They took the elevator to the parking garage, found their rental car, and opened the trunk. There was the pot and Remi’s computer, wrapped in their jackets, and the airtight packages of seeds and husks with the wooden vessels the Mayan had used.

“Everything is here,” Remi said.

“Whoever it was apparently didn’t see the car or didn’t connect it with us or couldn’t get to it.”

“What do you think is going on?”

“I don’t think it was a regular hotel room robbery. I think somebody recognized us from the newspaper article, or the viral Internet version, and figured we had something valuable from the shrine.”

“The pot?” she asked.

“It might be valuable, and it’s the only thing in our possession, but they couldn’t know that, whoever they are.”

“Then the thing to do is get out of here,” she said. “We need to make sure these people don’t follow us.”

Sam said, “We’ll check out right now and move to another hotel.”

“Where?”

“On the other side of the country.”

“Sounds far enough.”

“Wait here. I’ll go up and use the express checkout and bring the packs down here by the back stairs.”

“While you’re doing that, I’ll call Selma and let her know where we’re going.” She paused. “Where are we going?”

“Cancún.” He hurried into the hotel.

In a half hour they were on the road in the rental car, beginning the nine-hundred-mile drive from Huatulco to Cancún. It was now late in the evening so there was little traffic. Sam drove hard, watching to be sure they weren’t followed. Remi took her turn driving after two hours, and they kept going until four. They pulled over at a closed gas station in Tuxtla Gutiérrez and slept until it opened at eight, filled the tank, and drove on to Centro on the Gulf Coast. All day they kept changing drivers at intervals until they reached Cancún. They checked into the Crown Paradise Club, showered, and slept until morning.

In the morning, they drove to El Centro, the central part of the city, to shop. They found a number of small stores that had been designed, built, and stocked with American tourists in mind. They bought a number of souvenirs, all of them cheap replicas of Mayan artifacts—pots, bowls, wall hangings, mats, and fabrics that more or less reproduced Mayan art and writing. Everything bore images of Mayan kings, priests, and gods, but crudely and garishly painted. At a hobby shop, they bought a water-soluble acrylic paint set that included silver and gold paint and brushes.