The Codex

42

Philip carefully filled his pipe from a tin of Dunhill Early Morning and lit it, his movements slow and deliberate. “The one thing they didn’t take from me was my tobacco and pipe, thank God.” He puffed slowly, his eyes half closed, gathering his thoughts.

Tom took the opportunity to examine Philip’s face. Now that it had been cleaned up he could finally recognize his brother’s long, aristocratic features. The beard gave him a raffish appearance that made him look curiously like their father. But the face was different: Something had happened to his brother, something so awful it had altered his basic features.

His pipe lit, Philip opened his eyes and began to speak.

“After I left you two, I flew back to New York and looked up Father’s old partner, Marcus Aurelius Hauser. I figured that he would know better than anyone where Father might have gone. He was a private eye, of all things. I found him a rather plump, perfumed fellow. With two quick phone calls he was able to learn that Father had gone to Honduras, so I figured he was competent and hired him. We flew to Honduras; he organized an expedition and hired twelve soldiers and four boats. He financed it all by forcing me to sell the beautiful little Paul Klee watercolor that Father gave me—”

“Oh, Philip,” Vernon said. “How could you?”

Philip closed his eyes wearily. Vernon fell silent. Then Philip continued: “So we all flew down to Brus and piled into dugout canoes for a jolly punt upriver. We picked up a guide in some backwater hamlet and proceeded across the Meambar Swamp. And then Hauser staged a coup. The pomaded prick had been planning it all along — he’s one of those wicked micromanaging Nazi types. They chained me up like a dog. Hauser fed our guide to the piranhas and then set up that ambush to kill you.”

At this his voice faltered, and he sucked on his pipe a few times, his bony hand trembling. The story was told with a certain humorous bravado that Tom knew well in his brother.

“After clapping me in chains, Hauser left five G.I. Josés behind on the Laguna Negra to ambush you all. He took me and the other soldiers up the Macaturi as far as the Falls. I’ll never forget when the soldiers returned. There were only three of them, and one had a three-foot arrow sticking through his thigh. I couldn’t hear all of what they said. Hauser was furious and took the man out, shot him point-blank in the head. I knew they had killed two people, and I was sure one or both of you were dead. I have to tell you, brothers of mine, that when you arrived, I thought I had died and gone to hell — and you were the reception committee.” He gave a dry little laugh. “We left the boats at the Falls and followed Father’s trail on foot. Hauser could track a mouse in the jungle if he had a mind to. He kept me around because he had the idea of using me as a bargaining chip with you. He ran into a group of mountain Indians, killed several, and chased the rest back to the village. He then attacked the village and managed to capture the chief. I didn’t see any of this, I was kept behind under ball and chain, but I saw the results.”

He shuddered. “Once he had the chief as a hostage, we made our way up into the mountains toward the White City.”

“Hauser knows it’s the White City?”

“He learned it from an Indian prisoner. But he doesn’t know where the tomb is in the White City. Apparently only the chief and a few elders know the exact location of father’s tomb.”

“How did you escape?” Tom asked.

Philip closed his eyes. “Kidnapping the chief stirred up the Indians to war. They attacked Hauser while he was en route to the White City. Even with their heavy weapons Hauser and his men had their hands full. He’d taken the chains off me to use them on the chief. At the height of the attack I managed to get away. I spent the last ten days walking — crawling, actually — back here, surviving on insects and lizards. Three days ago I reached this river. There was no way to cross. I was starving, and I couldn’t walk anymore. So I sat down under a tree to wait for the end.”

“You were sitting under that tree for three days?”

“Three, four days — God only knows. They all ran together.”

“My God, Philip, how awful.”

“On the contrary. It was a refreshing feeling. Because I didn’t care anymore. About anything. I’d never felt so free in my life as while I was sitting under that tree. I believe I might have actually been happy for a moment or two.”

The fire had died down. Tom added a few more sticks and stirred it back to life.

“Did you see the White City?” Vernon asked.

“I escaped before they got there.”

“How far is it from here to the Sierra Azul?”

“Ten miles, maybe, to the foothills, and another ten or twelve to the city.”

There was a silence. The fire crackled, hissed. A bird sang a mournful song in a distant tree. Philip closed his eyes and murmured, his voice heavy with sarcasm, “Dear old Father, what a fine legacy you left to your adoring children.”