(The Room of the Dons: Mark Hopkins Hotel, San Francisco)

What set the elegant banquet hall off that evening as different from many other gatherings at one of San Francisco's most historic five-star hotels, was not only the all-female congregation of guests in attendance, but a special spotlight devised to illuminate one of the nine stunning murals covering the south wall of the room.

It was an exquisite painting of Califia, a literary character, created as Queen of the legendary Amazons. It had been stylistically and controversially rendered by artist Maynard Dixon in the Art Deco motif of the 1920's, when the hotel was rebuilt. The painting featured the elegant character of Spanish writer Montalvo's 'Queen of the Amazons,' ruling her paradisiacal Island of California in bold, flat colors. It was she whom Dixon and fellow painter Frank Von Sloun felt most appropriate to include in their breathtaking mural series, expressing the history and spirit of California itself.

Appearing fierce but elegant, and flanked by two of her Amazon warriors against a gold leaf sky, Califia's most memorable feature is that she displays an exotic composite of all races of women in the world today, more closer in complexion to 'women of color'—as described in it's day. Almost a century after the painting was installed into the landmark hotel, designed to be the cultural hub of San Francisco's elite patrons of the Arts and belle letres, the central character reflects back into the room an 'uno mundo' synthesis of women.

Califia was here depicted to prophetically represent the faces of all females seen in the state of California today—Hispanics, African-Americans, Native Americans, and those from the far and near East. As indisputable queen from an indeterminable time, she stares out at a world constantly changing. With her bare breasts exposed, and wearing a royal robe embellished with griffins and fearsome creatures, she is saying to anyone in the room who looks upon her, "Do not underestimate my power."

The special dinner guests that evening—some fifty or sixty women in all, were now seated quietly awaiting the keynote speaker's address. The females of this exclusive society had come from as far away as Australia, Sweden, Turkey and China for the occasion to celebrate an anniversary of sorts. Although the congregation had the appearance of any other philanthropic society, headquartered in a cosmopolitan city, its degree of secrecy and anonymity of membership had kept it to a degree unto itself. For many centuries it had remained as one of the most cryptic in the world.

Outside the Room of the Dons banquet area, a private security detail had closed the dinning room doors following the last registered guest to arrive. The scheduled presentation prior to the dinner celebration was to be held under the most stringent controls the hotel could muster. Restaurant and hotel staff was kept outside the meeting area by the management, barring anyone else's attendance until the proceedings adjourned.

At 9:15 PM, the guests—a mixed group in age, of what seemed like well-dressed benefactors, professionals and academics, chatted at their tables in a reserved manner. The lights suddenly dimmed, signaling the meeting was underway. A slim, middle-aged yet athletic woman, wearing a black pants suit approached the dais and smiled. Her hair was cut short but elegant with a distinctive white streak on one side. The short hair exposed a pair of dangling silver earrings of a curvilinear design. She also wore a pair of ancient snake-style bracelets, also silver, which clung to her olive-complexioned upper arms. A single string of large, verdant green stones comprising a necklace, extended to her breasts.

Behind the speaker was a large, white theater screen which she moved to the center of and paused dramatically. She nodded subtly to two women in the back of the room who stood before the closed doors, checked them to be secure, and then dimmed the lights. The speaker for now was highlighted in a spotlight, her features classically attractive and Mediterranean.

"I want to greet you all this very special evening, and thank you for your most gracious attendance," she said in a strident voice, revealing a perceptible accent, either middle eastern or Greek. "We are here together tonight to celebrate a landmark birthday. Ten very productive years of your efforts, generous donations and hard work, have combined to reveal what I am about to show you this evening."

Smiles and whispers rippled among the guests, as many of the women beamed proudly back at the speaker and at each other, not unlike family members at a long-awaited reunion.

"I would therefore like to begin this evening's report on our progress by showing you a few pictures of someone very close to all our hearts."

There was a rustle of excitement in the room.

"It's someone many of you have not seen in several years. I believe you will be uplifted by nature's beautiful hand at work here. And also inspired by all our loving and united efforts."

A stone silence fell over the crowd, as if the next moment was what the women had all come to witness. The speaker, holding her remote microphone, walked to the side of the stage allowing the large screen to be unobstructed. As the wall lit up, her shadow to the side was now thrust upon and dwarfed against the innocent facial features of a young girl. The room burst into an irrepressible congress of animated cheers, smiles and applause as the women reacted to the girl's angelic yet wise-looking face.

"You will be pleased to know that all of our activities to maintain the sacred aims and growth of our order . . . symbolized here so wonderfully in this living, breathing miracle, are ongoing and now vigorously supported on every continent."

The women in the room were still marveling at the image of the girl in hushed, animated conversations. When their reactions had settled down, the speaker continued.

"This fact is attested to by these incredible images and by your very presence here tonight!"

A series o other photos of the same girl flashed onto the screen and there was a fresh explosion of applause, followed by silence, almost reverence, as the women awaited the next pictures to be projected onto the large screen. As the photos illuminated the room, many of the women stood up uncontrollably with emotional shouts of elation. Some of the more reserved in the group responded to the ten-year-old child with facial expressions of awe and long awaited satisfaction. By the last image of the beautiful girl—standing regally near a horse in the bright sunlight, the women were unanimously wiping back tears of joy and hugging each other in celebration. They had most definitely seen what they had traveled so far to witness.

* * *

For Nicasio, that morning found him exactly as he had fallen asleep on his bed the night before. He was still fully dressed and dirty from his last day of intensive work at the Bixby site. A look at his watch explained that he had finally crashed-out and slept for what amounted to some eleven hours since loosing consciousness around midnight. Angry with himself for not having the energy to take a bath, he headed in the direction of the shower when his Blackberry rang. Picking up the devise and looking at the small screen, he could see it was the professor, not Daniela as he had hoped. This angered and depressed him even more.

He debated within himself whether he should even answer the call until he was clean, had some coffee, and felt a bit more centered. He opted to let it ring, heading off to a much needed bath. Professor Simons, he was only now learning, seemed to know no limits of what was tolerable to anyone with regards to fatigue, be it a dedicated scholar or otherwise. It was obvious the aged professor, who had already spent a lifetime tirelessly investigating historical remains of early California, had now become overly enchanted if not obsessed by this latest discovery.

The whole project was proving to be his most perplexing and possibly most significant investigation into the murky past of North America's western boundaries. And it would be a fitting challenge and the accomplishment of a lifetime with which to end his long career, Nicasio thought.

Half an hour later the phone rang again and a cleaner, more relaxed Nicasio answered the professor's call, only hoping once more it would have been Daniela.

"Yes, professor. Good morning!"

"It's after noon, Nicasio! Why aren't you at the library?"

"I was just heading out the door. OK . . . I slept in a bit . . . as a reward to our big find yesterday."

"Well, I've got some disturbing news to share with you, so stop the celebrating and get back on task to listen."

Nicasio was trying to put into perspective just how demanding that statement sounded.

"We're going to be in direct contact daily from now on, Nicasio. Both while you're researching here and abroad. There's been a real game-changer in all of this. And its something I need to discuss with you at length when you get back from your work at the Bancroft this evening. I just need to get a few more facts on this disturbing new twist."

He could tell from the professor's voice that the intensity of their project had just been ratcheted up exponentially by something else besides the discovery of a Spanish coin.

"I'll try to have some particulars for you by this afternoon, young man. Keep your phone open. And no more sleeping on the job!"

Before Nicasio could respond, the professor had uncharacteristically hung up.

* * *