Excavation

Henry shook his head. “I don’t see that connection at all. He was one of the mythic Titans who stole fire from the gods and brought it to mankind. He was punished by being chained to a rock and had his liver eaten out by a huge vulture each day.”

Joan frowned. “Strange… why mention that?”

Henry leaned back into his chair and silently pondered the mystery. It was better than uselessly worrying over Sam. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “There must be a reason.”

“That is assuming the man was still sane when he etched the cross.”

“I don’t know. Let me think about this. According to Abbot Ruiz, Francisco was pursuing the mother lode, the true source of el Sangre. He already knew of its transformational property, so I think your earlier assumption was correct. He discovered something up in the mountains, something that changed his mind about the metal.”

“And something that scared the hell out of him.”

Henry nodded. “But he was also eventually executed and mummified, suggesting he had been captured by the Incas after making this discovery. If he wanted to get a warning out to his order, a message on the cross was a smart move on his part, a calculated chance. He must have known that the Incan shamans would have left unmolested any personal items, especially gold, on the body of the deceased. It was his one chance of getting his message out, even if he did not. He must have hoped his body would be returned to the Spaniards, rather than mummified and buried like it was.”

“So what does all this suggest?”

Henry turned to Joan, worry in his eyes. He had no answer.

Any response from Joan was cut off as the door opened again. Abbot Ruiz marched into the room, his face red from either exertion or excitement. Carlos followed in his wake and took up a station beside the other guard. Ruiz continued to his desk, sighing as he eased his large bulk into his seat. He eyed Henry and Joan for a few silent moments. “I have good news, Professor Conklin. Word from the mountains reached us early this morning.”

Henry sat up straighter. “Sam and the others?”

“You’ll be pleased to hear they’ve made it out of the buried temple. They’re safe.”

Henry swallowed back a sob of relief. Joan reached a hand out to him, and he clutched it gratefully. “Thank God.”

“Indeed you should,” Ruiz said. “But that is not all.”

Henry raised his eyes. Joan still held his hand.

“It seems you’ve trained your nephew well.” Ruiz wore a broad smile.

“What do you mean?” Henry asked, his voice hard.

“He and his fellow students have made an astounding discovery up in the mountains.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed.

The abbot leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the suspense. “He’s found a lost Incan tribe, a village nestled high in a volcanic cone.”

“What?” Shocked, Henry clutched Joan’s hand harder. He did not know what to make of this pronouncement. Was it some trick of the abbot’s? But Henry could think of no motive. “Are… are you sure?” he asked, dismayed.

“That is what we are going to verify,” Ruiz said. “I’ve spent all morning making arrangements and getting everything in order for our journey.”

“Our journey?”

“Yes, both you and I. We’ll need your expertise up there, Professor Conklin. We’ll also need your presence to convince your nephew to cooperate fully with us.” Abbot Ruiz quickly told of Sam’s radioed message and of the students’ escape through caves to the hidden site of the village. “So you see, Professor Conklin, we don’t know exactly where this volcano is. There are hundreds in the area. Your nephew has proposed signaling us by a set of bonfires, and with you alongside us, I’m sure he’ll do so posthaste.”

Henry sat stunned by the news. It was too much to assimilate at once. Sam was safe – but if Henry got involved, if he went along with Ruiz’s plan, then he could put Sam into more danger. On the other hand, out in the field, perhaps he’d have a chance to warn his nephew, stop whatever Ruiz schemed. Imprisoned here, he had little chance of doing anything to help his nephew.

Joan squeezed his hand, clearly sensing his distress. He found comfort in her grip.

Abbot Ruiz stood up. “We’re set to leave by helicopter in ten minutes,” he said. “Time is critical.”

“Why?” Henry asked, taking strength from Joan.

Ruiz stared Henry down. “Because we have come to believe your nephew has uncovered more than just an Incan tribe. He may have unearthed the site of el Sangre del Diablo’s mother lode. Why else would a small clan of Incas still be hiding up there? Unless they were guarding something.”

Joan and Henry exchanged concerned glances.

“We must hurry.” The abbot waved to Carlos, who shuffled forward in his robe, his 9mm Glock again in his hand.

“Move,” the guard said harshly, jabbing his gun into Henry’s throat.

The abbot seemed oblivious to his aide’s rough manner. As if washing his hands of the matter, he circled around the desk and headed to the door.

At gunpoint, Henry and Joan stood.

“Not you,” Carlos said, indicating Joan. “You’re staying here.”