The Codex by Douglas Preston

better looking, too.”
    Sally frowned. “I don’t find gender jokes very funny.”
    They took seats at the bar.
    “Hola” said Sally cheerfully to the bartender, a man with a heavy-lidded face. “I’m looking for the man from the New York Times.”
    “Mr. Sewell? I haven’t seen him since the hurricane, señorita.”
    “How about the reporter for the Wall Street Journal?”
    “We have no Wall Street Journal reporter here. We are but a poor country.”
    “Well, what reporters do you have?”
    “There is Roberto Rodriguez from El Diario.”
    “No, no, I’m looking for an American. Someone who knows the country.”
    “Would an Englishman suffice?”
    “Fine.”
    “Over there,” he murmured, pointing with his lips, “is Derek Dunn. He is writing a book.”
    “What about?”
    “Travel and adventure.”
    “Has he written any other books? Give me a title.”
    “Slow Water was his last book.”
    Sally dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the bar and headed toward Dunn. Tom followed. This is going to be good, he thought. Dunn was sitting by himself in a snug, working on a drink, a man with a shock of blond hair over a beefy red face. Sally halted, pointed, and exclaimed, “Say, you’re Derek Dunn, aren’t you?”
    “I have been known to answer by that name, yes,” he said. His nose and cheeks were flushed a permanent pink.
    “Oh, how exciting! Slow Water is one of my favorite books! I loved it!”
    Dunn rose, exposing a robust frame, trim and fit, dressed in worn khaki pants and a simple short-sleeved cotton shirt. He was a handsome man of the British Empire type.
    “Thank you very much indeed,” he said. “And you are?”
    “Sally Colorado.” She pumped his hand.
    She’s already got him grinning like an idiot, thought Tom. He felt foolish in his new clothes that smelled of a menswear shop. Dunn, in contrast, looked like he had been to the ends of the earth and back.
    “Won’t you join me for a drink?”
    “It would be an honor,” cried Sally.
    Dunn guided her into the banquette next to him.
    “I’ll have what you’re having,” she said.
    “Gin and tonic.” Dunn waved at the bartender and then glanced up at Tom. “You’re welcome to sit, too, you know.”
    Tom took a seat, saying nothing. He was starting to lose his enthusiasm for this idea. He did not like the red-faced Mr. Dunn, who was looking very intently at Sally—and not just at her face.
    The bartender came over. Dunn spoke in Spanish. “Gin and tonic for me and the lady. And—?” He glanced at Tom.
    “Lemonade,” said Tom sourly.
    “Y una limonada,” added Dunn, his tone conveying exactly what he thought of Tom’s choice of beverage.
    “I’m so glad to have run into you!” Sally said. “What a coincidence!”
    “So you read Slow Water,” said Dunn, with a smile.
    “One of the best travel books I’ve ever read.”
    “It certainly was,” said Tom.
    “You read it, too?” Dunn turned to him with an expectant look.
    Tom noted that Dunn had already polished off half his drink.
    “I certainly did read it,” said Tom. “I especially liked the part where you fell in the elephant shit. That was hilarious.”
    Dunn paused. “Elephant shit?”
    “Wasn’t there elephant shit in your book?”
    “There are no elephants in Central America.”
    “Oh. I must be mixing it up with another book. Beg your pardon.”
    Tom saw Sally’s green eyes fixed on him. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or suppressing a laugh.
    Dunn turned in his chair, placing his square back to Tom, devoting his attention to Sally. “You might be interested to know I’m working on a new book.”
    “How exciting!”
    “I’m calling it Mosquitia Nights. It’s about the Mosquito Coast.”
    “Oh, that’s just where we’re going!” Sally clapped her hands in excitement, like a girl. Tom took a sip, regretting his choice of drink. He was going to need something a little stronger to get through this. He should never have agreed to let Sally do the