"Leo's right,” Emma said. “Who are we to impose our Western construct of time as a linear continuum on other culture planes?"
Worthy made an irritated sound and addressed the sky. “Do you know what this demonstrates? The abysmal failure of our educational system. Anyone who is gullible enough to be duped by the newage claptrap put out
"Oh, is that so?” Emma said thickly. Her feelings were hurt. “And you think that you're in a position to judge three thousand years of-"
"Kinder, kinder," Abe said. “Children, let's not get carried away. I'm sure nobody really means-"
But Worthy had been stung and overrode him. “This is absurd! If this is all we can find to talk about we'd be better off holding our tongues entirely."
"Well, yes, I agree with that,” Preston said, then added amicably: “There are some things we're better off not knowing.” He was fortunate to be seated a foot or two in front of Emma; her glower of annoyance spattered harmlessly on the handsome gray wavelet of hair on his collar.
"That,” Worthy said icily, “is not at all what I meant."
When Abe had been a professor, Gideon remembered, he had usually stayed out of classroom arguments and let Gideon and his other students fight things out among themselves. Usually. But there was often a point at which the democratic approach was unceremoniously scotched in favor of a firm, fatherly, unqualified opinion from the expert. That point had now been reached.
"I agree with Worthy one hundred percent,” he said, looking soberly from one member of the crew to another. “The curse, the skeleton in the doorway, these are very interesting. As archaeological data they're worth talking about.” He held up a spidery finger. “But as supernatural occurrences they ain't.” He fixed his gaze on Emma, kindly but firmly. “I'll tell you the truth; I'm a little surprised anybody here would take this seriously."
Emma's puffy face tightened. She flushed yet again but said nothing.
"Oh, I don't know,” Leo said, not disrespectfully. “You have to admit it's something to think about."
"Look,” Julie said gently, “I wasn't here in 1982, so I don't really know what I'm talking about, but it seems to me that we're confusing things. The codex was never our treasure in the first place. And it wasn't lost; Dr. Bennett took it. And of course he ran off afterward. You don't need a curse to explain any of that."
"Absolutely right,” Abe said warmly. “The law of parsimony in a nutshell. So let's not hear any more about the curse. Case closed. End of cigar. Time to go back to work."
He stood up, a little creaky after sitting on the ground for so long, and brushed dust from his trousers. “On the other hand,” he said with his tiniest smile, “if someone runs into any bloodsucking kinkajous hanging around, be sure and let me know."
Chapter 9
He didn't have long to wait. The next day, on a humid morning under a sullen gray sky, the Curse of Tlaloc struck again. Lurking in the supposedly deserted work shed was a bloodsucking kinkajou.
Or near enough.
Julie, Gideon, and Abe had walked to the site after an early breakfast at the Mayaland, planning to put in an hour of organizing and sorting before the crew arrived. Gideon had unlocked and opened the door, then quickly put out his arm to block the others as the smell of something rank and wild seeped from the stuffy interior.
"What's wrong?” Julie asked. Then she smelled it too, and stood very still and stiff, peering past him into the dim interior.
Something grunted thickly in the darkness, like a pig rooting, and there was a scrabbling sound, as of clawed feet moving over the limestone mortar floor toward them. The hairs rose at the back of Gideon's neck. All three people stepped instinctively back from the threshold.
From the shadows a furry brown animal emerged tentatively, then stopped and backed away again. About the size of a raccoon, with a ring-striped tail balanced daintily above it, it had a face that looked something like a fox and something like an old basketball sneaker. It looked warily up at them.
"Good morning,” the neatly lettered placard hanging from its neck said. “I am a bloodsucking kinkajou."
"Good morning to you,” said Abe. “I am a broken-down old professor."
Julie laughed. “It's a coati, a coatimundi. And it doesn't suck blood, it eats fruits and berries."
She knelt to coax it near with a fig from her box lunch, and after some indecision the animal approached with rubbery-nosed interest. But as soon as it saw its chance it darted between her and Abe and made for the fence with a rolling, flatfooted gait. In two seconds it was through the opening, and in one more it burst through the jungle's green wall and disappeared.
Opinion as to the perpetrator varied. Julie was sure it was Leo, Gideon thought it just might be a sarcastic comment from Worthy, and Abe wondered wryly if Dr. Gideon Oliver might not be behind it.
Julie stood up for him. “He hasn't been out of my sight since we quit work yesterday,” she declared staunchly.
"Oh, yeah, what about when you took a shower?” Abe wanted to know.
"We took it together,” Gideon told him. “Abe, on my honor as a serious and responsible scientist, I didn't do it.
"Ha,” said Abe, but he switched his vote to Leo.
When the others arrived at eight-thirty and were told about it, Leo was everyone else's favorite suspect too, and was roundly accused, but he swore with his hand on his heart that he'd had nothing to do with it.
"It was the work of the gods,” he said darkly. “An omen.” He cut his voice to a melodramatic whisper and wiggled his eyebrows at Preston. “There are some things we aren't meant to know."
"Absolutely,” said Preston, for whom this seemed to be a guiding philosophy.
"A coatimundi, I love it. Out of sight!” Chuckling heavily, Stan Ard slowly wrote something in a spiral- bound notebook. “Coatimundi, what is that, some kind of lizard?"
Regretting that he had brought it up at all, Gideon told him about the raccoonlike mammal. It was 5:00 p.m. and they were sitting in basket chairs on the shaded, tiled veranda of the hotel, where Gideon had promised Ard an hour-long interview. Earlier, during the lunch break, Abe had told the crew about the free-lance reporter's arrival. He had suggested that they cooperate with him but keep to the facts and try not to say anything sensational; the ever-alert Dr. Villanueva was no doubt on the lookout for lapses of good taste that might appear in print.
Privately, Abe had confided to Gideon that he was worried. A brief talk with Ard had made him wonder about the reporter's judgment, and the man had hedged on what publication would print his article. Abe had considered asking the crew to refuse to talk with him. But he had decided on second thought that Ard was the kind of journalist who wouldn't quit, and might make up his own story if he had to-which was the most worrisome possibility of all.
After five minutes of conversation, Gideon's impression of the reporter was equally unfavorable. Stan Ard was a coarse, blowsy man who gobbled unfiltered cigarettes like someone bent on killing himself as quickly as possible, and who coughed like someone who was succeeding. He had spent the first few minutes of the interview hacking, pounding his chest, and talking about himself, hinting broadly at a shadowy past full of vague and undisclosable associations with the CIA and Soldier of Fortune.
He had struck Gideon as not very bright, not very subtle, and not very principled. But he had done his homework. He had a copy of the curse and a binder full of earlier reports about the theft of the codex.