Ice Shock(34)

I make him repeat the instructions and say we’ll talk again tomorrow.

Benicio takes off again. The Muwan floats soundlessly through the sky. Flying west, we’re headed away from the rising sun, backward in time to the depths of night. Through the cockpit dome I can see stars gleaming in a velvety sky. The moon has set, but I can see a faint halo of its glow beyond the horizon. I have the strangest feeling of being wafted out to space, like a leaf caught in a pocket of warm air.

I must be dreaming, because just when I think I’m on the edge of sleep, I hear Stan Getz playing his sax over a chorus of violins. It’s a slow tune with a deep, melancholy vibe.

Well, at least it isn’t the “Blue in Green” dream again.





BLOG ENTRY: MOONLIGHT IN VERMONT




Remember that Stan Getz tune? I was listening to it last night, flying over the Atlantic. Dad left his iPod in the Mayan city when he was there. (My second cousin Benicio dropped that piece of information on me today.) Dad was expecting to go back to Ek Naab. He disappeared while making what he thought was a quick trip to look for the Ix Codex. Dad’s iPod was still in the room where he slept in Ek Naab. Waiting.

I don’t know why, but little things make me saddest of all.

I’ve got the iPod back now, just the way Dad left it. I’m going to keep it with me and I’m not going to change a thing.

About Ollie—Mom, how can you tell who to trust? I wish someone would tell me. Because I don’t seem to be very good at spotting people who are out to deceive me.

I managed to find the stolen documents and destroy them. From what Ollie said later, though, I think it may have been too late. I think they’d already deciphered them. Then Ollie and lover-boy Madison came back and … let’s just say I made it out of there with my life, okay?

I was hurt, but nothing too serious. Some nasty bruises and a few cuts from broken glass. A woman named Lorena here in Ek Naab patched me up. She gave me some pills and let me sleep in a nice comfy bed, not a hammock. I slept for most of the day, woke up, ate some food.

Then I found Benicio’s computer and wrote this blog entry. Gonna have to finish soon … I can hardly keep my eyes open.

Ek Naab is just as bizarre as I remembered. I looked out of Benicio’s window and saw the plaza, the lit-up church, the five-globed street lights, and everywhere, the hibiscus flowers. And then looked up—straight into the mesh ceiling of Ek Naab.

I didn’t dream it. So weird.





17


When I’m done writing the blog, I lie down. I only mean to rest for a few minutes, but the painkillers Lorena gave me are making me woozy, and I sleep the whole night through—my second night in Ek Naab. I hear voices from the room next to the bedroom I’m in. I wander through to find Benicio with Montoyo. They’re sipping coffee, talking quietly. When Montoyo sees me, he stands up, comes over to me, and gives me a typical Mexican man-hug, with a slap on my back.

“Glad to have you with us again,” he says. Montoyo hasn’t changed his appearance at all—black shirt, black pants and boots, gray-flecked ponytail. He’s just as serious as ever; I can’t tell that he’s happy to see me until he says so.

On the table are two plates containing cinnamon buns and molletes—warm crusty rolls spread with refried beans, fresh white cheese, and a tomato salsa. Benicio pours me a tall glass of orange juice. Benicio and Montoyo watch me eat, which can’t be a pretty sight—I’m starving.

“So. Let’s hear about this ill-fated excursion into the lair of the enemy,” says Montoyo with a touch of sarcasm.

I tell them everything I remember, every detail, beginning with how I first met Ollie. They listen and occasionally nod. Montoyo’s expression never changes. He’s heard most of this before, from our last phone call. But when I come to my raid on Ollie’s house, his interest picks up.

“This document you found on her computer,” Montoyo says. “It’s very important that you try to describe everything you remember. Even a detail could be crucial.”

I remember all the town names I saw—Wengen, Andermatt, Morcote, Ticino—but none of the people’s names.

“Hmmm. Switzerland …” Montoyo thinks for a moment, then sighs. “It’s a shame you weren’t able to print this out.”

“Hey, I burned the copied pages of the codex,” I remind him.

“A good plan, but probably a waste of time. As you said, they’d already deciphered it.”

“Yeah … about that …”

And then I ask the single question that’s been troubling me since the minute I cracked the code of the Ix Codex.