"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 revea
led 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."
"I'm certain the treasure is worth double what the experts estimated," said Shannon.
Giordino looked at her. "That would be as high as three hundred million dollars?"
Shannon nodded. "Maybe even more."
"It isn't worth a good baseball card," remarked Pitt, "until it's brought to the surface. Not an easy job to barge the larger pieces, including the chain, off an island surrounded by a rushing flow of water, and then haul them up a narrow passageway to the top of the mountain. From there, you'll need a heavy transport helicopter just to carry the golden chain."
"You're talking a major operation," said Rodgers.
Pitt held his light on the great coiled chain. "Nobody said it was going to be easy. Besides, bringing out the treasure isn't our problem."
Shannon gave him a questioning stare. "Oh, no? Then who do you expect to do it?"
Pitt stared back. "Have you forgotten? We're supposed to stand aside and hand it over to our old pals from the Solpemachaco."
The repulsive thought had slipped her mind after gazing enthralled at the wealth of golden artifacts. "An outrage," Shannon said furiously, her self-esteem blossoming once more, "a damned outrage. The archaeological discovery of the century, and I can't direct the recovery program."
"Why don't you lodge a complaint?" said Pitt.
She glared at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
"Let the competition know how you feel."
"How?"
"Leave them a message."
; "You're crazy."
"That observation has been cropping up quite a bit lately," said Giordino.
Pitt took the rope slung over Giordino's shoulder and made a loop. Then he twirled the rope like a lariat and threw the loop across the water, smiling triumphantly as it settled over the head of a small golden monkey on a pedestal.
"Ah, ha!" he uttered proudly. "Will Rogers had nothing on me."
Pitt's worst fears were confirmed when he hovered the helicopter above the Alhambra. No one stood on the deck to greet the craft and its passengers. The ferry looked deserted. The auto deck was empty, as was the wheelhouse. The boat was not riding at anchor, nor was she drifting. Her hull was resting lightly in the water only two meters above the silt of the shallow bottom. To all appearances, she looked like a ship that had been abandoned by her crew.
The sea was calm and there was no pitch or roll. Pitt lowered the helicopter onto the wood deck and shut down the engines as soon as the tires touched down. He sat there as the sound of the turbine and rotor blades slowly died into a morbid silence. He waited a full minute but no one appeared. He opened the entry door and dropped to the deck. Then he stood there waiting for something to happen.
Finally, a man stepped from behind a stairwell and approached, coming to a halt about 5 meters (16 feet) from the chopper. Even without the phony white hair and beard, Pitt easily recognized the man who had impersonated Dr. Steven Miller in Peru. He was smiling as if he'd caught a record fish.
"A little off your beat, aren't you?" said Pitt, unruffled.
"You seem to be my never-ending nemesis, Mr. Pitt."
"A quality that thrills me no end. What name are you going under today?"
"Not that it's of use to you, but I am Cyrus Samson."
"I can't say I'm pleased to see you again."
Sarason moved closer, peering over Pitt's shoulder at the interior of the helicopter. His face lost the gloating smile and twisted into tense concern. "You are alone? Where are the others?"
"What others?" Pitt asked innocently.
"Dr. Kelsey, Miles Rodgers, and your friend, Albert Giordino."
"Since you have the passenger list memorized, you tell me."
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