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Sam left the room and rejoined Remi on the patio. He recounted his conversation with Yaotl. She said, “Sam . . . electricity and power drills? That’s mean.”
“No, doing it would be mean. I just planted the seed and let his imagination chew on it for a while.”
“Yaotl said four days ago, right? He got the call from Rivera four days ago?”
“Yes.”
“That was our first day on the island.”
Sam nodded. “Before we found the bell.”
“Then it’s us they’re interested in.”
“And the bell, perhaps. Our ruse with the legal pad clearly got their attention.”
“But how did they know we were here?” Remi asked, then answered her own question: “The BBC interview right after we landed?”
“Could be. Let’s put it together: Rivera and whomever he’s working for find out we’re here. They got worried we might find something and they came to investigate.”
“It’s a big island, though,” Remi replied. “They’d have to be awfully paranoid to think we’d stumble onto whatever they’re worried about. Even if it’s something as big as our bell, it’s a proverbial needle in a haystack.”
“The interviewer asked us where we were planning on diving. We told her Chumbe Island. Maybe that was the magic phrase.”
Remi considered this. “And, like it or not, we’ve got something of a reputation. We’ve had some great luck finding treasure that didn’t want to be found.”
Sam smiled. “You call it luck. I call it—”
“You know what I mean.”
“So it’s the combination of us, Zanzibar, and Chumbe Island that got their attention.”
They went silent for a minute, each examining their what-if scenario from various angles. Finally Remi broke the silence: “Sam, our friend inside . . . his name is Yaotl, his boss’s name is Itzli, and the third is named . . .”
“Nochtli.”
“And they’re from Mexico?”
“So he said.”
“Those aren’t Spanish names.”
“So I guessed.”
“I’ll have Selma do some double checking for me, but I’m almost certain those are Nahuatl in origin.”
“Nahuatl?”
“Aztec, Sam. Nahuatl was the language of the Aztecs.”
THEY STOOD IN SILENCE for the next ten minutes, watching the steam rise from the sheet draped around the bell. Sam checked his watch and said, “Time.”
Using his fingertips, Sam uncoiled the sheet from around the bell, then dragged it away and piled it at the edge of the patio. He turned back to see Remi kneeling before the bell.
“Sam, you need to see this.”
He walked around to her side and leaned over her shoulder.
Though still heavily mottled, the nitric acid had removed enough patina that they could make out the lettering engraved in the bronze:
