“It’s a sheet of parchment, folded, and then placed under the outer layer and covered with the fig-bark fabric. David and I removed it two hours ago. It’s a letter, written in black ink, in Spanish. It says, ‘To all of my countrymen, blessings. This book and other books of the Mayan people concern their history and their observations about the natural world. They have nothing to do with the devil. They must be preserved as a way to understand our charges, the Mayan people.’”

“Who’s it from?” asked Remi.

“That’s the surprise. It’s signed ‘Fra Bartolomé de Las Casas, Prior of Rabinal, Alta Verapaz.’”

“Las Casas? The Las Casas?”

“Yes—the man who convinced the Pope that Indians were rational beings with souls and had rights. He practically invented the idea of human rights. Dave Caine is beside himself with excitement.”

“Does the paper have a date on it?”

“Yes. January 23, 1537. We may not know everything about the codex yet, but this is the second verification of the year it was hidden. We think Las Casas was trying to give the book safe passage, maybe while the man you found took it to that shrine on the volcano.”

“It’s fantastic,” said Remi. “Be sure to make a copy of it.”

“Well, get on with your trip. I just wanted you to know about this. And by the way, your vehicle is parked in the hotel lot under the name Señor de La Jolla. I bought it online, so you’d better look it over before you leave civilization.”

“We’ll do that,” said Sam. “We’ll talk soon.”

Sam and Remi checked into the hotel suite Selma had reserved and collected the documents and the equipment that were waiting for them. Then they went outside to the parking lot behind the building and found the car. It was a ten-year-old Jeep Cherokee with chips and scratches that showed it had originally been red but at some point had been painted over olive drab with a paintbrush. They started it, drove it around the block for a few minutes with the windows closed so Sam’s engineer ears could pick up any sounds that might mean trouble, and then opened the hood and checked the belts, hoses, battery, and fluid levels. When Sam had crawled under and looked it over, he stood again. “Not pretty, but not bad either.” The backseat and the floor behind it provided plenty of space for all the equipment they intended to bring. They stopped at a station, filled the tank, bought two metal five-gallon cans, and filled them too.

That evening, they marked their maps to plot a route up 14N toward Cobán, in the north-central part of the Verapaz district, and then on to Xuctzul in the Río Candelária region.