Page 138

On his laptop, Sam was switching between Google Earth and the photo gallery. “Go on.”
“Also, I e-mailed a photo of the codex bush to a curator at the Cibodas Botanical Gardens in Jakarta. He thinks it could be a dwarf durian tree. I pressed him a little, and he thought it was probable the durian had migrated from east to west, which would have put it in Sulawesi about sixteen hundred years ago.”
“Fantastic,” Sam said absently. “Can you get to Google Earth?”
“Hold on. Okay, I’m ready.”
Sam gave her a set of latitude and longitude points. “Zoom in until that island fills most of your screen.”
“Done.”
“Does that shape remind you of anything? Imagine those erosion ridges deeper.”
“I don’t see what . . . Oh!” Selma was silent for a few beats. “Sam, that looks like the Chicomoztoc illustration writ large.”
“I know.”
“It’s just a coincidence. It has to be.”
“Maybe, but it’s in the northeast part of the island—the same place all your experts mentioned. Even if it’s not Chicomoztoc, I think I can convince Rivera to buy into it.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll figure that out when I’m in front of him. Selma, I need you to get me to Sulawesi. And then I need you to get me a seaplane.”
CHAPTER 46
SOUTHERN SULAWESI
SAM EASED THE IKARUS INTO A GENTLE BANK AND STARTED BLEEDING off altitude in preparation for landing. Below and to the right, the airstrip emerged out of the haze. Sam lined the nose up with it, then dropped through a layer of clouds, made a few final adjustments, and touched down. He taxied toward the trio of Quonset huts at the edge of the tarmac and followed the hand signals of a ground-crew member to the fuel pumping station. Sam powered down the Ikarus and climbed out. As Selma had already done the legwork, Sam had but to sign a form. He did this, then walked around the edge of the hut. He dialed star six-nine.
“You’re cutting it close,” said Rivera.
“I’ve only got sixty seconds or so left on this phone. Are you at the spot yet?”
“We’re ten minutes away.”
“Let me talk to my wife.”
“Tell me the location of Chicomoztoc, and I’ll do that.”
“Not until I’m standing in front of her.”
“You’re pushing your luck,” Rivera said.
“And you’ve already tipped your hand. You said it yourself: You’re not going to let us live. You want Chicomoztoc, then these are my terms. Put her on.”
Remi’s voice came on the line. “Sam?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Where are you?”
“Close. Hang in there.”
Rivera came back on. “We’ll be waiting.”
The line went dead.