'What was the reward?' Ethan asked himself out loud for perhaps the thousandth time. 'What were they after?'
'Maybe we should try your decoder ring,' suggested Joanne.
Ethan reached up and felt the plastic ring under his shirt. His daughter, Grace, had gotten the plastic novelty ring out of one of those machines where you put in a coin and twist the knob to receive a random prize. The ring had a spinning top for deciphering a simple alphabetical code. She'd given it to her father, suggesting it might help at the Plaza. He wore it on a chain.
Ethan suddenly remembered the time. 'You packed?'
'Come on, Ethan. You know how close I am. I can't leave. Let me stay on. Just another week!'
Ethan shook his head. 'You've got enough data to work off site. Don't make me go through this again. You know the rules, and becoming a hermit isn't one of them.'
'Is the pile-of-crap even running on time?' countered Joanne.
By pile-of-crap, she meant their pick-up boat. Everything came in on the river. Emergency essentials could be dropped in by parachute, but that was very expensive. Ethan could employ another grad student for a month for the equivalent cost. Enough of them were clamoring to get on site.
'Actually, it's running early.'
'Well, that's a first.'
Ethan's radio activated on his hip. It was Claire. 'Ethan, where are you? I need to see you.'
'I'm in the east bunker antechamber with Joe,' Ethan answered. 'Can you come and help us pull up stumps? Joanne left it to the last minute again.'
'Yep. There in a second. I'm not far away. I've sealed the west bunker. Tell Joanne she had better be packing when I get there.'
Joanne pulled a face at the walkie-talkie.
'Will do,' replied Ethan. 'See you soon.'
Joanne had stopped with one hand on the wall. 'Funny. I've never noticed this before.'
'What's that?' asked Ethan, pulling down a tripod.
He heard a funny sound.
He looked up and saw Joanne dying.
She spun from the wall with blood spurting from her neck, a grotesque red explosion that sprayed over the laptop and Ethan's pants. Her legs buckled. She hit the stone floor as Ethan fathomed what was happening. There was something in her neck! Something was sticking out of her neck!
He scrambled towards her, tripping over her laptop cord and landing on his palms with his face right above hers. He hesitated for a second and then clamped both hands around the wound. Around the arrow. That's what it was. A gold arrow, sticking up out of her throat.
'Help me!' Ethan yelled frantically. 'Somebody help me!'
Joanne’s eyes were rolling back in her head. Blood gushed around Ethan's fingers. More blood squirted up onto his chest.
Ethan grabbed for his radio, but right then Claire came sprinting in.
'Oh, my God!'
She snatched up her radio and called for more help. Marco came running down the stairs.
Ethan's hands and forearms were saturated with blood. 'Claire! Help me!'
Claire knelt over Joanne. ‘We need to…we need to compress the wound and stop the bleeding.'
'It's not working!' yelled Ethan.
'Holy fuck,' swore Marco. 'You're chocking her. You're suffocating her.'
'What do you want me to do!' yelled Ethan in frustration. 'She’s going to bleed out if I move my hands.'
'Don't move your hands,' insisted Claire. 'She's lost too much blood already. We need a donut bandage.'
'She can't breathe,' warned Marco. 'She's not breathing.'
Ethan didn't know what to do. He looked up at Claire.
'Don't move your hands,' she insisted. 'Marco, make sure they're bringing the first-aid kit.'
Marco suddenly grabbed Ethan's wrists and tried to pull Ethan’s hands off Joanne’s neck. 'Move your hands and let her breathe! You're suffocating her.'
Claire surged forward and shoved Marco with both hands, sending him tumbling backwards. 'Go find the first-aid kit! What's taking so long?'
Marco scrambled up and sprinted from the antechamber. Claire checked Joanne's wrist. 'She's got no pulse, Ethan. You know CPR?'
'Look at all this blood,' mumbled Ethan.
'Ethan!' yelled Claire. 'CPR. Let's go. You breathe and I'll pump. Just take enough pressure off her neck to let the air down to her lungs. Now go!'
Ethan leant down and delivered the first breath, releasing the pressure with his hand as the air pushed down into her lungs. Her body began jerking under his hands as Claire started pumping Joanne's chest.
#
Ethan hung up the radio receiver.
He'd been on the radio for forty-three minutes.
The University seemed as stunned by the situation as himself. They asked him questions for which he just had no answers. They couldn't tell him what was going to happen, but they insisted he leave the accident scene intact. No one was to disturb the body before the police came to investigate. He'd explained to them that the arrow hadn't been fired from a bow, not from any conventional bow that he knew of, but they were still sending investigators. It wasn't even a proper arrow. It was more like a crossbow quarrel. No one seemed to know exactly what was going to happen. All through the conversation, they kept referring to Joanne as 'the body'. Ethan struggled to make that transition in his mind from Joanne the living breathing vibrant person to Joanne the dead corpse under a blood-stained sheet in their first-aid tent.
Ethan felt jittery in his arms and fingertips, as though anything he touched might slip through his grasp. He felt like his mind was slipping through his grasp.
Calm down. Pull yourself together. You have responsibilities.
His team had left already. He imagined the somber procession boarding the rickety old flat-bottomed boat. Very much unlike the excitement that filled everyone on their arrival.
Another incoming call flashed on the comm-tent’s single computer screen.
Ethan recognized Maria’s telephone number. He hit the enter button and connected the call.
Maria’s smiling face immediately registered confusion. 'Hey - it's not like you to be answering my calls direct. To what do I owe the...what is that all over you?'
Ethan glanced down at his shirt. 'It's blood.'
'What the...whose blood? Is that yours?'
'It's Joanne's blood, Maria. Joanne died. Just an hour ago.'
Maria sat back, and Ethan saw the calendar in the background where the kids marked off the days until he got home. 'What happened?'
Ethan took a shuddering breath. He hadn't cried yet, and he wasn't going to start now. Seeing Maria made him realize how much he considered Joanne a part of his family.
'I don't know. We were talking and something struck her in the neck. She lost blood really quickly. We couldn't save her.'
'What struck her in the neck? Did somebody throw something? Was it an accident?'
No, it was like...something came out of the wall. Like a trap or something. It looked like an arrow, but it's still in her neck, so I can't really tell.'
Maria didn't ask any more questions. She knew his limits.
'I'm so sorry,' she finally said. 'I guess you're not coming home today then. I'll have to explain it to the kids.'
Ethan just nodded. He knew Maria would say the right things, just like she did now. 'You're still in shock. I can tell. I love you.'
'Same. I gotta... gotta go. There's more calls coming in. I have to take them.'
'I understand. Hey, be safe and call me when you can. I love you.'
Ethan disconnected from the call, but before he could connect the next, a hand settled gently on his shoulder. It was Nina.
Ethan had no idea how long she'd been standing there.
'I'll take over now,' she said quietly. 'I need to update my people on what's happened. I'll take any calls that come in. I won't call you unless it's absolutely necessary.'
Ethan squeezed her hand in appreciation.
'OK. I'll take this.' He rose from the canvas chair and
picked up the cordless satellite handset. It had a limited range, but Nina could forward any essential calls to him on it. He slipped it in his pocket.
'Everyone got on the boat,' Nina told Ethan. 'Not Claire though. She thought the investigators would want to question her too.'
'Makes sense,’ said Ethan absently, striding from the comm-tent.
He knew exactly where he was going. The police had said not to interfere with where Joanne had been killed, but to hell with that. Until they got here, this was his site and he'd do whatever the hell he liked.
Chapter 4
Abigail sat back and rubbed her eyes.
She was driving herself crazy trying to find meaning in her pollen analysis.
Giving her eyes a break, she looked over her computer through the lab window. Her mind refused to be distracted from the problem.
Canopy bridges?
She'd first identified the botanic corridors running through the Plaza as thoroughfares, but now she wasn't so sure. The corridors were really there, but the species composition was all tall trees with think canopies. No ground cover. Her model showed two canopy corridors reaching into the middle of the site. Six hundred years ago, species were intentionally chosen to form wide canopy bridges linking the Gallery to the surrounding jungle.
The Gallery was plainly the focal point. But why? She’d never seen a site designed to incorporate the local flora like this. The bridges affected everything. They split the Plaza in half. Was the Plaza divided for cultural reasons? If so, why not have ground cover for a clearer division?
At least her analysis answered the mystery of the ‘giant steps’. Since the middle tier was excavated, no one had established the purpose of the giant steps linking the tiers. They were too big for people. The steps, Abby now realized, functioned as massive planter pots between the tiers. They made the canopy’s gradient less severe as the green corridor stepped down to the Gallery.
It’s like they didn’t want even a single break in the canopy.
One mystery solved, at least. But the larger problem remained. Abby pushed off from the bench in frustration. She needed to work on something else for a while. A new problem sometimes cleared her head.
As she rose from her chair, Daniel Hoylan poked his head in the lab door.
'Hiya, Abby!'
Abby groaned inside. 'Hey, Daniel.'
'I saw your car outside and took a gamble. I got us some coffees.'
'Thanks, Daniel, but look - I can't stop now. I'm right in the middle of something.'
'That's OK. You can keep working.' Daniel came in and plunked one of the coffees down on the bench behind her. 'I don't mind working while we drink. I don't have anything for an hour this morning.'
Abby searched for an excuse to leave. He knew she didn't have any lectures to attend. Her tutoring job didn't start until next week. If she said she had to go to the bathroom, he'd just wait.
He’s caught me again. This was the third day in a row Daniel had just 'popped in'. She knew he had a thing for her, but she hadn't given him any signals that the feeling was reciprocated. Unless not being rude was a signal. He was nice enough, but he just didn't float her boat. A graduate student like herself, he considered her lab an opportunity for endless socializing. He should have finished his thesis and graduated years ago.
Maybe next time she'd lock the lab door. If I keep working, maybe he’ll get the message and give me some space.
'I'm doing something pretty disgusting now,' she said. 'You might want to bail.'
Daniel didn’t look disheartened. 'Sounds like a challenge. What are you doing?'
Abby tried to think of the most disgusting job possible. Bingo! She brought a large plastic container over to the bench. On a tray beside the container she prepared her dissection kit. After donning latex gloves and a face mask, she opened the container and transferred the large scat sample onto the tray.
Daniel looked skeptical. 'Don’t I need gloves and a mask?'
'You should be OK.'
Daniel bent over the bench to peer closely at the object she'd placed on the tray. 'What’s this?'
'It's a giant scat pellet.'
He raised an eyebrow, not understanding.
'You know, an animal dropping.'
He jerked back, pointing. 'That's a giant turd? From what, an elephant?'
'That's what I'm trying to establish. There shouldn't be anything living near the Plaza with dropping this large, but that's where I found it.'
'How do you learn what kind of animal laid it?'
'Laid it? It's not an egg.'
'You know what I mean. Passed it, then.'
'Like this.' Abby pushed her fingers straight into the scat. She tore it into fist-sized chunks, breaking it up like wet clay.
Daniel pulled a face. 'Whoa. That's hard core. Look out, you missed a bit. There's a lot of hair in there. Is that hair?'
Abby looked over the broken up pellet. It would help if she could identify the animal’s diet. She pushed a larger chunk across the tray towards Daniel, hoping to scare him off. No joy. He held his ground.
She pointed to the shelf. 'Yeah, looks like hair. Grab that sprayer. No, the one next to it. Spray that piece with water until it breaks down.'
'You want me to water the turd?'
'Yep. I'll do these pieces.'
Daniel gave a few tentative squirts, then sprayed harder when he started to find something. 'Hey, I got something that looks like bone.'
'Great. Keep spraying.'
Daniel sprayed a little longer then twisted his head to make sense of the object he'd found. 'Looks like this thing ate a monkey! It's a piece of jaw, with teeth!'
Abby laughed, and then saw he wasn't joking.
'Wait a second. I'd better grab the camera.'
'Whoa!' said Daniel. 'Forget the camera. You got a serious problem here.'
Abby didn't like his tone. 'What do you mean?'
Daniel pointed into the tray. 'When was the last time you saw a monkey with a gold filling in its tooth?'
#
Ethan cut across the site, making one detour to the equipment tent.
Everything was locked away, but his master key opened the box containing the flexible metal tube he needed. He rolled it to fit his pocket. From the same box he took the pinhole camera attachment.
His shock at Joanne's death was over. Now he felt angry.
He would punch the next person who called her death a terrible accident. It wasn't an accident. It was intentional. It was murder. She was murdered by the people who built this place. Killed by the very culture she was studying. The Plaza’s first human sacrifice in six hundred years.
How could a trap last six hundred years buried underground?
The arrow was symbolic. A golden arrow? This was more than a trap. This was a message. A warning.
Ethan's first instinct was to crush the arrow, to melt it in a fire, but he couldn't. It was a murder weapon, for one. Ironically, Joanne was the person who could have shed light on its significance. Her research correlated the Plaza's pictograms against other Mesoamerican sites. She matched pictograms like the police matched fingerprints. If the carved pictogram had ever turned up elsewhere, her computer software would find it. The software even accounted for regional variations and pictogram evolution. It was like having six ancient symbology experts at your fingertips. She'd called it Sy-hack. It was all Joanne's idea. Her brilliant creation.
Ethan wished he'd never put her in harm's way. He had never planned to. He'd been bombarded with offers. Hers stood out. He hadn't been expecting to expand his team, but her email fascinated him. She theorized that biometric technology - finger prints, iris scans, techniques to ID people from video surveillance - could decipher ancient hieroglyphs. She proposed developing a software package based on the kind used in airport security. The computer, she argued, didn't know if it was searching for a face or stone symbol.
It sounded far-fetched, but her arguments made sense.
Ethan called h
er ten minutes after reading her email. They met two days later, Joanne bringing her laptop and enthusiasm that Ethan recognized would be a crime not to harness. She was immediately hired, and working what seemed like eighteen hour days to get Sy-hack up and running.
She had gone from a random email entity to the single most important member of his team.
And now she's dead with an arrow in her throat.
Crossing the space between two trenches, Ethan overheard a one-sided conversation from someone up ahead. It had to be a security guard up beyond the next section of ruins. Something about the guard’s tone sounded wrong. As Ethan rounded the corner, he saw the security guard leaning on a piece of broken masonry. He was joking over the radio. Joking about Joanne's death.
Half-laughing, the guard continued, 'Nah, seriously, it killed the bitch. Stone cold dead. You should go and have a look.'
The guard smirked with his entire body, listening to whoever was on the radio’s other end.
He spoke again. 'Yeah, right in the throat. She was messing around with something and then, wump, golden arrow right in the windpipe. Pow! She bled out like a stuck pig. Tyler saw the whole show from the stairs, lucky bastard. He said she spurted out blood like a ruptured hydrant. You've seen nothing like it. The dopey dirt-jockeys almost suffocated her trying to stop the blood. She was fucked from the start.'
The guard listened one last time and then said, 'Yeah. And hey, watch out for golden arrows, huh? Seeya.'
Ethan walked by the guard without comment, absolutely fuming inside. He felt the man's eyes on his back. Sure enough, when Ethan turned, the guard was watching him, smirking.
Ethan stopped. He vaguely remembered that this guy was Rourke's number two man, in charge of security when Ambrose was off site. His name was Kline or something.
Ethan’s voice was an arctic hiss. 'Her body’s not even cold, you animal.'
All joviality melted from the man's languid posture. He stared at Ethan as though studying an insect. 'What's that, sunshine?'
‘What's your name?' demanded Ethan, approaching the guard. 'It's Kline, right?'
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