Текст книги "Inca Gold"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 34 страниц)

    "The desert north of the border is called that because of the Colorado River. In fact this is all part of the Sonoran Desert."

    "Not very hospitable country. I wouldn't want to walk through it."

    "Those who are intolerant of the desert die in it," said Pitt thoughtfully. "Those who respect it find it a compelling place to live."

    "People actually live down there?" Shannon asked in surprise.

    "Mostly Indians," replied Pitt. "The Sonoran Desert is perhaps the most beautiful of all the world's deserts, even though the citizens of central Mexico think of it as their Ozarks."

    Giordino leaned out a side window for a better view and peered into the distance through the trusty binoculars. He patted Pitt on the shoulder. "Your hot spot is coming up off to, port."

    Pitt nodded, made a slight course change and peered at a solitary mountain rising from the desert floor directly ahead. Cerro el Capirote was aptly named. Though not exactly conical in shape, there was a slight resemblance to a dunce cap with the tip flattened.

    "I think I can make out an animal-like sculpture on the summit," observed Giordino.

    "I'll descend and hover over it," Pitt acknowledged.

    He cut his airspeed, dropped, and swung around the top of the mountain. He approached and circled cautiously, on the watch for sudden downdrafts. Then he hovered the helicopter almost nose-to-nose with the grotesque stone effigy. Mouth agape, it seemed to stare back with the truculent expression of a hungry junkyard dog.

    "Step right up, folks," hawked Pitt as if he were a carnival barker, "and view the astounding demon of the underworld who shuffles cards with his nose and deals 'em with his toes."

    "It exists," cried Shannon, flushed with excitement, as they all were. "It truly exists."

    "Looks like a timeworn gargoyle," said Giordino, successfully controlling his emotions.

    "You've got to land," demanded Rodgers. "We must get a closer look."

    "Too many high rocks around the sculpture," said Pitt. "I have to find a flat spot to set down."

    "There's a small clearing free of boulders about forty meters beyond the demon," Giordino said, pointing through the windscreen over Pitt's shoulder.

    Pitt nodded and banked around the towering rock carving so he could make his approach into the wind blowing across the mountain from the west. He reduced speed, eased back the cyclic stick. The turquoise helicopter hovered a moment, flared out, and then settled onto the only open space on the stone summit of Cerro el Capirote.

    Giordino was first out, carrying tie-down lines that he attached to the helicopter and wrapped around rock outcroppings. When he completed the operation, he moved in front of the cockpit and drew his hand across his throat. Pitt shut off the engine and the rotor blades wound down.

    Rodgers jumped down and offered a hand to Shannon. She hit the ground and took off at a run over the uneven terrain toward the stone effigy. Pitt stepped from the helicopter last, but did not follow the others. He casually raised the binoculars and scanned the sky in the direction of the faint sound of an aircraft engine. The seaplane was only a silver speck against a dome of blue. The pilot had maintained an altitude of 2000 meters (6500 feet) in an attempt to remain unseen. But Pitt was not fooled. His intuition told him he was being tailed the instant he lifted off from the Alhambra. Spotting the enemy only confirmed his suspicions.

    Before he joined the others already gathered around the stone beast, he took a moment and stepped to the edge of the craggy wall and stared down, thankful that he did not have to make the ascent. The unobstructed panorama of the desert was breathtaking. The October sun tinted the rocks and sand in vivid colors that turned drab during the hot summer. The waters of the Gulf sparkled to the south and the mountain ranges on both sides of the marshlands of the Laguna Salada rose majestically through a slight haze.

    Satisfaction swelled within him. He had made a good call. The ancients had indeed selected an imposing spot to hide their treasure.

    When he finally approached the huge stone beast, Shannon was making detailed measurements of the jaguar body while Rodgers busied himself shooting roll after roll of photos. Giordino appeared intent on searching around the pedestal for a trace of the entrance to the passageway leading down into the mountain.

    "Does he have the proper pedigree?" Pitt asked.

    "Definitely Chachapoyan influence," Shannon said, her face flushed with fervor. "An extraordinary example of their art." She stood back as if admiring a painting hanging in a gallery. "See how the motifs on the scales are exactingly duplicated. They're a perfect match for those on the sculpted beasts in the Pueblo de los Muertos."

    "The technique is the same?"

    "Almost identical."

    "Then perhaps the same sculptor had a hand in carving this one."

    "It's possible." Shannon raised her hand as high as she could reach and stroked the lower part of the serpent's scaled neck. "It wasn't uncommon for the Incas to recruit Chachapoyan stone carvers."

    "The ancients must have had a strange sense of humor to create a god whose looks could sour milk."

    "The legend is vague but it contends that a condor laid an egg that was eaten and vomited by a jaguar. A snake was hatched from the regurgitated egg and slithered into the sea where it grew fish scales. The rest of the mythological account says that because the beast was so ugly and shunned by the other gods who thrived in the sun, it lived underground where it eventually became the guardian of the dead."

    "The original ugly duckling fairy tale."

    "He's hideous," Shannon said solemnly, "and yet I can't help feeling a deep sadness for him. I don't know if I can explain it properly, but the stone seems to have a life of its own."

    "I understand. I sense something more than cold stone too." Pitt stared down at one of the wings that had dropped off the body and shattered into several pieces. "Poor old guy. He looks like he's fallen on hard times."

    Shannon nodded sadly at the graffiti and the gouges from bullet holes. "The pity is that local archaeologists never recognized the beast for what it is, a remarkable piece of artwork by two cultures that thrived thousands of kilometers from here–"

    Pitt interrupted her by abruptly raising a hand for silence. "You hear something, a strange sound like someone crying?"

    She cocked an ear and listened, then shook her head. "I only hear the shutter and automatic winding mechanism on Miles's camera."

    The eerie sound Pitt thought he heard was gone. He grinned. "Probably the wind."

    "Or those the Demonio del Muertos is guarding."

    "I thought he guaranteed they rest in eternal peace."

    Shannon smiled. "We know very little about Inca and Chachapoyan religious rites. Our stone friend here may not have been as benevolent as we assume."

    Pitt left Shannon and Miles to their work and walked over to Giordino, who was tapping the rock around the beast's pedestal with a miner's pick. "See any hint of a passage?" Pitt asked.

    "Not unless the ancients discovered a method for fusing rock," answered Giordino. "This big gargoyle is carved from an immense slab of solid granite that forms the core of the mountain. I can't find a telltale crack anywhere around the statue's base. If there's a passage, it has to be somewhere else on the mountain."

    Pitt tilted his head, listening. "There it is again."

    "You mean that banshee wail?"

    "You heard it?" Pitt asked in surprise.

    "I figured it was just wind whistling through the rocks."

    "There isn't a whisper of wind."

    A curious look crossed Giordino's face as he wetted one index finger with his tongue and tested the air. "You're right. Nary a stir."

    "It's not a steady sound," said Pitt. "I only notice it at intervals."

    "I picked up on that too. It comes like a puff of breath for about ten seconds and then fades for nearly a minute."

    Pitt nodded happily. "Could it be we're describing a vent to a cavern?"

    "Let's see if we can find it," Giordino suggested eagerly.

    "Better it come to us." Pitt found a rock that seemed molded to his buttocks and settled in. He leisurely wiped a smudge from one lens of his sunglasses, dabbed his brow with a bandanna that hung from his pocket, then cupped his ears and began turning his head like a radar antenna.

    Like clockwork, the strange wail came and went. Pitt waited until he heard three sequences. Then he motioned for Giordino to move along the north side of the peak. No reply was necessary, no words passed between them. They had been close friends since they were children and had maintained close contact during their years together in the Air Force. When Pitt joined NUMA at Admiral Sandecker's request twelve years ago, Giordino went with him. Over time they learned to respond to each other without needless talk.

    Giordino moved down a steep slope for about 20 meters (65 feet) before stopping. He paused and listened while awaiting Pitt's next gesture. The dismal wail came stronger to him than it did to Pitt. But he knew that the sound reverberated off the boulders and was distorted. He didn't hesitate when Pitt motioned him away from where it sounded loudest and pointed to a spot where the side of the peak suddenly dropped off in a narrow chute 10 meters (33 feet) deep.

    While Giordino was lying on his stomach surveying a way down to the bottom of the chute, Pitt came over, crouched beside him, and held out a hand, palm down.

    The wail came again and Pitt nodded, his lips parting in a tight smile. "I can feel a draft. Something deep inside the mountain is causing air to be expelled from a vent."

    "I'll get the rope and flashlight from the chopper," said Giordino, rising to his feet and trotting toward the aircraft. In two minutes he was back with Shannon and Miles.

    Her eyes fairly sparkled with anticipation. "Al says you found a way inside the mountain."

    Pitt nodded. "We'll know shortly."

    Giordino tied one end of a nylon line around a large rock. "Who gets the honor?"

    "I'll toss you for it," said Pitt.

    "Heads."

    Pitt flipped a quarter and watched as it clinked and spun to a stop on a small, flat surface between two massive boulders. "Tails, you lose."

    Giordino shrugged without complaint, knotted a loop and passed it over and then under Pitt's shoulders. "Never mind bedazzling me with mountain climbing tricks. I'll let you down, and I'll pull you up."

    Pitt accepted the fact his friend's strength was greater than his own. Giordino's body may have been short but his shoulders were as broad as any man's, and his muscled arms were a match for a professional wrestler. Anyone who tried to throw Giordino, including karate black belt experts, felt as if they were caught up in the gears of an unyielding piece of machinery.

    "Mind you don't get rope burn," Pitt cautioned him.

    "Mind you don't break a leg, or I'll leave you for the gargoyle," said Giordino, handing Pitt the flashlight. Then he slowly paid out the line, lowering Pitt between the walls of the narrow chute.

    When Pitt's feet touched the bottom, he looked up. "Okay, I'm down."

    "What do you see?"

    "A small cleft in the rock wall just large enough to crawl through. I'm going in."

    "Don't remove the rope. There could be a sharp drop just inside the entrance."

    Pitt lay on his stomach and wormed through the narrow fissure. It was a tight squeeze for 3 meters (10 feet) before the entryway widened enough so he could stand. He switched on the flashlight and swung its beam along the walls. The light showed he was at the head of a passageway that appeared to lead down into the bowels of the mountain. The floor was smooth with steps hewn into the rock every few paces.

    A rush of dank air rushed past him like the steamy breath of a giant. He moved his fingertips over the rock walls. They came away wet with moisture. Driven by curiosity, Pitt moved along the passageway until the nylon became taut and he was stopped from venturing further. He-aimed the light ahead into the darkness. The cold hand of fear gripped him around the neck as a pair of eyes flashed back at him.

    There, upon a pedestal of black rock, seemingly sculpted by the same hand as the demon on the mountain peak above, glaring toward the entrance to the passage, was another, smaller Demonio del Muertos. This one was inlaid with turquoise stone and had white, polished quartz for teeth and red gemstones for eyes.

    Pitt thought seriously of casting off the rope and exploring further. But he felt it wouldn't be fair to the others. They should all be in on the discovery of the treasure chamber together. Reluctantly, he returned to the crack in the wall and squirmed back into daylight.

    When Giordino helped him over the edge of the chute, Shannon and Rodgers were waiting in hushed expectation.

    "What did you see?" Shannon blurted, unable to contain her excitement. "Tell us what you found!"

    Pitt stared at her without expression for a moment, then broke into an elated grin. "The entrance to the treasure is guarded by another demon, but otherwise the way looks clear."

    Everyone shouted in elation. Shannon and Rodgers hugged and kissed. Giordino slapped Pitt on the back so hard it jarred his molars. Intense curiosity seized them as they peered over the edge of the chute at the small opening leading inside the mountain. None saw a black tunnel leading downward. They gazed through the rock as if it were transparent and saw the golden treasure far below.

    At least that's what they thought they saw. But not Pitt. His eyes were sweeping the sky. Foresighted, intuitive, maybe just superstitious, he had a sudden vision of the seaplane that had followed them to the demon, attacking the Alhambra. For a moment he could see it as clearly as if he were watching television. It was not a pretty sight.

    Shannon noticed that Pitt was quiet, his face contemplative. "What's wrong? You look like you've just lost your best girl."

    I may have," Pitt said darkly. "I very well may have."

    Giordino returned to the helicopter and retrieved another coil of rope, a second flashlight, and a Coleman lantern from a storage locker. The rope he slung over his shoulder. He gave the flashlight to Shannon and handed the Coleman to Rodgers along with a box of wooden matches.

    "The tank is full of gas, so we should have light for three hours or more."

    Shannon airily took the extra flashlight. "I think it best if I lead the way."

    Giordino shrugged. "Suits me. As long as somebody other than me sets off the Incas' booby traps down in the cave of doom."

    Shannon made a sour face. "That's a cheery thought."

    Pitt laughed. "He overdoses on Indiana Jones movies."

    "Give me a hard time," said Giordino sadly. "You'll be sorry someday."

    "I hope it's not soon."

    "How wide is the opening?" asked Rodgers.

    "Dr. Kelsey might make it through on her hands and knees, but we boys will have to snake our way in."

    Shannon peered over the edge at the bottom of the fissure. "The Chachapoyas and the Incas could never have hauled several tons of gold up steep cliffs and then lowered it through a rat hole. They must have found a larger passage somewhere around the base of the mountain above the ancient waterline."

    "You could waste years looking for it," said Rodgers.

    "It must be buried under landslides and the erosion of almost five centuries."

    "I'll bet the Incas sealed it off by causing a cave-in," Pitt ventured.

    Shannon was not about to allow the men to go first. Scrambling over rocks and slinking into dark recesses was her specialty. She eagerly slipped down the rope as smoothly as if she did it twice a day and crawled into the narrow aperture in the rock. Rodgers went next, followed by Giordino, with Pitt bringing up the rear.

    Giordino turned to Pitt. "If I get caught in a cave-in, you will dig me out."

    "Not before I dial nine-one-one."

    Shannon and Rodgers had already moved out of sight down the stone steps and were examining the second Demonio del Muertos when Pitt and Giordino caught up to them.

    Shannon was peering at the motifs embedded in the fish scales. "The images on this sculpture are better preserved than those on the first demon."

    "Can you interpret them?" asked Rodgers.

    "If I had more time. They appear to have been chiseled in a hurry."

    Rodgers stared at the protruding fangs in the jaws of the serpent's head. "I'm not surprised the ancients were frightened of the underworld. This thing is ugly enough to induce diarrhea. Notice how the eyes seem to follow our movements."

    "It's enough to make you sober," said Giordino.

    Shannon brushed away the dust from around the red gemstone eyes. "Burgundy topaz. Probably mined east of the Andes, in the Amazon."

    Rodgers set the Coleman lantern on the floor, pumped up the fuel pressure and held a lit match against the mantle. The Coleman bathed the passage in a bright light for 10 meters (33 feet) in both directions. Then he held up the lantern to inspect the sculpture. "Why a second demon?" he asked, fascinated by the fact that the well preserved beast looked as if it had been carved only yesterday.

    Pitt patted the serpent on the head. "Insurance in case intruders got past the first one."

    Shannon licked a corner of a handkerchief and cleaned the dust from the topaz eyes. "What is amazing is that so many ancient cultures, geographically separated and totally unrelated, came up with the same myths. In the legends of India, for example, cobras were considered to be semi divine guardians of a subterranean kingdom filled with astounding riches."

    "I see nothing unusual about that," said Giordino. "Forty-nine out of fifty people are deathly afraid of snakes."

    They finished their brief examination of the remarkable relic of antiquity and continued along the passageway. The damp air that came up from below drew the sweat through their pores. Despite the humidity they had to be careful they didn't step too heavily or their footsteps raised clouds of choking dust.

    "They must have taken years to carve this tunnel," said Rodgers.

    Pitt reached up and ran his fingers lightly over the limestone roof. "I doubt they excavated it from scratch. They probably hollowed out an existing fissure. Whoever they were, they weren't short."

    "How can you tell?"

    "The roof. We don't have to stoop. It's a good foot above our heads."

    Rodgers gestured at a large plate set on an angle in a wall niche. "This is the third one of these things I've seen since we entered. What do you suppose their purpose was?"

    Shannon rubbed away the centuries-old coating of dust and saw her reflection on a shining surface. "Highly polished silver reflectors," she explained. "The same system used by the ancient Egyptians for lighting interior galleries. The sun striking a reflector at the entrance bounced from reflector to reflector throughout the chambers and illuminated them without the smoke and soot given off by oil lamps."

    "I wonder if they knew they were paving the way for environmentally friendly technology?" murmured Pitt randomly.

    The echoing sound of their footsteps spread ahead and behind them like ripples on a pond. It was an eerie, claustrophobic sensation, knowing they were entering the dead heart of the mountain. The stagnant air became so thick and heavy with moisture it dampened the dust on their clothing. Fifty meters (164 feet) later they entered a small cavern with a long gallery.

    The chamber was nothing less than a catacomb, honeycombed with crypts hewn into the walls. The mummies of twenty men, wrapped tightly in beautifully embroidered woolen mantles, lay head to toe. They were the mortal remains of the guards who faithfully guarded the treasure, even after death, waiting for the return of their countrymen from an empire that no longer existed.

    "These people were huge," said Pitt. "They must have stood two hundred and eight centimeters or six foot ten inches tall."

    "A pity they aren't around to play in the NBA," muttered Giordino.

    Shannon closely examined the design on the mantles. "Legends claim the Chachapoyas were as tall as trees."

    Pitt scanned the chamber. "One missing."

    Rodgers looked at him. "Who?"

    "The last man, the one who tended to the burial of the guardians who went before."

    Beyond the gallery of death they came to a larger chamber that Shannon quickly identified as the living quarters of the guardians before they died. A wide, circular stone table with a surrounding bench rose out of the floor that formed their base. The table had evidently been used to eat on. The bones of a large bird still rested on a silver platter that sat on the smoothly polished stone surface along with ceramic drinking vessels. Beds had been chiseled into the walls, some still with woolen covers neatly folded in the middle. Rodgers caught sight of something bright lying on the floor. He picked it up and held it under the light of the Coleman.

    "What is it?" asked Shannon.

    "A massive gold ring, plain, with no engravings."

    "An encouraging sign," said Pitt. "We must be getting close to the main vault."

    Shannon's breath was coming in short pants as the excitement mounted. She hurried off ahead of the men through another portal at the far end of the guardians' living quarters that led into a cramped tunnel with an arched ceiling, similar to an ancient cistern wide enough for only one person to pass through at a time. This passageway seemed to wind down through the mountain for an eternity.

    "How far do you think we've come?" asked Giordino.

    "My feet feel like ten kilometers," Shannon answered, suddenly weary.

    Pitt had paced the distance they'd traveled down the stone steps since leaving the crypts. "The peak of Cerro el Capirote is only five hundred meters above sea level. I'd guess we've reached the desert floor and dropped twenty or thirty meters below it."

    "Damn!" Shannon gasped. "Something fluttered against my face."

    "Me too," said Giordino with obvious disgust. "I think I've just been garnished with bat vomit."

    "Be happy he wasn't of the vampire variety," joked Pitt.

    They descended along the tunnel another ten minutes when Shannon suddenly stopped arid held up a hand. "Listen!" she commanded. "I hear something."

    After a few moments, Giordino said, "Sounds like someone left a tap on."

    "A rushing stream or a river," Pitt said softly, recalling the old bartender's words.

    As they moved closer, the sound of the moving water increased and reverberated within the confined space. The air had cooled considerably and smelled pure and less stifling. They rushed forward, anxiously hoping each bend in the passage was the last. And then the walls abruptly spread into the darkness and they rushed headlong into what seemed like a vast cathedral that revealed the mountain as incredibly hollow.

    Shannon screamed a full-fledged shriek that echoed through the chamber as if intensified by huge rock concert amplifiers. She clutched the first body that was handy, in this case, Pitt's.

    Giordino, not one to scare easily, looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

    Rodgers stood petrified, his outstretched arm frozen like an iron support, holding the Coleman lantern. "Oh, good God," he finally gasped, hypnotized by the ghostly apparition that rose in front of them and glistened under the bright light. "What is it?"

    Pitt's heart pumped a good five liters (a gallon) of adrenaline through his system, but he remained calm and clinically surveyed the towering figure that looked like a monstrosity out of a science fiction horror movie.

    The huge specter was a ghastly sight. Standing straight, the apparition towered above them, its grisly features displaying grinning teeth, its eye sockets wide open. Pitt judged the horror to be a good head taller than him. High above one shoulder, as though poised in the act of bashing out an intruder's brains, a bony hand held an ornate battle club with a notched edge. The Coleman's light gleamed off the gruesome figure that looked as if it were encased in yellowish amber or fiberglass resin. Then Pitt determined what it was.

    The last guardian of Huascar's treasure had been frozen for all time into a stalagmite.

    "How did he get like that?" Rodgers asked in awe.

    Pitt pointed to the roof of the cavern. "Ground water dripping from the limestone ceiling released carbon dioxide that splattered on the guardian and eventually covered him with a thick coating of calcite crystals. In time, he was encased like a scorpion inside a cheap gift shop acrylic resin paperweight."

    "But how in the world could he die and remain in an upright position?" queried Shannon, coming out of her initial fright.

    Pitt ran his hand lightly over the crystallized mantle. "We'll never know unless we chisel him out of his transparent tomb. It seems incredible, but knowing he was dying he must have constructed a support to prop him in a standing position with his arm raised, and then he took his life, probably by poison."

    "These guys took their jobs seriously," muttered Giordino.

    As if drawn by some mysterious force, Shannon moved within a few centimeters of the hideous wonder and stared up into the distorted face beneath the crystals. "The height, the blond hair. He was Chachapoya, one of the Cloud People."

    "He's a long way from home," said Pitt. He held up his wrist and checked the time. "Two and a half hours to go before the Coleman runs out of gas. We'd better keep moving."

    Though it didn't seem possible, the immense grotto spread into the distance until their light beams barely revealed the great arched ceiling, far larger than any conceived or built by man. Giant stalactites that came down from the roof met and joined stalagmites rising from the floor, merging and becoming gigantic columns. Some of the stalagmites had formed in the shapes of strange beasts that seemed frozen in an alien landscape. Crystals gleamed from the walls like glittering teeth. The overpowering beauty and grandeur that sparkled and glittered under the rays of their lights made it seem they were in the center of a laser light show.

    Then the formations stopped abruptly, as the floor of the cavern ended on the bank of a river over 30 meters wide (100 feet). Under their lights, the black, forbidding water turned a dark emerald green. Pitt calculated the speed of the current at a rapid nine knots. The babbling brook sound they had heard further back in the passageway they now saw was the rush of water around the rockbound banks of along, low island that protruded from the middle of the river.

    But it was not the discovery of an extraordinary unknown river flowing far beneath the floor of the desert that captivated and enthralled them. It was a dazzling sight no ordinary imagination could ever conceive. There, stacked neatly on the level top of the island, rose a mountain of golden artifacts.

    The effect of the two flashlights and the Coleman lantern on the golden hoard left the explorers speechless. Overcome, they could only stand immobile and absorb the magnificent spectacle.

    Here was Huascar's golden chain coiled in a great spiral 10 meters (33 feet) in height. Here also was the great gold disk from the Temple of the Sun, beautifully crafted and set with hundreds of precious stones. There were golden plants, water lilies and corn, and solid gold sculptures of kings and gods, women, llamas, and dozens upon dozens of ceremonial objects, beautifully formed and inlaid with huge emeralds. Here also, stacked as if inside a moving van, were tons of golden statues, furniture, tables, chairs, and beds, all handsomely engraved. The centerpiece was a huge throne made from solid gold inlaid with silver flowers.

    Nor was this all. Arranged row after row, standing like phantoms, their mummies encased in golden shells, were twelve generations of Inca royalty. Beside each one lay his armor and headdresses and exquisitely woven clothing.

    "In my wildest dreams," Shannon murmured softly, "I never envisioned a collection this vast."

    Giordino and Rodgers were both paralyzed with astonishment. No words came from either one of them. They could only gape.

    "Remarkable they could transport half the wealth of the Americas thousands of kilometers across an ocean on balsa and reed rafts," said Pitt in admiration.

    Shannon slowly shook her head, the awed look in her eyes turning to sadness. "Try to imagine, if you can. What we see here is only a tiny part of the riches belonging to the last of the magnificent pre-Columbian civilizations. We can only make a rough assessment of the enormous number of objects the Spanish took and melted down into bullion."

    Giordino's face beamed almost as brightly as all the gold. "Warms the cockles of your heart, knowing the gluttonous Spaniards missed the cream of the crop."

    "Any chance we can get over to the island so I can study the artifacts?" asked Shannon.

    "And I'll need to get close-ups," added Rodgers.

    "Not unless you can walk across thirty meters of rushing water," said Giordino.

    Pitt scanned the cavern by sweeping his light along the barren floor. "Looks like the Chachapoyas and the Incas took their bridge with them. You'll have to do your study and shoot your pictures of the treasure from here."

    "I'll use my telephoto and pray my flash carries that far," said Rodgers hopefully.

    "What do you suppose all this is worth?" asked Giordino.

    "You'd have to weigh it," said Pitt, "figure in the current market price of gold, and then triple your total for the value as rare artifacts."