Excavation

Henry nodded. “The Incas were fond of blood rituals; many involved decapitation and human sacrifice.”

The doctor’s assistant continued working at the wound, drawing out a length of cord from the wound. He paused and glanced to his mentor. “I think it’s some sort of necklace,” he mumbled, and pulled at the cord. Something under the robe shifted with his motion.

Joan raised her eyes to Henry, silently asking permission to continue.

He nodded.

Slowly the assistant tugged and worked the necklace loose from its hiding place. Whatever hung there was carefully dragged along under the robe’s ragged cloth. Suddenly the ancient material ripped and the object hanging from the cord dropped free for all to see.

A gasp rose from their four throats. The gold shone brilliantly under the halogen spotlights of the laboratory. A flurry of blinding flashes followed as the reporter snapped a rapid series of photos.

“It’s a cross,” Joan said, stating the obvious.

Henry groaned and leaned in closer. “Not just a cross. It’s a Dominican crucifix.”

The reporter spoke with her camera still fixed to her face. “What does that mean?”

Henry straightened and waved a hand over a Latin inscription. “The Dominican missionary order accompanied the Spanish conquistadors during their attack upon the Central and South American Indians.”

The reporter lowered her camera. “So this mummy is one of those Spanish priests?”

“Yes.”

“Cool!”

Joan tapped at the cross with her tongue depressor. “But the Incas weren’t known to mummify any of their Spanish conquerors.”

“Until now,” Henry commented sourly. “I guess if nothing else the discovery will be worth a footnote in some journal article.” His dreams of proving his theory dimmed in the glare of the golden crucifix.

Joan touched his hand with a gloved finger. “Don’t despair yet. Perhaps the cross was just stolen from one of the Spaniards. Let’s first run the CT scan and see what we can discover about our friend here.”

Henry nodded but held no real hope in his heart. He glanced to the pathologist. Her eyes shone with genuine concern. He offered her a small smile, which, surprisingly, she returned. Henry remembered that smile from long ago. They had dated a few times, but both had been too devoted to their studies to pursue more than a casual acquaintance. And when their careers diverged after graduation, they had lost contact with each other, except for the occasional exchange of Christmas cards. But Henry had never forgotten that smile.

She patted his hand, then called to her assistant. “Brent, could you let Dr. Reynolds know we’re ready to begin the scan?” She then turned to Henry and the reporter. “I’ll have to ask you to join us in the next room. You can view the procedure from behind the leaded glass in the control room.”

Before leaving, Henry checked the mummy to ensure it was properly secured on the scanner’s table, then slipped the gold crucifix from around the figure’s neck. He carried it with him as he followed the others out of the room.

The adjoining cubicle was lined with banks of computers and rows of monitors. The research team planned on using a technique called computer tomography, or CT, to take multiple radiographic images which the computer would then compile into a three-dimensional picture of the mummy’s interior, allowing a virtual autopsy to be performed without damaging the mummy itself. Besides the professional contact, this was the reason Henry had hauled his mummy halfway around the world. Johns Hopkins had performed previous analyses on other Peruvian ice mummies in the past and still had backing from the National Geographic organization to continue with others. The facility also had a keen genetics lab to map ancestry and genealogy, ideal for adding concrete data to substantiate his controversial theories. But with the Dominican cross in hand, Henry held out little hope of success.

Once inside the control room, the door, heavy with lead shielding, closed snugly behind them.

Joan introduced them to Dr. Robert Reynolds, who waved them to the chairs while his technician began calibrating for the scan. “Grab a seat, folks.”

While the others scooted chairs into a cluster before the viewing window, Henry remained standing to maintain a good view of both the computer monitors and the window that looked out upon the scanner and its current patient. The large white machine filled the back half of the next room. The table bearing the mummy protruded from a narrow tunnel leading into the heart of the unit.

“Here we go,” Dr. Reynolds said as he keyed his terminal.

Henry jumped a bit, almost dropping the gold cross, as a sharp clacking erupted from the speakers that monitored the next room. Through the window, he watched the tray holding the contorted figure slowly inch toward the spinning core of the scanner. As the crown of the mummy’s head entered the tunnel, the machine’s clacking was joined by a chorus of loud thunking as the device began to take pictures.