Conspiracy of Bones

by Tracy Krauss

  The crew moved forward as quickly as possible with their precarious load. They were halfway through the tunnels when a large rock tumbled from above, hitting one of the men squarely on the head. He let out a surprised exclamation and momentarily lost his balance. The casket swayed on the shoulder harnesses. The sheer weight of it caused another man to bump against the tunnel wall.

  "Steady!" Mark yelped. "Ron, let me take over that harness."

  But it was too late. The heavy treasury landed with a crunching thud on one corner, crushing the man’s foot beneath. He let out an agonized cry.

  Mark jumped forward. "Steve, help me get this harness off. Ron, take some deep breaths."

  They worked quickly to take the harness off the injured man. There was another rumble, only this time closer. Another barrage of rocks and pebbles rained down. Mark shielded Ron with his back, and then continued with the last buckle. "Now on my signal, lift."

  Ron let out a gasping groan as the men hoisted the heavy burden off his shattered appendage. They shuffled their way a few more feet and carefully set the cargo down with a unified grunt.

  "I hate to do it, but it looks we’ll have to leave it for now.” Mark was interrupted by another spray of sediment. "Come on. We’d better hurry."

  Fumbling now with desperate fingers, the harness was undone and left with the casket. Ron was helped up and limped as quickly as possible down the tunnel with the assistance of two other members. Mark and the other crewmember followed as fast as they were able down the tunnel toward the entrance. Here and there fallen debris made their passage more difficult. At one point, Ron had to be lifted through an opening while the others had to crawl on hands and knees. Mark noticed several beams that had been used for bracing, leaning drunkenly or fallen all together.

  Finally, Mark could see a circle of natural light, and strained more urgently toward the goal. He was the last to emerge, just as another rumbling crash sounded. The tunnel filled just yards behind them. He looked back and covered his face with his T- shirt as billows of dust clouded the entrance. All of the men were covered from head to toe in grey, powdered earth.

  "Mark! You’re alright!" Laura ran forward to embrace him.

  Mark turned to shout some orders, disentangling himself from her embrace. "Get a stretcher! Ron’s been hurt."

  “You could have been killed!” Laura persisted. “You scared me half to death.”

  “Not now.” Mark pulled himself to his feet and pushed past her. "Just a cave in," he called, trying to sound unconcerned. "Let’s move away from the entrance, everybody. Give them some room. Ron’s going to be all right. Come on, back to camp. We’ll start in first thing tomorrow and dig our way back in."

  "Are you serious?" Laura scurried after Mark’s limping form. "After what just happened you’d risk going back in?"

  Mark gripped Laura’s arm and manoeuvred her toward the camp. "I’m not just going to leave it there.”

  "But it might be too dangerous." She stopped and shrugged her arm free. "You have to think of the lives of your crew. One dead king isn’t worth the life of a living crew member."

  "No one else is going to get hurt. I’ll triple the bracing, if necessary, although it was supposed to withstand unexpected seismic activity. I’ll have to speak to Joey about that."

  "You mean, speak to Rocco," Laura said.

  "Rocco? That’s not his department." Mark squinted in confusion.

  Laura shrugged. "I overheard him telling Joey he would handle it."

  "That explains it, then." Mark’s eyes narrowed. "He had no business. I have experts in place for that job. Joey is an engineer, for goodness sake. Somebody could have been seriously injured or worse, down there. I’ll have to speak to them both about it. There have been way too many glitches on this job."

  "Could be a bad omen. Maybe you shouldn’t go back in."

  Mark looked at her with disbelief. "That coming from the least superstitious person on the crew? What happened to all your scoffing at Anthony’s legends? Don’t tell me you’ve become a believer?"

  Laura laughed. "Hardly. But as you say, there have been a lot of problems since we first discovered those bones."

  "I’m not giving up," Mark stated emphatically. "I don’t care how long it takes. We’re getting that casket out of there."

  “Who is going to finance that? “Laura asked. “With our time constraints and now this, you might not be able to.” She crossed her arms.

  "Once we show our sponsors the photos you took today, there should be no question about continued support." Mark stopped and looked at Laura. She had become suddenly still. "The camera. Where’s the camera?"

  "You don’t have it?" Laura asked weakly.

  "No! Of course I don’t have it! You were the one taking the pictures!" He cursed loudly and swung away from her, running both hands through his hair.

  "I guess I left it behind in all the commotion."

  "That sounds rather convenient,” he ground out.

  "Are you implying that I left it on purpose? Is that it?"

  "I just can’t believe you would be so negligent," Mark countered.

  "Negligent? Me? Who’s the one risking the lives of the crew? You’re more concerned about your big find than about the safety of human beings."

  Mark could have gladly throttled her. He was about to make another scathing remark but he thought better of it. He clamped his mouth into a tight line, and strode away in the direction of his own quarters. Maybe this dig was cursed.

  Chapter Seven

  Mark stayed in his tent alone until darkness fell like a curtain over the African mountain. He knew he had things to do. He should be checking on Ron; confronting Rocco; talking to Joey. Apologizing to Laura. But for some reason he couldn’t force himself to face any of them. He wanted to go to bed and wake up the next morning and find that it had all been a dream; that they had gotten the casket up to the surface safely. He should be on his way to New Mexico the day after tomorrow, accompanied by the most astounding archaeological find imaginable.

  Instead he was sitting here. Alone. In a dark and dusty tent with no one to talk to, while a whole crowd of people waited outside for his next order. He wondered what his next move should be. Of course, he wasn’t even going to consider leaving the casket and its precious contents behind. They had to re-dig that tunnel. There was just too much valuable evidence lost down there.

  He had some slight misgivings about the safety factor, despite what he’d said to Laura. There were risks involved. But he had to remain confident, not only for the psyche of the crew, but also to keep any government officials off his back. He didn’t need Laura’s reminders about the tenuous agreement they had with the government. He needed to keep a low profile; get back in and get out before his permit to excavate got yanked.

  Confronting Rocco was going to be another thing. He was a trusted colleague and a good friend. He knew his stuff. And he had a good rapport with the other crewmembers. He was able to maintain productivity without dampening their enthusiasm for discovery. But he also had the humility to know when something was out of his league. Mark just couldn’t believe that Rocco would have been so careless as to go over his head and take care of the bracing himself. Or that Joey had let him. Getting the facts sorted out tomorrow was not something he was looking forward to.

  Mark sighed and glanced around the darkening room. His eyes rested on the saxophone case. He wondered what advice his grandfather, Jack, would give. Jack was never one to give up. He was the very embodiment of tenacity. Mark did not relish the thought of having to dig back into the tombs again. But he knew he would do it. There was no other choice.

  He went over to the battered instrument case and picked it up. He clicked it open and gently lifted the saxophone from its crushed velvet bed. Attaching the reed, he put the mouthpiece tentatively to his lips, but did not blow into it. He closed his eyes and fingered the pads in a silent song from the past, one that Jack had taught him long ago. Someday, when he had the privacy
of more than just canvas walls, he would attempt to play in earnest. For now, he must be content with the memory of the song as it played in his head.

  There was a ‘knock’ on the outer flap of his tent. There was no hiding, Mark realized. If he didn’t take matters into hand, matters would come to him. "Yep," he called gruffly.

  It was Anthony. He bent to step through the inner door flap, letting it fall behind him as he straightened. "Sorry. Hope I’m not interrupting." He gestured at the saxophone still sitting on Mark’s lap.

  "Oh, no. That’s alright." Mark nestled the sax back into its case and set it on the floor.

  "I didn’t know you played the sax." Anthony gestured at the instrument case. "The way sound travels around here, it’s funny I never heard it before."

  "I don’t play, really," Mark admitted. "The sax belonged to my Grandfather. Sometimes, I just like to hold it. Helps me think."

  "Hmm. And I guess you’ve got plenty to think about right now," Anthony said. “Rocco’s going to be in pretty deep, I would imagine."

  Mark frowned. "Who told you that?"

  "It’s common knowledge. I must admit, I had doubts about Rocco taking charge of the refit in the first place. But I figured you were the boss, so you must have had your reasons."

  "I never gave Rocco any such instructions," Mark stated emphatically. "Safety and engineering is Joey’s portfolio. Why would I change that?"

  Anthony shrugged. "Beats me. Sorry, man. I just assumed..."

  "I’ll get to the bottom of it first thing tomorrow." Mark waited, eyeing Anthony closely. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “Actually, if you’ve got a minute, I came here to talk to you about something else.”

  Mark raised a brow. “Oh? What?”

  Anthony took a quick look around and then seated himself on the cot. "It’s about what we were talking about earlier, in the chamber, before the cave in."

  "We talked about a lot of things. I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific."

  "Right. Well, about the legends surrounding the site, and how they seem to line up with our findings. More specifically, the Biblical ones - about the Nephilim and the Flood and that." He stopped, waiting for a comment from Mark. When Mark gave none, he continued. "See, it’s like this. I’ve studied hundreds, possibly thousands, of manuscripts from every culture and country. But there’s something about this particular story, this Bible account. It’s different, somehow, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s farfetched - way out there - yet I find myself wanting it to be true. Almost believing that it is. And then the evidence we’ve found - it’s almost too much. Not to mention all the weirdness. Techno glitches, cave-ins, artefacts gone missing... like we aren’t supposed to tamper with it. Like the whole site is cursed, or something. It has me feeling spooked."

  Mark narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, artefacts gone missing?"

  "You know. That first set of Pterodactyl wing bones. Then no results came back, records went missing..." Anthony trailed off.

  "Did you just say ‘set’?”

  Anthony nodded. “From the first find.”

  “I was told that first site contained only one wing. It’s what made the subsequent tombs so important.”

  "Pretty sure there were two wings."

  Mark leaned forward. "How can that be? I saw the photos from that first excavation. There was one, badly damaged and incomplete. And Laura and Rocco both clearly stated there only was one specimen.”

  Anthony shrugged. "Hey man, I know what I saw. I was there during the initial opening of that tomb. The first one was damaged; a cave in, I guess. But we definitely dusted two wing fragments. The indentations made by the bones were right there after we removed them. You must have noticed it yourself."

  Mark thought for a moment. He recalled the stillness of the shallow tomb and the perfect indentation left in the sand of a large wing. It had filled him with awe. But there had only been one. The sand on the other side of the body had been perfectly smooth. Too smooth, perhaps. He frowned. "You’re sure?"

  "Photographic memory, remember?" Anthony laughed, tapping his head. "Ask Rocco. He’ll verify it. He and I were together."

  Rocco again. Mark felt an uneasiness rising in the pit of his stomach. Rocco’s name was connected with a few too many incidents.

  "Anyway, about that legend thing," Anthony picked up where he left off. "I just needed to bounce it off someone. To talk about it out loud instead of play it over in my head. Kind of de-mystify, so to speak, so I could sleep tonight. Sounds kind of crazy, I know, but -"

  "No. It’s not so crazy," Mark said. "I must admit, I’ve been entertaining some of the same speculations myself."

  "Yeah?"

  "I mean, I’ve always been one to look at the evidence. Verifiable facts, only. But some of what we’ve uncovered does not fit in well with what I’ve assumed to be true up until this point. There’s the rub, for all of us. If we take the evidence before us, it means throwing out a whole lot of other evidence that we’ve come to believe as fact. The new evidence doesn’t fit into the old framework. The two simply don’t mesh."

  "So what do we do about it?"

  "Create a new framework," Mark suggested. "I just haven’t figured out how to do that, yet. But I know for a fact that I can’t deny what I’ve seen. Which is why it’s so important for us to get back down there and recover that body. It could be the key to the whole mystery."

  "Or not. Maybe it’s like I said, and we’re not supposed to know the truth."

  "Back to the curse thing?" Mark asked wryly.

  "Precisely."

  "I’m not willing to go that far. It’s taken a leap of faith for me to accept that dinosaurs coexisted with man."

  "Hm. Rocco’s been telling me some interesting things about that. I thought he was off his rocker at first, but now that I’ve seen it with my own eyes... I guess that’s why it suddenly doesn’t seem so farfetched to just jump in and believe the whole thing. The Bible thing, I mean. Noah’s flood, everything. The works."

  "I know a lot of people who believe every word of the Bible as the literal truth. They wouldn’t be at all surprised by what we found here," Mark said.

  "Oh yeah?" Anthony surveyed Mark for a moment. "You another one of those prodigals?"

  Mark’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What do you mean?"

  Anthony laughed self depreciatingly. "It’s okay. Takes one to know one. I’m the son of a preacher man, myself."

  "No kidding," Mark said.

  "Mmhm," Anthony replied. "The fire and brimstone variety. You?"

  "My family are all believers." Mark looked down at his lap and then up again.

  "But not you," Anthony stated.

  "The prodigal son," Mark laughed dismissively. "You said it yourself."

  "Why? What happened that you don’t believe the same way your family does?"

  Mark shrugged. "I don’t know. I mean, I definitely saw a positive change when my own Dad got ‘saved’, as they say. But it was like I was on the outside looking in. I just never really felt the need for that kind of thing.” Mark caught Anthony’s gaze. “What about you?"

  Anthony laughed. "Mine's a real prodigal story. I had to try extra hard to play the part of the bad boy so that the other kids wouldn’t think I was a wimp. You don’t know the pressure of being the preacher’s kid. Everybody expects you to be perfect all the time. And then of course, I had to endure the double retribution of my father’s shame. He kept warning me I’d cross the line someday. I guess I believed him. We haven’t spoken in eight years."

  "Eight years?" Mark blinked. "That’s a long time. I haven’t seen my family in three, but it’s not because we aren’t speaking.”

  "Good to know I’m not alone in my waywardness." Anthony slapped his thighs and stood up. "Thanks for the ear. I suppose I’d better head back to my own tent, now. Think of a way to reconcile what I think this is all about and what people want to hear." He stood up and ducked out t
hrough the canvas flap.

  Mark sighed. How did one present these facts and not be lumped with a raving bunch of religious fanatics?

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  "I want round the clock digging to get at that casket," Mark informed in his most commanding tone. The entire crew had been gathered for a meeting. "That’s got to be number one. And this time I want double the bracing under Joey’s direction. You got that?" He held Rocco’s gaze pointedly.

  "That was a misunderstanding," Rocco defended. "I thought -"

  "I don’t want to hear your excuses." Mark held up a hand. "It cost us big time. Now we’re under the gun. All I expect from you is to deliver. Get me that casket."

  Rocco nodded, his gaze downward. "Gotcha.” Apparently he wasn’t going to stick around for any more. With a salute, he turned and scurried away. The rest of the crew followed.

  Mark watched them for a moment before turning in the direction of the lab.

  "Mark, wait a minute," Laura called. He stopped in his tracks, waiting for her to catch up. "So, you’re still going ahead with the dig?" she asked, almost accusatory.

  "Of course. You don’t think I’d leave a find like that buried, do you?" He didn’t slow his strides. Laura was tall, but she still almost had to run to keep up.

  "But the safety issues -"

  He cut her off. "Taken care of. I’m still the boss out here, remember?"

  "Of course," she said coldly. "I’m not questioning that. I just thought -"

  "Don’t you have work to do? Cataloguing? Analyzing data? Something?"

  She looked at him mutely, setting her mouth into a grim line. She turned and strode off in a different direction.

  Mark sighed and ran a hand through his already unruly mass of dark curls. This was going to be one bad day.

  ◇ ◇ ◇

  Mark squeezed his eyes tight, resting his forehead against the coolness of the saxophone. What was he supposed to do? Leaving the site now was unthinkable! But...

  Jack.

  He’d just received the email that morning. Jack Burton, jazz great, had passed away peacefully in his sleep. Jack Burton, mentor, grandfather, confidant. Dead.