Serpent nf-1

by Clive Cussler

  "Professor, could you give me a little more light here, where these scratchings are?"

  Chi brought the torch so dose the flames almost singed Gamay's hair, but she didn't care.

  "I don't know much about Mayan writing, but this isn't it."

  It was Chi's turn to examine the inscription. "Impossible," he repeated, but with less conviction.

  Gamay looked around the chamber. "This whole thing, this cloistered basilica, your underground freeway. They're all impossible, too."

  "We must get this analyzed as soon as we can."

  "I'm with you on that one. There's a slight problem."

  "Oh yes," Chi said, remembering where they were. "But I think we're almost out of the caves."

  Gamay nodded. "I felt the fresh air, too."

  Chi tied the front of his shirt into a makeshift sack to carry the artifact, and they headed back to explore the main chamber: An enormous wooden ladder almost perpendicular in its steepness soared into the darkness above. The ladder was made of bark-covered saplings, logs really, about as thick as a Mayan's thigh and approximately twelve feet wide. The saplings were lashed to tree trunks that were braced horizontally at right angles against the face of the rods Running up the center of the ladder was a partition that acted as a hand railing.

  The ladder was an impressive engineering feat, but time had taken its toll. Some of the round steps had slipped and hung at angles. In places supports had snapped, and the ladder sagged. The wood seemed sturdy enough to Gamay The fact that the steps and bras were lashed together with vines bothered her. In her sorry experience vines dried, cracked, and broke. Her confidence was not inspired when the bottom step detached itself from the ladder as she put her weight on it.

  Chi craned his neck toward the invisible summit of the ladder.

  "We'll have to approach this scientifically," he said, examining the construction. "This whole thing could fall at any moment. The support up the middle may give it some stability. It would be something to hang on to. Maybe you should go fast. If it holds for you, there should be no problem with me."

  Gamay appreciated Chi's gesture, although she didn't agree with it.

  "Your chivalry may be misplaced, Dr. Chi. Your dances of making it to the top are better than mine. If I go first and the ladder breaks, you'll never get out of here."

  "On the other hand, the ladder could break under my weight, and we'd both be out of hick."

  Stubborn Mayan. "Okay. I promise to go on a diet later."

  Gamay stepped carefully over the bottom rung to the second sapling and gradually put her weight on it. The rung held. Reaching up for higher rungs so as to spread her weight, she began to climb. She purposely avoided looking at the vines, fearing that they might part from the pressure of her glance.

  About six rungs up she stopped. "The air is coming down the ladder," she said brightly. "Once we're at the top we should be home free."

  She took another step. The ties snapped on one side, and the end of the sapling came free to hang at a slight angle. Gamay froze, afraid to breathe. Nothing else fell. As slowly and deliberately as a tree sloth she resumed her climb. The ties held until she got midway, where the ladder sagged, putting further stress on the suspension. Another log snapped free and dangled off to one side. One horizontal support came completely loose and crashed to the cave floor. She was sure the ladder was about to collapse. Yet it stayed intact. When the swaying stopped she resumed her climb.

  She could have been on the ladder fifteen minutes or fifteen hours. It was hard to tell. But she made steady progress without mishap until she was only a few rungs from the top. Good God, she thought, looking down. The ladder must be almost ninety feet high. She had left the light from Chi's torch behind long ago. From where she was perched it looked like a distant star.

  Gamay reached up and to her great relief felt stone instead of tree bark. Even more carefully than before, not wanting to kick a log free, she slithered over the rim to safety. She lay on her back and offered thanks to the Mayan ladder builders, then rolled over on her stomach and called softly down to Chi.

  The torch waved back and forth and went out. Chi was on his way up and would need both hands free. She didn't really think he'd have any problem until she heard the noise.

  Calunk Then clunkityclunk.

  In her mind's eye she could see the thick loglike saplings break loose and tumble to the bottom of the ladder. She expected that would be the end of it, but then she began to hear more dull dunks. A terrifying sound, because it indicated that the incident hadn't ended with one log. A chain reaction was under way If she had weakened the vines with her weight it would require only a slight pressure to snap the supports and send the rungs crashing to the floor More thumps and dunks echoed in the darkness. The noise grew louder. It was evident from the racket that, rung by rung, the ladder was collapsing.

  She lit the cigarette lighter and held it over the edge. Maybe the tiny flame would show Chi how close he was to the top. That is, if he weren't buried under a massive log pile.

  Chi's voice called out Hard to tell against the racket how far away.

  "Your hand!"

  She reached over the rim and shouted encouragement

  Something brushed her fingers. She had no idea he was that close.

  "Grab hold!" she yelled.

  Again she felt a touch, forgers clawing, fording her slim wrist and locking on, her hand doing the same with his wrist: She rolled over, using the leverage provided by her body, pulling Chi up to where he could grab the edge with his free hand. Something was wring.

  "Wait"

  Wait far what?

  Chi was fumbling. Finally, after agonizing moments when she thought she was going to lose him, Chi gripped her forearm with both hands and got first one leg, then the other, onto. solid rock A. choking cloud of dust rose from the cave. It cleared several minutes later, and they peered over the precipice. Nothing was visible in the inky pit.

  "The ladder collapsed below me when I was about halfway up," Chi said. "I was fine as long as I kept ahead of the falling logs, but they started to catch. up. It was like climbing a down escalator!"

  "Why did you tell me to wait?"

  He patted the front of his shirt. "The knot was coming loose. I was afraid I'd lose the artifact." Chi looked with wonder over the edge. "They don't make ladders the way they used to."

  Gamay broke into a gale of laughter. "No, I guess they don't."

  Cooled by a stream of fresh air they dusted themselves off and followed the apparent source of the breeze, which got stronger as they headed along a well-beaten path through a large winding tunnel. The buzz of insects grew louder. They climbed a short flight of stairs and stepped through a narrow opening into the damp, warm night.

  Gamay drew air deep into her lungs and let it out, expelling the dirt and dust. The moonlight cast the old city plaza with its strange slumbering mounds in a pewter light. With Chi leading they set off to work their way toward the path that would take them to where they left the HumVee. Weeks seemed to have gone by since they had arrived here.

  The pair moved cautiously from mound to mound. They were near the edge of the woods when they saw what looked like a convention of fireflies. Only these pinpoints were not blinking on and off. They were steady, fanning out across the old city plaza. Gamay and Chi realized simultaneously that their escape had been discovered. And that the threesome who had imprisoned them had been joined by others. They began to run.

  A gravelly voice growled in Spanish, and a blinding light flashed in their eyes. Then they heard a nasty laugh that told Gamay she had been reunited with her old friend Yellow Teeth. He sounded highly pleased with himself. He ran the beam slowly down the front of Gamay's body, letting it linger on selected spots, before bringing it back to the leveled barrels of the professor's shotgun, which he held at waist level. Then he yelled in Spanish to attract the attention of his confederates. There was a shouted answer, and beams of light began to move their way.

&nb
sp; Gamay couldn't believe it! After all they'd gone through, crawling through the ground like moles, only to be caught within seconds like game panicked by a line of beaters. She was ready simply to walk up to the bastard and twist the gun out of his hands. Chi must have sensed her impetuous mood.

  "Do as he says. Don't worry."

  Chi stepped off to one side and went along a path. Yellow Teeth barked a command. The professor ignored him and kept walking at a slow, steady pace. Yellow Teeth hesitated. This wasn't supposed to happen. People were supposed to jump to his order when he waved a gun around. With a quick glance at Gamay to make sure she was sufficiently cowed to remain where she was, he started after Chi, yelling in Spanish. Chi stopped, but not before he stepped off the path into the grass, where he got down on his knees in a begging position, arms held high in the air.

  This was more like it. Weakness was like fresh blood to a hungry animal. With a snarl, Yellow Teeth lunged through the grass, bringing the gun up so he could crush Chi's skull with the butt. Then he vanished. The flashlight sailed into the air, describing a long arc before it landed in the grass. There was a yelp of surprise, a loud thud, silence.

  Chi retrieved the flashlight and directed the beam straight down. When Gamay approached he warned, "Be careful. There's another hole just to your right."

  Yellow Teeth had fallen through a circular hole and now lay at the bottom of a domeshaped chamber with white plaster walls.

  "Cisterns," Chi said. "You saw how hard it was to get a drink around here. The city people used to store their water in these things. I've marked them wherever I can. I guess he didn't see this." He fingered a thin orange ribbon tied to a bush.

  Are you going to just leave him?"

  Chi looked off to where the fireflies were getting closes

  "We don't have much choice. You don't really care, do you?"

  Gamay thought about the long hard climb from the wrote.

  "I wouldn't mind getting my watch back But to be perfectly honest, no, I don't give a damn. See how he likes being stuck in a gopher hole."

  "We'll have to go toward the river. It's the only way"

  They sprinted for the woods.

  They'd been spotted. Gunfire shattered the night.

  They ran faster.

  Arlington Virginia

  21 JOSE "JOE" ZAVALA LIVED IN A SMALL building that once housed a district library in Arlington, outside Washington. His living quarters on the main floor were decorated in a Southwest flair with much of the furniture built by his father. He liked the decor for its color and warmth, but it was a reminder of how far he had come from his humble origins.

  His mother and father, born and raised in Morales, Mexico, waded across the Rio Grande west of El Paso in the late sixties. His mother was seven months pregnant, and Josh was born and grew up in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where his, parents settled, his father being a carpenter who built furnitureThe lure of the sea called him from his desert and mountain home. Having graduated from the New York Maritime College as an engineer, Zavala possessed a mechanical mind that bordered on brilliance, and he was recruited right out of college by Admiral Sandecker.

  Austin had suggested regrouping at Zavala's place to get away from the overpowering presence of NUMA headquarters and the demands of its. director. He had experienced the unpleasant task of calling Sandecker the night before to report, the sting's failure. Sandecker advised him to get a good night's sleep and return to Washington as soon as possible. Austin and the others conked out for a few hours in a motel near the airport and were on, an early flight that had them back in Washington before noon the next day. Nina, who still had a consulting firm to run, hopped onto a shuttle back to Boston. Austin stopped at his house for a shower and change of clothes and checked in with his office. His secretary said she had a packet of information. Austin asked her to send it by courier to Zavala's house.

  Trout was late for the meeting, which was unlike him. While he waited for Paul, Austin sat at a heavy wood dining table and read the file that had come over from NUMA. Zavala emerged from the basement where he'd been tinkering with machinery. Austin handed him a black-and-white photo from the folder. "This came from the FBI."

  "Pretty girl," Zavala said. The young blond woman in the photo was not a classic beauty but attractive in a Midwestern corn-fed way, with large innocent eyes and the winning smile she displayed at the Arizona digs.

  "Mrs. Wingate?"

  Austin nodded. "Mrs. Wingate as she looked forty years ago." He took the picture back. "Her name was Crystal Day. They thought she might become another Dons Day She had a measure of film success back in the fifties and sixties. Reached her pinnacle doing a clinch scene in a Rock Hudson movie. She might have made it big time if it hadn't been for her expensive alcohol and drug habits and her bad taste in men. The last few years she's been doing bit parts on obscure TV shows, but even those were few and far between."

  "What a tragic loss," Zavala said with a shake of his head. "How'd she end up dead in a shower?"

  "Her agent says he thought of Crystal when he got a call, supposedly from an independent film company that was looking for a middle-aged woman for a small role. Immediate opening with big money. My guess is that whoever hired Crystal knew she was desperate and would jump at the chance to do the part, even when she found out it wasn't what she expected and she wouldn't be playing before the cameras."

  "She was good enough to fool us," Zavala said

  "Yeah, and so was her 'husband,' Mr Wingate from Spokane."

  "The mysterious scar-faced man with the disappearing beard. Has anything turned up on him?"

  "He must have worn his gloves to bed," Austin replied with a frown. "The lab boys even checked the handle of the shovel he was using for fingerprints. Nothing."

  "Smart move having a mole on the project;" Zavala said with unveiled admiration. "It certainly took the stinger out of our sting."

  Look at it as a learning experience," Austin said, his voice gaining an edge. "We've learned not to underestimate these guys. We know they're well organized." He tapped the photo with his finger. And that they don't like loose ends."

  "We've also confirmed the Time-Quest connection. They assign a couple of volunteers to the project, then kidnap them while they send in ringers. Time-Quest comes out clean. Pretty clever"

  "Diabolically so. What do you make of Wingate's friendly wave just before the shed blew up and the offhand comment the guards told me he made?"

  " 'Nice try'? You have to admit he had a sense of humor for a murderer."

  "You don't see me laughing. He was rubbing it in when he didn't have to. Why?"

  "He just felt like rubbing it in?"

  "Maybe." Austin scratched his chin in thought. "I think it was partly just plain arrogance. He was telling us he knows who we are and that he is part of something so big he can treat us as a joke."

  "Bigger than NUMA?"

  "I wish I knew, Joe." Austin replaced the publicity photo in the folder "I wish I knew."

  Any idea where we go next?"

  "No more stings. Lucky I was recuperating when that scheme as dreamed up. We'll keep looking into the hovercraft link and the murder."

  "Not exactly a well-lit highway we're following," Zavala said. "What if I flew down to San Antonio and checked out Time-Quest personally?"

  "Might be worth a looksee. I'd be interested in Time-Quest's financial backing.

  A soft knock came at the door. Trout entered, ducking his head under the jamb. He had a serious look on his face, but this was standard with Trout.

  "Sorry I'm late, guys. I've been talking to the Nereus about Gamay."

  Clearly worried about his wife, Trout had called NUMA frequently as they flew across the country, to see if Gamay had checked in.

  "Any word?" Austin asked.

  Trout settled his lanky form into a chair and shook his head. "They confirmed that she got a ride to shore from the ship. That she rented a Jeep. That she left word she was going to meet Professor Chi, the m
useum anthropologist she's been eager to. see. And that she'd be back that evening."

  "Did she and this Dr. Chi ever get together?"

  Trout shifted uneasily. "I don't know. The folks down there are still trying to get a hold of Chi. Seems he spends a lot of time out in the field, so they said. not to worry. But it's not like Gamay to stay out of touch."

  "What do you want to do, Paul?"

  "I know you need me here," Trout said apologetically, "but I'd like to get back to the Yucatan for a few days to check things out. It's tough trying to follow Gamay's track based on second or thirdhand accounts."

  Austin nodded. "Joe's heading down to Texas for a look at Time-Quest. I'll be in Washington working up a report on the Arizona fiasco. Why don't you take forty-eight hours to see what you can learn? If you need more time I'll 'smooth things with Sandecker."

  "Thanks, Kurt," Trout said, brightening. "I've lined up a flight that will get me down there early tonight. I've got a couple of hours before then I can spare for the team"

  Any ideas lurking behind that broad intellectual forehead?"

  Trout wrinkled his brow "The one thing we've solidly established is that the trigger in all of these incidents is the discovery of pre-Columbian artifacts."

  "Yes, that's a given," replied Austin, "but we don't know why."

  Zavala murmured, "In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue."

  Austin, who'd been deep in thought, looked up with a bemused expression. "What did you say?"

  "The first line of a poem from grade school. You probably had to learn the same rhyme."

  "I did, and I don't remember the rest of it any better than you do."

  "I wasn't trying to get an A in poetry," Zavala said. "I was thinking. Maybe pre-Columbian isn't the key. Maybe it's Columbus.'

  "Good point," Trout said.

  "It is?"'Zavala replied. Even he wasn't so sure.

  "Paul is right," Austin said. "You can't have pre-Columbian without Columbus."

  Zavala grinned. "In fourteen hundred and ninetytwo . . ."

  "Exactly. That dumb rhyme pretty much sums up what most of us know about Columbus. The date he sailed and the fact we get a three-day weekend in October because of him. But what do we really know about old Chris? Especially as it might apply to these murderous attacks."