Douglas Preston - The Codex

The Codex

Douglas Preston

Acknowledgements

There is one person above all others who must be thanked for the existence of this novel, and that is my good friend the inestimable Forrest Fenncollector, scholar, and publisher. I will never forget that lunch of ours, many years ago in the Dragon Room of the Pink Adobe, when you told me a curious storyand thereby gave me the idea for this novel. I hope you feel I have done the idea justice.

Having mentioned Forrest, I feel it necessary to make one thing clear: My character Maxwell Broadbent is a complete and total fictional creation. In terms of personality, ethics, character, and family values, the two men could not be more different, a fact I wish to emphasize for anyone who fancies he sees a roman clef in this novel.

Many years ago a young editor received a half-finished manuscript called Relic from a pair of unknown writers; he bought the manuscript and mailed the writers a modest editorial letter, outlining how he thought the novel should be rewritten and finisheda letter that propelled those two authors on the road to bestsellerdom and a number-one box-office hit movie. That editor was Bob Gleason. I owe a great debt to him for those early days and for guiding this novel to completion. In a similar vein I would like to thank Tom Doherty for welcoming back a prodigal son.

I wish to acknowledge here the incomparable Mr. Lincoln Child, truly the better half of our belletristic partnership, for his excellent and most insightful criticism of the manuscript.

I owe a great debt of gratitude to Bobby Rotenberg, not only for his insightful and detailed help with the characters and story, but also for his great and enduring friendship.

I would like to acknowledge my agents Eric Simonoff at Janklow & Nesbit in New York and Matthew Snyder in Hollywood . I want to thank Marc Rosen for helping me develop some of the ideas in this novel and Lynda Obst for her vision in seeing its possibilities in a seven-page treatment.

I owe a great debt to Jon Couch, who read the manuscript and made many helpful suggestions, particularly in regard to weaponry and firearms. Niccolo Capponi offered some of his usual brilliant ideas regarding several tricky scenes in the book. I am also indebted to Steve Elkins, who is searching for the real White City in Honduras .

Several books were useful to me while writing The Codex, in particular Redmond OHanlons In Trouble Again and Sastun: My Apprenticeship with a Maya Healer by Rosita Arvigoan excellent book that I would recommend to anyone interested in the subject of Mayan medicine.

My daughter Selene read the manuscript several times and offered top-notch criticism, for which I am immensely grateful. And I wish to thank my wife, Christine, and my other children, Aletheia and Isaac. I thank all of you for your constant love, kindness, and support, without which this book, and everything else wonderful in my life, wouldnt exist.

Tom Broadbent turned the last corner of the winding drive and found his two brothers already waiting at the great iron gates of the Broadbent compound. Philip, irritated, was knocking the dottle out of his pipe on one of the gateposts while Vernon gave the buzzer a couple of vigorous presses. The house stood beyond them, silent and dark, rising from the top of the hill like some pashas palace, its clerestories, chimneys, and towers gilded in the rich afternoon light of Santa Fe , New Mexico .

Its not like Father to be late, said Philip. He slipped the pipe between his white teeth and closed down on the stem with a little click. He gave the buzzer a stab of his own, checked his watch, shot his cuff. Philip looked pretty much the same, Tom thought: briar pipe, sardonic eye, cheeks well shaved and after-shaved, hair brushed straight back from a tall brow, gold watch winking at the wrist, dressed in gray worsted slacks and navy jacket. His English accent seemed to have gotten a shade plummier. Vernon , on the other hand, in his gaucho pants, sandals, long hair, and beard, looked uncannily like Jesus Christ.

Hes playing another one of his games with us, said Vernon , giving the buzzer a few more jabs. The wind whispered through the pion trees, bringing with it a smell of warm resin and dust. The great house was silent.

The smell of Philips expensive tobacco drifted on the air. He turned to Tom. And how are things, Tom, out there among the Indians?

Fine.

Glad to hear it.

And with you?

Terrific. Couldnt be better.

Vernon ? Tom asked.

Everythings fine. Just great.

The conversation faltered, and they looked around at each other, and then away, embarrassed. Tom never had much to say to his brothers. A crow passed overhead, croaking. An uneasy silence settled on the group gathered at the gate. After a long moment Philip gave the buzzer a fresh series of jabs and scowled through the wrought iron, grasping the bars. His cars still in the garage. The buzzer must be broken. He drew in air. Halloo! Father! Halloo! Your devoted sons are here!

There was a creaking sound as the gate opened slightly under his weight.

The gates unlocked, Philip said in surprise. He never leaves the gate unlocked.

Hes inside, waiting for us, said Vernon . Thats all.

They put their shoulders to the heavy gate and swung it open on protesting hinges. Vernon and Philip went back to get their cars and park them inside, while Tom walked in. He came face-to-face with the househis childhood home. How many years since his last visit? Three? It filled him with odd and conflicting sensations, the adult coming back to the scene of his childhood. It was a Santa Fe compound in the grandest sense. The graveled driveway swept in a semicircle past a massive pair of seventeenth-century zaguan doors, spiked together from slabs of hand-hewn mesquite. The house itself was a low-slung adobe structure with curving walls, sculpted buttresses, vigas, latillas, nichos, portals, real chimney potsa work of sculptural art in itself. It was surrounded by cottonwood trees and an emerald lawn. Situated at the top of a hill, it had sweeping views of the mountains and high desert, the lights of town, and the summer thunderheads rearing over the Jemez Mountains . The house hadnt changed, but it felt different. Tom reflected that maybe it was he who was different.

One of the garage doors was open, and Tom saw his fathers green Mercedes Gelaendewagen parked in the bay. The other two bays were shut. He heard his brothers cars come crunching around the driveway, stopping by the portal. The doors slammed, and they joined Tom in front of the house.

That was when a troubled feeling began to gather in the pit of Toms stomach.

What are we waiting for? asked Philip, mounting the portal and striding up to the zaguan doors, giving the doorbell a firm series of depresses. Vernon and Tom followed.

There was nothing but silence.

Philip, always impatient, gave the bell a final stab. Tom could hear the deep chimes going off inside the house. It sounded like the first few bars of Mame, which, he thought, would be typical of Fathers ironic sense of humor.

Halloo! Philip called through cupped hands.

Still nothing.

Do you think hes all right? Tom asked. The uneasy feeling was getting stronger.

Of course hes all right, said Philip crossly. This is just another one of his games. He pounded on the great Mexican door with a closed fist, booming and rattling it.

As Tom looked about, he saw that the yard had an unkempt look, the grass unmowed, new weeds sprouting in the tulip beds.

Im going to take a look in a window, Tom said.

He forced his way through a hedge of trimmed chamisa, tiptoed through a flower bed, and peered in the living room window. Something was very wrong, but it took him a moment to realize just what. The room seemed normal: same leather sofas and wing chairs, same stone fireplace, same coffee table. But above the fireplace there had been a big paintinghe couldnt remember which oneand now it was gone. He racked his brains. Was it the Braque or the Monet? Then he noticed that the Roman bronze statue of a boy that held court to the left of the fireplace was also gone. The bookshelves revealed holes where books had been taken out. The room had a disorderly look. Beyond the doorway to the hall he could see trash lying on the floor, some crumpled paper, a strip of bubble wrap, and a discarded roll of packing tape.