“Not just any map of the world. The gold coins I mentioned were minted around 300 B.C. The bronze in this statue is about three thousand years old, making this the oldest world map we know of. More important, it indicates travel to the New World as early as 900 B.C., when the statue was made.”

Baltazar felt a rush of blood through his veins.

“I want to take a closer look at North America,” he said.

The enlarged symbol that appeared on the screen looked like an obese saguaro cactus. A pair of thick arms were upraised from a wide trunk.

Baltazar snorted. “You must admit that it takes a stretch of the imagination to see that amorphous blob as the North American continent.”

“Maybe this will help,” Defoe said. An outline of North America was superimposed over the symbol. “The trunk becomes the main continent. That’s Alaska off on the left and Newfoundland on the right.”

“Any evidence of trade routes between the Eastern and Western Hemispheres?”

“Not specifically. But that shouldn’t come as any surprise given the Phoenician penchant for secrecy, and the fact that ocean routes consisted of astronomical readings that could be committed to memory. But if we look at the compass in the statue’s hand,” he said with a flick of the remote, “we can deduce that east–west, west–east trade routes are suggested. The position of the statue relative to the north point of the compass rose indicates that he is looking toward the west.”

“Toward the Americas,” Baltazar said.

“Correct.”

“Can you pinpoint a landfall?”

Defoe shook his head. “This statue is the equivalent of the world maps you see in the airline magazines. Informative, but in no way useful to an airplane pilot.”

“They would have needed a more detailed chart when close to shore,” Baltazar pointed out.

“That’s right. Maps had limited value at sea. They would have needed a coastal pilot that showed the location of prominent points, so the travelers could check position. Directions rather than distance become paramount close to shore.”

“Is there any evidence of a coastal pilot?”

Defoe shook his head. “I have found nothing that denotes navigational positioning. I did find something else, however.”

The screen image changed once more. “This symbol was etched repeatedly in the sash that held up the sailor’s kilt.”

“It looks something like a boat,” Baltazar said. “Rough depictions of the bow and stern.”

“The symbol looked familiar to me. I remembered seeing it in a book by Anthony Saxon. He’s an amateur archaeologist and explorer who’s come up with some outlandish theories.”

“I know who Mr. Saxon is,” Baltazar said, in a tone that dripped with icicles.

“Saxon is a self-promoting showman, but he’s been around. He says this is the symbol for a ship of Tarshish. He’s found examples in both the Americas and the Middle East, thereby establishing a link between the two regions.”