Her smile vanished. “Simple. They were trying to kill me.”
“I think that was fairly obvious, but why?”
“I don't know,” she said in a monotone, her eyes glazed. .
Austin sensed she was trying to avoid talking about something. “You haven't told us where you came from,” he said gently.
It was like pulling a plug. “Dear God,” Nina whispered. “The expedition. Dr. Knox.”
“What expedition?” Austin said.
She stared into space as if trying to remember a dream.
“I'm a marine archaeologist. I was with a University of Pennsylvania party working an excavation not far from here.”
She related the story of the massacre and her escape. The tale was so fantastic Austin might not have believed it if he hadn't seen the hovercraft attack or the unmitigated fear in Nina's face. When the narrative was finished Austin turned to Zavala.
“What do you think?”
“I think we ought to go take a look for ourselves.”
“Me, too. We'll call the Moroccan authorities first. Ms. Kirov, do you think you can give us directions to your camp?”
Nina had been fighting off the survivor's guilt at being the only one who escaped certain death. She needed to do some. thing. She slidoff the table and stood on unsteady legs.
“Better than that,” she said with a steely edge to her voice. “I'll show you.”
Serpent
7
CAPTAIN MOHAMMED MUSTAPHA OF the Moroccan Royal Gendarmerie leaned against the sun-warmed fender of his Jeep and watched the tall American woman walk slowly back and forth across the sandy clearing, her head bent toward the ground.
Like most of the country's rural policemen, the captain occupied his days chasing down truants among the village schoolchildren, filling out traffic accident reports, or checking papers of strangers, of whom there were pitifully few. The disappearance of a camel he investigated last year stirred up exciting possibilities of rustling before it was determined to be nothing more than a runaway. Yet that was the closest he'd come to tracking down a vanished archaeological expedition.
Mustapha was familiar with the area the Berbers called the Place of the Dead for the old tombs, and he was aware of the nearby ruins. It was far off the beaten track in a patrol territory that covered hundreds of square miles. He had visited the lonely spot once and stayed only long enough to decide he would not come back unless he had to.
The woman stopped and stood for a moment, hands on hips as if she were lost, then she walked over to the Jeep. “I don't understand it,” she said, her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “We were camped right here. The tents, the. vans. Everything has vanished.”
The captain turned to the broadshouldered man whose hair was the color of the snow on the Atlas Mountains. “Perhaps Mademoiselle is mistaken about the location.”
Nina glared at the police offices “Mademoiselle is not mistaken.”
He sighed. “These people who attacked you. Bandits?”
She considered the suggestion. “No, I don't think they were bandits.”
Mustapha gave a Gallic shrug worthy of a Parisian boulevardier, lit up a Gauloise, and pushed his visor back over his black hair. He was somewhat uncomfortable at being in the presence of a woman who had her legs and arms uncovered, but he was not an insensitive man. He'd have to be blind not to see the lacerations that streaked her skin, and she was clearly distraught. Yet he could observe with his own eyes that there were no tents, no pile of dead bodies, no vehicles. In fact, there was nothing to indicate the story was true.
The officer took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke out his nostrils. “I was notified, of course, that an expedition was near the Place of the Dead. Perhaps they left without telling you.”
“Great,” Nina snapped. “Of all the cops in Morocco, I get a Berber Inspector Clousseau.”
Nina's frayed nerves had made her irritable. Austin couldn't blame her for being shorttempered with the policeman's obtuseness after all she'd been through but decided it was time to intervene. “Nina, you said there was a big campfire. Could you show me about where it was?”
With the police officer trailing leisurely after them, Nina led the way to the approximate center of the clearing and drew an X in the dirt with the tip of her shoe.
About here, I'd say"
“Do you have a shovel?” Austin asked the policeman.
“Yes, of course. It is a necessary tool for driving in the desert.”
Mustapha sauntered over to his Jeep, and from a tool chest he produced a folding shorthandled army-issue spade. Austin took the spade and knelt at Nina's feet, where he began to dig a series of parallel trenches about six inches deep. The first two produced nothing of interest, but the third hit pay dirt, literally.
Austin scooped a handful of blackened earth and smelled it. Ashes from a fire.“ He placed his palm on the ground. ”Still warm," he said.
Nina was only halflistening. She was staring behind Austin at a patch of ground that seemed to be moving,
“There,” she whispered.
The dark blot was formed by thousands of tiny swarming creatures. With the edge of the shovel blade Austin cleared a space in the shiny duster of ants and started to dig. Half a foot below the surface he turned up a spadeful of dark redstained earth. He expanded the hole. More reddish stain. The ground was soaked with it. Nina got down on her knees beside him. The cloying smell of dried blood filled her nostrils.
“This is where they were shot,” she said, her voice tight with restrained emotion.
Captain Mustapha had been staring dreamily off into space, wondering when he'd be able to get home to his wife and children and a good meal. Sensing the change in atmosphere, he threw his cigarette aside and came over to kneel beside Nina. His nut brown face turned a shade lighter as he realized the significance of the discolored soil.
Allah be praised," he murmured. Seconds later he was at his Jeep talking in rapid Arabic into the radio.
Nina was still on her knees, her body rigid, gazing at the earth as if the horrible events of the night before were gushing out of the shallow hole. Austin figured that she would fall apart if he didn't tear her away. He took her arm and helped her to her feet. “I'd be interested in a look around the lagoon, if you don't mind.”
She blinked like a sleeper suddenly awakened. “That's a good idea. Maybe there's something there . . .” She led the way through the dunes. The Zodiac inflatable that had transported them from the NUMA ship was pulled up onto the stone stairway
Nina scanned the lagoon that was so peaceful now. “I can't believe they even took my marker buoys,” she said with bitter humor. With Austin a step behind, she walked along the rocky shoreline describing the unseen tunnel and cothon. Austin pointed out a dozen or so fish floating on the otherwise featureless surface.
“Probably oxygen deprivation,” Nina said. “The lagoon isn't terribly healthy for living things.” She smiled at the unintentional irony. “There was something else I didn't mention before.” She briefly described the stone head she found. Austin was unable to hide his disbelief.
“Olmec! Here?” He chewed his lower lip, trying without success to think of a polite way to express his doubt. “Not a chance.”
“I wouldn't believe it either if I hadn't seen it. I bet you'll change your mind after a short swim. I'll show you.” She kicked off her borrowed sneakers. Austin wouldn't mind a chance to cool off, and the swim would take Nina's mind off the grim find back at the clearing. Their shorts and T-shirts would dry quickly in the sun.
Nina dove in, and Austin followed. They swam a short distance until Nina stopped to take a bead on a couple of landmarks. She breaststroked with her head underwater. After a minute or so, she jackknifed in a surface dive and went straight down. Near the bottom she swam in a circle, then shot to the surface, with Austin right behind hex ,
“It's gone,” she shouted breathlessly. “The figure is gone!”
“You'
re sure this is the right spot?”
“No mistake. I lined up two landmarks when I set a buoy here. The damned thing has disappeared. C'mon, I'll show you.” Without another word she dove again.
When Austin caught up with her, she was swimming back and forth near the bottom, pointing at what looked like a moon crater. She picked something from the mud, and they headed up again to face each other, treading water.
“They blew it up,” she said, waving a piece of blackened rock in the air. “They blew the stone head to pieces.” She began to swim toward land.
Zavala was waiting for them at the stairway He'd been checking the camp's perimeter.
“The captain says to tell you he called his brigade headquarters,” he said. “They're going to get in touch with the Surete Nationale in Rabat. The Surete handles the big criminal investigations.”
Nina handed her find to Austin. “It's basalt, volcanic. I'm sure it's from the figure.”
Austin studied the rock. “The edges are ragged and charred. This piece has been in a recent explosion.” He squinted at the lagoon. “That explains those dead fish.”
“It doesn't make sense,” Nina said with a shake of her head. “They kill everybody, try to kill me. Then, instead of running off, they go to the trouble of blowing up an artifact. why?”
A silence followed in which nobody offered an answer. Austin suggested they check in with the captain and get back to the ship. They started walking back to the campsite with Nina taking the lead. Zavala purposely lagged behind and walked beside Austin. Speaking in a low tone so Nina wouldn't hear, he said, I told the captain that maybe he'd like to have someone dig around the excavation."
Austin raised an eyebrow
“Nina said the expedition had been working for several days,” Zavala added. “Yet there was no open excavation. Every trench had been filled in. That suggest anything to you?”
“Afraid it does. It might have been a case of the victims unknowingly digging their own graves.”
Zavala handed Austin a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. The round lenses were shattered. “I found these near the dig.”
Austin glanced at the eyeglasses and without a word slipped them into his pocket.
As the Zodiac pulled up beside the research vessel, Nina's eyes appreciatively appraised the meld of function and form built into the sleek bluegreen hull.
“When I saw the Nereus from shore yesterday, I thought it was a magnificent ship. It's even more beautiful up close.”
“She's more than beautiful,” Austin said, helping Nina onto the stern deck. “She's the most advanced research vessel in the world, two hundred fifty feet from stem to stern, with miles of fiberoptics and highspeed data communications in between. The Nereus has bow thrusters so she can turn on a dime or keep steady in a rough sea, and the latest in submersible vehicles. We've even got a hullmounted sonar system to map the bottom without getting our toes wet.”
Austin pointed out the tall cubeshaped structure behind the bridge. “That high superstructure is the science storage area. Inside are wet labs with running seawater. We keep the submersibles, camera sleds, and dive gear there. The ship was built to run with a small crew, around twenty. We can accommodate more than thirty scientists.”
With Nina still limping from her foot injury of the night before, they went up three decks into a passageway and stopped at a cabin door. “This is where you'll bunk for the next couple of days.”
“I don't want to put anyone out.”
“You won't. We've got an odd number of female crew aboard, and there's an empty bunk in the physician's mate cabin. You're conveniently located right next to the library and close to the most important part of ship. C'mon, I'll show you.”
He led the way along the passageway to the galley, where Zavala sat at a table drinking espresso and reading a faxed version of The New York Times. The airconditioned sterility was a potent antidote to the desolation at the Place of the Dead. The galley was the standard shipboard decor, Formica and aluminum tables and chairs bolted to the deck. But the aromas coming from the kitchen were not the usual smells of bacon and burger grease that clung to most ships' galleys.
Nina sat down, happy to take the weight off her sore foot. “I must be famished,” she said, lifting her chin to inhale. “It smells like a four-star restaurant in here.”
Zavala put the paper down. Five-star. We underpaid NUMA types must endure many hardships. The wine list is excellent, but you'll find only California vintages in our cellar."
“This is a U.S. vessel,” Austin said in exaggerated apology. “It wouldn't do to have a Bordeaux or Burgundy aboard, though our chef did graduate from Cordon Bleu, if that makes you feel better.”
“The dinner choices tonight are steak au poivre and halibut au beurre blanc,” Zavala added. “I must apologize for the chef. He's from Provence and tends to go heavy on the basil and olive oil.”
Nina looked around at the functional surroundings and shook her head in amazement. “I think I'll survive.”
With Nina relaxed, Austin decided it was a good time to bring up an unpleasant subject. First he brought her a tall glass of iced tea. “If you're okay discussing last night again, I'd like to go over what we know in case we missed something,” Austin said.
She took a sip of tea as if the brew would fortify her. “I'll be all right,” she said, and began to recount again the story of what happened the night before.
Austin listened, eyes half dosed in a sleeping lion imitation, absorbing every word and inflection, tumbling the facts over in his mind, looking for inconsistencies with the first account.
When she had finished he said, “I think you're right not going with Captain Mustapha's bandit theory. Bandits might have killed some of your people trying to rob them, but from what you described this was a deliberate massacre.”
“What about Muslim fundamentalist terrorists?” Zavala ventured. “They've killed thousands of people in Algiers.”
“Maybe, but terrorists usually like to advertise what they've done. This bunch went out of its way to hide evidence. Why would fundamentalists destroy the stone figure? That's another thing that bothers me, by the way. They'd need specialized explosives to do that.”
“Which means they would have known about the statue ahead of time,” Zavala said.
“That's right. They came prepared for underwater demolition.”
“Impossible,” Nina responded. Then, less sure, she said, “I don't see how they could have known about it.”
“Me neither,” Zavala said. “You're certain they spoke Spanish?”
She nodded emphatically
Austin said, “You can practically walk to Spain across the Strait of Gibraltar from Tangier, and that's not far from here.”
Zavala shook his head. “Doesn't mean a thing. I speak Spanish, but I'm a Mexican American who's never been to Spain.”
Nina remembered something. “Oh, that reminds me. I forgot about Gonzalez.”
“Who is Gonzalez?” Austin said.
“He was a volunteer on the expedition. Actually, he paid to be on it through a nonprofit organization called Time-Quest. I saw him talking to a man, a stranger in a Jeep, yesterday afternoon. Gonzalez said the man was lost. At the time I thought it was peculiar.”
“You thought right,” Austin said. “It could be nothing, but we'll run a check on Time-Quest and see if they have anything on Gonzalez. I assume he was killed with the others.”
“I didn't see him, but I don't know how he could have escaped.”
“What about the hovercraft that chased Nina?” Zavala asked Austin. “Maybe there's a lead there.”
"From what I could see at water level, it looked like a custom model. Maybe a Griffon made in England. I called NUMA earlier and asked them to run a check on the owners of all
Griffon hovercraft. There can't be too many of them in the world. My guess is they bought it through a dummy corporation."
“Which means they've made it hard to trace.”
br /> “Maybe even impossible, but it's worth a try.” He stared off into space, thinking. “We're still faced with the main question: why would anybody want to wipe out a harmless archaeological expedition?”
Nina had been sitting with her chin resting on her hand. “Maybe it wasn't so harmless,” she ventured.
“What do you mean?”
“I keep coming back to the Olmec figure. It's at the center of things.”
I'm still having a problem with the Olmec part. Especially since it was turned into a load of gravel."
“It's not just my evaluation. You've got to remember it was Sandy who ID'd it. She's one of the most respected Meso-american specialists in the country. Sanford's done papers and field work on all the big sites like Tikal and a lot of lesserknown but important finds.”
“Okay, let's say you and Sandy are right. Why is the figure significant?”
“It could shake up the archaeological and historical community. For years people have wondered whether there was contact between the Old and New Worlds before Columbus.”
“Like Leif Eriksson and the Vikings? I thought there was pretty conclusive evidence of that,” Zavala said.
“There is, but it's been begrudgingly accepted. I'm talking about transatlantic contact hundreds of years before the Vikings. The problem has been the lack of any scientifically proven artifact. The Olmec head would have been that artifact.”
Austin lifted an eyebrow. “Well, so what?”
“Pardon me?” she said, almost affronted.
“Say this figure does conclusively prove pre-Columbian contact. Fascinating, and certainly controversial. But how important could it be except to archaeologists, historians, and the Knights of Columbus? What makes it something to kill for, in other words?”
“Oh, I see your point,” she said, somewhat mollified, “but I can't answer you, other than to say I think my discovery precipitated the attack in some way”
“No one in the camp knew about your find.”