by Barbara Wood
She closed her eyes in blind fury. She would find them. Somehow, she would find the men who did this.
He came all the way in, stood in the semidarkness for a moment, then he said, “I hope you’re satisfied.”
She spun around. Through tear-filled eyes she saw the smears of dirt on his bare chest, the sheen of sweat from having chased after the vandals. There was no mistaking the fury in his eyes as they took in the terrible destruction in the cave.
“What do you mean?” Erica said.
“You exposed this woman when she should have been left alone,” he said. “Before you arrived with your shovels and your brushes, she was safe in her grave, where she expected to rest for eternity.”
She stared at him. He was blaming her for this? In the blackness of the cave, Erica saw red.
“Yes, look at her!” she shouted. “And I’m the one who stopped the desecrators! I don’t recall seeing you doing anything to ensure the security of this site that you supposedly hold so sacred, Mr. Commissioner. But I did something.” She pulled an object out of her pocket and thrust it in his face. “This is just an ordinary baby monitor. I hid the transmitter in the cave and put this receiver by my bed. Sounds of the intruders woke me. I did something! What did you do?”
Jared stared at her, his mouth partly open, and it looked for a moment as if Erica was going to throw the monitor at him. Instead she shoved it back in her pocket and marched past him to the cave entrance where she found Luke just returning from the camp. “You were right, Erica. Sam was fast asleep.”
She could barely speak. “Luke, I want you to photograph everything inside the cave, exactly as it is, don’t touch or move anything. And don’t—” She began to shake. “Don’t let anyone else in. I am going to have to write up a full report on this mess before I can start to restore order.”
“Hey,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“I just have to get out of here before I kill that man!” And she jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the cave.
She met Sam at the top of the ridge, one suspender hooked over a shoulder, the other dangling down. His hair looked as if he had been struck by lightning.
“You’re not going to believe it, Sam, when you see what they did.”
“Luke gave me a pretty good idea. The skeleton, how bad?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks and she shook so badly she had to wrap her arms around herself. “Bad. I wish we had done more to protect her.”
Sam looked as stricken as if they were talking about a living person. “Did they get away with much?”
Erica ran the sleeve of her sweater over her face. She sniffed back tears. Then she looked at Sam. “What did you say?”
“Could you see if they got away with much?”
She frowned. She pictured the cave, the vandalized wall and skeleton. Then her look turned to one of surprise. “Sam! They didn’t take anything! They weren’t carrying any sacks or bags when they ran out, and I didn’t see any they might have left behind.”
“That’s odd.”
“No it isn’t,” she said grimly. “Because they weren’t relic hunters. Sam, you’ve seen pillaged sites. The thieves just grab the artifacts and run. They don’t stop to trash the site, any more than a jewel thief would pause to trash a victim’s home. This was intentional vandalism.”
The senior archaeologist squinted in the direction of headlights approaching. The police. “But why? What does vandalism achieve?”
“It renders the cave useless to archaeologists and it gets Native Americans angry enough to have the cave sealed so the homeowners can get their properties back.”
His wiry brows shot up. “You think Zimmerman is behind this?”
“I would bet my credentials on it.” She turned in the direction of the cave, where people were standing at the edge of the cliff, milling uselessly about, like ants whose hill had been kicked. She saw Jared among the crowd, talking to the Native American construction crew. Most of them, like Jared, were shirtless, long black hair streaming down their naked backs. They were angry, some raising fists, like braves preparing for war, Erica thought.
She returned her attention to Sam. “The homeowners want nothing more than to close down the dig. Our excavation is standing in the way of their move against the completion bond. If the court finds in their favor, this canyon can be filled in and their properties restored to them. But not while this is a vital archaeological dig. So what better way to eliminate the obstacle than to trash the cave beyond all usefulness to us? We need security, Sam. I have a feeling we haven’t seen the end of this.”
* * *
Jared had a headache that not even aspirin could touch.
It had been twelve hours since the break-in and his mood was as black as his hair. He hadn’t gotten any more sleep— no one had gone back to sleep after what happened. There were questions to answer for the police, vague descriptions of the vandals, an accounting of damage done inside the cave, a brief talk with Sam Carter, who had conveyed Erica’s theory that the homeowners were behind the attack, followed by Jared’s barely controlled impulse to march over to the homeowners’ camp, drag Zimmerman out by his Adidas, and wring a confession out of him.
Jared had returned to his RV to find his phone lines already ringing— television news stations, reporters, and Native American groups in an uproar over the desecration of a sacred Indian burial site. They accused the Anglo archaeologists of negligence, even though Jared had pointed out that it was Dr. Tyler who had thought to put a monitor in the cave and that it was she who had stopped the vandals before they could do more damage. It didn’t matter. Desecration had taken place. Bad medicine was now at work.
As Jared swallowed another aspirin and wished he could go to the Club, even though his regular nightly session was hours away, he couldn’t stop mentally replaying the scene in the cave when Erica’s tears had stopped him cold.
He had thought she was a hard woman. When he had gone into the cave she had had her back to him. He had said, “I hope you’re satisfied.” But when she spun around and he had seen the amber eyes filled with tears, it had floored him. Erica had unleashed a tirade then and he had been too rooted to the spot to react. All he could think was that she was suddenly exposed and vulnerable, no longer an adversary but a victim, revealing to him a defenseless side that made him wish in that moment he wasn’t a part of all this, that he’d never gotten involved in the activist movement, that he’d never met Netsuya, that he was back in his office in San Francisco, working with his father on deeds, land grants, and contracts.
And then she had marched out and he had still been too stunned to go after her and retract his words. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. His words had come from the anger he carried with him day and night. Netsuya was buried in a Native American cemetery. When he had seen the smashed skull and bones of the medicine woman—
He looked across the sunlit compound at Erica’s tent. A baby monitor. She hadn’t gone to Radio Shack and bought high-tech surveillance equipment or impersonal electronic detection devices. She had purchased a simple baby monitor, as if she expected to be wakened during the night by the ancient woman’s soft weeping.
“Commissioner Black?”
He turned and saw a man standing at the screen door of the Winnebago. The day was sunny and mild; Jared had latched his door open. “Yes?” he said, not recognizing the visitor.
The man held out a business card. “Julian Xavier, attorney. May I come in? I have something of a confidential nature I would like to discuss with you.”
After he made himself comfortable in one of the leather club chairs, the tall thin man with gold-rimmed glasses carefully placed his eelskin briefcase on his knees and explained that he was there to speak on behalf of an elite group of medicine men and shamans from various Native American tribes. “They fear that what is happening here at Emerald Hills, Commissioner, is a symptom of the sickness in the world today. They say calamity will befall humankind if the cave is not sealed.�
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Jared, who remained standing, waited.
Xavier examined his perfect manicure, a man measuring out his words. “I know you already represent various Native American groups, Commissioner, and that as a member of the NAHC you no doubt have your hands full. But my clients would like to retain your services.”
Jared folded his arms. “But you already represent them, Mr. Xavier. Why would they want to retain me?”
The visitor tugged at French cuffs heavy with gold links. “For one thing, you are closer to the issue than I; your involvement is well-known; you have all the facts, the contacts in Sacramento, and so forth. Advantages, Mr. Black, that my clients feel will help their cause. They also appreciate the way you feel about the archaeologists, since it is their feeling as well.”
“And how do I feel about the archaeologists?”
Xavier cleared his throat. “Well, you believe they are desecrating a sacred site and you would like to see them gone as soon as possible. You have been very public about your opinion, Commissioner.”
“And what exactly is it these clients want me to do?”
“As I said, you are very close to the issue and have certain inside advantages that an outsider like me would not have. Let me hasten to add, Commissioner, that my clients are not without funds for such a special case and are prepared to pay whatever you ask.”
Jared stared at the man. “And who did you say these people were?”
A quick, dry smile. “Well, I’m not at liberty to divulge their identities. Frankly, it isn’t something I totally understand myself. It has to do with tribal laws and taboos, that sort of thing.”
Jared nodded slowly. “But if I should decide to take their case, then I would have a list of their names?”
“Well, ah, no, I’m afraid not. They can’t risk their involvement in this being known because of tribal rivalry and oaths taken. It is very complex, believe me. But again, let me assure you, the funds are in place and can be moved as soon as you say.”
“What exactly is it they want me to do?”
Xavier blinked at him. “Why, to get the cave closed, of course. Cease the desecration by the white archaeologists and protect the body and burial objects of the woman in the grave. This is sacred business, Mr. Black. My clients are holy men who operate at the very top echelon of Native American affairs. You might say they are the Indian equivalent of a college of cardinals.”
Jared thought for a moment as sounds from the camp drifted through his open window. “Well, Mr. Xavier,” he finally said, “you can tell your clients that my services won’t be necessary. The state is most likely going to claim eminent domain, in which case the homeowners will be offered fair market value for their properties. The houses will be torn down and the cave will then come under the protection of the Environmental Protection Agency and in all likelihood will be turned over to tribal representatives. If this doesn’t happen, I am going to petition for a permanent injunction against the canyon being filled in, in which case the homeowners will also lose. In either case, Mr. Xavier, the cave will be protected.”
A quick, nervous cough. “Well, you see, my clients don’t want the cave just to be protected, they want it sealed… permanently.” He spread his hands on his expensive briefcase, as if to hint of precious contents inside, and said, “Let me emphasize, Mr. Black, that money is no object to my clients, not when it comes to the prevention of sacrilege being committed in their burial grounds. It has happened too many times in their history. And of course, they are aware that you have a personal interest in these matters. Your wife…?” He let his meaning hang in the air.
“Yes,” said Jared. “My wife was Native American, and the preservation of burial sites was one of her causes.” He thought for another moment, frankly sizing up his visitor while the man kept a fixed smile on his face. “Mr. Xavier,” Jared said, going to the screen door and pushing it open, “could you come with me for just a moment?”
Xavier’s smile fell. “Go with you? Where?”
“Just to help me clarify a few points. It won’t take long.”
* * *
“By looking into the historical record,” Erica dictated into her cassette recorder, “I have been able to determine that the owner of the spectacles was most likely a crewman sailing with Juan Cabrillo who, in 1542, anchored somewhere around Santa Monica and Santa Barbara and had brief contact with the Chumash Indians. But why had the man’s eyeglasses been buried in the cave? Was he buried there, too? Why would a European be buried in a sacred Indian cave?”
Hitting the stop button, Erica closed her eyes and massaged her temples. She couldn’t concentrate. The destruction to the skeleton. Even though Sam had praised her for having prevented a truly disastrous calamity, she felt responsible. She had had a premonition that something bad was going to happen and all she did was put a simple baby monitor in the cave. Sam had said that was smart thinking. Luke and all the others were patting Erica on the back for her foresight. She was a hero to everyone involved with the Emerald Hills excavation.
With one exception. “I hope you’re satisfied.”
Her thoughts shifted again to Jared and how he had looked last night, his bare chest smeared with dirt and sweat. Slender but muscular, which made her wonder again where he went every night for two hours, out of reach by phone or pager. But more than that was the look she had seen on his face when he had said, “I hope you’re satisfied.” First there had been fury— the same dark anger she had seen when he had stood out beyond the gazebo in a silent argument with the ocean— but in the next instant he had looked dumbfounded. Was it because of what she had said? Erica could barely remember the words that had poured from her lips as she had lashed out at Jared Black and his arrogance. She was surprised she hadn’t thrown the baby monitor at him, she was that angry. And then, to her amazement, he hadn’t said anything in retort. What had made him stand there so mutely and let her march out without trying to get in the last word?
She was still furious with him. Erica rarely stayed mad at anyone or any situation for long. Anger was a waste of energy and time and accomplished nothing. But in this instance, the demon had hold of her. “I hope you’re satisfied.” Blaming her for what she alone had tried to prevent from happening! Whatever she had said in her tirade, it wasn’t enough. Erica had half a mind to march back over to his RV, and shout, “And another thing, Mr. Commissioner—”
When she heard footsteps nearing her tent, she set aside her work, thinking it was Luke coming to give a damage report on the cave. Erica had tried earlier to go back in and make a thorough evaluation of the vandalism, but she had been so overcome with emotion that she had had to leave and put Luke to the task. Just don’t say you found more broken bones.
To her shock, she heard Jared calling her name.
She went to the doorway and squinted out into the sunshine. He was dressing more casually these days, she noticed, thinking that the chambray shirt and blue jeans suited him, and immediately wishing they didn’t.
“Dr. Tyler?” he said. “Can we interrupt you for a moment?”
She looked at Jared’s companion, a stranger who had a puzzled expression on his face. Erica noticed that the man tugged nervously at his shirt collar.
She didn’t invite them in. “What is it?”
“This is Mr. Xavier, an attorney representing a Native American group who wish to retain my services.”
Erica waited.
Jared looked at the man. “Mr. Xavier, would you mind repeating to Dr. Tyler what you told me a few minutes ago?”
A red tide flushed from the man’s collar right up to his receding hairline. “Well, I—”
“Just repeat what you said to me. Something about money being no object, I believe?”
Xavier stood flustered for a moment, and Erica thought he was going to collapse from apoplexy right there. Then he abruptly turned on his heel and hurried away.
Erica looked at Jared. “What was that all about?”
“Some hireling
sent by the homeowners. Offering me a bribe to get the cave sealed.”
When she started to go back inside, Jared said, “Dr. Tyler, I want to apologize for what I said last night. I was out of line and had no business talking to you that way. I was just so upset when I saw what the vandals had done.”
She looked at him for a split second, taking in the honest, open expression in his smoky gray eyes and remembering Sam’s words: “Jared’s wife? You mean you don’t know?” So she said, “I was just about to make some coffee, if you’d care to join me.”
He followed her inside.
“I was upset, too,” Erica said as she took a bottle of cold Evian from the fridge and poured it into the coffeemaker. “And I probably said some things to you I shouldn’t have, although I don’t really remember what I said.”
He smiled. “You put me in my place, is what you did.”
“Mr. Black, we both care about the woman who is buried in that cave. You and I should not be adversaries.”
But he shook his head. “I still think what you are doing is wrong. You can call it excavating in the name of science. But it is still robbing graves. And for what? A display in a museum?”
She faced him, hands on hips. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing. When the Spaniards first arrived and established the missions here 230 years ago, the Indians were rounded up from their villages and either bribed or frightened into converting to Christianity. They weren’t allowed to practice their old religion or continue their traditions. And then most of them died of white men’s diseases. The conquest happened so swiftly that within two generations the customs, history, and even languages of these tribes were lost. But archaeology is starting to reconstruct those lost cultures. And if you take all those artifacts away from the museums, like the Native Americans want to, and bury them again, it will be a step backward. When we take school groups to museums, we teach children how the people who were here before us lived. If we don’t do that, children will grow up ignorant of what went before.”
Her words hung in the air as Jared’s eyes met hers.