A former Hungarian citizen who'd never quite lost her accent, Selma Wondrash was the stern but secretly softhearted head of Sam and Remi's three-person research team behind the Fargo Foundation. Selma was widowed, having lost her husband, an air force test pilot, in a crash ten years earlier.

After finishing her degree at Georgetown, Selma had managed the Library of Congress's Special Collections Division until Sam and Remi lured her away. More than a research chief, Selma had proven herself a superb travel agent and logistics guru, getting them to and from destinations with militaristic efficiency. Selma ate, drank, and lived research: the mystery that stubbornly refused solution, the legend that showed the barest spark of truth.

"So what is it this time?" Selma asked.

"A ship's bell," Remi called.

They could hear the fluttering of paper as Selma retrieved a fresh legal pad. "Tell me," she said.

"West coast of Chumbe Island," Sam said, then recited the coordinates he'd locked into his GPS unit before heading for the boat. "You'll have to check--"

"Boundaries of the reserves and sanctuaries, yes," Selma said, her pencil rasping on paper. "I'll have Wendy look into Tanzanian maritime law. Anything else?"

"A coin. Diamond-shaped, about the size of a U.S. half-dollar. We found it about a hundred twenty yards north of the bell . . ." Sam looked to Remi for confirmation of this and got a nod in return. "We're going to see if we can clean it up a bit, but the face is obscured right now."

"Got it. Next?"

"There's no next. That's it. As soon as possible, Selma. The sooner we can put a hook on that bell, the better. That sandbank didn't look all that stable."

"I'll get back to you," Selma replied and hung up.

CHAPTER 2

MEXICO CITY, MEXICO

QUAUHTLI GARZA, THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED MEXICAN States and the leader of the Mexica (pronounced in the traditional way, Meh-SHEE-kah) Tenochca Party, gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows and down into the Plaza de la Constitucion, where the Great Temple had once stood. Now it was nothing more than beautified ruins, a tourist attraction for those who wanted to gawk at the sad remains of the magnificent Aztec city of Tenochtitlan and the great twelve-foot-diameter, twenty-ton Calendar Stone.

"A mockery," Quauhtli Garza mumbled, watching the milling crowds.