Inca Gold dp-12

by Clive Cussler

  "There will be more than enough for the public works your government administrators have envisioned," added Sarason.

  Corona glanced sideways at Campos, and wondered how much the colonel was collecting to look the other way while the Zolars made off with the bulk of the treasure, including the massive golden chain. And Matos was an enigma. He couldn't figure out how the sniveling government official fit into the scheme of things. "In light of the increased estimated valuation, I believe a bonus should be forthcoming."

  An opportunist, Campos instantly picked up on Corona's drift. "Yes, yes, I agree with my good friend Rafael. For me, it was not an easy matter to seal off the border."

  It amused Cortina to hear Campos use his Christian name for the first time in the ten years they had occasionally met to discuss mutual police and military business. He knew how much it would irritate Campos if he did the same, so he said, "Roberto is quite right. Local businessmen and politicians are already complaining about the loss of tourist revenue and the halting of commercial traffic. Both of us will have to do some heavy explaining to our superiors."

  "Won't they understand when you tell them it was to keep American federal agents from making an unauthorized border crossing to confiscate the treasure?" asked Oxley.

  "I assure you the National Affairs Department will cooperate in every way to back your position," said Matos.

  "Perhaps." Cortina shrugged. "Who can say for certain whether our government will buy the story or order Colonel Campos and me tried in court for overstepping our authority."

  "Your bonus." Zolar put it to Cortina. "What did you have in mind?"

  Without batting an eye, Cortina replied, "An additional ten million dollars in cash."

  Campos was visibly stunned for an instant, but he jumped right in beside Corona. "Police Comandante Cortina speaks for both of us. Considering our risk and the added value of the treasure, ten million cash above our original agreement is not too much to ask."

  Sarason entered into the negotiations. "You realize, of course, that the estimated value is nowhere near the price that we will eventually receive. Comandante Cortina knows that stolen jewels are rarely fenced for more than twenty percent of their true worth."

  Zolar and Oxley maintained serious expressions, all the while knowing there were over a thousand collectors on their client list who were eagerly waiting to purchase portions of the golden artifacts at premium prices.

  "Ten million," Cortina repeated stubbornly.

  Sarason kept up the pretense of hard bargaining. "That's a lot of money," he protested.

  "Protecting you from American and Mexican law enforcement agents is only half our involvement," Cortina reminded him. "Without Colonel Campos's heavy transport helicopters to haul the gold to your transfer site in the Altar Desert, you would end up with nothing."

  "And without our involvement in the discovery, you would too," said Sarason.

  Corona spread his hands indifferently. "I cannot deny that we need each other. But I strongly believe it would be in your best interests to be generous."

  Sarason looked at his brothers. Zolar gave a barely perceptible nod. After a moment, Sarason turned to Corona and Campos and gestured in apparent defeat. "We know when we have a losing hand. Consider yourselves another ten million dollars richer."

  The maximum load the winch could tow was five tons, so Huascar's chain was to be cut in the middle and dragged out in two pieces. The soldiers of the Mexican engineering battalion would then fashion a raft from boards requisitioned from the nearest lumber yard to ferry the main mass of the treasure across the subterranean river. Only the golden throne proved too heavy for the raft. Once Huascar's chain was pulled to the mountain peak, the winch cable was to be carried back down and attached to a harness wrapped around the throne. After sending a signal topside, it would be winched across the river bottom until it reached dry ground. From there the engineers, aided by Amaru's men, planned to muscle it onto a sled for the final journey from the heart of the mountain. Once out of the mountain, all of the artifacts would be loaded aboard vessels the Inca artisans who created the golden masterworks could never have visualized birds that flew without wings, known in modern times as helicopters.

  On the island of treasure, Micki Moore busily catalogued and recorded descriptions of the pieces while Henry measured and photographed them. They had to work quickly. Amaru was driving the military engineers to remove everything in a hurry, an effort that reduced the small mountain of golden antiquities at an incredible rate. What had taken the Incas and Chachapoyas six days to cache inside the mountain, modern equipment was about to remove in ten hours.

  She moved close to her husband and whispered, "I can't do this."

  He looked at her.

  Her eyes seemed to reflect the gold that gleamed under the bright lights brought in by the engineers. "I don't want any of the gold."

  "Why not?" he asked her softly.

  "I can't explain," she said. "I feel dirty enough as it is. I know you must have come to feel the same. We must do something to keep it out of Zolar's hands."

  "Wasn't that our original intent, to terminate the Zolars and hijack the treasure after it was loaded aboard the aircraft in the Altar Desert?"

  "That was before we saw how vast and magnificent it is. Let it go, Henry, we've bitten off more than we can chew."

  Moore turned thoughtful. "This is one hell of time to get a conscience."

  "Conscience has nothing to do with it. It's ridiculous to think we could unload tons of antiquities. We have to face facts. You and I don't have the facilities or the contacts to dispose of so large a hoard on the underground market."

  "Selling Huascar's chain would not be all that difficult."

  Micki looked up into his eyes for a long time. "You're a very good anthropologist, and I'm a very good archaeologist. We're also very good at jumping out of airplanes at night into strange countries and murdering people. Stealing priceless ancient art is not what we do best. Besides, we hate these people. I say we work together in keeping the treasure in one piece. Not scattered inside the vaults of a bunch of scavengers hungry for possessions no one else can own or ever view."

  "I have to admit," he said wearily, "I've had my reservations too. What do you suggest we do?"

  "The right thing," she replied huskily.

  For the first time Moore noticed the compassion in her eyes. There was a beauty he had never seen before. She put her arms around him and gazed into his eyes. "We don't have to kill anymore. This time we won't have to crawl back under a rock when our operation is finished."

  He took her head between his hands and kissed her. "I'm proud of you, old girl."

  She pushed him back, her eyes widening as if she remembered something. "The hostages. I promised them we would rescue them if we could."

  "Where are they?"

  "If they're still alive, they should be on the surface."

  Moore looked around the cavern and saw that Amaru was overseeing the removal of the mummies of the guardians from inside the crypt. The Zolars were leaving the caverns as bare as when the Incas found them. Nothing of value was to be left.

  "We've got a detailed inventory," he said to Micki. "Let's be on our way."

  The Moores hitched a ride on a sled stacked with golden animals being towed up to the staging area. When they came into daylight, they searched the summit, but Loren Smith and Rudi Gunn were nowhere to be found.

  By then, it was too late for the Moores to reenter the mountain.

  Loren shivered. Tattered clothing was no protection against the cool dampness of the cavern. Gunn put his arm around her to provide what body warmth he had to give. The tiny cell-like chamber that was their prison was little more than a wide crack in the limestone. There was no room to stand up, and whenever they tried to move about to find a comfortable position or to keep warm, the guard shoved his gun butt at them through the opening.

  After the two sections of the golden chain had been brought through the
passageway, Amaru forced them from the mountain crest down to the little cavity behind the guardian's crypt. Unknown to the Moores, Loren and Rudi had been imprisoned before the scientists made their way out of the treasure cavern.

  "We would appreciate a drink of water," Loren told the guard.

  He turned and looked at her blankly. He was an appalling figure, enormous, with an entirely repulsive face, thick lips, flat nose, and one eye. The empty socket he left exposed, giving him the brutal ugliness of Quasimodo.

  This time when Loren shivered it wasn't from the cold. It was the fear that coursed throughout her half-naked body. She knew that to show audacity might invite pain, but she no longer cared. "Water, you drooling imbecile. Do you understand, agua?"

  He gave her a cruel look and slowly vanished from their narrow line of vision. In a few minutes he returned and tossed a military canteen of water into the cave.

  "I think you've made a friend," said Gunn.

  "If he thinks he's getting a kiss on the first date," said Loren, twisting off the cap of the canteen, "he's got another think coming."

  She offered Gunn a drink, but he shook his head. "Ladies first."

  Loren drank sparingly and passed the canteen to Gunn. "I wonder what happened to the Moores?"

  "They may not know we were moved from the summit down to this hellhole."

  "I fear the Zolars intend to bury us alive in here," Loren said. The tears came to her eyes for the first time as her defenses began to crack. She had endured the beatings and the abuse, but now that it seemed she and Gunn were abandoned, the faint hope that had kept her going was all but extinguished.

  "There is still Dirk," Gunn said gently.

  She shook her head as if embarrassed at being seen wiping away the tears. "Please stop. Even if he were still alive, Dirk couldn't fight his way into this rotten mountain with a division of Marines and reach us in time."

  "If I know our man, he wouldn't need a division of Marines."

  "He's only human. He would be the last one to think of himself as a miracle worker."

  "As long as we're still alive," said Gunn, "and there is a chance, that's all that matters."

  "But for how long?" She shook her head sadly. "A few more minutes, a couple of hours? The truth is, we're already as good as dead."

  When the first section of chain was dragged into daylight, everyone on the summit stood and admired it. The sheer mass of so much gold in one place took their breath away. Despite the dust and calcite drippings from centuries underground, the great mass of yellow gold gleamed blindingly under the noon sun.

  In all the years the Zolars had been practicing the theft of antiquities, they had never seen such a masterwork of art so rich in splendor from the past. No treasured object known to history could match it. Fewer than four collectors throughout the world could have afforded the entire piece. The sight was doubly grand when the second section of chain was pulled from the passage opening and laid beside the first.

  "Mother of heaven!" gasped Colonel Campos. "The links are as large as a man's wrist."

  "Difficult to believe the Incas had mastered such highly technical skills in metallurgy," murmured Zolar.

  Sarason knelt down and studied the links. "Their artistry and sophistication is phenomenal. Each link is perfect. There isn't a flaw anywhere."

  Corona walked over to one of the end links and lifted it with considerable effort. "They must weigh fifty kilos each."

  This is truly light-years ahead of any other discovery," said Oxley, trembling at the incredible sight.

  Sarason tore his gaze away and gestured to Amaru. "Get it loaded on board the helicopter, quickly."

  The evil-eyed killer nodded silently and began giving orders to his men and a squad of soldiers. Even Corona, Campos, and Matos pitched in. With help from a straining forklift and plenty of sweat, the two sections of chain were manhandled aboard two army helicopters and sent on their way to the desert airstrip.

  Zolar watched as the two aircraft became tiny specks in the sky. "Nothing can stop us now," he said cheerfully to his brothers. "A few more hours and we're home free, with the largest treasure known to man."

  To Sandecker, the audacious plan to come in through the back door of Cerro el Capirote in a wild attempt to save Loren Smith and Rudi Gunn was nothing less than suicidal. He knew the reasons Pitt had for risking his life, rescuing a loved one and a close friend from death, evening the score with a pair of murderers, and snatching a wondrous treasure from the hands of thieves. Those were grounds for justification of other men. Not Pitt. His motivation went much deeper. To challenge the unknown, laugh at the devil, and dare the odds. Those were his stimulants.

  As for Giordino, Pitt's friend since childhood, Sandecker never doubted for an instant the rugged Italian would follow Pitt into a molten sea of lava.

  Sandecker could have stopped them. But he hadn't built what was thought of by many as the finest, most productive, and budget efficient agency in the government without taking his fair share of risky gambles. His fondness for marching out of step with official Washington made him the object of respect as well as envy. The other directors of national bureaus would never consider hands-on control of a hazardous project in the field that might run the risk of censure from Congress and force resignation by presidential order. Sandecker's only regret was that this was one adventure he couldn't lead himself.

  He paused after carrying a load of dive gear from the old Chevy down the tubular bore and looked at Peter Duncan, who sat beside the sinkhole, busily overlaying a transparency of a topographical map onto a hydrographic survey of known underground water systems.

  The two charts were enlarged to the same scale, enabling Duncan to trace the approximate course of the subterranean river. Around him, the others were setting out the dive gear and float equipment. "As the crow flies," Duncan said to no one specifically, "the distance between Satan's Sinkhole and Cerro el Capirote works out to roughly thirty kilometers."

  Sandecker looked down into the water of the sinkhole. "What quirk of nature formed the river channel?"

  "About sixty million years ago," answered Duncan, "a shift in the earth caused a fault in the limestone, allowing water to seep in and carve out a series of connecting caverns."

  The admiral turned to Pitt. "How long do you think it will take you to get there?"

  "Running with a current of nine knots," said Pitt, "we should make the treasure cavern in three hours."

  Duncan looked doubtful. "I've never seen a river that didn't meander. If I were you I'd add another two hours to my estimated time of arrival."

  "The Wallowing Windbag will make up the time," Giordino said confidently as he stripped off his clothes.

  "Only if you have clear sailing all the way. You're entering the unknown. There is no second-guessing the difficulties you might encounter. Submerged passages extending ten kilometers or more, cascades that fall the height of a ten-story building, or unnavigable rapids through rocks. White-water rafters have a saying-- if there is a rock, you'll strike it. If there is an eddy, you'll get caught in it."

  "Anything else?" Giordino grinned, unshaken by Duncan's dire forecast. "Like vampires or gluttonous monsters with six jaws of barracuda teeth lurking in the dark to have us for lunch?"

  "I'm only trying to prepare you for the unexpected," Duncan said. "The best theory I can offer that might give you a small sense of security is that I believe the main section of the river system flows through a fault in the earth. If I'm right, the channel will travel in an erratic path but with a reasonably level depth."

  Pitt patted him on the shoulder. "We understand and we're grateful. But at this stage, all Al and I can do is hope for the best, expect the worst, and settle for anything in between."

  "When you swam out of the sinkhole's feeder stream into the river," Sandecker asked Duncan, "was there an air pocket?"

  "Yes, the rock ceiling rose a good ten meters above the surface of the river."

  "How far did it extend?"<
br />
  "We were hanging onto the fixed guideline for dear life against the current and only got a brief look. A quick sweep of my light failed to reveal the end of the gallery."

  "With luck, they'll have an air passage the entire trip."

  "A lot of luck," said Duncan skeptically, his eyes still drawn to the chart overlays. "As underground rivers go, this one is enormous. In sheer length, it must be the longest unexplored subterranean water course through a field of karst."

  Giordino hesitated in strapping on a small console containing pressure gauges, a compass, and a depth meter to his arm. "What do you mean by karst?"

  "Karst is the term for a limestone belt that is penetrated by a system of streams, passages, and caverns."

  "It makes one wonder how many other unknown rivers are flowing under the earth," said Pitt.

  "Leigh Hunt and his river canyon of gold, another source of jokes by California and Nevada state hydrologists, now bear heavy investigation," admitted Duncan. "Because of what you discovered here, I'll guarantee that closed minds will take a second look."

  "Maybe I can do my bit for the cause," said Pitt, holding up a small waterproof computer before strapping it to his forearm. "I'll try to program a survey, and plot data on the river's course as we go."

  "I'll be grateful for all the scientific data you can bring back," acknowledged Duncan. "Finding a golden treasure under Cerro el Capirote may fire the imagination, but in reality it's incidental to the discovery of a water source that can turn millions of acres of desert into productive farm and ranch land."

  "Perhaps the gold can fund the pumping systems and pipelines for such a project," said Pitt.

  "Certainly a dream to consider," added Sandecker.

  Giordino held up an underwater camera. "I'll bring back some pictures for you."

  "Thank you," said Duncan gratefully. "I'd also appreciate another favor."

  Pitt smiled. "Name it."

  He handed Pitt a plastic packet in the shape of a basketball but half the size. "A dye tracer called Fluorescein Yellow with Optical Brightener. I'll buy you the best Mexican dinner in the Southwest if you'll throw it into the river when you reach the treasure chamber. That's all. As it floats along the river the container will automatically release the dye over regular intervals."