Page 68

• November 1879: En route to Bombay, El Majidi reportedly sinks near island of Socotra.
Sam said, “We’ve got two seemingly reliable accounts of her sinking that contradict each other, and over six years where the El Majidi is unaccounted for.
“Selma, what’s the earliest date in Blaylock’s journal?”
“As best we can tell, August 1872, about five months after he arrived in Africa. On our time line, that’s a month after the El Majidi’s first reported sinking and at the beginning of her lost years.”
“Six years,” Remi echoed. “Where was she all that time?”
MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
FIFTEEN HUNDRED MILES to the south, Itzli Rivera sat in President Garza’s anteroom waiting to be summoned, as he had been for the past hour.
Garza’s executive assistant, a doe-eyed girl in her early twenties with glossy black hair and an hourglass figure, sat at her desk typing, her index fingers wandering over the keyboard and occasionally punching a key. Her expression was one of puzzlement. As though she’s trying to finish a master-level Sudoku puzzle, Rivera thought. Clearly, the woman’s administrative skills had not been a priority during the hiring process.
Hoping to kill some time, Rivera wondered if Garza had ordered the woman to take a Mexica name. If so, what would it be? As if on cue, President Garza’s voice came over the intercom on the woman’s desk, answering Rivera’s question.
“Chalchiuitl, you may send Mr. Rivera in.”
“Yes, sir.”
She smiled at Rivera and gestured toward the door with one of her ridiculously long fingernails. “You may—”
“I heard him, thank you.”
Rivera walked across the carpet, pushed through the double doors, and closed them behind him. He strode to Garza’s desk and st
opped at semiattention.
“Sit down,” Garza ordered.
Rivera did.
“I was reading your report,” Garza said. “Do you have anything to add?”
“No, sir.”
“Let me summarize, if you don’t mind . . .”
“Go ahead, sir.”
“That was rhetorical, Itzli. You and your men, after being outwitted for days by these treasure hunters . . . these Fargos . . . You finally manage to take possession of the bell and transport it to Okafor’s island, only to have it stolen out from under your noses.”
Rivera nodded.
“Not only did they steal back the bell, but they also stole Okafor’s four-million-dollar helicopter.”
“And I lost a man. Nochtli fell from the helicopter and broke his neck.”
President Garza waved his hand dismissively. “You were vague about how the Fargos managed to get aboard the helicopter at all. Can you elaborate? Where were you when all this was happening?”
Rivera cleared his mouth and shifted nervously in his seat. “I was . . . unconscious.”
“Pardon me?”
“The man, Sam Fargo, attacked me aboard Okafor’s yacht. He surprised me. He clearly has some martial arts training.”
“Clearly.” Garza rotated his chair and gazed out the window. He drummed his fingers on his desk blotter for a minute, then said, “We have to assume they’re not going to give up. That could work in our favor. If they’re as clever as they seem, we know they’ll be visiting at least one of the areas we’ve already searched.”