Excavation

As they finally reached the site where a black tunnel opened into the side of the buried temple, a man dressed in the brown robes of a friar stepped toward them. He was darkly handsome with cold eyes that seemed to take in everything with a sharp glance.

Abbot Ruiz stared hungrily at the tunnel opening. “Friar Otera, how do things fare here?”

The monk remained bowed. “We should reach the temple ruins by noon, Your Eminence.”

“Good. Very good. You have done brilliantly.” He stepped past the bowing man without a glance, dismissing him.

Henry, though, caught the glint of white-hot anger in the monk’s eyes as he straightened, the man’s face settling back to passive disinterest. But Henry knew better. A few words of faint praise were not going to satisfy this man as they had Philip. Closer to him now, Henry noted some Indian features mixed with his Spanish heritage: a deeper complexion, a slightly wider nose, and eyes so deep a brown they seemed almost black. Friar Otera was clearly a mestizo, a half-breed, a mixture of Spanish and Indian blood. Such men had hard lives here in South America, their mixed blood often a mark of humiliation and ridicule.

Henry followed the abbot, but remained attuned to the friar’s movements. He knew he had better keep a close watch. There were dangerous layers to this man that had nothing to do with the abbot’s schemes. Henry noticed how even Philip gave the man a wide berth as the student clambered up the loose soil toward the tunnel opening.

Friar Otera took up a pace behind Henry.

As they reached the excavated tunnel, the sun climbed fully into the sky. The clear blue skies promised a hot day to come.

Suddenly a crackle of static drew their eyes toward Philip. The student reached inside his jacket and pulled free a walkie-talkie. “It must be Sam,” Philip said. “He’s early.”

Henry stepped nearer. His nephew had said he would contact base around ten o’clock. The call was a few hours ahead of schedule.

“Base here,” Philip said, lips pressed to the receiver. “Go ahead, Sam.”

Static and interference whined for a few seconds, then… “Philip? It’s not Sam. It’s Norman.”

Philip glanced over the radio to the others, brows raised. Henry understood the Harvard student’s shock. From Sam’s last radio message, Norman had been at risk of being sacrificed last night. Thank God, he was still alive!

Norman continued, speaking rapidly. “When do you expect the helicopters? We need them up here now!” Panic etched his voice.

“They’re right here!” Philip yelled back. “As a matter of fact, Professor Conklin’s with me.” Philip held out the walkie-talkie.

Henry took it, but not before noticing the narrowing of Abbot Ruiz’s eyes. A warning against any slip of the tongue. Henry raised the radio. “Norman, it’s Henry. What’s going on up there?”

“Denal’s in danger! Sam and Maggie have gone to rescue him. But we need help up here ASAP. Within the hour, several signal fires should be blazing near the cone’s western ridge. They should be visible through the mists. Hurry!”

Henry eyed the Abbot. He was already waving some of his men back toward the helicopter. They had thought to have a few hours until Sam called, but clearly Abbot Ruiz was more than happy to accelerate the schedule, especially with Norman’s next words.

“There’s something strange up here… borders on the miraculous, Professor. Must see to…” The static was growing worse, eating away words.

The abbot met Henry’s gaze, his eyes bright with religious hope. Ruiz nodded for Henry to question the photographer.

“Does it have anything to do with a strange type of gold?” Henry asked.

Norman seemed not to have heard, cutting in and out, “…a temple. I don’t know how… heals… no children though.”

The choppy transmission was clouding any clear meaning. Henry gripped the walkie-talkie firmly and pressed it closer to his lips. If he had any hope of warning Sam and the others, it would have to be now. “Norman, sit tight! We’re coming! But tell Sam not to do anything rash. He knows I don’t trust him to act on his own.”

Beside him, Philip startled at his words. Henry prayed Norman would be as equally shocked by such a statement. The entire team knew Henry held his nephew in the highest esteem and would never disparage Sam or any of them in this manner, but Abbot Ruiz didn’t know that. Henry pressed the receiver again. “I mean it. Do nothing. I don’t trust Sam’s judgment.”

“Professor?” Norman’s voice was full of confusion. Static raged from the unit. Any further words dissolved away.

Henry fiddled with the radio but only got more static. He thumbed it off. “Batteries must have died,” Henry said morosely. He prayed Norman had understood his veiled warning, but if not, at least no harm had been done. Abbot Ruiz seemed oblivious of Henry’s attempt at a secret message. He handed the radio back to Philip.

Philip returned the walkie-talkie to a pocket, then opened his mouth. “What do you mean you don’t trust Sam, Professor. Since when?”