Excavation

Norman saw Henry’s shoulders slump slightly, defeated. He nodded.

From his hiding place, Norman clenched his fists in helpless frustration. The gunman had to have been referring to Philip. The Harvard student must be held hostage back at the camp.

“The collected prisoners will be questioned,” the man continued. “You will help in the interrogation.”

“I understand,” Henry snapped back. “But if my nephew or any of the others are harmed, you can all go fuck yourselves.”

The man’s countenance grew even darker, but he just stepped back. He used his free hand to slip out a cigarette.

Norman shifted his crouched position, his right hand landing upon a chunk of volcanic rock. He clutched the rock and stared back at the sole man holding the professor captive. Norman worked the red rock free. If he sneaked along that ridge of basalt, it would put the helicopter between him and the guard. Norman already began to move, sidling along the jungle’s edge. He knew even the chopper’s pilot had left with the assault team, leaving only the single guard. It was a risk, but one that could save them all. If he could free the professor, they could flee together and join Sam’s group.

Norman reached the folded ridge of volcanic basalt, took a deep breath, then broke from cover and dashed across the open few yards to reach the cover of the ridge. He dived back into the welcome shadows, waiting for bullets to pepper the slope behind him, sure he had been seen. Nothing happened. He leaned a moment on the rough rock. He raised the chunk of volcanic stone, suddenly questioning how smart this was. Before fear could immobilize him, he pushed onward, scuttling like a crab in the shadow of the basalt ridge.

Once he was sure he had gone far enough, he risked a quick peek over the ridge. He was right. The bulk of the helicopter stood between him and the gunman. Norman climbed over the ridge as quietly as possible. The soft scrape of rock sounded explosively loud, but Norman knew it was all in his head. Besides, he was committed. Out in the open.

He ran with the rock clutched to his chest, his heart pounding so loudly that even the Incas at the village could probably hear it. But he made it to the shadow of the helicopter. He knelt and spotted the feet of the two men on the far side. They seemed unaware of his presence.

Crawling under the helicopter, Norman moved around the extra fuel tanks. Strands of quinoa tickled his arms as he sneaked to the far side of the chopper. Ahead, both the professor and the gunman stood, their backs to him. The pair stared toward the jungle. The robed guard exhaled a long trail of smoke.

Holding his breath and biting his lip, Norman slipped free. He could either creep slowly, thus avoiding any obstacles…or simply make a mad dash toward his quarry. But Norman didn’t trust his shaky legs with speed. So he stepped cautiously, placing one foot after the other, edging toward the gunman.

He was only an arm’s length away when all hell broke loose.

Explosions suddenly rocked the valley. The center of the jungle ripped far into the sky, flaming shards raining down.

Norman gasped at the sight, unable to stop his surprised response.

Hearing him, the gunman twisted on a heel and dropped to a crouch.

Norman found himself staring at the business end of a pistol. “Drop it!” the man ordered.

There was no need for words. The rock in Norman’s hand was already falling from his numb fingers.

From the jungles, screams and yells echoed forth. Gunfire rattled like a cupful of teeth.

Over the man’s head, Norman spotted Henry. He wore a look of hopelessness and defeat.

Norman slumped, matching the expression. “I’m sorry, Professor.”

Sam stumbled to a stop when the first explosion tore through the valley. He crouched slightly at the rain of flaming debris. “What the hell-?”

Denal crouched down, too.

Maggie was at Sam’s shoulder, her eyes wide. “They’re attacking the village!”

Sam stayed low. “Uncle Hank would never do that.”

“What if it’s not the professor,” Maggie said. “Maybe someone else saw the signal fires. Thieves. Huaqueros. Maybe even the same bastards who tried to tunnel into our dig last week. Maybe they intercepted our radio messages an’ beat Uncle Hank here.”

Sam sank to the slope. “What are we going to do?”

Maggie’s eyes were fierce. “Stop them.” She nodded toward where the helicopter rested in the field, half-obscured by a peninsula of jungle. “Take that out, and these thieves aren’t going anywhere. Then call the professor and warn him to come with the police or army.” She turned to Sam. “We can’t let them murder and steal what we found here.”

Sam was nodding with her words. “You’re right. We have to at least try.” He stood up. “I’ll go and reconnoiter the site. See what’s up.”

“No,” Maggie argued. “We remain together.”

Sam frowned, but Maggie’s expression did not budge.