Leah looked crestfallen. “That’s all right. I shouldn’t be putting you guys at risk anyway.” She glanced back in the direction of the dwelling. “How long do you think they’ll patrol the canyon?”
“I think we’re all gonna be a lot more gray before we can sneak back into that series of canyons again,” Garrett replied. “It’s a sure bet someone tipped them off to suspicious activity last time we were out; probably thought we were stealing artifacts.” He shrugged. “I might risk it, even Marko. But if you get caught, sister, it’s gonna be jail time.”
“There’s so much more to learn,” Leah said. “All that pottery…. Those pictographs…” She leaned back against the truck. “What if someone else finds that dwelling? Someone not interested in archeology, but bent on profit?”
Garrett shook his head. “That dwelling has stayed hidden for the better part of 800 years. The only way someone’s gonna find it is the same way we did and there’s no chance of that with all those rangers patrolling the area. If you’re worried, you can make an anonymous call to the Park Service. Even then, I really doubt they’re gonna find anything without being led right to the spot.”
Leah nodded, and then reached into her pocket. When she opened her hand, a piece of the rich-colored granite sparkled in the sunlight. “Here’s our next clue to what happened to the people living in that cavern. It’s telling us how to solve the mystery.”
“How’s it doing that, exactly?” Jack asked.
Leah spun and held the stone out in front of his face. “Can’t you hear it, Jackson? It’s calling you to Antarctica.”
Jack glanced up, gauging her intentions. “I hope you’re not suggesting some kind of boondoggle to Antarctica.”
“If Native Americans traveled to and from Antarctica 800 years ago, there could still be evidence carved into the rock somewhere near that Thor’s Hammer feature you mentioned.” She opened her arms wide. “Come on, guys. It’ll change every history book written on Native Americans and perhaps the entire history of humankind on earth.” Leah locked eyes with Jack. “It’s a colossal mystery. The Super Bowl of archeology and we’ve been invited to the big game.”
Though impressed with her enthusiasm, Jack said, “I don’t have the half a million dollars it would take to pull off an expedition to central Antarctica, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“What about Paulson?”
Jack was genuinely surprised at the mention Paulson. “You mean the same Alan Paulson that you called — in his face — the most ecologically irresponsible person on the planet? Why, pray tell, would Paulson drop a half million dollars on your flight of fancy?”
Leah locked eyes. “He owes you big, Jack. You got his sorry ass off Everest alive.”
Jack shook his head. “I was paid to do my job, that’s all. A bunch of rocks and a pictograph faintly resembling Thor’s Hammer isn’t enough for me to ask my client to waste his money, toss his career away or even end up in prison.”
Leah grabbed Jack by the arm, pulled him out of the truck and led him gently away from the others. When she spoke it was in a whisper.
“Then forget about Paulson. You still owe me, Jack. You owe me for not being here when my dad was on life support and dying while you were out on a last-minute mountaineering jaunt.”
Jack felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Not only had Duncan Andrews fallen to his eventual death on a climb Jack was supposed to lead, but Leah had to suffer alone for five horrific days before her dad had passed away.
Jack looked up into her eyes, now wet with tears.
“If Dad were alive,” she said, “he would have sold his last pair of ragged underwear to fund the building of a reed boat to paddle to Antarctica if he thought it would lead to evidence that cliff dwellers walked on Antarctic ice.”
The guilt associated with Duncan Andrew’s death rolled over Jack like a tidal wave. Leah was right. Duncan would have done everything in his power to get to Antarctica, or see that Leah did.
Maybe helping her would give him some kind of relief from the guilt that swept over him with every mention of Leah’s deceased father.
“Okay,” he said. “One way or another, I’ll get you to Antarctica.”
CHAPTER 15
Jack reached down under the business-class seat on the Boeing 757 as the commercial airliner descended into New York’s LaGuardia Airport. He pulled out the black-leather bag that held his laptop computer. He opened a blank document he entitled, “Antarctic Gear.”
Jack based his estimates on hosting eight to ten people for five days with an additional ten days’ worth of emergency supplies. Tents, food, clothing, fuel, communications gear, climbing gear, and emergency medical equipment all ended up on the growing list. They would also need sleds to pull equipment from the aircraft’s landing zone to the base of Thor’s Hammer. Jack reviewed the list and then tossed the laptop into the empty seat beside him in frustration.
There’s no way Paulson’s buying this. Jack was tempted to tell Leah he simply couldn’t arrange a meeting with the billionaire and return home to Tahoe.
Jack exited the jet and ordered a tall cup of black coffee at one of the portable espresso booths lining the airport concourse. Then he pulled out his mobile telephone and scrolled down the address book. He was looking for the phone number for Paulson’s assistant Karen Miller.
If he needed to get in to see Paulson, the best way would be through Karen, who guarded the billionaire more closely than the Secret Service guarded the President. She reminded him in looks and manner of the original “Ms. Moneypenny” of James Bond fame, having started with Paulson nearly twenty years before.
Jack took a deep breath, pushed the send button, and hoped that she’d pick up her secret line.
Karen Miller was worried. When she worried, she blinked excessively, making it look like she had a grain of sand lodged in her eye.
Paulson’s executive assistant blinked several more times in rapid succession, then walked toward the window of her office overlooking New York’s Sixth Avenue from the 50th floor. This was the suite of offices that Paulson jokingly called “Officer Country” from his days as a naval aviator.
It served as the nerve center for his worldwide business empire, and all his top lieutenants had offices on the executive floor.
Karen studied the hazy sky — even though chances she might see a black speck shooting across the horizon were remote at best.
The sound of her mobile ringing with its familiar tune startled her. She said a quick prayer and braced for the worst.
“Karen? It’s Jack Hobson.”
“Oh, my God — Jack Hobson,” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
She brushed a hand through her short brown hair. “Al is out flying one of those patched-together winged death machines, and if there’s an accident, Mac Ridley’s supposed to call me at this number.”
“As long as Mac’s in charge, I doubt you have much to worry about. You can bet that airplane had been picked over with a fine-toothed comb.”
She nodded and took a deep breath. “I know, but it doesn’t keep me from wanting to wring his neck every time he goes up in one of those things.”
“I understand completely.” Jack paused a moment. “So… I’m in the Big Apple.”
A smile crept across Karen’s face. “What are you doing here? I figured after three months with Paulson you’d have found a deserted beach somewhere — besides, everyone thinks he’s still in Asia.”
“I called looking for him in Hong Kong. The hotel said he’d checked out early. I figured he’d get fidgety if he were away from the action too long. Is there a chance of seeing him this week? It’s important and won’t take too much time.”