"News of your remarkable journey through the earth has drawn them."
"You've got to be kidding," said Pitt in honest surprise.
"No, senor. Because of your discovery of the river flowing below the desert, you've become a hero to every farmer and rancher from here to Arizona who struggles to survive in a harsh wasteland." He nodded at two vans with technicians unloading television camera equipment. "That's why you've become big news."
"Oh, God." Pitt groaned. "All I want is a soft bed to sleep in for three days."
Pitt's mental and physical condition had improved considerably upon receiving word over the ship's radio from Admiral Sandecker that Loren, Rudi, and Al were alive, if slightly the worse for wear. Sandecker also brought him up to date on Cyrus Sarason's death at the hands of Billy Yuma and the capture of Zolar and Oxley, along with Huascar's treasure, by Gaskill and Ragsdale with the help of Henry and Micki Moore.
There was hope for the little people after all, Pitt thought stoically.
It seemed like an hour, though it was only a few minutes before the Porqueria tied up to the Alhambra for the second time that day. A large paper sign was unfolded across the upper passenger deck of the ferryboat, the letters still dripping fresh paint. It read, WELCOME BACK FROM THE DEAD.
On the auto deck a Mexican mariachi street band was lined up, playing and singing a tune that seemed familiar. Pitt leaned over the railing of the patrol boat, cocked an ear, and threw back his head in laughter. He then doubled over with pain as his merriment caused a burst of fire inside his rib cage. Giordino had pulled off the ultimate coup.
"Do you know the song they're playing?" asked Maderas, mildly alarmed at Pitt's strange display of mirth and agony.
"I recognize the tune, but not the words," Pitt gasped through the hurt. "They're singing in Spanish."
Miralos andando
Vealos andando
Lleva a tu novia favorita, tu companero real
Bajate a la represa, dije la represa
Juntate con ese gentio andando, oiga la musica y la cancion
Es simplemente magnifico camarada, esperando en la represa
Esperando por el Roberto E. Lee.
"Miralos andando," repeated Maderas, confused. "What do they mean, `Go to the dam'?"
"Levee," Pitt guessed. "The opening words of the song are, `Go down to the levee.' "
As the trumpets blared, the guitars strummed, and the seven throats of the band warbled out a mariachi version of "Waiting for the Robert E. Lee," Loren stood among the throng that had mobbed on board the ferry and waved wildly. She could see Pitt search the crowd until he found her and happily waved back.
She saw the dressing wrapped around his head, the left arm in a sling, and the cast on one wrist. In his borrowed shorts and golf shirt he looked out of place among the uniformed crew of the Mexican navy. At first glance, he appeared amazingly fit for a man who had survived a journey through hell, purgatory, and a black abyss. But Loren knew Pitt was a master at covering up exhaustion and pain. She could see them in his eyes.
Pitt spotted Admiral Sandecker standing behind Giordino in his wheelchair. His wandering eyes also picked out Gordo Padilla with his arm around his wife, Rosa. Jesus, Gato, and the engineer, whose name he could never remember, stood nearby brandishing bottles in the air. Then the gangplank was down, and Pitt shook hands with Maderas and Hidalgo.
"Thank you, gentlemen, and thank your corpsman for me. He did a first-rate job of patching me up."
"It is we who are in your debt, Senor Pitt," said Hidalgo. "My mother and father own a small ranch not far from here and will reap the benefits when wells are sunk into your river."
"Please make me one promise," said Pitt.
"If it's within our power," replied Maderas.
Pitt grinned. "Don't ever let anyone name that damned river after me."
He turned and walked across to the auto deck of the ferry and into a sea of bodies. Loren rushed up to him, stopped, and slowly put her arms around his neck so she would not press her body against his injuries. Her lips were trembling as she kissed him.
She pulled back as the tears flowed, smiled and said, "Welcome home, sailor."
Then the rush was on. Newsmen and TV cameramen from both sides of the border swarmed around as Pitt greeted Sandecker and Giordino.
"I thought sure you'd bought a tombstone this time," said Giordino, beaming like a neon sign on the Las Vegas strip.
Pitt smiled. "If I hadn't found the Wallowing Windbag, I wouldn't be here."
"I hope you realize," said Sandecker, faking a frown, "that you're getting too old for swimming around in caves."
Pitt held up his good hand as if taking an oath. "So help me, Admiral, if I ever so much as look at another underground cavern, shoot me in the foot."
Then Shannon came up and planted a long kiss on his lips that had Loren fuming. When she released him, she said, "I missed you."
Before he could reply, Miles Rodgers and Peter Duncan were pumping his uninjured hand. "You're one tough character," said Rodgers.
"I busted the computer and lost your data," Pitt said to Duncan. "I'm genuinely sorry."
"No problem," Duncan replied with a broad smile. "Now that you've proven the river runs from Satan's Sinkhole under Cerro el Capirote and shown where it resurges into the Gulf, we can trace its path with floating sonic geophysical imaging systems along with transmitting instrument packages."
At that moment, unnoticed by most of the mob, a dilapidated Mexicali taxi smoked to a stop. A man jumped out and hurried across the dock and onto the auto deck wearing only a blanket. He put his head down and barreled his way through the mass of people until he reached Pitt.
"Rudi!" Pitt roared as he wrapped his free arm around the little man's shoulder. "Where did you fall from?"
As if he'd timed it, Gunn's splinted fingers lost their grip on the blanket and it fell to the deck, leaving him standing in only the hospital smock. "I escaped the clutches of the nurse from hell to come here and greet you," he said, without any sign of embarrassment.
"Are you mending okay?"
"I'll be back at my desk at NUMA before you."
Pitt turned and hailed Rodgers. "Miles, you got your camera?"
"No good photographer is ever without his cameras," Rodgers shouted over the noise of the crowd.
"Take a picture of the three battered bastards of Cerro el Capirote."
"And one battered bitch," added Loren, squeezing into the lineup.
Rodgers got off three shots before the reporters took over.
"Mr. Pitt!" One of the TV interviewers pushed a microphone in front of his face. "What can you tell us about the subterranean river?"
"Only that it exists," he answered smoothly, "and that it's very wet."
"How large would you say it is?"
He had to think a moment as he slipped his arm around Loren and squeezed her hip. "I'd guess about two-thirds the size of the Rio Grande."
"That big?"
"Easily."
"How do you feel after swimming through underground caverns for over a hundred kilometers?"
Pitt was always irritated when a reporter asked how a mother or father felt after their house burned down with all their children inside, or how a witness felt who watched someone fall from an airplane without a parachute.
"Feel?" stated Pitt. "Right now I feel that my bladder will burst if I don't get to a bathroom."
HOMECOMING
November 4, 1998
San Felipe, Baja California
Two days later, after everyone gave detailed statements to the Mexican investigators, they were free to leave the country. They assembled on the dock to bid their farewells.
Dr. Peter Duncan was the first to leave. The hydrologist slipped away early in the morning and was gone before anyone missed him. He had a busy year ahead of him as director of the Sonoran Water Project, as it was to be called. The water from the river was to prove a godsend to the drought-plagued Southwest. Water,
the lifeblood of civilization, would create jobs for the people of the desert. Construction of aqueducts and pipelines would channel the water into towns and cities and would turn a dry lake into a recreational reservoir the size of Lake Powell.
Soon to follow would be projects to mine the mineral riches Pitt had discovered on his underground odyssey and to build a tourist center beneath the earth.
Dr. Shannon Kelsey was invited back to Peru to continue her excavations of the ruins in the Chachapoyan cities. Where she went, Miles Rodgers followed.
"I hope we meet again," said Rodgers, shaking Pitt's hand.
"Only if you promise to stay out of sacred sinkholes," Pitt said warmly.
Rodgers laughed. "Count on it."
Pitt looked down into Shannon's eyes. The determination and boldness burned as bright as ever. "I wish you all the best."
She saw in him the only man she had ever met whom she couldn't have or control. She felt an undercurrent of affection toward him she couldn't explain. Just to spite Loren again, Shannon kissed Pitt long and hard.
"So long, big guy. Don't forget me."
Pitt nodded and said simply, "I couldn't if I tried."
Shortly after Shannon and Miles left in their rented car for the airport in San Diego, a NUMA helicopter dropped out of the sun and touched down on the deck of the Alhambra. The pilot left the engine idling as he jumped down from the cargo hatch. He looked around a moment and then, recognizing Sandecker, approached him.
"Good morning, Admiral. Ready to leave, or should 1 shut down the engine?"
"Keep it running," answered Sandecker. "What's the status of my NUMA passenger jet?"
"Waiting on the ground at the Yuma Marine Corps Air Station to fly you and the others back to Washington."
"Okay, we're set to board." Sandecker turned to Pitt. "So, you're going on sick leave?"
"Loren and I thought we'd join a Classic Car Club of America tour through Arizona."
"I'll expect you in one week." He turned to Loren and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek. "You're a member of Congress. Don't take any crap from him and see that he gets back in one piece, fit for work."
Loren smiled. "Don't worry, Admiral. My constituents want me back on the job infighting shape too."
"What about me?" said Giordino. "Don't I get time off to recuperate?"
"You can sit behind a desk just as easily in a wheelchair." Then Sandecker smiled fiendishly. "Now, Rudi, he's a different case. I think I'll send him to Bermuda for a month."
"Whatta guy," said Gunn, trying desperately to keep a straight face.
It was a charade. Pitt and Giordino were like sons to Sandecker. Nothing went on between them that wasn't marked with a high degree of respect. The admiral knew with dead certainty that as soon as they were sound and able, they'd be in his office pressuring him for an ocean project to direct.
Two dockhands lifted Giordino into the helicopter. One seat had to be removed to accommodate his outstretched legs.
Pitt leaned in the doorway and tweaked one of the toes that protruded from the cast. "Try not to lose this helicopter like all the others."
"No big deal," Giordino came back. "I get one of these things every time I buy ten gallons of gas."
Gunn placed his hand on Pitt's shoulder. "It's been fun," he said lightly. "We must do it again sometime."
Pitt made a horrified face. "Not on your life."
Sandecker gave Pitt a light hug. "You rest up and take it easy," he said softly so the others couldn't hear above the beat of the rotor blades. "I'll see you when I see you."
"I'll make it soon."
Loren and Pitt stood on the deck of the ferryboat and waved until the helicopter turned northeast over the waters of the Gulf. He turned to her. "Well, that just leaves us."
She smiled teasingly. "I'm starved. Why don't we head into Mexicali and find us a good Mexican restaurant?"
"Now that you've broached the subject, I have a sudden craving for huevos rancheros."
"I guess I'll have to do the driving."
Pitt lifted his hand. "I still have one good arm."
Loren wouldn't heir of it. Pitt stood on the dock and guided her as she competently drove the big Pierce Arrow and its trailer up the ramp from the auto deck of the ferryboat onto the dock.
Pitt took one last, longing look at the walking beams of the old paddle steamer and wished he could have sailed it through the Panama Canal and up the Potomac River to Washington. But it was not meant to be. He gave a forlorn sigh and was slipping into the passenger seat when a car pulled up alongside. Curtis Starger climbed out.
He hailed them. "Glad I caught you before you left. Dave Gaskill said to make sure you got this."
He handed Pitt something wrapped in an Indian blanket. Unable to take it with both hands, he looked helplessly at Loren. She took the blanket and spread it open.
Four faces painted on clublike prayer sticks stared hack at them. "The sacred idols of the Montolos," Pitt said quietly. "Where did you find them?"
"We recovered them inside Joseph Zolar's private plane in Guaymas."
"I'd guessed the idols were in his dirty hands."
"They were positively identified as the missing Montolo effigies from a collectors data sheet we found with them," explained Starger.
"This will make the Montolos very happy."
Starger looked at him with a crooked smile. "I think we can trust you to deliver them."
Pitt chuckled and tilted his head toward the Travelodge. "They're not nearly as valuable as all the gold inside the trailer."
Starger threw Pitt a you-can't-fool-me look. "Very funny. All the golden artifacts are accounted for."
"I promise to drop the idols of in the Montolo village on our way to the border."
"Dave Gaskill and I never nourished a doubt."
"How are the Zolars?" Pitt asked.
"In jail with every charge from theft and illegal smuggling to murder hanging over their heads. You'll be happy to learn the judge denied them bail, dead certain they would flee the country.
"You people do nice work."
"Thanks to your help, Mr. Pitt. If the Customs Service can ever do you a favor, short of smuggling illegal goods into the country, of course, don't hesitate to give us a call."
"I'll remember that, thank you."
Billy Yuma was unsaddling his horse after making the daily rounds of his small herd. He paused to look over the rugged landscape of cactus, mesquite, and tamarisk scattered through the rock outcroppings making up his part of the Sonoran Desert. He saw a dust cloud approaching that slowly materialized into what looked to him to be a very old automobile pulling a trailer, both vehicles painted in the same shade of dark, almost black, blue.
His curiosity rose even higher when the car and trailer stopped in front of his house. He walked from the corral as the passenger door opened and Pitt stepped out.
"A warm sun to you, my friend," Yuma greeted him.
"And clear skies to you," Pitt replied.
Yuma shook Pitt's right hand vigorously. "I'm real glad to see you. They told me you died in the darkness."
"Almost, but not quite," said Pitt, nodding at the arm held by the sling. "I wanted to thank you for entering the mountain and saving the lives of my friends."
"Evil men are meant to die," said Yuma philosophically. "I'm happy I came in time."
Pitt handed Yuma the blanket-wrapped idols. "I've brought something for you and your tribe."
Yuma pulled back the top half of the blanket tenderly, as if peeking at a baby. He stared mutely for several moments into the faces of the four deities. Then tears brimmed in his eyes. "You have returned the soul of my people, our dreams, our religion. Now our children can be initiated and become men and women."
"I was told those who stole them experienced strange sounds like children wailing."
"They were crying to come home."
"I thought Indians never cried."
Yuma smiled as the joyous impact of what he he
ld in his hands washed over him. "Don't you believe it. We just don't like to let anyone see us."
Pitt introduced Loren to Billy's wife, Polly, who insisted they stay for dinner, and would not take no for an answer. Loren let it slip that Pitt had a taste for huevos rancheros, so Polly made him enough to feed five ranch hands.
During the meal, Yuma's friends and family came to the house and reverently looked upon the cottonwood idols. The men shook Pitt's hand while the women presented small handcrafted gifts to Loren. It was a very moving scene and Loren wept unashamedly.
Pitt and Yuma saw in each other two men who were basically very much alike. Neither had any illusions left. Pitt smiled at him. "It is an honor to have you as a friend, Billy."
"You are always welcome here."
"When the water is brought to the surface," said Pitt, "I will see that your village is at the top of the list to receive it.
Yuma removed an amulet on a leather thong from around his neck and gave it to Pitt. "Something to remember your friend by."
Pitt studied the amulet. It was a copper image of the Demonio del Muertos of Cerro el Capirote inlaid with turquoise. "It is too valuable. I cannot take it."
Yuma shook his head. "I swore to wear it until our sacred idols came home. Now it is yours for good luck."
"Thank you."
Before they left Canyon Ometepec, Pitt walked Loren up to Patty Lou Cutting's grave. She knelt and read the inscription on the tombstone.
"What beautiful words," she said softly. "Is there a story behind them?"
"No one seems to know. The Indians say she was buried by unknown people during the night."
"She was so young. Only ten years old."
Pitt nodded. "She rests in a lonely place for a ten-year-old.
"When we get back to Washington, let's try to find if she exists in any records."
The desert wildflowers had bloomed and died so Loren made a wreath from creosote bush branches and laid it over the grave. They stood there for a while looking over the desert. The colors fired by the setting sun were vivid and extraordinary, enhanced by the clear November air.
The whole village lined the road to wish them adios as Loren steered the Pierce Arrow toward the main highway. As she shifted through the gears, Loren looked over at Pitt wistfully.
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