pdouglas.thecodex-第70部分

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ard；　vilified　by　shareholders　and　congressional　mittees；　and　made　the　butt　of　late…night　television。　He　was　under　criminal　investigation　for　accounting　fraud；　stock　manipulation；　insider　trading；　and　self…dealing。　Skiba　had　lost　his　home　and　his　wife；　and　the　lawyers　had　almost　finished　chewing　through　his　fortune。　Nobody　loved　him　now　except　his　children。
　And　yet　Skiba　was　a　happy　man。　No　one　could　understand　this　happiness。　They　thought　he　had　lost　his　mind；　that　he　was　having　some　kind　of　breakdown。　They　did　not　know　what　it　was　like　to　be　pulled　out　of　the　very　flames　of　hell。
　What　was　it　that　had　stayed　his　hand；　three　months　ago；　in　that　dark　office？　Or　in　the　three　months　that　followed？　Those　three　months　of　silence　from　Hauser　had　been　the　darkest　months　of　Skiba's　life。　Just　when　it　seemed　the　nightmare　would　never　end；　suddenly　there　was　news。　The　New　York　Times　had　run　a　little　article；　buried　in　the　B　section；　which　announced　the　creation　of　the　Alfonso　Boswas　Foundation；　a　nonprofit　organization　devoted　to　translating　and　publishing　a　certain　ninth…century　Mayan　codex　found　in　the　collections　of　the　late　Maxwell　Broadbent。　According　to　the　foundation's　president；　Dr。　Sally　Colorado；　the　Codex　was　a　Mayan　book　of　healing　that　would　prove　tremendously　useful　in　the　search　for　new　drugs。　The　foundation　had　been　established　and　funded　by　the　four　sons　of　the　late　Maxwell　Broadbent。　The　article　noted　that　he　had　passed　away　unexpectedly　while　on　a　family　holiday　in　Central　America。
　That　was　all。　There　was　no　mention　of　Hauser；　the　White　City；　the　lost　tomb；　the　crazy　father　burying　himself　with　his　money…nothing。
　Skiba　had　felt　as　if　the　weight　of　the　world　had　been　lifted　from　his　shoulders。　The　Broadbents　were　alive。　They　had　not　been　murdered。　Hauser　had　failed　to　get　the　Codex　and；　most　important；　had　failed　to　kill　them。　Skiba　would　never　know　what　happened；　and　it　would　be　too　dangerous　to　inquire。　The　only　thing　he　knew　was　that　he　was　not　guilty　of　murder。　Yes；　he　was　guilty　of　terrible　crimes　and　he　had　much　to　atone　for；　but　the　irrevocable　taking　of　a　human　life…even　his　own…wasn't　among　them。
　There　was　one　other　thing。　By　being　stripped　of　everything…money；　possessions；　reputation…he　could　finally　see　again。　The　scales　had　fallen。　He　could　see　as　clearly　as　if　he　were　a　child　once　more：　all　the　bad　things　he　had　done；　the　crimes　he　had　mitted；　the　selfishness　and　greed。　He　could　trace　in　perfect　clarity　now　the　spiraling　ethical　descent　he　had　made　in　his　successful　career　in　business。　It　was　so　easy　to　bee　confused；　to　conflate　prestige　with　honesty；　power　with　responsibility；　sycophancy　with　loyalty；　profit　with　merit。　You　had　to　be　an　exceptionally　clear…minded　human　being　to　keep　your　integrity　in　such　a　system。
　Skiba　smiled　as　he　gazed　out　over　the　mirrored　surface　of　the　lake；　watching　it　all　disappear　in　the　evening　twilight；　everything　he　had　worked　for；　everything　that　had　once　been　so　important　to　him。　In　the　end；　even　the　battenboard　cabin　would　have　to　go；　and　he　would　never　gaze　on　this　lake　again。
　It　didn't　matter。　He　had　died　and　been　reborn。　Now　he　could　begin　his　new　life。
　
　87
　
　Officer　Jimmy　Martinez　of　the　Santa　Fe　Police　Department　settled　back　in　his　chair。　He　had　just　laid　down　the　telephone。　The　leaves　on　the　cottonwood　tree　outside　the　window　had　turned　a　rich；　golden　yellow；　and　a　cold　wind　swept　down　from　the　mountains。　He　glanced　at　his　partner；　Willson。
　〃The　Broadbent　place　again？〃　Willson　asked。
　Martinez　nodded。　〃Yeah。　You'd　think　those　neighbors　would've　gotten　used　to　it　by　now。〃
　〃These　rich　people…who　can　figure　'em　out？〃
　Martinez　snorted　his　agreement。
　〃Who　do　you　think　that　character　up　there　really　is？　Have　you　ever　seen　anything　like　it？　A　tattooed　Indian　from　Central　America；　going　around　in　the　old　man's　suits；　smoking　his　pipe；　riding　his　horses　around　that　thousand…acre　ranch；　bossing　the　servants；　playing　the　country　gentleman；　insisting　everyone　call　him　sir？〃
　〃He　owns　the　place；〃　said　Martinez。　〃It　checks　out；　all　legal。〃
　〃Sure　he　owns　the　place！　But　my　question　is：　How　the　hell　did　he　get　his　hands　on　it？　That　estate's　worth　twenty；　thirty　million。　And　then　to　run　it；　shit；　must　be　a　couple　of　mil　a　year。　Do　you　really　think　a　guy　like　that　has　money？〃
　Martinez　smiled。　〃Yeah。〃
　〃Whaddya　mean；　yeah？　Jimmy；　the　guy　has　filed　teeth。　He's　a　frigging　savage。〃
　〃No；　he　isn't。　He's　a　Broadbent。〃
　〃Are　you　nuts？　You　think　that　Indian　with　earlobes　dragging　on　the　ground　is　a　Broadbent？　Get　out；　Jimmy；　what've　you　been　smoking？〃
　〃He　looks　just　like　them。〃
　〃You　ever　met　them？〃
　〃I　met　two　of　the　sons。　I'm　telling　you；　he's　another　one　of　the　old　man's　sons。〃
　Willson　stared　at　him；　astonished。
　〃The　man　had　a　reputation　in　that　way。　The　other　sons　got　the　art；　he　got　the　house　and　a　shitload　of　money。　Simple。〃
　〃An　Indian　son　of　Broadbent？〃
　〃Sure。　I　bet　the　old　man　boned　some　woman　in　Central　America　on　one　of　his　expeditions。〃
　Willson　sat　back　in　his　chair；　deeply　impressed。　〃You're　gonna　make　detective　lieutenant　someday；　you　know　that；　Jimmy？〃
　Martinez　nodded　modestly。　〃I　know。〃
　



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