“Look, over there to your right,” Amisi said. “It looks like a slab of metal sticking out of the sand.”
I walked to where it lay and flipped it over with my foot. It was jagged and lightweight with rivet holes. I looked ahead and saw more fragments dotting the landscape. Some were more panel fragments and others were pieces of machinery.
“I think we've found the landing strip where they buried the JU390,” I said.
“We found it, too,” M2 said. “This is a sizable graveyard. Right now I'm standing on a big slab of wing. They didn't bury it very deep.”
“I'd sure like to excavate this site,” I said. “There are six big radial engines that need rescuing.”
“What ever would you do with them?” Amisi asked.
Harry chimed in. “Don't bother to reason with a collector. Besides, if we did dig one up it would be mine, all mine.”
It wasn't long before the horizon became more interesting. We were approaching the ancient riverbed that had received some major rock carving long ago. It looked like a cheap copy of the Grand Canyon only not nearly as deep, or wide, or wet. As we approached the rim, M1 issued some instructions.
“You two crouch down and approach the edge slowly. Crawl the last few feet. When you look over, keep your head still. It's movement that will give away your position. We'll find our own spot nearby.”
It was our good fortune to pick a spot to lay down on that did not reek of number one. Side by side we gazed down to a wide, flat area between the cliff walls. I could see that the bottom was level and perhaps one football field wide. It followed the old riverbed as it curved out of sight to the left and right. I guess it was the wind playing sculptor with the sand on the bottom that kept the whole place from filling up and disappearing. I estimated that the exposed cliffs were at least sixty feet high and close to vertical. The same wind that moved the loose sand had done a job on the cliffs, scouring deep grooves at every level.
“You're looking at ground zero,” M1 said.
Something had disturbed the sand on the bottom. I saw mounds of the stuff scattered all over the place and many tire tracks crisscrossed the area.
“It looks like Carl's work,” Amisi said, “but all he left is a mess. It looks like a war zone.”
“I don't see anything manmade other than tire tracks, “Alice said. “No signs of life at all.”
“Looks like we won the race,” M2 said, “but Carl doesn't even know it's a contest.”
“Shoot,” M1 said, “it's only been, what, not even four weeks since he picked up the GPR unit. I'll bet the ranch that neither he nor Roy have the slightest idea that anyone could have picked up their trail. I'm sure they estimate that, at best, if we do ever get here it will be after they have finished and are long gone.”
“Just look at the ground we've covered,” Alice chimed in. “How many new speed records have we set?”
I had an urge to clear my throat and say “ahem” in my earpiece to remind them of just who it was that was mostly responsible for the fast action. I did not because one must be judicious about when and where to toot one's own horn.
“I just hope,” Alice said, “we don't have to wait too long for the bad guys to show up. Say, M1, based on our remaining supplies, how long can we wait here?”
“One more full day,” M1 replied. “If we're still here tomorrow at nightfall, we'll have to head back for food and water.”
“Does that mean another ride in the doodlebug?” I asked.
“No, sir,” this time it was Harry. “There are rations hidden in the back and a solar powered dingus is condensing water as we speak.”
I really didn't need to know this, but Alice was kind enough to relax the rule. As I was about to thank her for her considerate behavior, a new sound snapped our attention back to the job at hand. Somewhere, directly below and out of sight, an engine started up. It was not a car engine we were listening to, but more like a large lawnmower. Considering the fact that there was not a blade of grass within a hundred miles or more, our thoughts turned to the possibility of an ATV or a motorcycle.
“Anyone see what it is?” M1 asked. He got no reply. “Try slowly inching forward, very slowly.”
I began my dirt crawl, but after six skootches, I heard another engine start. This time it was of the automobile type. Seconds later, a pickup truck appeared from directly below heading toward the middle of the river bottom. Behind the truck, a small trailer bumped along and on the trailer, we saw a running gas generator and some other boxes. The truck stopped in the approximate middle, two men got out and we had our first sighting of Carl Manheim and Roy Kilbourne.
“Kilroy is here,” M2 said softly.
“Kilbourne is the guy in the olive drab T-shirt,” Alice said. “The one in the khaki shirt has to be Carl.”
It was too distant to make out much detail and both were wearing wide brim hats, but those facts didn't lessen the thrill of finding our quarry. It appeared that we had arrived only hours or even minutes behind the two below. After some back and forth between the two men, Carl took a golf course flag from the bed of the pickup and stuck it in the ground.
“They're setting up a search grid,” Jean said. “We had best make ourselves as comfortable as possible. We could be here all day unless they get lucky.”
“We'll all watch them for a while to see how they work together,” M1 said, “then we'll watch in three shifts.”
“Look,” Harry said, from wherever he was, “Carl is making a phone call.”
I looked and saw him standing behind the trailer with the phone up to his ear. He appeared agitated. After what must have been several rings, he gave up and said something to Roy who then got in the truck and drove slowly forward. Carl walked behind the trailer steering what had to be our GPR machine. After watching the action for a few minutes, Amisi turned her head slowly my way. “Do you find their search pattern at all curious?”
“Sure I do,” I replied, “but why don't you tell the others. You do it so well.”
“Liar, liar, bloomers on fire,” she said, in a forced whisper. “You haven't the slightest idea, do you?”
“Children,” Alice growled, “remember who has the grenades.”
“Well,” Amisi said, “there are things that you wouldn’t expect your average ignoramus like Biti to know, but it’s surprising that neither Carl nor Roy took the time to study ancient Egypt in depth. They’re looking for the entrance to an ancient tomb. If it's down there, they’ll find it somewhere along the base of the cliffs. The Egyptians would never have dug a vertical shaft in the bedrock of the river basin unless other tombs occupied the cliff sides, but this area has nothing. They would bore straight in, at or above the level of the bottom. The search pattern I see is going out from the middle. Eventually, they will reach the cliff base, but probably not today. If what we want is the GPR unit, couldn't we just go and take it?”
“Sure,” Alice said, “but we have to stay ahead of people like Morgan Bruno. If he gets a whiff of this, watch out. We need to know what’s inside. Who knows, maybe the bar of soap came from there.”
“Can you think of anything that will speed up their search?” M1 asked Amisi.
“I already have,” Amisi replied. “Biti and I will pay them a visit. We'll see if our disguises are as good as we think they are.”
“What's your plan?” M1 asked.
“I'll explain it to Biti as we move and you all can listen in. We'll have to go down around the curve to the right. I want them to first see us walking toward them from the base of the cliffs on the other side. When we finish, we'll return by the same route.”
We moved back from the edge far enough to stand. We did so cautiously, looking for more tourists in the area.
“Go ahead,” M1 said, sounding skeptical. “M2 will shadow you from the rim and wait for your return. Be careful, you two.”
M2 materialized from a pile of rocks as we walked off to the east. This time he stayed with us, constantly searching for movemen
t. We finally reached a spot where our targets were out of sight around the bend. There was a smallish side gully nearby, which made for an easy, if steep, descent to the canyon floor. We crossed to the other side and turned back west.
“Okay, Biti,” Amisi said, “I'm relying on our two men being unable to speak the language. I'll find out right away. It's a good bet that they have little knowledge of customs and traditions, so I'll make up a pilgrimage that should convince them to look along the cliff bases. Let me do all the talking. You do the point and shrug if they try to talk to you.”
As we walked along, Amisi pulled a small, draw string pouch from somewhere beneath her garment. “Here, fill this with half of your tea leaves. When we get close to them, we'll stop and move to the base of the cliff. Ignore them. I'll do the tea leaves and you'll pour water on them. Just follow my lead.”
“Got it,” I said.
As we drew near, I glanced at the opposite cliff base that had been out of sight when we were watching from above. I said to my hearing aid, “I see a combination backhoe and bulldozer parked just out of sight below you guys. It's under an open canvas tent. That's why the satellites can't see it.”
By the time we were at her chosen spot, the truck had stopped and both men were observing us closely. Amisi walked to an arm’s length of the cliff where she knelt down and began her routine. I stood off to one side, leaning heavily on my crutch.
“Okay, babe,” she said, “time to join me and pour some water.”
I made a show of using my crutch to support myself as I knelt down. I had just started to pour a dribble of water when I saw two shadows out of the corner of my eye. Both stood a few feet behind us, just watching as Amisi began her little prayer act. I had thought that she did a pretty good cringe earlier, but the dance routine she did while on her knees was Oscar material. She also performed a singsong chant full of lalya, lalya and other unpronounceable words.
“I want that chant for my cell phone ring tone.” Alice said.
When finished, Amisi did a bow over the tea leaves then raised to her feet. I followed suit and my companion made her own show of helping me up. We turned together to face the two men. For the first time, we had a full close up look at those we had been chasing. Roy had changed little from his yearbook pictures. His features had just become leaner and sharper. His beard stubble was gray, but the hair showing below his hat was dark. His black eyes were the scary part. I would never play golf with this man.
Carl had aged more gracefully. It was still easy to see the young man in the yearbook though most of the blonde hair had turned silver gray. His blue eyes and his eyebrows were pale. Somehow, that gave him a sympathetic persona. I felt as though I were not looking at a bad man.
They were still several paces away so I gave them my premium, gap-toothed smile. Right away we saw that Roy was in charge. He stepped forward and demanded the reason that we were here.
At first, Amisi rattled off a string of Arabic, along with exaggerated hand gestures. Roy and Carl showed no signs of understanding the language, so she shifted to broken English.
“Oh, sir,” she said, while clasping her hands under her chin, “you are of the English?”
“Yes,” Roy said. “What you do here?”
She wrinkled what little brow I could see. “I do so here come for pill, pillga, for to honor the father of the one who is dead.”
“A Pharaoh?” Carl said.
Amisi squealed with delight. “Yes, what you say,”
“Is he here?” Roy asked, while pointing to the wet tealeaves.
“Yes, here,” Amisi said.
Then she pointed to the left and right and to the cliffs on the other side while saying, “Here, here, here, here.”
“No understand,” Roy said, with a frown.
She touched the cliff then pointed down. After that, she walked back to a different spot at the cliff base and said, “Down. Hide.”
I was watching Carl when I saw the dawn break in his face.
“Now I remember reading about this,” he said eagerly. “We'll find the tomb somewhere along the base of this cliff or on the other side. The entrance is under the sand and tunneled into the cliff. I should have remembered.”
“What you do now?” Roy said.
“Go,” she said, while pointing back the way we had come.
“Why not give her some legal tender?” Carl said to Roy, thinking we wouldn't understand.
“Bad idea,” Roy said. “They'll tell their friends and we'll soon have a mob here looking for a handout. Under other circumstances, they wouldn't walk away, but if they don't show up at wherever they live, someone may come looking. Letting them go is the smart thing to do.”
Roy then looked at us. “Go in peace,” he said, with a straight face.
It was all I could do to keep from laughing, but I just repeated my premium smile. Amisi bowed, then turned and walked away with me trailing behind. We said nothing until we were well out of earshot.
“Did you see their guns?” I asked Amisi.
“Yes,” she said, “they were both packing pretty good.”
“Amisi, you were fabulous,” Alice said. “We must take good care of you. You are priceless.”
I heard three dittos then I added my own. By the time we made it back to our original position, Carl and Roy were busy driving their apparatus along the far cliff wall.
M1 took a measured drink from his canteen. “All we can do now is wait. Take your watching positions and make yourselves as comfortable as possible. I sure hope they get lucky and find something before dark. When you run short of water, Harry is toting a big jug.”
Watching the pickup inch slowly along the cliff base was not very exciting and lying on the ground in the desert at mid-afternoon was decidedly unpleasant. I knew that the bacteria in every crevice of my body were busy manufacturing a monumental case of BO. Once, a long time ago, when I was in the Army, circumstances forced me to wear the same clothing and not bathe for five days. I fervently hoped I would not have to repeat that experience.
“Remember a few years back,” I said to Amisi, in an attempt to break the monotony, “when the Widow Watson went to Florida on vacation?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I didn't know you were keeping track, but yes, I do because she complained long and loud about the cost.”
“My point exactly,” I said. “She paid through the nose to go to a distant spot and lay on the sand, under the tropical sun. Here we are, laying on the sand under a tropical sun and getting paid for the privilege.”
Amisi drew us back to the matter at hand by observing that Carl had used his cell phone about once every ten minutes.
“Who, other than his sister could he be calling?” she wondered. “Can we monitor his calls?”
“We'd need special equipment out here,” M1 said. “I'll call in a request, but I doubt that much can be done although I would love to listen in. He most certainly would not make casual calls on a day like today.”
The heat sapped my strength and my ambition as I lay there staring at the little truck below. I willed them to strike gold and for sure, as soon as I gave them a mental push, the truck stopped and Roy ran back to consult with Carl. After a short conversation, they climbed back into the cab and drove toward our side of the canyon and passed from view.
We heard the truck stop, the door slam, then Roy gunned the motor and zipped back to park near where they had apparently found something. A new sound floated up from below as Carl cranked up the backhoe bulldozer and clanked his way to where Roy was waiting. Carl must have had experience with such a machine. When he arrived at the chosen spot, he deftly swung it around to point the digging end to the cliff base. He twirled his seat around and began to dig.
It was slow going, even if the sand did not resist. For every scoop he lifted, the loose sand slid in from the sides to replace most of what he had just removed. The idea was to scoop up a bucket of material near the wall then swing around 180 degrees to deposit it directly in
front of the bulldozer blade. He dumped about ten loads then twirled his seat again and plowed the sand pile out into the middle of the riverbed. This new activity was more interesting, but not by very much. Even so, I counted my blessings and tried to remain alert while ignoring the itching parts of my sticky body.
I saw the line of pickup trucks before I heard them because Carl's machine was extremely noisy. They were following the riverbed, coming in from the west and heading directly toward Carl and Roy. I counted seven of them and they were all full of desert dwellers with guns pointed up in the air. The lead truck, I noted, looked like the one Amisi and I encountered on the way here.
Things were becoming even more complicated. We could not determine who were the bad guys and who were the good guys and there was that group of runners somewhere to the east. If Carl saw the trucks, he didn't stop work. Roy, however, did see them and walked out to meet the lead truck. By his manner it was apparent that he knew these new arrivals.
A tall man got out of the riders side and swaggered over to meet Roy in front of the vehicle. It was Mister Macho Man from back on the trail. We had a good view of both men. He said something to Roy then pointed on to the east, in the same direction they had been driving.
Roy thought for a moment then pointed back to the west while giving his instructions. He curved his pointing arm and made a turnaround motion and swept back while pointing to the top of the canyon, near our location.
The Macho man hopped back into his truck, the driver spun it around and the whole convoy followed it back the way they had come. All the while, Carl continued his digging.
“This is not looking good,” M2 said, “Those are Roy's troops and he just instructed them to backtrack, then run a sweep on the canyon rim. If we stay here, they will walk right over us. I do know a hidey-hole. Anyone interested?”
“Let's go,” M1 said.
“Follow me with due caution,” M2 added.
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