Excavation

Sam could almost hear the gears whirring in his uncle’s mind.



Philip grabbed the mike. “Should we open the door tomorrow?”



Sam interrupted before his uncle could answer. “Of course not. I think we should wait until Doc returns. If it’s a significant find, I think we’d need his expertise and experience to explore it.”



Philip’s face grew red. “I can handle anything we discover.”



“You couldn’t even handle—”



Henry interrupted, his voice stern and tight. “Mr. Sykes is right, Sam. Open the door tomorrow. Whatever lies hidden beyond the sealed portal may aid my research here in the States.” His uncle’s eyes traveled over the entire group. “And it is not just Philip I trust. I am counting on all of you to proceed as I’ve taught you—cautiously and meticulously.”



Even with these last words, Sam noticed the gloating expression on Philip’s face. The Harvard grad would be unbearable from there on out. Sam’s fingers gripped the table’s edge with anger. But he dare not question his uncle. It would sound so petty.



“Sam,” his uncle continued, “I’d like a few words in private.” Henry’s words were severe and scolding in tone. “The rest of you should hit your pillows. You’ve a long day tomorrow.”



Muttering arose from the others as they said their good-byes and shuffled off.



Henry’s voice followed them from the tent. “And good work, folks!”



Sam watched the others leave. Philip was last to slip out of the tent, but not before shining a tight smile of triumph on his lips. Sam’s right hand balled into a fist.



“Sam,” his uncle said softly, “are they all gone?”



Forcing his hand to relax, Sam faced his uncle again. “Yeah, Uncle Hank,” he said, dropping to a more familiar demeanor.



“I know Philip can rankle everyone. But he is also a smart kid. If Philip can grow to be half the archaeologist his father was, he’ll be a fine scholar. So cut him some slack.”



“If you say so…”



“I do.” Henry slid his chair closer to the computer. His shaky image grew on the screen. “Now as to the reason I wanted to speak to you in private. Though I voiced my support of Philip, I need you to be my eyes and ears tomorrow. You’ve had a lot more dig experience, and I’m counting on you to help guide Philip.”



Sam could not suppress a groan. “Uncle Hank, he’ll never listen. He already thinks he’s the big buck at the salt lick.”



“Find a way, Sam.” Henry replaced his eyeglasses, ending the matter. He stared silently at Sam as if weighing him. “If you are to be my eyes and ears, you’ll need to know everything I know, Sam. There are some items I’ve kept from the others. To properly evaluate what you discover tomorrow, you’ll need to be fully informed.”



Sam sat straighter. His irritation at Philip vanished in a single heartbeat. “What?”



“Two items. First, something odd happened to the mummy here at Johns Hopkins.” Henry explained about the explosion of the mummy’s skull and the brilliant golden discharge.



Sam’s eyebrows were high on his forehead. “Christ, Uncle Hank, what the hell happened?”



“The pathologist here hypothesized a possible burst of trapped methane from sudden thawing. But after four decades in the field, I’ve never seen its like before. And that discharge… Dr. Engel is researching what it is. I may know more in a few days, but until then, I want you to keep your eyes open. The mystery as to what occurred in this village five centuries ago may be answered when you open that door.”



“I’ll watch out for any clues and proceed with care, even if I have to force an iron bit and reins on Philip.”



His uncle laughed. “But remember, Sam, experienced riders know it’s best to control a willful horse with only the lightest touch on the reins. Let Philip think he is leader and all will go well.”



Sam frowned. “Still… why the secrecy, Uncle Hank?”



Henry sighed, a slight shake of his head. He suddenly seemed much older, his eyes tired. “In the world of research, secrets are important.” Henry glanced up at Sam. “Remember the looters. Even in the remote wilds of the Andes, a few loose lips drew the scavengers like flies to horse droppings. The same can occur in the research community. Loose lips can sink grants, fellowships, and tenures. It’s a hard lesson I don’t like teaching.”



“You can trust me.”



Henry smiled. “I know, Sam. I trust you completely. I would have been glad to share all I know with you, but I didn’t want to burden you with secrets. Not yet. You’ll find how it weighs on your heart when you can’t speak openly with your own colleagues. But matters now force me to shift my burden onto your shoulders. You must know the last piece of the puzzle, the reason I am sure an older tribe built this city.” Henry leaned closer to the screen. “I believe I may even know who it was.”



“What are you talking about? Who? This site has the Incas’ stamp all over it.”



His uncle held up a hand. “I know. I never disputed that the Incas eventually took over this site. But who was here before them? I’ve read tales, recorded oral histories spread from ancestor to ancestor, of how the first Incan king went to the sacred mountains and discovered a bride in a wondrous city. Returning with her, he started the Incan empire that would last hundreds of years. So even in their ancient tales, the Incas admit that a foreign tribe shared their roots. But who? It’s the mystery I’ve been investigating for decades. My research into this matter led to the discovery of these ruins. But the answer to the question—who built this city?–that I only discovered last month.”



Speechless, Sam’s mind spun at the prospect of how much his uncle had kept hidden. “Y… you truly know who built this city?”



“Let me show you.” Henry reached to his own keyboard and mouse and began manipulating files. “I wish I could claim it was a brilliant piece of research on my part, but in actuality it was one of those fortuitous events that always seem to push archaeology forward.”



His uncle’s image shrank to the corner of the screen and a three-dimensional schematic of the current dig appeared. Colored lines marked off the various levels of the dig. The detail of the computer-generated landscape and surmounting ruins amazed Sam. Using the mouse, Henry manipulated the pointer, and the screen zoomed into an aerial close-up of the ruins atop the SunPlaza. A small black square marked the entrance tunnel to the ruins below.



“Here is our site. The tunnel into the underground structure.”



“I know,” Sam said, “but what does this have to do with—?”



“Patience, my boy.” Henry cracked a wry smile from the corner of the screen. “Last month, a bit of luck occurred—I received a CD-ROM from a fellow researcher from WashingtonUniversity in St. Louis. It contained computer-generated maps of several Moche pyramids currently under excavation at Pampa Grande along the coast. Six hundred miles away.”



“Moche sites?” Sam remembered his lessons on this region. Many centuries before the Incan civilization arose, the Moche were a tribe that lived along a two-hundred-mile stretch of Peruvian coast. Pyramid builders and masters of intricate metalwork, their tribes had prospered between A.D. 100 and 700. Then for no known reason, their civilization vanished.



Henry tapped a few more keys, and Sam’s computer screen split into two images, side by side. On the left was the aerial map of their ruins. On the right was a new computer schematic of a flat-topped pyramid. His uncle pointed a finger at it. “Here is the pyramid at Pampa Grande.” He zeroed the image onto the tip of the Moche structure.



“Oh Lord!” Sam gasped.



“Now you know my little secret.” The two images merged together, overlapping one another. It was a perfect match. “The SunPlaza is actually the tip of a buried Moche pyramid. Our underground ruins are actually the remains of a subterranean pyramid. One of their sacred temples.”



“My God, Uncle Hank! Why are you keeping this a secret? You should announce your discovery!”



“No. Not until I have further physical proof. I had hoped the researchers here at Johns Hopkins would be able to correlate genetic markers in the mummy to a Moche lineage, thus substantiating my claims. But…” Henry shrugged. “It looks like the mysteries of this jungle ruin just grow with each new piece we add to the puzzle.”



“The Moche,” Sam said, stunned with too much information. Mummified priests, exploding skulls, buried pyramids, strange warnings scrawled in Latin… how would they tie it all together?



As if reading his thoughts, his uncle spoke, “The answers to all these mysteries may lie beyond that door, Sam. I can almost feel it. So be careful.”



Guillermo studied the dark camp. Midnight beckoned. The group of young scientists and the Quechan laborers had all retired to their tents. The only lights left were those positioned around the dig.



Raising his rifle, Gil signaled Juan and Miguel.



Juan, his skeletal frame barely discernible under the eaves of the surrounding forest, nudged his companion. Broad of back but squat in height, Miguel stepped out from the jungle’s edge, his back bowed with a large canvas bag. It contained the tools they would need to crack through the tomb door. Juan followed, a pickax over his shoulder.



Gil waved them toward the highest terrace. He knew they would have to be quick, but Gil did not complain. Sufficient hours until daybreak still remained, and the news that the tomb had a good chance of being intact had buoyed Gil’s hopes for a significant strike.



He joined Juan and Miguel by the entrance to the shaft. “Keep it quiet, you hijos de putas,” he hissed to them. Gil threw the switch that sped current from the generator in the camp to the lamps below. He nodded for Juan to lead, followed by Miguel.



Gil kept a watch on the camp as they climbed down. The surrounding rain forest, its edges lit up by the four spotlights positioned at the compass points around the ruins, echoed with the hoots and occasional screeches of the night. The jungle noises and the chugging rattle of the camp’s generator should mask their efforts.