"You can't expect a guy like this to even notice if he's five minutes late for a meeting."
As if on cue, a thin weathered man appeared behind them, peering over Scully's shoulder to look at the sculp-ture of the hooked-nose man. "Uh, that's Xiuhtecuhtli, the Maya fire god. He is one of the oldest deities in the New World."
The man's wide, strikingly blue eyes carried an owlish expression of unintentional surprise, as if he was on the verge of knowing what to say but hadn't yet fig-ured out how to articulate it. A pair of reading glasses dangled from a chain around his neck. He continued his lecture.
"This fellow was the lord of passing time. Ceremonies in his name were particularly important at the peak of a fifty-two-year cycle. On that night the Maya would put out their fires in the entire city, making it dark and cold. Then the high priest would kindle a brand-new blaze." The old man's eyebrows went up, and his thin lips curled in a devilish smile. "That special fire was kindled on a prisoner's breast. The victim was tied to an altar, and the fire blazed, consuming his still-beating heart. The Maya believed that the ceremony kept time moving forward."
"Of course," Scully said.
The man extended his hand. "You must be the FBI agents. Uh, I'm Vladimir Rubicon. Sorry I'm late. "
Mulder shook the proffered hand, finding the old archaeologist's grip strong and firm, as if from a lifetime of moving heavy stone blocks. "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner, Dana Scully."
Scully shook his hand, while Mulder studied Rubicon's demeanor and the details of his features. The old archaeologist had a narrow chin accentuated by a thin goatee. Unkempt hair hung long about his ears, its whiteness tinged with brownish yellow where blond had not yet turned entirely gray; it looked as if he had spilled coffee in his hair and beard.
"Uh, I thank you for meeting with me." He fidgeted nervously, as if he didn't know how to come to his point. "If there's anything you can do to help find my daughter Cassandra and bring her back, I would be forever in your debt."
"We'll do our best, Mr. Rubicon," Scully said.
He gestured toward the exhibit, looking tired, and sad, and worried. He seemed to be avoiding a conversa-tion he dreaded. "I volunteer at the museum in the after-noons, since my courseload is light this semester. I don't really have time for it, but it's an investment in our future to keep new students interested in archaeology. It's the only way we old diggers can maintain job security." He forced a laugh, and Mulder got the sense it was a joke he used often.
"We'll need to find out more information about your daughter, Dr. Rubicon,"
Mulder said. "Can you tell us what exactly she had discovered at this new site? What was she looking for, in particular?"
"Of course. Uh, let's see ..." Rubicon's eyes widened again. "Xitaclan is a magnificent city, judging from the photographs Cassandra sent up. The find of the decade for pre-Colombian artifacts. I wish I could have been there."
"If it was such an important find, Dr. Rubicon, why was such a small team assigned to it?" Scully asked. "The UC-San Diego expedition doesn't appear to have been terribly well equipped or funded."
Rubicon sighed. "Agent Scully, you overestimate the importance universities place on unlocking the past. Would it surprise you to learn that there are an estimated one thousand sites still unexcavated in the Yucatan, Guatemala, and Honduras? That area of the world was the center of Maya culture where, uh, the greatest cities of the New World were built.
"Think of the Yucatan as ancient Greece, but barely scratched, abandoned in place. In Greece the land has been exploited for thousands of years. Old-hat stuff. In much of Central America, though, the jungle still reigns supreme.
The encroaching rain forest has swallowed up all the old cities like a protective blanket, covering them from the eyes of man."
Mulder cleared his throat. "Dr. Rubicon, I
As if on cue, a thin weathered man appeared behind them, peering over Scully's shoulder to look at the sculp-ture of the hooked-nose man. "Uh, that's Xiuhtecuhtli, the Maya fire god. He is one of the oldest deities in the New World."
The man's wide, strikingly blue eyes carried an owlish expression of unintentional surprise, as if he was on the verge of knowing what to say but hadn't yet fig-ured out how to articulate it. A pair of reading glasses dangled from a chain around his neck. He continued his lecture.
"This fellow was the lord of passing time. Ceremonies in his name were particularly important at the peak of a fifty-two-year cycle. On that night the Maya would put out their fires in the entire city, making it dark and cold. Then the high priest would kindle a brand-new blaze." The old man's eyebrows went up, and his thin lips curled in a devilish smile. "That special fire was kindled on a prisoner's breast. The victim was tied to an altar, and the fire blazed, consuming his still-beating heart. The Maya believed that the ceremony kept time moving forward."
"Of course," Scully said.
The man extended his hand. "You must be the FBI agents. Uh, I'm Vladimir Rubicon. Sorry I'm late. "
Mulder shook the proffered hand, finding the old archaeologist's grip strong and firm, as if from a lifetime of moving heavy stone blocks. "I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is my partner, Dana Scully."
Scully shook his hand, while Mulder studied Rubicon's demeanor and the details of his features. The old archaeologist had a narrow chin accentuated by a thin goatee. Unkempt hair hung long about his ears, its whiteness tinged with brownish yellow where blond had not yet turned entirely gray; it looked as if he had spilled coffee in his hair and beard.
"Uh, I thank you for meeting with me." He fidgeted nervously, as if he didn't know how to come to his point. "If there's anything you can do to help find my daughter Cassandra and bring her back, I would be forever in your debt."
"We'll do our best, Mr. Rubicon," Scully said.
He gestured toward the exhibit, looking tired, and sad, and worried. He seemed to be avoiding a conversa-tion he dreaded. "I volunteer at the museum in the after-noons, since my courseload is light this semester. I don't really have time for it, but it's an investment in our future to keep new students interested in archaeology. It's the only way we old diggers can maintain job security." He forced a laugh, and Mulder got the sense it was a joke he used often.
"We'll need to find out more information about your daughter, Dr. Rubicon,"
Mulder said. "Can you tell us what exactly she had discovered at this new site? What was she looking for, in particular?"
"Of course. Uh, let's see ..." Rubicon's eyes widened again. "Xitaclan is a magnificent city, judging from the photographs Cassandra sent up. The find of the decade for pre-Colombian artifacts. I wish I could have been there."
"If it was such an important find, Dr. Rubicon, why was such a small team assigned to it?" Scully asked. "The UC-San Diego expedition doesn't appear to have been terribly well equipped or funded."
Rubicon sighed. "Agent Scully, you overestimate the importance universities place on unlocking the past. Would it surprise you to learn that there are an estimated one thousand sites still unexcavated in the Yucatan, Guatemala, and Honduras? That area of the world was the center of Maya culture where, uh, the greatest cities of the New World were built.
"Think of the Yucatan as ancient Greece, but barely scratched, abandoned in place. In Greece the land has been exploited for thousands of years. Old-hat stuff. In much of Central America, though, the jungle still reigns supreme.
The encroaching rain forest has swallowed up all the old cities like a protective blanket, covering them from the eyes of man."
Mulder cleared his throat. "Dr. Rubicon, I
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