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“Looks like some sort of devotional or prayer-related motif,” Sam said. “You can see where the gathering is supplicating, bowing to the pyramid. Is that type of thing typical of Toltec art?”
Antonio shrugged and frowned. “No more than in Mayan or Aztec. Although we have far more of both of those to evaluate than we do of the Toltec.”
&
nbsp; Remi peered at the pyramid for another moment and then stepped back. “Let’s assume for the moment that this representation is recording the same, or a similar story, to the Cuban carvings. What would that tell us?”
“Unfortunately, nothing.” Antonio paused. “Except that some unknown party almost five hundred years ago felt there was significance to the depiction. That’s about it.”
Maribela nodded. “Whether there is actually any meaning attached to it is another matter altogether. I don’t suppose you were able to convince the Cubans to give you the manuscript that was stored there? Maybe some photographs?”
Sam felt Remi stiffen and stepped in. “We’re working on it, but you know how that goes. We’re lucky we got what we did. If something changes, though, you’ll be the first to know.”
Maribela held her gaze for a moment and then returned to scrutinizing the procession memorialized in the stone. “We don’t even know whether it’s linked to any of this or not, so perhaps it’s not the end of the world. It could be someone’s inflated account of the riches of the New World or an appeal to the Crown for more money . . .”
“But didn’t you say it had illustrations of Aztec or Toltec figures?” Sam asked.
“Yes, but that wouldn’t be unexpected if it was a coded progress report or the author thought he’d stumbled across something that later turned out to be a false lead,” Maribela explained as she turned from the carving.
Sam and Remi spent the remainder of the morning poring over the pictographs. At noon, Maribela drove them back to Mexico City while Antonio continued his work. After she dropped them off at the Four Seasons, Sam called Selma’s line as they made their way to their room. Kendra answered the phone again.
“Oh, I’m glad you called. Selma wants to talk to you,” Kendra said after they’d exchanged pleasantries. “She’s right here.”
“Well, put her on.”
Selma wasted no time getting to the point. “I’ll make this short and sweet. I ran through the manuscript all night and came up empty. Whatever it is, it’s not a common code. I also ran some small chunks of it by several academics who specialize in that sort of thing and they couldn’t make heads nor tails of it, either.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“I was thinking about it this morning. I talked to your old Cal Tech professor, George Milhaupt, to see if he had any ideas. I know he’s dabbled in cryptology and knows everybody.” Selma hesitated. “He brought up a name and I’m not sure you’re going to like it. He said that probably your best chance is with Lazlo.”
“Lazlo Kemp?” Sam said, his heart sinking.
“The one and only.”
An uncomfortable silence hung on the line, like the aftermath of a bad joke’s failed punch line.
“But he’s . . . indisposed, isn’t he? Since his, er, mishap?”
“Yes, ever since the scandal, he’s been off the radar. But I did some digging and apparently he’s given up the hallowed halls of academia for fieldwork. Last anyone heard, he was headed into the Laotian jungle in search of some lost treasure he believed he’d gotten a lead on.”
“He always had the personality of a treasure hunter, not a professor,” Sam said. “I’m not surprised.”
“Well, perhaps once he became effectively unemployable, he figured he had nothing left to lose and decided to emulate your success.”
“He’d mentioned it a few times. But I always thought it was idle chatter.”
“Obviously, not so idle if the reports are true. Anyway, George said he would be the very best at deciphering your manuscript.”
“I can’t fault that assessment. He does have a gift,” Sam agreed.
“I tried to reach him, but none of his numbers work. I even tried his daughter and she hasn’t heard from him for years. Which, by the way, she wasn’t too broken-up about, judging from her last statement before she hung up on me.”
“Ouch.”
Selma cleared her throat. “‘If you want to get to the bottom of the manuscript’s message, you’re going to have to find Lazlo. Somewhere in Laos. Maybe. With him, you never know.’”
Sam exhaled noisily and studied the ceiling before making a decision. “All right, Selma. Thank you. Please put Kendra and the gang on this. I’ll need to know everything I can about where he was last seen, who he was working with, who outfitted him, when he last communicated with anyone . . .”