The Codex

46

Marcus Hauser sat on a campstool in the doorway of the ruined temple, taking in the morning. A toucan screeched and hopped around in a nearby tree, waggling its enormous beak. It was a glorious day, the sky a limpid blue, the jungle a hushed green. It was cooler and drier up in these mountains, and the air seemed fresher. The perfume of an unknown flower drifted past. Hauser felt a semblance of peace returning. It had been a long night, and he felt drained, empty, and disappointed.

He heard footsteps rustling the fallen leaves. One of the soldiers brought him his breakfast — bacon, eggs, coffee, fried plantain — on an enamel plate with a sprig of some herb garnishing the side. He took the dish on his knees. The garnish irritated him, so he flicked it off, then picked up his fork and began to eat, his mind on the events of the previous night. It had been time to force the issue with the chief or fail. Not ten minutes into it he knew the old chief wouldn’t crack, but he went through the motions anyway. It was like watching a pornographic film — unable to turn it off, yet in the end cursing the waste of time and energy. He had tried. He had done his best. Now he had to think of another solution to his problem.

Two soldiers appeared in the doorway, the body slung between them. “What should we do with it, jefe?”

Hauser pointed with his fork, his mouth full of eggs. “Into the gorge.”

They went out, and he finished his breakfast. The White City was a big, overgrown place. Max could be buried almost anywhere. Problem was, the village was so stirred up that there wasn’t much chance of taking another hostage and trying to squeeze the location of the tomb out of him. On the other hand, he didn’t relish poking around these rat-infested ruins for the next two weeks himself.

He broke off, felt in his pockets, and slipped out a slender aluminum tube. In a minute the ritual was complete and the cigar was lit. He inhaled deeply, feeling the calming effects of the nicotine spreading from his lungs to his body. All problems could be broken down into options and suboptions. There were two: He could find the tomb on his own, or he could let someone else find it for him. If he let someone else find it, who might that person be?

“Teniente?”

The lieutenant, who had been waiting outside for his morning’s orders, came in and saluted. “Sí, señor?”

“I want you to send a man back over the trail and check on the status of the Broadbent brothers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do not molest them or allow them to know of your presence. I want to know what state they’re in, whether they’re still coming or have turned around — as much as you can find out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re going to start on the pyramid this morning. We’ll open this end with dynamite, working into it as we go. Organize the explosives and men and have them ready in an hour.” He put his plate on the ground and rose, shouldering his Steyr AUG. He stepped out into the sunlight, looking up at the pyramid, already calculating where to set the charges. Whether he found Max in the pyramid or not, at least it would keep the soldiers busy — and entertained. Everyone liked a big explosion.

Sunlight. It was the first he had seen in two weeks. It would be pleasant to work in the sunlight for a change.