Page 118

FORTY-FIVE DAYS LATER, MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
The National Museum of Anthropology was festooned with colorful banners announcing a new exhibition dedicated to the Toltec legacy, featuring the fabled Eye of Heaven—a jewel that had been the feature of countless magazine articles and television specials since its discovery. The undeniable presence of Vikings during the Toltec heyday was now established as historical fact and the jewel served to commemorate the intersection of the cultures.
Dignitaries from the government mingled with the upper crust of Mexico City society at what was being described as “the event of the season.” A sixteen-piece mariachi band played favorites in the exterior courtyard as servers circulated through the crowd, offering appetizers and liquid refreshments.
Sam and Remi stood with Antonio, sipping champagne, near the entry to the hall, where two stern armed guards framed the doorway. Lazlo, also there, shifted from foot to foot, eyeing the crowd, a soda in hand.
“You clean up pretty well, I’ll give you that,” Remi teased. Lazlo hadn’t stopped fidgeting with his tuxedo’s bow tie since they’d arrived.
“All part of my evil plan to take over the country, you know,” Lazlo said with a wink. “But you, my dear, are the envy of every man here.” Remi’s beaded chiffon evening dress by Carolina Herrera danced under the glow of the outdoor lighting. Sam’s smile was worth a thousand words.
“Your friend here has been invaluable on the dig. I even think he’s starting to pick up a few words of Spanish,” Antonio shared with a smile.
“I’m glad to see that you’ve fully recovered—not that I believed that a bullet would slow you down much,” Sam said.
“Mad dogs and suchlike. And, yes, I feel tip-top. Although I wouldn’t recommend the whole getting shot part of the experience.”
“All’s well that ends well, as they say,” Remi said, and held her champagne flute up in a toast.
Antonio’s face grew serious. “I presume you heard about Reginald?”
“No. Don’t tell me that he escaped,” Sam said.
“He was killed yesterday during a disturbance at the prison. It’s still under investigation, but my sources tell me they believe it was a mini-riot that was staged to create a diversion so that several Los Zetas cartel enforcers could exact retribution. Apparently, it was brutal.”
Remi shook her head. “Live by the sword . . .”
“Can’t say the world’s the poorer for it,” Lazlo said, at which Antonio nodded.
“And has there been any word on Janus?” Sam asked.
Antonio shook his head. “No. It’s like he disappeared into thin air. There’s a warrant out for his arrest in Mexico, but it’s difficult to enforce outside of our borders. He hasn’t been convicted of any wrongdoing, so cooperation, especially against a man with considerable money and power, is . . . grudging, to say the least.”
The band stopped playing and an elegantly dressed matron approached the microphone and made an announcement in Spanish. Antonio offered a hushed summary when she was done speaking.
“They’re going to open the doors in two minutes, and, for the first time in history, the Eye of Heaven will be on display for all of Mexico to see. It’s an exciting moment. I hope you don’t mind saying a few words inside and having a brief photo session with the jewel,” Antonio said. “The papers have been clamoring for it.”
“Do we have to?” Sam asked.
“I’m afraid so. It is all part of the pageantry,” Antonio said.
“Can’t Lazlo stand in for us? He’s a far more persuasive speaker, and he’s got the tux and everything,” Sam said.
“You look quite dapper yourself, old chap,” Lazlo said, eyeing Sam’s navy blue Canali silk suit. “No way out of it. Goes with being an archaeological rock star.”
Sam shrugged and turned to Remi. “Well, Remi, looks like it’s time to strut our stuff.”
Remi winked at Lazlo and then turned to her husband. He waited expectantly. Her eyes filled with mischief, she leaned into him and stood on her tiptoes, her lips inches from his ear.
“Pwuk-pwuk.”
TWO YEARS LATER, MONTREAL, CANADA
The longship rested on handcrafted wooden wedges to keep it upright, its keel surprisingly sturdy despite being a thousand years old. Strategically placed lighting illuminated the craft, which had been lovingly restored by a crew that had worked tirelessly, often around the clock. Members of the press roamed the newly built structure adjacent to the museum that had been designed especially for the ship, photographing the imposing hull and the display of artifacts in illuminated cases along the walls, as the gala attendees murmured in hushed tones.
Dr. Jennings approached Sam and Remi through the throng, accompanied by a tall, tanned man in a well-tailored Armani tux. The man’s face cracked into a wide smile as he shook hands with Sam and gave Remi a two-cheeked kiss. It was their old friend Warren Lasch, who had flown in to meet them after investing months of his time helping with the restoration project.
Dr. Jennings, Lasch, and the Fargos walked slowly around the vessel’s impressive length, admiring the care that had been taken in returning the ship to its original grandeur.