Curses!

'Flak?' Gideon said doubtfully, putting aside his questions about the need for better publicity. “Isn't that one of those papers you see at the checkout counters? ‘Boy Weds Own Mother to Get Even with Dad over Allowance Dispute'? ‘Priest Splits into Four Segments While Addressing Congregation'?'

'You got it.'

No wonder Ard had hedged with Abe. “Oh, God,” Gideon said, “I can see it now. ‘Grisly Curse of Death Stalks Jungle Excavation.’”

Ard blinked thoughtfully. “Hey, not bad.” Apparently he meant it, because he wrote it down on a fresh sheet. “Got any other ideas?'

Gideon laughed. “I don't suppose you'd go for ‘A Textual Analysis of a Post-Classic Mayan Incunabulum'?'

'You're right, I wouldn't, and neither would the schmucks at the checkout counter.” His heavy chuckle turned into a gangly cough and died away. “Okay, look, I was reading the original report you wrote up in ‘82 and I needed to check some things with you. Make sure I've got it straight.” He flipped back a few pages in his notebook.

On the glass table in front of them were a Tecate beer for Gideon—which he didn't really want, but Ard had insisted on ordering him something—and a double scotch on the rocks for the reporter. Nearby, others also chatted and drank, enjoying the relative coolness of the predinner hour. Behind Ard, a few tables away, Emma was hectoring Leo Rose on cosmic consciousness. Leo, in his usual manner, was jollying her along. Or maybe she was converting him. Who could tell with Leo?

'Okay.” Ard gulped Scotch. “I want this to be human-interest stuff, not just facts.” The face he made showed what he thought of facts. “Let me ask you this.” While he chose his words he rooted with a finger in the curly hair at the base of his throat, jiggling the thin gold chains nestling there. “Describe to me how you felt in the...in the dark, damp depths of that passageway when your eyes beheld the long-lost Tlaloc codex.” He thought a moment, then wrote that down too, visibly impressed.

Gideon decided to have a swallow of beer after all. An hour with Stan Ard was going to be a long time. There were still fifty-one minutes to go. “I don't know, Stan. It's hard to remember. It was a long time ago.'

'Yeah, but you must have thought something,” Ard said. He decided to clarify the question. “I mean, you must have thought something.'

'Well, I didn't know it was a codex when I first saw it,” Gideon said, aware that he wasn't providing very good copy. “I thought it was just some bundles of cloth.'

Ard frowned and shook his head. “Nah, that's no good,” he said reprovingly. “What are you, kidding me?” He downed another slug of Scotch, made a pained expression, belched, sucked on his cigarette, and gave himself over to coughing again while he hammered on his chest with the flat of his hand.

'Okay, let's start with basic concrete facts,” he said when he could speak again. “The five Ws: who, why, what...uh, which...you know. Maybe that'll get us to something we can use. Now, according to what I read, the tunnel started looking like it was going to cave in right after you found the codex, while all you guys were down there, right?'

'Right.'

'At 4:12 p.m.'

Gideon nodded.

'Great,” Ard said without enthusiasm. “How much more concrete can you get than that?” Squinting, he flapped at the cigarette smoke. “So how did you happen to know the exact time?'

Gideon shrugged. “I guess I looked at my watch...” He hesitated, seeing a sudden ray of hope. “No, wait, it was his watch.” He gestured in Leo's direction. “When that post broke and some of the ceiling came down it broke his watch. Stopped it at 4:12. We noticed it later, when we were on our way back to the site.'

'Broke his watch? Did he get hurt or anything?” Ard asked hopefully.

Gideon saw his chance. “You know, Stan,” he said, “Leo Rose is really the guy you ought to be talking to; you've already got my version in those clippings. But Leo was right there with me, up there on that—that dark, lonely pyramid when it happened. He could give you a fresh perspective.'

This wasn't as low a trick as it seemed. By now even the durable, resilient Leo was withering under Emma's remorseless, high-volume barrage ('.... because which reality plane you select doesn't really matter,” she was saying. “That's what past-life regression is all about. If you think about it in terms of Jungian synchronicity...') For some minutes Leo had been paying more attention to Gideon's and Ard's conversation than his own. His eyes were cast plaintively in their direction for possible escape.

And regardless of what the irrepressible Leo might say, Abe had nothing to worry about. An article in Flak was not going to be read by anyone in the academic world; not admittedly, anyway. And even Dr. Villanueva couldn't claim there was any danger that it might be taken seriously.

'Yeah?” Ard said with interest. He reached for the cigarette he'd put down during a coughing spasm, peered interestedly over his shoulder at Leo, and gave him a small, welcoming wave. Leo was quick to take advantage of it. In a flash he was out of his chair, leaving behind a sulking Emma displeased at having Leo's mind expansion interrupted. Four quick strides put him at their table.

'Hi,” he said brightly. He blew out his cheeks, rolled his eyes, and grinned at Gideon.

'Leo here was lucky to escape with his life when the ceiling gave way,” Gideon said. “It not only stopped his watch at 4:12, it almost took his arm off. There was blood all over the place.” It was but a small exaggeration for the greater good. Leo's wrist had, after all, been scratched, if Gideon remembered correctly.

Leo was more than happy to go along. “There sure was,” he agreed. “There was blood everywhere.'

This obviously appealed to Ard, and Gideon pressed on. “Leo, Stan is doing a story on Tlaloc for Flak. He was thinking you'd be a good person to talk to.'

'Flak!' Leo was clearly impressed. “You work for Flak?'

'No, I'm a free-lancer. I work out of L.A.'