Excavation

The second man fell to his knees. “Dios mio!”

Carlos lowered the beaker, his hand shaking. “We’ve found it!” Exultant, he turned to his captives.

Henry backed into Joan. She clutched his hand fiercely. Henry sensed he had made a grave miscalculation. The thieves hadn’t been after the Dominican crucifix because it was gold, but because they had suspected it was made of Substance Z. Henry had inadvertently handed them the very prize they had sought. Who were these people?

Carlos nodded toward Henry and Joan, but his brusque orders were for his companion. “Silence them.”

The second man stood, pulling his own gun, much larger and more intimidating than the leader’s weapon.

“Wait!” Henry begged.

Ignoring him, the man aimed his pistol at Henry and fired. Henry’s chest exploded with fire. Joan screamed. Henry fell to his knees, his hand slipping from Joan’s. He glanced up in time to see the man twist the gun toward Joan.

“No!” he moaned, raising one hand futilely.

Too late. A muffled shot.

Joan clutched her own chest and fell. She turned stunned eyes to Henry, then glanced down. Henry followed her gaze. Her fingers pulled out a feathered barb from between her breasts, then she fell backward.

Henry glanced to his own chest. There was no bleeding bullet hole, only a red-feathered spot of agony. Tranquilizing darts?

Words, in Spanish, floated around him as the drug took effect.

“Get the men up here now.”

“What about the dead one?”

“Leave him in the office along with the janitor’s body.”

Carlos’s face suddenly bloomed close to Henry’s. His wavery dark eyes were huge. Henry felt lost in them. “We’re going for a short ride, Professor. Pleasant dreams.”

Henry slumped, but not before noticing the tiny silver cross dangling from a chain around the man’s neck. He had seen it before. It was an exact match to the one found on the mummified friar.

A Dominican cross!

Before he could ponder this newest mystery, the black grip of the drug hauled him away.

Day Four Necropolis

Thursday, August 23, 7:45 A.M. Caverns, Andean Mountains, Peru

Sam awoke on the stone floor of the cavern as someone nudged his side with a toe. Now what? Groaning a protest, he rolled away from the fire and found Norman standing nearby, staring out at the dark necropolis. The photographer had pulled the last guard shift. Even though the bat cave stood between them and the tarantula army, no one had been willing to take any chances.

“What is it?” Sam asked groggily, rubbing his eyes. After yesterday’s labors and near deadly swim in the icy stream, he wished for nothing more than another half day beside the warmth of the crackling flames. Even the smell was rather pleasant, considering the source of the fuel-almost a burnt cinnamon. From the heart of the bonfire, a charred skull glared through the flames at him. Stretching, Sam pushed up. “Why did you wake me?”

Norman kept staring at the shadowed tombs of the Incan dead. “It’s getting lighter in here,” he finally said.

Sam frowned. “What are you talking about? Did someone throw another log on the fire?” He glanced to the three bundled mummies stacked nearby like cords of wood, waiting to stoke the flames.

Norman swung around; he held a small device in his palm. It was his light meter. “No. While on guard, I checked a few readings. Since five o’clock this morning, the meter has been reading rising footcandles.” Norman’s glasses reflected the firelight. “You know what that must mean?”

Sam was too tired to think this early, not without at least a canteen of coffee. He pushed to a seated position. “Just spill it already.”

“Dawn,” Norman said, as if this made it all clear.

Sam just looked at him.

Norman sighed. “You really aren’t a morning person, are you, Sam?”

By now the others were stirring slowly from their makeshift beds. “What’s going on?” Maggie asked around a wide yawn.

“Riddles,” Sam said.

Norman shot Sam a sour look and stepped closer to encompass the entire group as he spoke. “My light meter’s been registering stronger and stronger signals since dawn.”

Maggie sat up straighter. “Really?” She glanced beyond the firelight at the dark cave.

“I waited a couple hours to be sure. I didn’t want to give anyone false hope.”

Sam pushed to his feet. He wore only his pants. His vest still lay drying beside the fire. He had been using it as a pillow. “You’re not suggesting-?”

Maggie interrupted, her words laced with excitement. “Maybe Norman’s right. If the readings are stronger as the morning progresses, then sunlight must be getting down here from somewhere.” She clapped Norman on the shoulder and shook him happily. “By Jesus, there must be a way out nearby!”

Her words sank into Sam’s consciousness. A way out! Sam stepped to the pair. “You’re sure the meter is not just registering flare-ups in the campfire?”

Norman frowned as Ralph and Denal edged around the fire to join the group. “No, Sam.” He lifted his device. “It’s definitely picking up sunlight.”