Excavation

“The tomb’s booby-trapped,” Maggie said, then nodded ahead. “Listen to the winding of winches under the floor. Some bloody contraption meant to catch looters.”

“I didn’t think the Incas had such technology.”

“No, but some of the coastal Indians were fairly advanced in pulley construction for their irrigation systems. If they helped here…?” She shrugged.

Sam’s light beam focused on the gold Incan king as it stood against the wall of black granite. “Either way, there’s the lure. One look at that prize and who wouldn’t rush over.” Sam played his light over the pattern of gold and silver tiles. He knew a trap when he saw one. “Here’s a game I wouldn’t want to play.”

The stones rumbled underfoot, and a grinding roar echoed down from the levels above. “We may be forced to,” Maggie said. “Buttressed by the trap’s machinery, this may be the safest room if the rest of the temple collapses.”

Ralph’s voice called back to them from the threshold. “Sam, try to reach Sykes again! Light a fire under him! This place is coming apart!”

Sam unhooked the walkie-talkie and switched it back on. Static screeched from the speakers. It was silenced as Sam hit the transmitter. “Philip, if you can hear me, come in. Over.”

White noise was his only answer, then a few words came through: “…trying to widen the shaft so more workers can dig… will work around the clock…”

“Speed it up, Philip!” Sam insisted. “This place is a shaky house of cards.”

“…doing the best… damn workers don’t understand…” A long stretch of static followed.

“This is useless,” Sam mumbled to himself with a shake of his head. He raised the radio to his lips. “Just keep us informed on the hour!” He switched the walkie-talkie off and turned to Maggie. “We’ve a long wait ahead of us.”

Maggie stood with her head cocked, listening to the moans of the strained temple. “I hope we have a long time,” she said with clear worry. Sam tried to put an arm over her shoulders, but she shrugged it off. “I’m okay.”

Sam watched Maggie retreat from the room. With a final pass of his light over the deadly chamber, Sam turned to follow, but the pattern of gold and silver fixed in his mind. It was no plain checkerboard, but a complex mix of zigzagging steps with two patches of rectangular gold islands, one at the upper left of the room, and one at the lower right.

Sam stopped, pondering the pattern. It was naggingly familiar. He turned back to the floor, shining his light across it.

“What’s wrong?” Maggie called back to him.

“Just a sec,” Sam stepped to the edge of the chamber. He stood silently, letting his mind calm. There was a clue hidden here. He just knew it. The two men’s corpses had distracted him, shocked him from noticing before. “My god,” Sam mumbled.

Maggie had returned cautiously to his side. “What?”

Sam waved his light across the thirty rows of yard-wide tiles. “You were right about other Peruvian Indians being involved here. This isn’t Incan.”

“What do you mean?” Maggie asked. “That statue sure looks Incan.”

“I don’t mean the statue. The Incas probably added that later. I meant the floor, the room itself. The booby trap.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look at the pattern. It’s so large that I almost missed it.” Sam pointed with his flashlight’s beam. “The various tribes in ancient Peru – the Paracas, the Huari, the Nasca, the Moche, even the Incas – none of them had a written language. But their pictographs and ideograms, found in drawings and woven in their textiles, were elaborate and unique to each tribe. Look at this pattern. The two golden rectangles at opposite corners connected by snaking zigzagging lines. Where have you seen that before?”

Maggie took a step closer. “Sweet Jesus, you’re right. It’s a huge pictograph.” She turned to face Sam, eyes bright with excitement. “It is Moche, not Inca.”

“It’s just like Uncle Hank had figured,” Sam mumbled, his voice awed. “We’re in a Moche pyramid.”

“What? When did Professor Conklin mention anything about the Moche?”

Sam realized he had misspoken, letting out his uncle’s secret. Sam sighed. Considering their circumstances, any secrets now seemed ludicrous. “Listen, Maggie, there’s something my uncle’s kept from you all.” Sam quickly recounted how the professor had discovered that the Sun Plaza here matched the tip of a Moche pyramid found along the coast. “He made the discovery just before he left with the mummy.”

Maggie frowned. “So I wasn’t the only one keepin’ secrets…”

Sam blushed, remembering his own lambasting of Maggie for keeping facts hidden. “I’m sorry.”

A long stretch of silence ensued. Maggie finally spoke. “It makes rough sense. Considering the complexity of the room, the Moche were better at metallurgy than the Incas. They also built elaborate canals and irrigation systems for their lands, with crude pumps and gearwork. If any of the tribes was capable of constructing this trap in precious metals, it would be the Moche.” Maggie nodded toward the pattern. “You’re the expert epigrapher. What does it mean?”