The Codex

65

The old gray men sat arrayed like mummies around the boardroom table, high above the city of Geneva. Julian Clyve faced them across the wilderness of polished wood, beyond which, through the wall of glass, was spread the Lake of Geneva with its giant fountain, like a little white flower far below them.

“We trust,” said the head man, “that you received the advance.”

Clyve nodded. A million dollars. These days not a lot of money, but more than what he was earning at Yale. These men were getting a bargain and they knew it. No matter. The two million was for the manuscript. They still had to pay him for the translation. Sure, there were others who could now translate ancient Maya, but only he could manage the difficult archaic dialect that the manuscript was written in. He and Sally, that is. They hadn’t yet discussed the particulars of his translation fees. One step at a time.

“We called you here,” the man continued, “because there is a rumor.”

They had been speaking in English, but Clyve decided to respond in German, which he spoke fluently, as a way of throwing them off balance. “Whatever I can do to help.”

There was an uncomfortable shifting in the wall of gray, and the man continued to speak in English. “There is a pharmaceutical company in the United States by the name of Lampe-Denison. Do you know of it?”

Clyve continued in German. “I believe I do. One of the big ones.”

The man nodded. “The rumor is that they are acquiring a ninth-century Mayan medicinal codex containing two thousand pages of indigenous medical prescriptions.”

“There can’t be two. It’s impossible.”

“That is right. There can’t be two. And yet the rumor exists. The price of Lampe stock has risen more than twenty percent over the past week as a result.”

The seven gray men continued looking at Clyve, waiting for his answer. Clyve shifted, crossed his legs, then recrossed them. He had a momentary frisson of fear. What if the Broadbents had somehow made other arrangements for the Codex? But they hadn’t. Before she left, Sally had reported back to him in detail on how things stood, and since then the Broadbents had been incommunicado in the jungle, unable to strike deals. The Codex was free and clear. And he had great faith in Sally to do his bidding. She was bright, capable, and very much under his thumb. He shrugged. “The rumor’s false. I control the Codex. From Honduras it’ll be coming directly into my hands.”

Another silence.

“We have deliberately refrained from inquiring into your affairs, Professor Clyve,” continued the man. “But now you have one million of our dollars. Which means we are concerned. Perhaps the rumor isn’t true. Very well. I would like an explanation for the very existence of this information.”

“If you’re implying that I’ve been careless, I can assure you I’ve spoken to no one.”

“No one?”

“Except my colleague, Sally Colorado — naturally.”

“And she?”

“She’s deep in the Honduran jungle. She can’t even contact me. How could she contact anyone else? And she is the soul of discretion.”

The silence around the table stretched on for a minute. Was this what they had called him all the way to Geneva for? Clyve didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. He was not their whipping boy. He rose. “I am offended by the imputation,” he said. “I’m going to keep my end of the bargain, and that’s all you gentlemen need to know. You’ll get the Codex, and you’ll pay me the second million — and then we’ll discuss my fees for translating it.”

That was greeted with a further silence. “Fees for translating it?” the man repeated.

“Unless you intend to translate it yourselves.” They looked like they’d just sucked lemons. What a gaggle of morons they were. Clyve despised businessmen like these: uneducated, ignorant, their slavering greed hidden behind a genteel facade of expensively tailored fabric.

“We hope for your sake, Professor, that you will do what you’ve promised.”

“Don’t threaten me.”

“It is a promise, not a threat.”

Clyve bowed. “Good day, gentlemen.”