Hunt at the Well of Eternity by Gabriel Hunt, James Reasoner Page A

too.”
    “Exactly. We may be the only ones who can help her.”
    “You mean you may be. I’m not doing anything.”
    “There’s plenty for you to do,” Gabriel said. “Find out which museum in Mexico City has that other flag and wangle me an introduction to whoever runs the place.”
    “Consider it done,” Michael agreed. “There’s not a museum the Foundation doesn’t have some connection with.”
    “There you go,” Gabriel said. “Just get the information for me as soon as you can.”
    Gabriel signed off and concentrated on his flying. He was over the Gulf of Mexico, a seemingly endless expanse of dark blue water. Eventually a green line appeared on the horizon to the south. That was the Yucatan Peninsula, Gabriel knew.
    Not long after that a radio call came in from Michael. “I’ve located the flag,” he told Gabriel. “It’s at the Museum of the Americas, a small museum affiliated with the university down there. The director is a Dr. Almanzar. I don’t know his first name and didn’t speak directly with him, but his assistant arranged for you to meet with him this evening at the museum.”
    Gabriel let out a whistle of admiration. “That’s fast work, Michael. Maybe this Dr. Almanzar can tell me how the museum came to get its hands on Fargo’s flag in the first place.”
    “Let’s hope so. And that this leads to some actual answers and not just more questions.”
    He had outraced the sun, so it was only late afternoon when he landed in Mexico City and went through customs. He had worried a little that the Florida authorities, not to mention the ones in New York, might have put out an international alert for him since hell seemed to start popping everywhere he went, but if the Mexican customs officers knew anything about the troubles back in the States, they gave no sign of it. Gabriel passed through without any problems, rented a car, and headed for the hotel where he stayed every time he was in Mexico City.
    He took the bag containing the flag and the bottle fragment with him off the plane. He had decided that he wasn’t going to let it out of his possession again.
    By the time evening was settling down over the vast city in its high mountain basin, Gabriel had showered, shaved, put on fresh clothes, and eaten a decent room service meal washed down with strong Mexican coffee. When he left the hotel he felt considerably refreshed.
    Although affiliated with the national university, the Museum of the Americas was located in Chapultepec Park, downtown, rather than on the university campus. The large park was the site of several museums and one of the city’s cultural centers, Gabriel recalled from previous visits to the city. A purplish sunset hung in the sky as he parked in front of the small but still impressive stone building.
    The main entrance was locked, but a security guard let him in when he called through the glass in fluent Spanish that he had an appointment with Dr. Almanzar and gave his name. The guard consulted a clipboard and then unlocked the door, ushering Gabriel inside. The man pointed down a hallway lined on both sides with display cases and large paintings and said, “Dr. Almanzar’s office is at the far end.”
    “Gracias,” Gabriel said. The lighting in the hallway was subdued, but it was enough for him to see various items in the cases as he walked past them. He looked for the battle flag Krakowski had described but didn’t see it. The paintings on the walls depicted various scenes from every period of Mexico’s history.
    Gabriel knocked on the door at the end of the hall, and a woman’s voice told him in Spanish to come in. He opened the door and stepped into an office cluttered with books and papers. The woman stood beside the desk, frowning at a book in her hands. This must be the assistant, Gabriel figured. Though she didn’t appear very scholarly in a dark blue, formfitting halter dress that looked like she was ready to go out for an evening on the