A finder?"
“St. I'll explain. I've been hunting since I was eight years old. I've roamed throughout the Yucatan and. in Belize and Guatemala. In the course of my wanderings I frequently stumbled across ruins. Some people say I must carry a Ouija board around in my head. I think it's a combination of the alertness to his Surroundings a hunter must have, and simple mileage. If you walk long and far enough in these parts, you'll trip over a remnant left by my busy ancestors. Now tell me, what interest does a marine biologist have in the work of a landbound bonedigger?”
“I have an odd request, Dr. Chi. As you noted in my CV, I was an underwater bonedigger before I switched to living things. My two areas of interest have combined through the years. Whenever I'm in new territory, I look for ancient artistic renderings of marine life. An obvious example is the scallop. The Crusaders took it as their emblem. You can find paintings and carvings of scallop shells dating back thousands of years to the Greeks and Romans, and even before.”
“An interesting hobby,” Chi said.
“It's not really a hobby, although I find it fern and relaxing. It gives me an eye into the past, before the age of scientific drawings. I look at a painting or a carving and get an idea of what a species looked like hundreds or thousands of years ago. By comparing it to the creature as it exists today I can see if there has been genetic evolution or mutation. I'm thinking about doing a book on my collection. Do you know of any archaeological sites that have depictions of marine life? I'm looking for fish, shellfish, coral. Any sea creature that may have caught the eye of a Mayan artisan.”
Chi had been listening intently. “What you're doing is fascinating. And worthwhile because it proves that archaeology is not a dead science of use to no one. Too bad you didn't .mention exactly what you wanted on the phone. It would have saved you from coming way out here.”
“It was no problem, and I wanted to meet you personally.”
“I'm glad you did, but the Maya's artistic subjects tended toward birds, jaguars, and serpents. Chances are that any renderings of sea life will be so stylized that you wouldn't recognize them as anything you'd seen in a biology book. Like those parrot carvings that some people say look like elephants.”
“That just makes the subject more interesting.. I have some time off from the tektites project. If you could point me toward some ruins I'd be grateful.”
He thought for a moment. “There's a site perhaps two hours from here. I'll take you there. You can browse around. Maybe you'll find something.”
“You're sure it's not too much trouble?”
“Not at all.” He looked at a dock. “We'd be there about lunchtime, spend a couple of hours, and be back here by late afternoon. You could drive to the research vessel while it's still daylight.”
“That would be fine. We can go in my Jeep.”
“No need to,” he said. “I have a time machine.”
“Pardon?” She wasn't sure she heard him correctly.
“There's a bathroom in there. Why don't you freshen up while I pack lunch?”
Gamay shrugged. She retrieved her rucksack from the Jeep, then came back inside and rinsed her face and combed her hair. Chi was closing an Igloo cooler when she came out of the bathroom.
“Where do I catch the time machine?” she asked, getting into the spirit of things.
“It's in the temporal transport module,” he said seriously, leading the way out the door. He took the shotgun with him “You can never tell when you might run across some birds.”
They went around behind the lab building to a path that led to another native shelter. This one had no walls, the roof supported by poles at each comer. Under the palm roof was a blue HumVee four-wheel-drive vehicle.
Gamay let out a whoop. “This is your time machine?”
“What else would you call a contrivance that can take you to cities where ancient civilizations once flourished? I'm aware that it looks very much like the civilian version of a military vehicle used in the Persian Gulf War, but that was done on purpose to discourage the curious.”
He placed the cooler in the rear and opened the door for Gamay. She got in the passenger seat, recognizing the airplane-like dashboard instrumentation. She and Paul owned a Hummer back in Georgetown. Designed to replace the Jeep, its imposing width made it a formidable force in Washington traffic, and on weekends they weren't remodeling their brick townhouse they liked to drive offroad in rural areas.
“The route we came in with the Jeep is actually the back way” Chi explained. “There's a track here that leads out to the road.” He got in and started the engine. His head barely made it above the wheel.
This was going to be some adventure, Gamay thought. She leaned back in her seat and said, “Take it to warp six, Mr. Sulu.”
“Warp six it is,” he said, putting the Hummer into gear. The vehicle lurched forward. “But if you don't mind, first we'll take a detour through the twelfth century.”
Tucson, Arizona
Serpent
17
THE RUGGED PEAK OF MOUNT LENNON rising from the Santa Catalina range was visible out Austin's window as the jetliner made its approach to Tucson International Airport. The landing was smooth, and minutes later he and Zavala shouldered their duffel bags, stepped from the terminal into the hard Arizona sunlight, and looked for their ride. A dusty silver Ford F150 pickup tooted its horn and pulled up to the curb. Austin, who was nearer the truck, opened the passenger door. And blinked. Behind the wheel was the last person he expected to see. Nina Kirov.
Nina had exchanged the dressier outfit of the NUMA meeting for tan cargo shorts and a pale blue shirt. “Can I give you boys a lift?” she said in a deep Southern drawl. “I never paid you back for that exciting sea scooter ride.”
Austin laughed, partly to hide his amazement. “I could say we've got to stop meeting like this, but I wouldn't mean it.”
Zavala's mouth dropped open when he saw who Austin was talking to.
“Hi, Joe,” Nina said. “If you and Kurt throw your bags in the back, we can be on our way.”
As the two men tossed their duffels behind the cab Zavala whispered with unveiled admiration, “How'd you arrange this one?”
Austin grunted noncommittally and gave Zavala a knowing wink. They got in the cab, and the truck joined the traffic leaving the airport. As they turned onto Tucson Boulevard heading north Nina said, “I really should explain things. I really do have a new assignment. I'll be working with you and your team on this project.”
“I'm pleasantly surprised. I'm just curious why you didn't mention your plans when I saw you in Washington this morning.” .
Admiral Sandecker asked me not to say anything."
Zavala chuckled. “Welcome to the weird and wacky world of NUMA.”
Nina went on. “He said you had been out of the picture for a while, and he wanted to introduce you to what was going on one brushstroke at a time. Also, he wanted you focused for the meeting and was afraid you might be, uh, distracted if you knew I was going to be working with you.”
Austin shook his head. Sandecker could always be expected to do the unexpected. “He's right, I would have been totally distracted.”
She smiled. “He needed an archaeologist to give the project an authentic ring. He asked me if I would help. I said yes. It was the least I could do.”Her voice hardened. “I want to catch these people, whoever they are.”
“I can understand your feelings, Nina, but we don't know what we're dealing with: This could be dangerous.”
“I considered that possibility very carefully and at great length. The admiral gave me every chance to pull out.”
“Please don't take this the wrong way, but did it ever occur to you that the admiral asked you to be part of this for reasons other than your technical expertise?”
Nina glanced at him with serious gray eyes. “He made it very clear from the outset.”
“Then you know you're being used as bait.”
She nodded. “It's
the main reason I'm here, to try to draw the people who killed Dr. Knox, Sandy, and the others. I want them brought to justice whatever the cost. Besides, there's no certainty that they're even interested in me anymore. I've been back in Cambridge for weeks, and the most dangerous thing I've encountered is the traffic around Harvard Square. Nobody in a black suit has jumped out of a closet. I haven't had any bodyguards to protect me, and I'm still alive.”
Austin decided not to tell Nina that the bodyguards he'd arranged to keep an eye on her were around; she just hadn't seen them. There was no mistaking the stubborn jut to Nina's chin. She was determined to see this thing through.
“My stern paternal tone may suggest otherwise, but I'm very glad to see you again.”
The faint scowl Nina had assumed during Austin's lecture was replaced by a smile.
Before long they turned onto the Pioneer Parkway going toward Oracle Junction. The tract housing started to give way to desert and saguaro cactus. Zavala, who'd been listening patiently, knew Austin's mind was working at a couple of levels, his professional concerns and his personal ones. With his Latin heritage, Joe was a romantic at heart, but he could see that Sandecker was right about possible distractions. He took the pause as an opportunity to kick off the discussion in a more practical direction.
“Now that we've got that matter straightened out, maybe we could discuss the sting.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” Austin agreed. “Ruth filled us in, but we should go over the details in case he missed something.”
“I'll tell you what I know,” Nina said. “When we first started talking it quickly became apparent that the obstacles to pulling together an elaborate plan in a short time were substantial.”
“Don't know why,” Austin said. All you needed was a promising archaeological site, a dummy expedition that would look credible, people you could count on to dig, an amazing artifact to discover, and a way to get word of the find out to friends and enemies alike."
“That about sums it up. It was like putting together an off-Broadway production,” Nina said.. “Only we .were expecting to do it without a stage, actors, or script. The admiral had given Commander Gunn the assignment of organizing the sideshow. He suggested we piggyback on an expedition that was already in place. But this would present its own difficulties.”
Austin nodded. "You would have to waltz into a legitimate dig, say 'We're taking over, and oh, by the way, we. want to bury a fake artifact because we want to attract a bunch of armed assassins.' Yes, that could be a problem.
“A big problem. So the commander came up with a proposal that was really a stroke of genius.”
“It often is with Rudi,” Austin said.
“His idea was to build on a legend. The Arizona Romans.”
Zavala chuckled. “Sounds like the name of a soccer team.”
“It could be, but it isn't. Back in 1924, near an old adobe kiln at the Nine Mile Hole stagecoach stop, some people unearthed what looked like a religious cross made of lead and weighing sixty-two pounds. They thought it might have been left by Jesuit missionaries or Spanish conquistadors. The cross was encrusted in caliche, a hard crust of calcium carbonate. When they cleaned off the concretion they found true crosses, fastened together with lead rivets. And there was writing on the metal.”
“Kilroy was here,” Zavala offered.
“Kilroy was writing in Latin. The University of Arizona translated the writing, and it told an incredible story. How in A.D. 775, seven hundred men and women led by Theodorus the Renowned sailed from Rome and were blown across the ocean by storms. They made landfall, abandoned their ships, and continued north on foot until they reached a warm desert. They built a city called Terra Calalus that prospered until the Indians, who had been made slaves, revolted and killed Theodorus. The city was rebuilt, but the Indians revolted again. The Romans' elder, a man named Jacobus, ordered the story inscribed on the cross.”
“The Romans had ships big and seaworthy enough to make the trip,” Austin said, “but it sounds more like something out of an old pulp magazine. Conan the Barbarian.”
“Or Amalric the Mangod of Thoorana,” Zavala added.
“Okay, you two,” Nina said with mock irritation. “This is serious stuff. As your reaction so eloquently testifies, the story is fair game for a skeptic, which is what happened back then. But they changed their minds when a Roman head engraved in metal was found near the site of the cross, also covered with caliche. An archaeologist at the university organized a dig. They found more crosses, nine ancient swords, and a labarum an imperial Roman standard. Some people became believers. Others said the objects were left by Mormons.”
“They came all the way from Utah to bury these things?” Austin said.
Nina shrugged. “There was worldwide controversy. Some experts said that the depth of the objects and the caliche crust proved they could not have been a hoax unless it was perpetrated before Columbus. The skeptics found the written phrases were similar to those in Latin grammar books. Someone said the artifacts could have been left by a political exile from the time of Maximilian, whom Napoleon placed on the Mexican throne.”
“What happened to the artifacts?”
“The university decided the project had become too commercial. They've been stored in a bank ever since. No money was available to continue excavations.”
“I think I see where we're going with this,” Austin said. After all this time, money has been found for the excavation. And my guess is it comes out of the NUMA budget."
“Uhhuh. We're saying that the expedition is being financed by a wealthy backer who wants to remain anonymous. This Person has been fascinated by the story since he was a child and would like to see the mystery cleared up once and for all. Magnetometer readings showed some interesting possibilities at an abandoned ranch near the original excavation site. We dug there and found a Roman relic.”
“Quite a story,” Zavala said. “Think anyone will buy it?”
“We know they will. The papers and TV stations have already run articles that have helped to give us credibility. When we got in touch with Time-Quest they knew about the project and were eager to help.”
They gave you money?" Austin said.
“We didn't ask for any. We did request volunteers. They sent two of them. In return, they asked, as was their custom, to be notified before the press of any unusual find. Which we've already done.”
Austin was thinking ahead. “With all this publicity it's going to be pretty hard to make an expedition disappear off the face of the earth.”
“The admiral talked about that. He thinks the public nature of the dig will discourage assassination attempts. They'll try to steal or destroy the relic.”
“Maybe they won't come in with guns blazing, but I wouldn't advise standing in their way if that's the case,” Zavala said.
“When did you tell Time-Quest about the artifact?” Austin asked.
“Three days ago. They asked us to hold off telling anybody else for seventy-two hours.”
“Which means they'll make their move tonight”
Nina briefed them on the excavation. She was the project archaeologist. The NUMA staff's undersea backgrounds were being tweaked to give them more landoriented credentials. Trout had easily switched into the role of geologist. Austin would be billed vaguely as an engineer Zavala as a metallurgist.
The truck continued climbing to the high desert country on the fringe of Tucson. It was late afternoon when they left the main highway and bumped down a dirt road past stands of mesquite, chulo, and cactus. They stopped where two Winnebago RVs and several other vehicles were clustered near a crumbling .pile of adobe bricks. Austin got out and surveyed the location. Old rock walls more or less defined the abandoned ranch. The rays of the afternoon sun filtering through the buildup of clouds gave the desert a coppery tint.
Trout's lank form came striding over, hand extended. He wore khakis that looked as if they had just come off a clothes rack at the Gap, a button down pin
striped dress shirt, and a paisley bow tie that was smaller and slightly less flamboyant than his usual neckwear. The only concession to the grunt nature of an archaeological dig were his work boots, although the leather looked as if he had just buffed it with a cloth.
“Got in from DC this morning with Nina,” he explained. “C'mon, I'll show you around.” He led the way behind the ruins of the old hacienda to a low hill where a patch of ground had been staked out into a grid. An older couple was working at a framework made of wood and wire mesh. The man was shoveling dirt into the screen, and the woman was culling out objects trapped by the wire mesh and placing them in plastic bags. Trout made the introductions. George and Harriet Wingate were a handsome couple who could have been in their late sixties or early seventies but displayed the fitness and energy of younger people. They were from Washington, they said.
“That's the state of Washington,” Mrs. Wingate corrected with a proud smile.
“Spokane,” clarified her husband, a tall man with silver hair and beard.
“Nice town,” Austin said.
“Thank you,” the husband said. “Thanks, too,, for coming by to lend a hand. This archaeology stuff is slightly harder than eighteen holes of golf. Can't believe we're actually paying to do this work.”
“Oh, listen to him. He wouldn't have missed a chance like this for the world. George, why don't you tell. them about the Indian Jones hat you want to buy?”
Her husband pointed to the sun. “That's Indiana Jones, dear. Like the state. Just trying to avoid sunstroke,” he said with a grin that was almost hidden behind his bushy white whiskers.
After exchanging further pleasantries the new arrivals were led over to the excavation. Two men were on their knees in adjoining shallow rectangular pits scraping the dirt away with garden trowels. Austin recognized them as ex-navy SEALS who had been attached to the NUMA team on previous assignments. Sandecker was taking no chances. These were two of the top men from NUMAs security division. The taller man, whom Austin knew simply by the name of Ned, had the classic broad shoulders and narrow waist of a bodybuilder. The trowel looked like a toothpick in his hand. Carl, his shorter companion, was wirier, but Austin knew from past experience that he was the more deadly of the two.