Angus only paused for a moment. “Of course I can do it."
Connell saw a gleam in Angus's eyes, a gleam he didn't like at all. Angus was probably dreaming spelunking dreams, planning on exploring the vast tunnels beneath that Wah Wah mountain. Connell knew he'd have to keep a close watch on Angus, keep a short leash to make sure the little genius didn't skip off to do some exploring. But such thoughts were premature, really, and nothing mattered until core sample results established the find's validity.
Connell turned and walked out of the lab. He still didn't have any real evidence, but his instincts told him that the Dense Mass could be pure platinum ore, a find so huge that the potential dollar figures staggered the imagination.
Angus watched Connell leave. His head spun with plans and preparations. Setting up a functioning lab in the middle of a veritable desert in three days would be horribly expensive and very difficult. He didn't care, he would find a way to get it done. He had to get it done. Having the lab on-site meant that his presence would be required for at least a month.
The second he'd seen the first computer pictures, the second the massive network of yellow lines danced across his screen, he knew he had to find a way to get to that site. Now Kirkland actually wanted him there. To Angus, the yellow lines were a far greater treasure than any platinum lode.
The yellow lines represented the largest cavern complex ever discovered — a spelunker's Mt. Everest. It was a sure thing that no human had ever explored three miles below the surface.
Angus Kool intended to be the first.
"Be careful,” Sonny said. “It's a sharp sonofabitch."
Dr. Hector Rodriguez, Ph.D., lifted the heavy, double-crescent-shaped knife by the hole in its center. There really wasn't any other way to pick it up — the knife was edge all the way around, inside both crescents and on the outside curves as well. He could only fit two chubby fingers inside the ring. Almost as soon as he lifted it, he lost his tentative grip on the polished circle. The knife turned as it fell and grazed his index finger.
"Oh, my,” Hector said, looking at the red rivulet cascading down his wrist. Blood drops splattered the layers of paper that covered his desktop. He grabbed a handful of Kleenex and squeezed it around his wound.
"Shit, Hec,” Sonny said, standing and leaning forward. “You okay?"
"Oh sit down, Sonny,” Hector said. “Just because I'm a professor doesn't mean I'm a wuss. It's just a little cut. I can't believe how sharp that thing is. What idiot would sharpen an artifact?"
"I don't think anyone sharpened it,” Sonny said. “I don't think it's been touched since they put it in storage."
Hector let out a small harrumph of disbelief and looked at the knife sitting on his desktop. A smear of blood clung to the jagged edge.
"So you don't recognize it?” Sonny asked.
"I'm afraid not,” Hector said. “I've never seen anything like it. And you're sure this came from our archives?"
"That's right. Just sittin’ there as pretty as you please."
"Well, it's certainly unique.” Hector's mind scrambled for some kind of intelligent explanation. He hoped his sweat didn't show — he considered Sonny an old friend, but that didn't mean he wanted to look like an idiot in front of the department's biggest patron.
They sat in Hector's tiny, disaster-area-messy office buried in the archaeology department's basement. Sonny's face was very familiar to the staff, who were always eager to provide him any help he requested. This time, however, Sonny came in with another man, a dangerous-looking Asian with dark, piercing eyes and a false smile.
More important than the man, Sonny had brought the strange knife. Hector knew it looked familiar, but he couldn't place the odd shape. He talked without looking up from his slow examination of the artifact.
"How long has it been down in the archives?"
"Since 1942,” Sonny said. “A graduate student apparently found it in an area I'm prospecting."
"How did you come across that information?"
"You people amaze me,” Sonny said with a laugh. “Y'all don't even know what you've got around here. You've got more stuff in that library and that museum than you'll ever know, Hec."
"Tell me about it. Just not enough hours in the day, Sonny. I remember when—” Hector stopped in mid-sentence, the image of the knife finally crystallizing in his mind.
"You got something?"
"Yes, I think so,” Hector said. He turned to the impossibly overstuffed bookshelves and rifled through reams of loose papers. “I recall that shape. A former BYU student found something similar. In the Andes, I think. A Dr. Veronica Reeves from the University of Michigan. I've got the article here somewhere. A blurb in Scientific American, I think.” Hector sifted through his endless morass of papers, practically ignoring Sonny and Cho.
"I'll leave the knife here, Hec,” Sonny said. “I'll call you later to see if you've found anything."
Hector stopped his search long enough to say good-bye, but Sonny and Cho hadn't even cleared the door before he was digging again. He knew it was there somewhere, where had he seen it? He moved stacks of papers from one place to another. It was like trying to clean up spilled water with an already-soaked paper towel.
Twenty minutes after Sonny and Cho left, Hector found the magazine in question. Dr. Reeves’ Andes find wasn't some obscure article, and it wasn't in Scientific American. It was on the cover of National Geographic. Hector opened the magazine to the article and found the picture that had danced at the edge of his memory — the picture of the knife that looked identical to the one now sitting on his desk.
Hector picked up the phone and dialed an office in the biology department. It was answered by a man with a thick Indian accent.
"Dr. Haak speaking."
"Sanji, Hector Rodriguez in archaeology."
"Ah Hector! How can I help you this fine afternoon?"
"Are you still in contact with Veronica?"
"As well as can be. She is still up in the Andes. Not many phones there."
"Well, you better come over here right away. I think you're going to have to reach her immediately."
"I'll be right down."
Hector hung up and stared at the magazine, amazed he hadn't been able to recall it as soon as he'd seen the knife. After all, it wasn't every day that a BYU graduate's work graced the cover of National Geographic. The article showed a chipped, crescent-shaped blade gleaming on a black velvet background. White letters read Cerro Chalteclass="underline" forgotten underground metropolis.
Chapter Nine
Connell had been on hold for twenty minutes. It wasn't like he had anything better to do at 4 a.m. It was 11 a.m. on the other end of the phone. Just an hour before noon in the scorching heat of South Africa. Connell really didn't mind — he had to get this man, the one man who could pull the whole thing together, even if he had to get on a jet and fly to Capetown. If it came to that, fine, but Connell had a hunch he could knock the whole thing out without leaving his desk.
The phone crackled as someone picked up the distant receiver.
"Mack Hendricks speaking."
"Mack, Connell Kirkland here."
"The legendary Cutthroat. I've heard a lot about you. To what do I owe this privilege, Mr. Kirkland,” His thick Australian accent made “Mr. Kirkland” sound like “Mistah Kehklan."
"I want you to come work for me, Mack."
"You made me leave my dig for that? I'm kind of busy here, Mr. Kirkland."