Caine leaned close to the lighted magnifier on the stand above the painted bark page of the codex. He had photographed all the pages, but when there was doubt about a glyph, it was best to look as closely as possible at the original, examining each brushstroke. The two glyphs could be borrowings from another Mayan language, or possibly be the unique names of historical figures or even two names for one man. They could even be variants of terms he knew but had failed to recognize.

There was a loud rap on the door that startled him and destroyed his concentration. He was tempted to shout “Go away,” but he reminded himself that he was a guest in this building. He stood up, went to the door, and opened it.

In the doorway stood Albert Strohm, the vice chancellor for Academic Affairs, and behind him were several men in suits. Strohm was a dynamic, effective executive—the academic vice chancellor was the one who actually ran the campus, while the chancellor spent most of his time on public relations and fund-raising—but Strohm looked today like a man who had been thoroughly defeated.

Caine said, “Hello, Albert,” as kindly as he could. “Come on in. I was just—”

“Thank you, Professor Caine,” Strohm said, giving Caine a stare that held some message—a warning? Caine was sure it had something to do with the men outside. Strohm said, “Let me introduce these gentlemen. This is Alfredo Montez, the Minister of Culture for the Republic of Mexico; Mr. Juárez, his assistant; Steven Vanderman, Special Agent, FBI; and Milton Welles, U.S. Customs.” As he introduced the agents, they held up their federal identification badges.

“Please come in,” said Caine. He was thinking rapidly. Albert Strohm’s formality had been a warning to him to shut up before he said something incriminating. Then he amended it—or, if not incriminating, then something that might weaken the university’s position in a legal matter. He had heard of Alfredo Montez, so he held out his hand. “Señor Montez, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve read your monographs on the Olmec and used them, particularly the ones on blue jadeite, in my own work.”

“Thank you,” said Montez. He was a tall, erect man, with his dark hair combed straight back. He wore an expensive gray suit and highly shined shoes, which made Caine feel a bit grubby in his old sport coat and khaki pants. He noticed that Montez didn’t smile.

Montez said, “We came straight from Mexico City as soon as the Chiapas officials brought this situation to our attention.” He saw that the codex was open on the table where Caine had been working. “That is the Mayan codex, correct?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Found in a shrine on Volcán Tacaná?”