Part 2 (1/2)

She gazed up at the screen a moment more. Then she sighed heavily.

”Okay,” she said, turning around to face her host again. This time there was an edge in her voice as chilly as the air in the room. ”So this is a treasure hunt, right?”

The rough-hewed face split in a smile that had thrilled tens of millions of concertgoers not to mention scores of CEOs and world rulers whom he addressed in his self-a.s.sumed capacity of global humanitarian activist.

”Imagine a world,” he said in a low, compelling voice, ”in which there's no disease, no suffering. No death.

”That would be a treasure worth hunting, wouldn't you say, Ms. Creed?”

Chapter 3.

”With all respect,” Annja said, sipping green tea in a commissary appointed like a five-star restaurant, with dark oak paneling, bronze rails and ferns in place of the more traditional scuffed Formica counters and coffee machines, ”Fountain-of-youth yarns have abounded in the Americas since, roughly, forever. As do fanciful accounts from the age of exploration. For that matter, the Jesuits have been known to bend the truth for their own purposes.”

Ignoring his chai latte, Moran nodded encouragingly. ”That's one of the reasons I contacted you,” he said. ”You obviously believe in reason, in evidence. You are also willing to keep an open mind.”

”I did wonder,” she said. ”I'm not the most famous TV archaeologist on television by a long shot.”

She smiled a bit lopsidedly. ”Then again, if it was b.o.o.bs you were after, you'd have called Kristie Chatham.”

”If you'll forgive a momentary lapse in political correctness, Ms. Creed,” he said in that voice that had thrilled hundreds of millions, ”you're a beautiful woman. At the same time I'm sure you appreciate a man in my position seldom lacks for attractive female companions.h.i.+p, should that be his intent. For my part I've tried to put my wild past behind me. So I also hope you'll understand that your striking appearance had nothing to do with my interest in engaging your services.”

She set down her cup. Her cheeks felt hot. ”Now you're flattering me.”

”Not a bit of it.”

”Well, after a speech that gallant, the least you could do is call me Annja.”

”Done. If you'll consent to call me Iain,” he said.

”It's a deal.” She sat back in her chair, picked up her cup and regarded him through a curl of steam rising into the cool air.

”You don't strike me as the sort to fall for every goofy New Age notion to float past you in a cloud of pot smoke. I presume you have evidence more compelling than a wild diary, even if its pages are protected by a killer mystery fungus. Impress me.”

”I'll do my best Annja. In the favelas favelas the brutal slums of northeastern Brazil they still speak of the the brutal slums of northeastern Brazil they still speak of the quilombo dos sonhos. quilombo dos sonhos. Legends still speak, also, of a magical city called Promise, where no one ever dies.” Legends still speak, also, of a magical city called Promise, where no one ever dies.”

”Such legends aren't exactly uncommon worldwide, despite the inroads of science,” Annja said.

”So I thought. Until a hardheaded German business a.s.sociate of mine, an aggressive atheist and skeptic, began experiencing remarkable dreams. Of a beautiful city, hidden deep in Amazon rain forest, filled with beautiful, ageless people who combined indigenous lore, Asian wisdom and Western science to create a cultural and technological paradise. In these dreams he got flashes of psychic phenomena, of cars that fly without wings or even visible engines.

”Hypnotic regression seemed to substantiate that these were real memories, submerged and now attempting to resurface. I see you look skeptical. I hardly blame you. But when we dug deeper we found recurring spells when my acquaintance dropped out of sight during trips to Brazil. It's an aggravating thing. He cannot be doc.u.mented doc.u.mented to have ever gone deeper into Amazon than Belem, where the Amazon enters the Atlantic. He merely vanished.” to have ever gone deeper into Amazon than Belem, where the Amazon enters the Atlantic. He merely vanished.”

An aide appeared, a ponytailed young blond woman in jeans. She handed several manila envelopes to Moran. He thanked her with a smile.

Beckoning to Annja to come closer, he turned and opened one of the folders on the tabletop. ”Here are the medical records for my friend,” he said, setting out sheets of paper typed in English with names blacked out. With a forefinger he pushed a color photograph toward her. It showed the bare upper torso, from neck to just above the groin, with a puckered crescent from an appendectomy scar. She was glad the photo cut off where it did.

”Here's a 'before' picture,” Moran said, tapping the image. ”And here's the 'after.'”

He pushed another photo beside the first. Annja frowned. It showed the same pale, slightly pudgy torso as the first photo, with a distinctive reddish mole at four o'clock from the navel to clinch the identification. But the surgical scar was gone.

”You don't have to go to the wilds of Brazil to have cosmetic surgery to remove scars,” Annja said.

”You rather make my point, I think,” Publico said with a smile.

Annja shrugged. ”I'm intrigued. I'll admit that much.”

He showed her a frank grin. ”So you're to be a hard sell. Well, I'd expect nothing less of you.”

He braced hands on thighs and stood. ”Well, come with me, if you will, and I'll see if I can sell you.”

”Brazil has quite a history of widespread and well-doc.u.mented UFO sightings, you know,” Publico said. ”What if some of the Maroons, retreating up the river from encroaching colonists, stumbled upon a crash site?”

They walked along the side of a sunken room Moran referred to as his ”command center.” Large plasma monitors hung from the ceiling over rings of workstations where staff wearing Bluetooth earpieces typed rapidly and spoke in earnest murmurs.

Annja chuckled. ”I'm not sure that's the tack to take,” she said. ”You know I'm the show's resident skeptic.”

”Ah, but you have an affinity for the strange, as well.”

She crossed her arms and smiled tightly to hide the little shudder that ran through her. How true that was, she thought.

To divert attention from herself she gestured around them and said, ”Where are we, anyway? What's this building? Yours?”

”In a manner of speaking. It's the New York headquarters of my eleemosynary network. It belongs to the inst.i.tute, not to me personally. Although I admit I have freedom of the place.”

”I'm impressed at the word eleemosynary.”

”Not all my degrees are honorary, Ms. Creed. My MBA from Harvard, for example.”

”A Harvard MBA? I thought you were antiestablishment, antiglobalization and all that.”

”Ah, but running a humanitarian operation actually a global network ranging from relief agencies to activists for a score of worthy causes is an incredibly demanding task. So I learn the enemy's skills to use against him, as it were.”

”If you say so.”

He turned to face her. ”Annja, I understand your skepticism. But why not go and see for yourself? That's what the spirit of scientific inquiry is about, isn't it?”

”Well... yes. And I have to admit you've at least given me enough to intrigue me.”

”What do I need to make you pa.s.sionate? I spoke earlier of saving the world. How about it? You can literally save the world or many of the people who live on it by helping track down the secret of conquering death. What else are you doing that's more exciting? More magnificent?”

”Well. Nothing. Since you put it that way,” Annja said. She felt breathless, overwhelmed, needing to take back a little control of the conversation. ”What if there's nothing to it? I can't promise results. It will probably turn out to be baseless.”

”Then you'll do it?”