British officials were the biggest snobs. Even if her name didn’t spring to their minds, they would recognize her as belonging to the class of people who were not to be harassed with petty rules.

She didn’t pack much this trip. Most of her clothes and belongings were still in the closets and the safe. She took only the few things she could gather quickly—the wide, flat jewelry box with the best pieces, a bundle of money in various currencies, and, sealed in its fitted plastic box, the Mayan codex. They all fit in one suitcase. She locked the suitcase, tipped it up on its wheels, and began to roll it toward the staircase.

Her doorman heard the sound, bounded up the stairs, and took it for her. She wondered—did he know? The case held tens of millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry, artifacts, and just plain money. It was worth more than all his ancestors had earned from Adam and Eve until now. She smiled at her thought. It was much better that servants—even loyal ones—not suspect these little moments of vulnerability. She was sure he would have killed her for much less than he was carrying now.

She got into her car, watched him put her suitcase in the trunk, and close it. She said to her driver, “The airport.”

He drove expertly, maneuvering the black Maybach 62 S through the streets of Guatemala City. He never betrayed any stress and seldom even applied the brakes. The ride was smooth and quiet, the way he knew she liked it. As she watched the city slipping past the windows of the car, she felt a small twinge of heartache. She had succeeded in obtaining the Mayan codex—almost certainly the last undiscovered one in existence. By now, she should have been famous. She should have had a warehouse full of gold and priceless pottery.

She would have to persuade Diego San Martin that she had not been the cause of his lost manpower. She would explain that the problem had begun with the man he had met at lunch. Russell had assured her that it would all be easy and safe. There would be no risk of disappointing Diego San Martin because Russell had everything under control. What could she, a young woman, have done differently? How could she have known Russell was so wrong?

She listened to her own silent rehearsal and pronounced herself satisfied. San Martin was like everyone else. He would vent his wrath on someone, but it would not be Sarah Allersby. She remained a very useful ally that would cost him money and be trouble to lose. San Martin just needed an excuse to do what was obviously in his own interest.