"Not a clue. I'll return to my books after lunch. Speaking of which . . . ah, the Thai fish soup." Perlmutter had spotted the first of many dishes making its way to their table.
"While you're doing that I'll ask Yaeger to see if he has anything on them in his computer files."
"Splendid," Perlmutter said. "Now I have a question. You have a practical rather than a historical knowledge of the sea, as I do. What are your thoughts on this talking stone Columbus mentioned, this torleta of the ancients that was described in the letter?"
"Early navigational techniques have always fascinated me," Austin said. "I consider their development to be a huge intellectual leap for mankind. Our ancestors had to bring abstract concepts such as time, space, and distance to bear on the problem of getting from one place to another. I love the idea of punching a button and having a signal bounced off a satellite tell me exactly where I'm standing anywhere on the globe. But I think we rely too much on electronic gadgets. They can break And we're less inclined to understand the natural order of things; the movement of the stars and sun, the vagaries of the sea."
"Well, then, let's put those electronic gadgets aside," Perlmutter said. "Stand in the shoes of Columbus. How would you go about using your torleta?"
Austin thought about the question for a moment. "Let's back up to his earlier voyage. I'm stranded on an island where I'm directed to some kind of stone or tablet with strange inscriptions. The locals tell me it's the key to a great treasure. I take it back to Spain, but nobody can figure out what it is. Only that it is very old. I look at it from a mariner's point of view. The markings are similar in some respects to the kind of plotting board I've used all my sailing life. It's too hefty to haul around, so I do the next best thing. I have charts made based on the inscriptions and set sail. Only problem is, I haven't got it quite right. There's a gap in my knowledge."
"What sort of gap, Kurt?"
Austin pondered the question. "It's hard to know without an idea of what the torleta actually looks like, but I'll describe a hypothetical situation. Suppose I'm a sailor from Columbus's time and somebody gives me a NOAA chart. The geographical depictions would help me get around, but the lines with the long-range navigation coordinates wouldn't make sense to me. I'd know nothing of electronic signals sent out by shore stations or receivers that could translate the signals into pinpoint. locations. Once I was on the water out of sight of land, I'd have to go back to traditional methods."
"A most lucid analysis. So what you're saying is that once Columbus was at sea, he found that the torleta of the ancients was only of limited assistance."
"That's my guess. Ortega's books say Columbus didn't have much faith in the navigational instruments of his day, or maybe he simply wasn't competent in their use. He was a dead reckoning sailor of the old school. It served him fine on his first voyage.
He knew he needed to be precise on this final trip, so he hired someone who could use navigational instruments."
"Interesting, in view of the last passage in the letter, which is written by the Nina's assistant pilot."
"There you go," Austin said. "It's no different from hiring a specialist to do a job today. Now it's my turn to bat a question back to you. What do you suppose happened to the stone?"
"I called Don Ortega again and asked him to chase it down. His guess is that it was part of the estate Luis Columbus squandered to raise money to support his degenerate lifestyle. Ortega will contact museums and universities in Spain, and if he's not successful he will expand his circle of inquiry to surrounding countries.".
Austin was thinking about Columbus the sailor, how he went back to the Nina, the doughty little vessel that had served him so well on previous journeys. Maybe a modern-day Nina could help carry them to a solution of the mystery.
"The tablet originated on this side of the Atlantic," Austin observed. "After brunch I'll call my archaeologist friend Dr. Kirov and ask if she has ever heard about an artifact like it." He chuckled. "Odd, isn't it? We're looking for clues to contemporary murders in events that possibly happened centuries ago."
"Not so unusual. In my experience the past and present are often the same. Wars. Famine. Tidal waves. Revolutions. Plague. Genocide. These happen over and over again. Only the faces change. But enough of such morbid considerations. Let us turn to happier pursuits," Perlmutter said, beaming. "I see another course is on its way"
San Antonio, Texas
29 WHILE AUSTIN ENJOYED HIS EXPENSIVE gourmet lunch, Joe Zavala was sixteen hundred miles away munching a honey-glazed doughnut at a coffee shop on the Paseo del Rio, or Riverwalk, the picturesque tourist district on the banks of the San
Antonio River. Zavala checked his.watch, gulped down the last of his coffee, and head away from the river to the business district, where he entered the lobby of a tall office building.
After wrapping up the strategy session, Zavala had packed an overnight bag and flown to Texas, hitching a ride on an Air Force flight to Lackland Air Base. From the base he caught a taxi to a downtown hotel. Yaeger could do wonders with his computer babies, but even he admitted Time-Quest was a tough nut to crack. Sometimes a human eye and brain, with their capacity to sense and analyze nuance, were far more efficient than even the most sophisticated machine.
Zavala looked up Time-Quest on the lengthy directory of occupants. Moments later. he stepped from the elevator into a spacious lobby whose walls were covered with oversized sepia photographs of the archaeological wonders of the world. Directly in front of a picture of the Great Pyramid was a black enamel and steel desk that seemed out of time and place in contrast to the pictorial antiquities. Even more so was the brunette in her late twenties who sat behind the desk.
Zavala introduced himself, handing the receptionist a business card printed that morning at Kinko's.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Zavala the travel writer," she said. "You called yesterday." She consulted her daybook, punched a button on her phone, and murmured a message. "Ms. Harper will see you in a moment. You're very lucky to get an appointment on such short notice. It would have been impossible if she hadn't had an unexpected cancellation."
"I really appreciate this. As I explained, I would have called earlier, but this was a lastminute thing. I'm out here doing a piece on San Antonio night life and thought I could double it up with another travel piece."
She gave him a friendly smile. "Stop by after you talk to Ms. Harper and I may be able to suggest some h
ot spots."
The receptionist was young and darkly attractive, and Zavala would have been surprised if she didn't know the city's fun places.
"Thank you very much," he said in his most charming manner. "That would be a great help."
The public affairs director of Time-Quest was a handsome and smartly dressed woman in her forties. Phyllis Harper emerged from a corridor and shook Zavala's hand. with a firm grip. Then she guided him along thickly carpeted corridors to an office with big windows that offered a panoramic view of .the sprawling city and its centerpiece Tower of the Americas. They sat informally on either side of a coffee table.