by R. R. Irvine
“Neither of us has a P-38,” Nick reminded him.
He laughed. “Don’t be so sure. Besides, there’s always a kamikaze attack.”
“Where are you?” Nick groped for the light, then thought better of it.
“Back where I started from, you might say.”
In the background, she heard someone shout, “You’re set, Twombly.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Where are you?”
“Where else would a pilot be, Ms. Scott, but the airport? That’s my mechanic calling. When the time comes, a man like me wants to be in the air.”
“The way to get at Hatch is to make everything public,” she said.
“You tried that and it didn’t work. Now I’ve got to call my son again and make final arrangements. In the meantime, you take care of yourself and that young man of yours. I’ll see you in the funny papers, or maybe on the radio.”
“Mr. Twombly, I—”
A dial tone sounded in her ear.
“What was that all about?” McKinnon asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. Probably it had been nothing more than an old man’s fantasy. But Joe Twombly hadn’t struck her as a man given to boasting.
Nick lay back, laced her hands behind her head, and stared into the darkness until it was her turn to stand watch.
CHAPTER 36
They left Cibola at sunrise. Nick drove the Isuzu Trooper, while her father and McKinnon shared a single bucket seat between them. The two loaded .30-.06s were propped against the passenger door, safeties on and muzzles down against the floor mat.
Normally, the desert would have been cool this early, chilly even. But today, Nick guessed the temperature had to be well into the nineties already, hot enough to make her long to switch on the air conditioner. But the Trooper was too heavily loaded to risk overheating.
Shaking her head, she turned on the radio in time to hear a cheerful announcer in Gallup say, “We’ve got a real humdinger ahead of us, folks. It’s going to be another record day. One hundred and twenty degrees in some areas. The authorities are urging everyone to take special precautions.”
The announcer lowered his voice in an attempt to sound grave. “Everyone, particularly children and the elderly, should stay inside unless absolutely necessary. Keep cool and drink plenty of liquids. Highway travelers should carry emergency water with them at all times.”
His voice perked up again. “We’ll be back with more news in an hour.”
“If you ask me,” Elliot said over a commercial, “we’re in luck. Who the hell would be dumb enough to come after us in this kind of weather? Besides, they can’t be absolutely certain where we are. The fact is, maybe we should change plans and head out to Site Two.”
“Sure, and test your new theory while we’re at it.” Nick shook her head. “It’s going to be hot enough at ES One without risking a trip across those badlands.”
“There’s water under that kiva,” Elliot said. “I know it.”
“We’ve got all our supplies at Site One. And once we’re inside that cave, there’s only one way to get at us. That’s head-on. That’s why the Anasazi built there.”
“Is there a back way in?” McKinnon asked.
“Not really,” Nick said. “Just a fissure in the rock that the Indians used as a chimney. I tried climbing it once and damn near got stuck.”
Nick checked the rearview as she’d been doing every few minutes since leaving the motel. The road behind them was empty.
“One hundred degrees at seven A.M. in downtown Gallup,” the announcer said. “Breakfast is cooking on the sidewalks. So’s our music.”
Up ahead, she spotted the marker they’d erected at the turnoff to ES No. 1.
“Hold on,” she said for McKinnon’s benefit. “Here’s where we leave the good road behind.”
Slowing the Trooper dramatically to keep dust to a minimum, Nick swung off the asphalt highway and stopped on the dirt track. By prearrangement, her father and McKinnon jumped out quickly and uprooted their site marker, a six-foot post topped by a red plastic ribbon. Once they’d stuffed the marker into the back of the already overloaded Trooper, Nick crept ahead in first gear for the next mile or so, until they were far enough from the highway to keep their dust from showing. They still had nineteen miles of dirt road ahead of them, though the rising heat waves kept them from seeing more than a half mile at a time.
“My God,” McKinnon murmured. “I thought the country around Phoenix was desolate, but this is downright hostile. What kind of Indians would live in a godforsaken place like this?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nick saw her father rub his hands together, the way he did when explaining finer points to his students. “First, you have to understand that the climate has changed since the Anasazi flourished a thousand years ago.”
For the next hour, Elliot outlined his vision of Anasazi life, beginning well before the birth of Christ with nomadic hunter-gatherers and culminating in the great cliff-dwelling cities two thousand years later.
Finally, Elliot said, “The arrival of the Spanish explorers in 1540 changed everything. For all intents and purposes, the Anasazi culture came to an end.”
McKinnon shook his head. “Christ, those Indians must have been a tough lot. I’m surprised they didn’t wipe out the Spanish.”
“Gunpowder is a great pacifier.”
“Thank God,” Nick said, startling her father until he saw her pointing to the canyon entrance up ahead, where the road passed through a narrow gorge not much wider than the Trooper. “We’re here.”
“My Anasazi knew what they were doing. A perfect defensive position. The only way in or out is through this pass, except to the east. Otherwise you have to climb over a mile of rock.”
“What’s to the east?” McKinnon said.
“Badlands all the way to Site Two. And once you start that way, there’s no turning back. You’re hemmed in by flash-flood gullies a hundred feet deep.”
“This whole damn place is a bottleneck,” McKinnon said. “Sure, you can defend it, but you can also get yourself trapped in here.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m certain my Anasazi knew where the water was and how to get it.”
Once through the narrow pass, the road led directly to the mouth of the cave, which at the moment looked as if it were grinning at them from the base of a mountain of red rock. Nick parked within a few feet of the mouth before killing the engine.
“As soon as we unload,” she said, “I’ll stash the car at the back of the canyon.”
McKinnon stepped out of the Trooper, took one look around, and said, “This place makes me believe in spontaneous combustion.”
“It’s going to get a lot hotter,” Elliot told him, “so we’d better start lugging the gear inside.”
By the time they had everything stowed at the back of the cave, they’d consumed half a gallon of water each, though it seemed to leak from their pores as fast as they could swallow it.
“I’m going to move the Trooper while I still have the energy,” Nick said.
“Maybe I should go with you,” McKinnon said.
She shook her head. “We’re used to this place. You aren’t. The shade in here isn’t going to last, so you’d better take advantage of it.”
He followed her to the front of the cave just the same, where he took her in his arms and kissed her.
This time, she thought, the electric tingle was right up there with a B-17.
“If your father weren’t here,” he murmured into her.
“You’d what?” she said teasingly.
He smiled.
“That suggestion could lead to sunstroke.”
“What a way to go.”
When he tried for another kiss, she pushed him away, but not too hard. “Save your energy until we get out of this.”
“My mother waited too long,” he said.
She was still thinking that over when Elliot tapped her on the shoulder from behind. “Underground k
ivas were as good as having air-conditioning.” He grinned to let her know that he’d overheard their conversation. “Unfortunately, the floor of this cave is solid rock. Here, everything had to be built aboveground. Of course you two could always take an upstairs apartment if you want privacy.” He nodded at the aluminum ladder leaning against the side of the three-story cliff dwelling. “Pull it up after you, if you want. I don’t mind. It’s the one place where there’s always shade, too.”
Feigning outrage, Nick stepped out of the cave and into the burning sunlight. A cliff dwelling wasn’t her idea of a honeymoon suite. Besides, it was to be their second line of defense, and would have to be stocked with water and emergency rations as soon as she got back.
“Take one of the rifles with you,” McKinnon called after her.
Nick hesitated. Her own .30-.30 was stashed under the front seat of the Trooper as always, but if she ran into trouble on the way there she’d need firepower. She backtracked and hefted one of the .30-.06s. It felt heavy and awkward compared to her lever-action .30-.30. Still, an oh-six would knock down a buffalo, whereas a .30-.30 was more of a varmint gun.
As always, she double-checked the safety before carrying the rifle with her to the Trooper. Before getting in, she checked the road. McKinnon was right about that. The narrow entrance to the canyon was as much a trap as a defensive position. Here, the Anasazi could have fought off the Spaniards. Only by the time they had arrived, the site had long been abandoned. The fact that it had been was a good argument against her father’s water theory. Why leave, if there was water to be had?
She shook her head. Absolute answers were seldom to be had in archaeology.
Gingerly, she opened the door on the driver’s side. The metal was hot to the touch.
Taking a deep breath, she climbed inside, checked under the seat to make certain the .30-.30 was where it should be, then started the engine and pulled away from the cave mouth. A hundred yards away, behind an outcropping of rock, she backed the Trooper against the cliff.
Since the Trooper’s white paint made it highly visible, she scooped red dirt onto the hood and grill. It wasn’t exactly camouflage, but it might fool somebody from a distance. For a moment, she considering cutting brush and doing a better job of concealment. But the heat was too intense. Already, her sweat was starting to dry up, a sign she needed more water, and soon.
She was halfway to the cave when she remembered the .30-.30. But surely two .30-.06s would be enough firepower for whatever might come up. She nodded and kept going. How would a man like Hatch find them out here in the middle of nowhere anyway?
“Are you sure they’re at the site?” Hatch asked Kemp the moment he boarded the CMI jet in Albuquerque.
“Absolutely.”
“You’ve been in touch?”
Kemp nodded. “I verified their position not twenty minutes ago.”
Hatch turned to the pilot, who was waiting for instructions. “I want you to return to New York immediately, refuel at the airport, and stand by for instructions from my son. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hatch dismissed the pilot with a nod, then stared at Kemp. “Are we going to need backup?”
“I don’t know why you bothered coming, sir. I can do this myself, like always.”
“I want to see this taken care of.” Hatch smiled. “Just hearing about it wouldn’t be good enough.”
Kemp shrugged. “As I said, I’ve verified everything. We have them trapped. Shooting fish in a barrel would be risky by comparison. Even if it wasn’t, we could seal them up and wait them out if we had to.”
“Starvation takes time. I’m too busy a man to wait that long. Now, how long’s it going to take to get us there?”
“I have a helicopter waiting. I’ve already flown the route myself.”
“I hope they didn’t see you.”
“I was very careful.”
“What about the satellite uplink gear?” Hatch asked.
“Everything’s loaded onto the chopper.”
Hatch nodded. “You never did give me a time frame.”
“I thought it best to fly as far as the highway, then drive the rest of the way.” “In this heat? Let’s hear your argument.”
“Just before you reach the site, the road—it’s nothing but a dirt washboard, by the way—passes through a narrow rock canyon. To be on the safe side, we use our Land Rover to block the road at that point. That way, they can’t drive out and nobody can drive in.”
“And the Land Rover?”
“Already camouflaged and waiting for us in the desert,” Kemp said.
“And if we fly all the way in?”
“The terrain is rough. The closest we can land safely is about a half mile away.”
“Christ,” Hatch said. “I’d forgotten how damned hot it was in this part of the country. But I see your point. How long a drive after we leave the chopper?”
“An hour, no more.”
Hatch sighed. “My pilot said it’s a hundred and eighteen degrees on the tarmac. It feels worse. I’m going to need a good night’s sleep before we tackle this, say tomorrow at sunrise. Now, is there anything else I should know?”
“They bought a couple of deer rifles at the general store, ammunition, and plenty of food and water.”
“Did you go into town to find that out?”
“Of course not.”
“Should we worry about the rifles?”
“Our only worry is the bodies as far as I can see.”
“What have you got in the chopper?”
“A couple of assault rifles, both fully automatic, an Uzi, a rocket launcher, and some explosives.”
“You’ve done your homework. I appreciate that.” Hatch nodded at Kemp to lead the way down the ramp. Once they were on the tarmac, Hatch laid out his rules of engagement. “The rocket launcher is a last resort only. A deliberately damaged archaeological site will cause a lot more fuss than missing archaeologists, or even bodies showing up in the desert. The authorities may not like what they find, but what are they going to do about it? They’ll have no witnesses. So well dump them in a ravine somewhere. With any luck, the scavengers will help us out. If they don’t, we’re still free and clear.”
At least Hatch would be, he amended to himself, since he intended to be the only survivor.
Hatch nodded with approval as Kemp set the helicopter down next to the Land Rover the next morning. Their flight had been smooth and uneventful. Seeing Kemp at work, the consummate professional, Hatch decided he was too old to risk tackling the man himself. After all, shooting a man in the back seemed easy enough in theory, but observing Kemp in person was a revelation. He was an athlete. He transferred the two hundred pounds of uplink equipment to the Land Rover as easily as if he’d been shuffling papers. The heat didn’t seem to faze him, while Hatch already felt wilted.
“Let’s set up the uplink before we make a move,” Hatch said. “I want to speak to my son on a scrambled line.”
Kemp assembled the gear quickly, giving the impression that he could have done it blindfolded. More than ever, Hatch knew that he needed backup.
“Lee,” he said, the moment the satellite connection was made, “where are you?”
“At the airport.”
Hatch smiled. His son had foreseen his father’s wishes.
“How soon can you get here?”
“A flight plan’s already been filed. We can be in the air as soon as we get clearance.”
“Hang on for a moment.” Hatch released the transmit button and spoke to Kemp. “I took the precaution of alerting your security force before I left New York. We’ve come too far, and this is too important, to take chances now.”
“We’ll have too many witnesses,” Kemp said.
Hatch blinked. Had Kemp suddenly become a mind reader?
“I’ve changed my mind. I want to sanitize the area. We’ll need manpower to dig that many graves. They’ll also be available to back us up in the event of a worst-case
scenario.”
“It’s your money. But it will all be over by the time they get here. Trust me.”
“Of course,” Hatch said, though he trusted only blood, only his son. He triggered the microphone. “Lee, you ought to be in Albuquerque in four and a half hours. Do you agree?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Kemp and I will be at the location in about an hour, say ten o’clock. One, your time. Fifteen minutes after that, everything should be taken care of, if nothing goes wrong.”
“It won’t,” Kemp mouthed.
Nodding, Hatch went on. “As soon as the smoke clears, I’ll make contact and give you our exact coordinates.”
“Be careful, Dad.”
“Absolutely,” Hatch said, the concern in his son’s voice bringing tears to his eyes.
CHAPTER 37
A car horn honked in the distance. Nick, who’d been at the back of the cave with McKinnon and her father cataloging artifacts, dropped the piece of Anasazi history she’d been toying with. It crashed into dust on the rock floor. The sound bounced off the three-story cliff dwelling above, a mocking echo. “What the hell is that?”
McKinnon sprang to his feet, grabbed one of the rifles, and sprinted to the front of the cave. When he came back he was pointing the rifle at Nick and her father.
“That’s the signal. They’re right on time.”
“Who?” Nick said, waving away the rifle only to see it steady on her.
With a flourish, he whipped out a cellular phone one-handed. “The big man himself, in person. Leland Hatch and one of his henchmen. Like I said, all I had to do was punch in the code.”
“You son of a bitch,” Elliot shouted as he lunged at McKinnon.