got it,” blurted Yaeger. “Sometimes it helps to be a nerd. You're saying that these eight temples and the carvings are the hardware. The Codex would be the software that tells the hardware what to do.” Yaeger blinked rapidly behind his wirerimmed glasses. “Carrying the analogy forward, the physical form of software can be soft; like the floppy disk that contains the program, or hard, like the hard drive.”
“Or for our purposes, hard as stone,” " Austin said.
“Bingo!” Gamay said. “What geniuses we have at NUMA.”
Galvanized now, Austin ticked the points off on his fingertips. “One. We have eight temples dedicated to the temple Venus. Two. The temples are set up in a way, that will help us solve a puzzle having to do with those mysterious boats and their cargo. Three The talking stone tells us how to operate it.”
“I wasn't positive until Dr. Orville called this morning He found the same eight glyphs on the stone. There's a fax of the tablet in your folder. The inscription is composed of three main elements. The glyphs and a condensed rendition of the boat landings are the first and second elements.”
Any idea why the ship is about to be eaten by the big snake?" Zavala asked, looking at the fax.
“That's element number three,” Gamay explained. “The feathered serpent is the earthly embodiment of Quetzalcoatl Kuloulcan.”
“Ali,” Zavala said. “That certainly clears things up.”
“Look at it this way” Gamay said. “The glyphs tell you where. The boat inscription tells you what. The serpent tells you how. Look at the Kukulcan. Tell me what you see.”
“Feathers mostly” Gunn said after a moment.
“No,” Yeager said. “There's something else. The feathers are confusing. Look at the jaws. It's some sort of grid.”
“Bravo.” Gamay dapped, dearly delighted. “Our computer guru goes to the head of the class.”
“I don't know why” Yaeger said with a shrug. “Damned if I know what I'm talking about.”
“Check out the next picture in your folder. This shows one of those eight temples. Pretty typical. Cylindrical, balcony around the top, frieze on the bottom part. Take a close look at those two vertical slit windows. We assumed they were used for some sort of astronomical calculation. We made an educated guess that the windows lined up with Venus at the extremes of its position in the sky. It still didn't make sense until Paul had the idea of looking down on the temples, as if we were in an airplane.”
Picking up the explanation, Paul held up the last sheet in the folder. “We extended the lines from each window and found that they intersected.”
“I'll be damned,” Yaeger said. “It's the same grid as in the feathered serpent.”
Gamay nodded. “I started thinking about it when I noticed the grid reminded me of an amulet I once borrowed from Dr. Chi. The jaws of Kukulcan.”
Gunn said, “Weren't we talking about Columbus depending on some kind of grid?”
“That's right,” Paul said. “Orville's theory is that Columbus tried to use this stone but was at a disadvantage to start with. He knew there was treasure but couldn't decipher the glyphs. He had drawings made from the stone to take on the Nina, probably hoping to find someone who would translate for him.”
Austin had been staring at the diagram. “Back when Columbus sailed the ocean blue, navigators had maps with straight lines called rhumbs on them. Someone sailing from Spain to Hispanola chose the line giving him the most direct route and set a compass course. You'd end up where you were supposed to be, as long as you weren't messed up by current and winds. Columbus may have wrongly thought these lines were rhumbs. The Maya were a lot more sophisticated than he knew. Were you able to work this out on a map?”
“It didn't make sense at first,” Paul said. “Venus would have been in a different position in the sky a couple of thousand years ago. We had to do some recomputing. Our guess is that the V-shaped intersection of the jaws, here where you see the boat, is where something is located.”
Austin had another question. “How long do you think it will take Halcon to figure this out?”
The Trouts exchanged glances. Paul said, “There have been. reports of Columbus papers and Mayan documents being stolen from various museums. I suspect Mr. Halcon has been trying to piece things together, but we've got the stone, and now we know how to use it.”
“We'd better get moving on this in case Halcon's smarter than we think,” Austin said.
Gunn cleared his throat and squared the edges of his papers. “With all due respect, Kurt, maybe before we go jumping into the jaws of Kukulcan we had better figure out what all this is about. Starting with Halcon and why he is causing so much trouble.”
“I see your point. Okay I'll start the ball rolling. Here's my theory. Like Columbus, Halcon is after the Phoenician treasure that was removed from Carthage. The key to finding the stuff lies in pre-Columbian evidence. He doesn't want anyone else to step on his turf so he destroys the evidence and those who have found it.”
“I've considered that theory and think it's on the mark,” Gunn said, “but it's only part of the picture. I asked Yaeger to compile a detailed dossier on Halcon. Tell us about his finances, Hiram.”
Yaeger glanced at a computer printout in front of him. “Between his family fortune and widespread holdings, he's worth billions, and that's a conservative guess.”
“Thanks, Hiram. That's what bothers me, Kurt. Why would Halcon go through all this trouble of killing people, attacking you on the Andrea Doria and trying to steal the so-called talking stone, just so he can find a treasure, however fabulous? He has more money than any normal person could ever want.”
“You may have answered your own question,” Austin countered. “You said a normal person. From what Zavala told us about the ball court executions, Halcon sounds like a madman.”
“I've considered that possibility, too. But I think Senor Halcon is a lot more complicated than a bored rich eccentric who takes up treasure hunting for a hobby. Hiram, would you run through the other material you picked up on the gentleman??
??
Adjusting his granny glasses, Yaeger said, “Francisco Halcon was born in Spain of a family that goes back centuries. Halcon, which means 'falcon,' was apparently not the real family name, which I was unable to determine. He went to expensive private schools in Switzerland and attended college in England. Oxford man, Yaeger said with a smirk. ”He became a bullfighter known as El Halcon and didn't do too badly but left the toro business under a cloud of scandal. He was said to have put poison on the tip of his killing sword, so even if he didn't hit the bull's vitals it would die."
“Hardly seems sporting for an Oxford man,” Austin said in a stage British accent.
“Cambridge maybe, but not Oxford,” Zavala said.
Yaeger shrugged. “From the bullring he went into one of the family businesses. The Halcons were very thick with the dictator Franco and the Spanish military before and during the war and made a lot of money on armaments. After Franco died and the king returned and restored democracy. Halcon's business activities came under suspicion. Interpol says he was suspected of being tied to a Spanish Murder Inc. He left the country and came to Mexico where a branch of his family that goes back to the Spanish conquest owned a number of businesses. Halcon took over the U.S. operations, used his money and influence to cultivate political connections, and in short time became an American citizen.”
“He's done pretty well from what I saw of the companies under his aegis in San Antonio,” Zavala said.
“The American dream personified,” Gunn added, not attempting to conceal his sarcasm.
“In more ways than one,” said Yaeger. “His legitimate businesses were just a cover for shady operations on both sides of the border. He's suspected of largescale drug and immigrant smuggling from Mexico.”
“That would mean he is close to the ruling party in Mexico,” Zavala said. “No big business, legal or illegal, escapes their attention.”
“Fits in with the way the family operated in Spain and the United States,” Austin said. “Has anyone ever mentioned the Brotherhood?”
'As I say, he was supposedly tied to a Spanish Mafia organization,“ Yaeger replied. ”They could be one and the same, although I don't have confirmation."
“What about that complex I saw outside San Antonio?” Zavala asked. “What's the story on that?”
“Owned by one of his corporations. Perfectly legal, according to the local licensing authorities. He's considered something of a nut, but a rich nut, so if he wanted to build his own personal theme park, who's to stop him? By the way, the plans for the complex show the ball court as a soccer field.”
“That wasn't like any game of soccer I ever saw,” Zavala said soberly.
“The locals have heard explosions from time to time and report an unusual amount of traffic, but other than that he's a good neighbor who pays his taxes.”
“Hiram has saved the best for last,” Gunn said.
“It took time, because of the front companies and interlocking corporations and foundations, but Halcon Industries has been spreading all over the Southwest and California. Halcon controls banks, real estate, political figures, newspapers, anything that's for sale.”
“Evidently he's trying to increase his power as well as his wealth,” Austin said. “No different from any other corporation with its armies of lobbyists.”
“Interesting that you should use the word army,” Gunn said. “On a whim I ran some of Hiram's findings by the ATF. They immediately caught a whiff of something that smelled very bad. They recognized the name of one of Halcon's companies as an outfit that has been buying arms from the Czech Republic and China.”
“What sort of arms?”
“You name it. Everything from infantry rifles to tanks. Lots of missiles, too. SAMs. Antitank. That sort of stuff. The ATF got a search warrant for the company that was handling the shipments. It was an empty office.”
“Where has all this stuff been going?”
“Specifically? Nobody knows. Generally, northern Mexico, the Southwest states, and California.”
Arms purchases like the ones you've described cost money, big money"
Gunn nodded. “Even a billionaire might become strapped spending enough on arms to start a revolution.”
The room became silent as the last word in Gunn's statement hung in the air.
“Madre mia,” Zavala whispered. “The treasure. He needs the treasure to do what he wants to do.”
“That was my take,” Gunn said quietly. “It sounds loony, but he seems to be planning some sort of combined military and political takeover.”
Any indication when this is supposed to happen?" Austin said.
“Soon is my guess. Hiram's sources have detected a lot of money being moved around Europe through Swiss bank accounts to arms dealers. He's going to have to replace that in a hurry if he wants to stay off the bad credit report. Which means. he'll be desperate to find the treasure.”
“What about our armed forces?”
“On alert. Even if he is stopped militarily a lot of innocent blood will be shed.”
“There's another way to stop him. No treasure, no revolution,” Zavala said.
“Thanks, Paul and Gamay, you and Dr. Orville have done a great job of pointing us in the right direction,” Austin said He rose from his seat and glanced at the faces around the table. “Now it's our turn,” he said with a grim smile.
The elegant dining room was largely in darkness except for the center table where Angelo Donatelli sat going over the next day's menu. Donatelli's restaurant was done in a Nantucket motif, but unlike other places with a nautical theme, the decorations did not come from a mail-order house. The harpoons and flensing irons had actually pierced whale flesh, and the primitive paintings of sailing ships were all originals. Antonio sat opposite Donatelli, an Italian newspaper spread out on the spotless white tablecloth. Occasionally they sipped at a glass of amaretto. Neither was aware they were no longer alone until they heard the quiet voice say, “Mr. Donatelli?”
Angelo looked up and saw two figures standing just beyond the circle of illumination. How the devil did these people get in? He had locked the front door himself. The afterhours visit itself didn't surprise him. The waiting period was weeks for a reservation, and people tried all sorts of stunts to shortcut the process. The voice was vaguely familiar, too, which persuaded him that it might be one of his clientele.
“I'm Angelo Donatelli,” he said with his unfailing politeness.
“I'm afraid you've come too late, the restaurant is closed. If you would call tomorrow the maitre d' will do what he can to accommodate you.”
“You can accommodate me by telling your man to place his gun on the table.”
From his lap, Antonio lifted the revolver he had slipped out of his shoulder holster and slowly placed it on the table.
“If you've come to rob us, you're too late for that, too,” Donatelli said. “All our cash has been deposited at the bank.” .
. “We haven't come to rob you. We've come to kill you.”
“Kill us. We don't even know who you are.”
In answer, the figure stepped forward into the light, revealing a dark-complexioned slender man who took Antonio's gun and tucked it into the belt of his one-piece black suit. Angelo's gaze lingered for a second on the pistol with its barrel extended into a silencer, but it was the man's thin dark features that sent a chill down his spine. It was a face he had seen in a dream. No. A nightmare. A brief glimpse of an assassin who glanced his way deep in the hold of a dying ship. Incredibly it hadn't aged in more than forty years.
“I saw you on the Andrea Doria, ” Donatelli said with wonder.
The man's thin lips curled into a cold smile. “You have a good memory for faces,” he said. “But that was my late father. He told me he sensed someone else was in the hold that night. You and I, too, have a more intimate relationship. I talked to you once on the telephone.”
Now Donatelli remembered the call coming late at night, waking him out of a sound sleep wi
th the threats against him and his family.
“The Brotherhood,” he whispered.
“You have a good memory for names as well. It's a pity you didn't remember my warnings about what would happen if you couldn't keep your mouth shut. Normally I don't micromanage the everyday operations of my organization, but you've caused me a great deal of trouble, old man. Do you recall what I said?”
Donatelli nodded, his mouth too dry to reply
“Good. Let me imprint it in your mind. I warned that if you talked about that night on the Andrea Doria, you would go to your grave knowing that you caused the death of every member of your family we can find. Sons. Daughters. Grandchildren. Every one. The Donatelli family will cease to exist except for a collection of headstones in a family plot.”
“You can't do such a thing!” Donatelli replied, regaining his voice.
“You have only yourself to blame. There are great forces at work here. No one forced you to talk to NUMA.”
“No.” Antonio spoke for the first time. “The family was not part of the deal,” he said.
Angelo turned to his cousin. “What is he talking about?”
Antonio's battered face was contorted with guilt.
The man said, “Your cousin didn't tell you that he was working for me. He refused at first, but you have no idea of the pull his homeland had on him. We told him that in return for keeping us informed through you about NUMAs activities, I would solve his problems with the authorities back in Sicily”
“Si,” Antonio said, jutting his jaw out like Mussolini. “But not the family. You get me back to Sicily. That was the deal.”
“I keep my word. I just didn't say that you would be returning home in a pine box. But you first, Mr. Donatelli. Arrivederci. ”
Antonio rose from his chair with a feral cry of rage and threw himself in front of his cousin. The pistol made a thus quieter than a door shutting. A red blossom flowered on the front of Antonio's shirt, and he crumpled to the floor.