The Mayan Secrets - Cussler Clive - Страница 42

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“Interesting specialty,” said Sam.

“The point is, his reputation is spotless. Integrity isn’t negotiable and doesn’t depend on the situation. But Ron can get invited to join any expedition in Central America, and a fair number anywhere else. He can’t be tempted by Sarah Allersby.”

“If you trust him, we do too,” said Sam. “What did he say?”

“Well, I told him I was planning to visit some of the sites this summer. He said that Sarah Allersby had approached him and several other people he knows to inform them she’s mounting a major expedition that will begin soon. She implied that she knows exactly where she wants to go and what she expects to find there. She’s already hiring people.”

“What sort of people?” Remi asked.

“Nobody like Ron. People like him run their own fieldwork. But this, she was promising, was something special. She’s hiring experienced guides, Guatemalan workers who have been trained on archaeological digs in the past, cooks, drivers, and so on. You can be sure there won’t be anybody who could put up resistance to whatever she wants to do or question her methods or how she treats structures and artifacts. It’s her show.”

“I guess this is the downside of finding the codex,” said Sam. “Even if she hadn’t stolen it, before long everything would have become public.”

“It didn’t have to be this way,” said Caine. “What we’ve done is hand the worst person in the field of Mayan history a virtual monopoly of the biggest finds over the next twenty-five years. Because of her personal fortune, she can be in the field while legitimate scholars are still writing grant proposals. We’ve also given her enough of a head start to loot at least four great Mayan cities and innumerable other sites. We’ll probably never know how much she quietly sells off in Europe, Asia, and the U.S. and never becomes part of the historial record.”

“We can’t let that happen,” Remi said. “We’ve got to stop her.”

Sam put his arm around her shoulders. “Wait a minute,” he said. He spoke to Caine as well as to Remi. “When we were in Guatemala, we barely got out with our lives. I’ve seldom been so glad to get out of anywhere. When we ducked into that cenote, I thought we were going to die. If that unlikely way out hadn’t been there, we would be dead.”

“I know that,” she said. “I’d try to forget, but I know I can’t. But bringing home that pot with the codex inside brought with it some responsibility. You heard David. Between our finding that codex and the university administration handing it over to impostors, we’ve given a whole field of study over to one nasty, spoiled, lying, thieving woman.”

David Caine said, “This is really my responsibility. I’ve been planning my expedition for summer, but I’m afraid summer is going to be too late to head her off entirely. I think once I’m on the scene with a group of reputable colleagues, I can prevent the worst excesses. She’s trying to buy a name for herself as an archaeologist. If eight or ten well-known archaeologists are present, she can hardly dismantle features or loot the tombs.”

“And she’s already working as fast as she can.” Remi turned to Sam. “I’ll never forgive myself if we don’t even try to stop her. About the only thing the Mayans have left is their history. If Sarah Allersby ends up stealing that too, it would be our fault. How are we going to feel in a year when she’s publishing false accounts of her ‘discoveries’ and misleading people about everything she finds?”

Sam sighed but said nothing.

“That’s the one thing we actually know for sure,” said Remi. “All we have to do is look at the four major sites in the codex that David came to show us. We know the way she thinks. She’s greedy. She’ll start with the biggest one.”

Sam looked at Remi, then at Caine. “I have to admit, that seems to be the way Sarah Allersby thinks. Which one is the biggest?”

“I’ll go start packing,” said Remi. “And, this time, I’d like to include a lot more ammunition.”

Russell stood beside Ruiz at the edge of the paved walkway above the beach at Goldfish Point. They could see the big house where Sam and Remi Fargo lived. So far, he and Ruiz had not agreed on a plan that would accomplish their goal or allow them to venture much closer than a quarter mile.

The problem was that Russell still didn’t look right. His face was plastered with opaque makeup that served to cover the indelible blue ink, but the color wasn’t right. It was the color of a plastic doll. And when he sweated, as he did on this San Diego beach, a very faint tinge of blue began to show through like tinted gesso behind a painting. He looked profoundly strange.

It seemed to Ruiz that every time he went to a new store to try for the right shade of makeup, he forgot the exact hue of Russell’s skin and got a shade that was wrong. The one before last was a match for Ruiz’s own skin, which made Russell’s face look like a brown mask put on above a pink neck, and it made his ears seem to glow. But the new one, this pink, made Russell look like he wasn’t quite human. Since the habitual expression on Russell’s face since the accident was suppressed rage, he was scary even to Ruiz.

Even though they were sure the Fargos had never seen their faces, except, perhaps, for a blur on the passing motorcycle in Spain, the blue, or even the cover-up, would draw their attention and the attention of everyone else.

They waited above the beach, facing in the direction of the water whenever people were near, until the sun went down beyond the ocean. Now that it was fully dark, Russell felt better about moving closer to the Fargos’ house. He had brought a small backpack, like a man who had spent a day at the beach, but it held a 5.56mm Steyr AUG rifle with a forty-two-round magazine and a stubby bullpup stock. Right now, it was broken down into three pieces that could be assembled in seconds without tools. The fourth piece was a factory-made suppressor that permitted it to fire without much more than a clacking from the moving parts and a spitting sound as the projectile left the muzzle.

Russell and Ruiz walked toward the street where private houses began. The first one on the point was the Fargos’ massive four-story cube with balconies and large windows on three sides. The windows on the ocean side were bigger than the others and gave the impression from a distance that the whole place was a glass box. But as Russell and Ruiz came closer, they could see that each window had steel shutters that could be opened or closed.

Ruiz and Russell reached the Fargo property and stepped off the road into the grove of pine trees, sat down in the deep shadows, and watched the windows. On the first floor there was a middle-aged woman with short hair, wearing a vintage tie-dyed T-shirt and Japanese gardening pants, working in front of a desktop computer with an unusually large screen. Not far from her, at two other workstations, were a small blond woman in her twenties and a tall, thin man about the same age with close-cut brown hair.

And then there was the dog. Miss Allersby had mentioned him while they were planning how to get their hands on the Mayan codex. The German shepherd was what had made her decide she wanted only a halfhearted burglary to give these amateurs an idea of how much trouble it could be to keep artifacts worth millions lying around the house. When Russell had arrived for the break-in, he had been relieved that the dog was not on the premises.

Russell knew the house had been equipped with a number of security systems, sensors, cameras, and alarms, so he didn’t dare move in too close and certainly wouldn’t try to get in. All he wanted was a clear shot at each of the Fargos.

As Russell watched, the dog appeared across the big room on the first floor, walked all the way to the middle-aged woman, and lay down at her feet. Miss Allersby had not exaggerated. He was a fine specimen, with all of the standard German shepherd characteristics. Shepherds had a reputation for a keen sense of smell and fierce loyalty. This one was also a big fellow. And she’d said he was trained for the work. There would be no fooling him with a piece of prime rib and a pat on the head. If this dog got free, he would have to be killed before he got close enough to leap.

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