Lost Empire

by Cussler, Clive;Grant Blackwood

  “I’m paraphrasing, but here’s the gist of it: He’s done his duty for his country, not once but twice, and he lost his wife in the process. He admits he lied to Dudley about the Shenandoah II’s sinking. He begs Constance’s forgiveness and tells her he intends to discover where the Shenandoah II’s crew found the jeweled bird and recover the rest of the treasure.”

  “What treasure?” Sam asked. “At that point, does he have any hint there’s more to find?”

  “If he did, he never jotted a word about it. At least not in plain text. Given the nature of his journal, it may all be hidden in there somewhere.”

  “What about the Shenandoah II’s captain’s log?” Remi asked. “If Blaylock was assuming the previous crew had found the jeweled bird during their travels, the log would be a natural place to start.”

  “He never mentions a log, but I agree with your assumption.” Sam said, “My guess: He transcribed whatever he found relevant in the captain’s log to his own journal.”

  “At any rate,” Selma continued, “Blaylock continued to write Constance after the Shenandoah II’s capture, but his letters became more and more irrational. You can read them yourself, but it’s clear Blaylock was descending into insanity.”

  “And those are just the plain text portions of the letters,” Pete added. “We’ve still got fourteen to decode.”

  “If we’re to believe all this,” Sam said, “then Winston Blaylock probably spent the remainder of his life sailing the ocean aboard the Shenandoah II, scribbling in his journal, staring at his jeweled bird, and carving glyphs on the inside of the bell while looking for a treasure that may or may not have existed.”

  “It may be even bigger than that,” Remi said. “If the Orizaga Codex is genuine and the outrigger is what we think it is, somewhere along the way Blaylock may have stumbled onto a secret that was buried with Cortés and his Conquistadors: the true origin of the Aztecs.”

  CHAPTER 37

  GOLDFISH POINT,

  LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA

  “THERE ARE A LOT OF LOOSE ENDS HERE,” SAM POINTED OUT. HE grabbed a nearby legal pad and pen and began writing:• How/when did Morton obtain Blaylock’s journal, his walking staff, and the Orizaga Codex?

  • How/when did the Shenandoah’s bell end up buried off the coast of Chumbe Island? How did the clapper come off?

  Sam stopped writing. “What else?” he asked. Remi gestured for the pad, and he slid it over to her. She wrote:• How much do Rivera and his employer know about Blaylock? How did they get involved? What are they after?

  • How did Rivera know about Madagascar?

  She slid the pad back to Sam, who said, “I have an idea about one of these . . . What are they after? We suspect Rivera works for the Mexican government, correct?”

  “It’s a safe bet.”

  “We also know the current administration, President Garza’s Mexica Tenochca, came into office on a wave of ultranationalism—pride in Mexico’s true, precolonial heritage and so forth. We also know Rivera and his goons all have Nahuatl-Aztec names, along with most of Mexica Tenochca’s leaders and cabinet members. The ‘Aztec Groundswell,’ as the press called it, won them the election.”

  Sam looked around the group and got nods in return.

  “What if whoever Rivera works for knows the truth about the Aztecs? What if they knew long before the election?”

  Remi said, “We did find what might be nine tourist murders in seven years in Zanzibar. If our hunch about them is correct, the cover-up goes back at least that far.”

  Sam nodded. “If Blaylock truly found what we think he found, this could turn Mesoamerican history on its head.”

  “Is that enough to kill for?” Wendy asked.

  “Absolutely,” Remi replied. “If members of the current government won the election based on a lie and the truth comes to light, how long before they’re drummed out of office? Or even its leaders arrested? Imagine if after George Washington was elected America’s first president, it was proven he was a traitor. It’s a bit of an apples-to-oranges comparison, but you get the idea.”

  “Then, potentially, we’re talking about President Garza being directly involved in this,” Pete said.

  Sam said, “He certainly has the kind of horsepower that’s been backing Rivera from the beginning. At this point, all we’ve got to go on is Blaylock’s journal and letters. My gut is telling me the answers are hidden there.”

  “Where do you suggest we start?” Selma asked.

  “His poem. Do you have it?”

  Selma flipped pages on her pad, then recited, In my love’s heart I pen my devotion

  On Engai’s gyrare I trust my feet

  From above, the earth squared

  From praying hands my day is quartered, the gyrare once, twice

  Words of Ancients, words of Father Algarismo

  “The first two lines we already figured out—he’s talking about the bell and Fibonacci spirals. Now we just need to figure out the last four lines.”

  THEY BROKE INTO GROUPS. Selma, Pete, and Wendy worked on Blaylock’s letters to Constance Ashworth, searching for any clues they may have missed, while Sam and Remi retreated to the solarium to pore over Blaylock’s journal, which Selma had loaded onto their iPads.

  Side by side, they reclined on chaise lounges partially shaded by potted palms and billowing ferns. The sun streamed through the skylights and cast dappled shadows across the tiled floor.

  After an hour, Sam muttered, half to himself, “Leonardo the Liar.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That line from Blaylock’s journal: ‘Leonardo the Liar.’ Clearly Blaylock was referring to Leonardo Fibonacci.”

  “Of the sequence-and-spiral fame.”

  “Right. But why did he add ‘the liar’?”

  “I meant to ask what that’s all about.”

  “The Fibonacci sequence wasn’t discovered by Leonardo; he simply helped spread it around Europe.”

  “So he lied about the discovery?”

  “No, he never claimed credit for it. And Blaylock, being a mathematician, would have known that. I’m starting to wonder if the line was meant as a reminder to himself.”

  “Go on.”

  “According to my research, the sequence is most often attributed to a twelfth-century Indian mathematician named Hemachandra who—surprise, surprise—also authored an epic poem entitled Lives of Sixty-three Great Men.”

  “Another line from Blaylock’s journal.”

  “Which was placed directly across from the Leonardo the Liar quote.”

  “Certainly sounds intentional,” Remi said. “But what’s it add up to?”

  “I’m not sure. I need to see that page again.”

  BACK IN THE WORKROOM, Sam told Wendy, “I just need to see the area around the ‘Sixty-three Great Men’ line.”

  “Can do. Hold on a moment.” At one of the workstations, Wendy opened the image in Photoshop, made some adjustments, then said, “Done. It should be on your screen . . . now.”

  Sam studied the image. “Can you isolate and enlarge the area around the Sixty-three?” Thirty seconds later, the new image appeared. Sam scrutinized it for a moment. “Too fuzzy. I’m mostly interested in the tiny marks above and below the Sixty-three.”

  Wendy went back to work. A few minutes later Wendy said, “Try this one.”

  The new image resolved on the screen:

  “I had to do a little color replacement, but I’m pretty sure the marks are—”

  “It’s perfect,” Sam murmured, eyes fixed on the screen.

  “Care to share with the rest of the class?” Remi said.

  “We’ve been assuming Blaylock used the Fibonacci spiral as some kind of encoding tool on the inside of the bell. The problem is, at what scale? The spiral’s starting grid size can be anything. That’s the piece we were missing. Now we have it.”

  “Explain,” said Selma.

  “Blaylock’s line about Leonardo was meant as a pointer to the ‘Sixty-thre
e Great Men’ line. Look above and just to the right of the number three.”

  “It’s a quote mark,” Wendy said.

  “Or the symbol for inches,” replied Pete.

  “Bingo. Now look at the dash directly below the Sixty-three. It’s a minus sign. If you move the inches symbol down and the minus sign up, you get this . . .” Sam grabbed a pad, scribbled something, and turned it around for everyone to see:6 ˝ − 3 ˝ = 3 ˝

  “Blaylock is telling us the starting square in his spiral is three inches.”

  THEY QUICKLY REALIZED the mathematics needed to re-create the spiral were beyond their grasp. Blaylock had devised his bell-spiral combination based on his expertise in topology. To solve it, the Fargos needed an expert of their own, so Sam took a page from Remi’s book and called one of his former professors at Caltech. As it happened, George Milhaupt was now retired and living just seventy miles away on Mount Palomar, where he’d been playing amateur astronomer at the observatory since leaving the institute.

  Sam’s brief explanation of the problem so intrigued Milhaupt that he drove immediately to La Jolla, arriving two hours after Sam’s call.

  Milhaupt, a short man in his mid-seventies with a monk’s fringe of white hair, followed Sam into the work space carrying an old leather valise. Milhaupt looked around, said, “Splendid,” then shook everyone’s hands. “Where is it?” he asked. “Where is this mystery?”

  Not wanting to muddy the waters, Sam restricted his briefing to the Shenandoah, the bell, and the relevant portions of Blaylock’s journal. When he finished, Milhaupt was silent for thirty seconds, pursing his lips and nodding thoughtfully to himself. Finally: “I can’t argue with your conclusions, Sam. You were right to call me. You were a good math student, but topology was never your strong suit. If you’ll bring me the bell, your Fibonacci calculations, and a large sketch pad, then leave me alone, I’ll lock horns with Mr. Blaylock and see what I come up with.”

  NINETY MINUTES LATER, Milhaupt’s scratchy voice came over the house’s intercom system. “Hello . . . ? I’m done.”

  Sam and Remi and the others returned to the work space. Sitting on the table, amid dividers, pencils, flexible measuring tapes, and a pad covered in scribbles, was a sketch:

  As though playing a slow-motion game of musical chairs, the group walked around the table, eyes fixed on the drawing, heads tilting this way and that, until finally Sam said, “You’ve stumped us.”

  “Do you see the tr notation in the upper right-hand corner and the numerals near the curve at the bottom left?”

  “Yes,” Sam said.

  “That’s my handwriting, of course, but they were also inscribed on the inside of the bell. I suspect it means ‘top right.’”

  Sam and Remi looked at him in surprise. “We missed that,” Remi said.

  “Don’t feel bad. They were minuscule. Without my magnifying glass, I would have overlooked them, too. The tr notations were on the very edge of the bell’s mouth.”

  “You said ‘notations,’” Remi replied. “As in plural.”

  “There were two. I have a second sketch, but aside from the order of the symbols, each is identical to the other. When I saw the two tr notations, I assumed they were intended as both orientation points and end points for a pair of spirals. As to why there are two spirals . . . I suspect that answer is hidden in the rest of that poem of his. As you can see, each X mark is accompanied by a designator; each represents a different glyph. I have a legend with all this written down.”

  “Amazing,” Sam said. “Imagine the patience all this took.”

  Milhaupt smiled and rubbed his hands together. “And now I’d be happy to tackle Mr. Blaylock’s poem.”

  Selma read it aloud.

  “Well, I agree with your assessment of the first two lines,” Milhaupt said. “As for the other lines . . . I may have some ideas. First of all, this fellow’s a very abstract thinker—which is especially strange for a mathematician.”

  “He was a character,” Sam agreed. “We also think he may have been a few sandwiches shy of a picnic.”

  “Ah, I see. That puts things into perspective. Well, the third line—‘From above, the earth squared’—suggests to me a pair of spirals that are to be viewed from overhead. The notations I found within the bell tend to validate that. Agreed?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “The fourth line—‘From praying hands my day is quartered, the gyrare once, twice’—is a bit trickier, but as we’re fairly certain about the overhead view issue, the ‘praying hands’ may represent two hands of a clock, pointing toward midnight. I suspect the words ‘my day is quartered’ mean Mr. Blaylock has divided his ‘clock’ into four sections—midnight, three, six, and nine. And finally, following this logic, the line ‘the gyrare once, twice’ probably means we’re to rotate our first spiral to the three o’clock position and the second spiral to the six o’clock position.”

  Milhaupt demonstrated, rotating his sketches, the first on top with the open end of the spiral pointing to the right; the second below that, the open end of the spiral pointing downward. He looked at each member of the group in turn. “Thoughts?”

  No one spoke up.

  “Me neither,” he said. “How about the last line of the poem?”

  Selma recited it:Words of Ancients, words of Father Algarismo

  Remi said, “As for the first part—‘Words of Ancients’—we have a hunch what Blaylock means.”

  “You’re referring to those Aztec glyphs inside the bell?” Milhaupt asked with a Cheshire smile. “I have no idea of their translation, of course. I assume you do?”

  Sam nodded. “They’re from the Aztec calendar—thirteen months, thirteen corresponding symbols.”

  “Clearly Mr. Blaylock was absorbed with the Aztecs, yes?”

  “‘Absorbed’ isn’t the word we’ve been using,” Remi said.

  Sam said, “The second part of the line—‘words of Father Algarismo’—has us stumped.”

  “I am happy to say I have your answer. At last, my love of obscure mathematical history has come in handy. There is no Father Algarismo, you see. It’s another one of Mr. Blaylock’s tricks. Algarismo is the Portuguese derivation of the word ‘algorithm.’ Quite simply, it means digit.”

  Remi said, “Then, translated, the last line reads, ‘Words of the Aztecs combined with numbers.’ Sam, you’re the cryptography guy. Is any of this ringing any bells?”

  Sam nodded. “Maybe. I seem to remember a page in his journal that was nothing but dots. Did I imagine that?”

  “No, I remember it,” Wendy said. “I’ll find it.” She disappeared into the archive vault.

  “I can see the gears turning in your head,” said Remi. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t think we’re meant to combine Aztec words with numbers. I think we’re meant to translate them. For example, take the symbol for ‘flint’ and replace the letters with corresponding numbers.”

  Remi was jotting along on her pad:6 , 1 2 , 9 , 1 4 , 2 0

  “A simple substitution code,” said Milhaupt.

  “Right,” Sam said. “I think Blaylock’s spirals are just window dressing. Look at the two rotated sketches. If you straighten out the ends of the spirals, you get a horizontal line of glyphs and a vertical line of glyphs.”

  “Essentially a grid,” said Remi.

  Wendy’s voice came over the intercom. “Sam, I found that page you mentioned. It’s on the screen.”

  Selma grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. As Sam had described, the page consisted of nothing more than groupings of seemingly randomly placed dots—row after row, column after column.

  “How many clusters?” Sam asked.

  Remi was already counting. “One hundred sixty-nine. Thirteen down and thirteen across.” She smiled. “Same number as your spiral grid idea, Sam. And the same number of months in the Aztec calendar.”

  Milhaupt said, “We have a winner. Now you just need to plug your dots into the grid and figure out
what it all means.”

  HAVING CHASED BLAYLOCK’S RIDDLES for what seemed like months, Sam, now certain he was closing in on his quarry, attacked the “Blaylock Dot Grid Mystery” with a gusto that took him through the evening and into the early-morning hours of the next day.

  Translating the Aztec-Nahuatl glyphs first into their Anglicized meanings and then into numbers was straightforward but time-consuming. Once done, he began plugging the dot clusters into their corresponding rows and columns until he had what looked like an LSD-inspired Sudoku puzzle on steroids. Next he began experimenting with various cryptographic methods, hoping to stumble upon something that clicked. Shortly before midnight, he found just that: a binary-type system where the dots’ positions determined which numbers in the grid were used.

  After hearing Sam’s theory, Remi said, “You’ve worked this out? Tested it?”

  “I did. Aside from the ‘empty’ clusters, they’re all latitude and longitude coordinates. This is a map.”

  CHAPTER 38

  GOLDFISH POINT,

  LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA

  COFFEE IN HAND, SAM AND REMI WALKED INTO THE WORKROOM at eight A.M. to find Selma, Pete, and Wendy standing before a six-foot-wide map of the Indian Ocean tacked to the wall with blue painter’s tape.

  Six hours earlier, at Pete and Wendy’s urging, Sam and Remi had gone to bed, leaving them to plot the coordinates on a world map.

  “Of the one hundred sixty-nine locations in Blaylock’s grid, eighty-two of them were null,” Pete now explained. “Of the remaining eighty-seven, fifty-three were located in the middle of the ocean, which left us thirty-four latitude and longitude points that matched up with land. That’s what you see plotted here.”