Excavation

Henry stared down the long corridor toward the distant sunlight. “So the friar was right. He tried to warn us of what lay here.” Now it was Henry’s turn to relate his own story, of his time with the monks of the Abbey of Santo Domingo. His voice cracked with the mention of the forensic pathologist, Joan Engel. Another death in the centuries-long struggle to possess this strange gold. But Maggie read the additional pain behind the professor’s words, a part of the story left unspoken. She didn’t press.

Once done, Henry wiped his nose and turned to the temple. “So the Incas built here what the abbot dreamed. A structure large enough to reach some otherworldly force.”

“But is it the coin of God?” she asked, nodding toward Sam. “Or the blood of the Devil?” She glanced to the next caldera. “What is its ultimate goal? What is the purpose of those creatures?”

Henry shook his head. “An experiment? Maybe to evolve us? Maybe to destroy us?” He shrugged. “Who knows what intelligence guides the temple’s actions. We may never know.”

Muffled voices and the scrape of heel on rock drew their attention around. It was too soon for Norman and Denal to be returning. Flashlights suddenly blinded them from the tunnel’s entrance. An order was shouted at them: “Don’t move!”

Maggie and Henry stood still. What else could they do? There was no escape behind them. But in truth, neither was willing to abandon Sam. They waited for their captors to approach. “Do whatever they say,” Henry warned.

Like hell I will! But she remained silent.

A huge man, who from the professor’s story could only be Abbot Ruiz, crossed to the professor. Maggie was given only the most cursory glance. “Professor Conklin, you’ve proven yourself as resourceful as ever. You beat us here.” He frowned at Maggie. “Of course, the tongues you needed to free were a little easier than ours, I imagine. These Incas proved themselves quite stubborn. Ah, but the end result is the same. Here we are!”

The abbot stepped past them to view the chamber. He stood, staring for a moment at the sight. Then his large form shuddered, trembling all over. Finally, he fell to his knees. “A miracle,” he exclaimed in Spanish, making a hurried sign of the cross. “The sculpture on the table appears to be Christ himself. Like in our vault at the Abbey. It is a sign!”

Maggie and Henry glanced at each other. Neither corrected the abbot’s misconception.

“See how it trickles down from the roof. The old Incan tales spoke of the mother lode. How it flowed like water from the mountaintops! Here it is!”

Maggie edged closer. She knew, sooner or later, the abbot would discover his mistake. She could not let these men interfere with Sam’s healing. She cleared her throat. “This chamber is just a trinket,” she said softly.

The abbot, still kneeling, turned to her. His eyes still shone with the gold. “What do you mean?”

“This is just the temple, the entrance,” she said. “The true source lies in the next valley. The Incas call it janan pacha.”

“Their heaven?” the abbot said.

Maggie nodded, glad the man had some knowledge of the Incan culture. She glanced to Henry. He wore a deep frown, clearly guessing her plot. He didn’t approve, but he remained silent. Maggie returned her attention to the abbot. “This temple is just a roadside prayer totem. A gateway to the true wonders beyond.”

The abbot shoved to his feet. “Show me.”

Maggie backed a step. “Only for a guarantee of our safety.”

Abbot Ruiz glanced down the corridor. One eye narrowed suspiciously.

“Heaven awaits,” Maggie said, “but without my help, you’ll never find it.”

The abbot scowled. “Fine. I guarantee your safety.”

“Swear it.”

Frowning, Abbot Ruiz touched the small gold cross hanging from his neck. “I swear it on the blood of Jesus Christ, Our Savior.” He dropped his hand. “Satisfied?”

Maggie hesitated, feigning indecision, then finally nodded. “It’s this way.” She headed down the corridor.

“Wait.” The abbot hung back a moment. He waved to one of his six men. “Stay here with the good professor.” He crossed toward Maggie. “Just to keep things honest.”

Maggie felt a sick tightness in her belly. She continued down the passage, forcing her legs to stop trembling. She would not give in to her fear. “Th… this way,” she said. “It’s not too far.”

Abbot Ruiz stuck close to her shoulder, all but breathing down her neck. He wheezed, his face as red as a beet. Prayers mumbled from his lips.

“It’s just through there,” she said, as they neared the exit to the tunnel.

The abbot pushed her aside, marching forward, determined to be the first through. But when he reached the exit, he hesitated. His nose curled at the stronger stench of sulfur here. “I don’t see anything.”

Maggie joined him and pointed to the trail in the jungle ahead. “Just follow the path.”