“Attila says he buried a treasure. So it’s off to Italy.”

“The place where the world was lost was where he stopped his army and went home,” Albrecht said. “We’ll research it carefully, but it would be south of Lake Garda near Mantua.”

“All right,” said Sam. “Beginning now, we’re in a race. Arpad Bako will dig up the crypt, expecting to find us in there dead. He’ll find the message, get it translated, and head where we’re headed.”

“If that’s his interpretation of the message,” said Remi.

“Right. What’s the plan?” asked Tibor.

Sam said, “I think that Bako has more reason than ever to want to snatch Albrecht. Interpreting these ancient messages is going to be crucial. So we fly Albrecht to California on the next flight so he can work with Selma in the research center at home in La Jolla. It’s also extremely important that we know what Arpad Bako and his men are doing and where they are from hour to hour. The only one who can hope to accomplish that is Tibor, so he returns to Szeged and recruits people he can trust to help him. Remi and I will catch the next plane from Budapest to the area south of Lake Garda and get started on the search. Other suggestions?”

“No,” said Albrecht. “Perfectly right.”

“I’ll be honored to work with you, Albrecht,” said Selma. “All right, everyone. Your plane tickets will be waiting at Ferihegy Airport at Budapest. Except you, Tibor. Might I be so presumptuous as to suggest that you take a different route home?”

“Thank you, Selma. I will.”

“And Selma?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“See if you can get a scrambled satellite phone to Tibor, programmed with our numbers and yours.”

“Right away.” They could hear her computer keys clicking at a furious rate. “And while I’m at it, I’ll get new ones for you too.”

“Good idea,” said Sam.

“And nobody forget,” Remi said. “A few hours ago, Bako’s men tried to bury us alive. Don’t anybody ever stop looking over your shoulder.”

Chapter 12

SZEGED, HUNGARY

ARPAD BAKO SAT IN HIS OFFICE OVERLOOKING THE TISZA River and the bridge. On the other side of the river he could see the lights of Új-Szeged. It seemed to him that the lights brightened and extended farther every time he looked. He was in such high spirits that he began to feel a creeping sadness. He should have prepared some kind of celebration. A moment like this should not have been wasted. Gábor Székely and two of his men had reported good news from a vineyard on Route 53 at Kiskunhalas.