pdouglas.thecodex-第1节

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　Aletheia　Vaune　Preston
　And
　Isaac　Jerome　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　Fenn…collector；　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　story…and　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　plete　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　à　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　finished…a　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　pletion。　In　a　similar　vein　I　would　like　to　thank　Tom　Doherty　for　weling　back　a　prodigal　son。
　I　wish　to　acknowledge　here　the　inparable　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　O'Hanlons　In　Trouble　Again　and　Sastun：　My　Apprenticeship　with　a　Maya　Healer　by　Rosita　Arvigo…an　excellent　book　that　I　would　remend　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；　wouldn't　exist。
　　
　1
　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　pound。　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　pasha's　palace；　its　clerestories；　chimneys；　and　towers　gilded　in　the　rich　afternoon　light　of　Santa　Fe；　New　Mexico。
　〃It's　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。
　〃He's　playing　another　one　of　his　games　with　us；〃　said　Vernon；　giving　the　buzzer　a　few　more　jabs。　The　wind　whispered　through　the　pi？on　trees；　bringing　with　it　a　smell　of　warm　resin　and　dust。　The　great　house　was　silent。
　The　smell　of　Philip's　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。　Couldn't　be　better。〃
　〃Vernon？〃　Tom　asked。
　〃Everything's　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　car's　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　gate's　unlocked；〃　Philip　said　in　surprise。　〃He　never　leaves　the　gate　unlocked。〃
　〃He's　inside；　waiting　for　us；〃　said　Vernon。　〃That's　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　house…his　childhood　home。　How　many　years　since　his　last　visit？　Three？　It　filled　him　with　odd　and　conflicting　sensations；　the　adult　ing　back　to　the　scene　of　his　childhood。　It　was　a　Santa　Fe　pound　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　pots…a　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　hadn't　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　father's　green　Mercedes　Gelaendewagen　parked　in　the　bay。　The　other　two　bays　were　shut。　He　heard　his　brother's　cars　e　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　Tom's　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　Father's　ironic　sense　of　humor。
　〃Halloo！〃　Philip　called　through　cupped　hands。
　Still　nothing。
　〃Do　you　think　he's　all　right？〃　Tom　asked。　The　uneasy　feeling　was　getting　stronger。
　〃Of　course　he's　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。
　〃I'm　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　painting…he　couldn't　remember　which　one…and　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。
　〃What's　up；　Doc？〃　Philip's　voice　came　floating　around　the　corner。
　〃You　better　have　a　look。〃
　Philip　picked　his　way　through　the　bushes　with　his　Ferragamo　wingtips；　a　look　of　annoyance　screwed　into　his　face。　Vernon　followed。
　Philip　peeked　through　the　window；　and　he　gasped。　〃The　Lippi；〃　he　said。　〃Over　the　sofa。　The　Lippi's　gone！　And　the　Braque　over　the　fireplace！　He's　taken　it　all　away！　He's　sold　it！〃
　Vernon　spoke。　〃Philip；　don't　get　excited。　He　probably　just　packed　the　stuff　up。　Maybe　he's　moving。　You've　been　telling　him　for　years　this　house　was　too　big　and　isolated。〃
　Philip's　face　relaxed　abruptly。　〃Yes。　Of　course。〃
　〃That　must　be　what　this　mysterious　meeting's　all　about；〃　Vernon　said。
　Philip　nodded　and　mopped　his　b