"Over here."
The answer didn't come much louder than a whisper, but Pitt heard it as if it came out of a loudspeaker. He rose unsteadily to his feet, trying to get a fix. "Say again."
"I'm only six meters upstream of you," said Giordino. "Can't you see me?"
A red haze seemed to block Pitt's field of vision. He rubbed his eyes and found he could focus them again. He also realized the red haze that had been clouding his sight came from blood that was spilling from a gash in his forehead. Now he could clearly discern Giordino lying on his back a short distance away, half out of the water.
He staggered over to his friend, clutching the left side of his chest in a vain attempt to contain the pain. He knelt stiffly beside Giordino. "Am I ever glad to see you. I thought you and the Windbag had sailed off without me."
"The remains of our trusty boat were swept downstream."
"Are you badly injured?" Pitt asked.
Giordino smiled gamely, held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. "At least I can still play Carnegie Hall."
"Play what? You can't even carry a tune." Then Pitt's eyes filled with concern. "Is it your back?"
Giordino weakly shook his head. "I stayed with the Windbag and my feet were caught in the lines holding the equipment when she struck bottom. Then she went one way, and I went the other. I think both legs are broken below the knees." He explained his injuries as calmly as if he were describing a pair of flat tires.
Pitt gently felt Giordino's calves as his friend clenched his fists. "Lucky you. Simple breaks, no compound fractures."
Giordino stared up at Pitt. "You look like you went through the spin cycle in a washing machine."
"A few scrapes and bruises," Pitt lied.
"Then why are you talking through clenched teeth?"
Pitt didn't answer. He tried to call up a program on the computer on his arm, but it had been knocked against a rock and was broken. He unbuckled the straps and threw it in the river. "So much for Duncan's data."
"I lost the camera too."
"Tough break. Nobody will be coming this way again soon, certainly not over those falls."
"Any idea how far to the treasure cavern?" asked Giordino.
"A rough guess? Maybe two kilometers."
Giordino looked at him. "You'll have to go it alone."
"You're talking crazy."
"I'll only be a burden." He was no longer smiling. "Forget about me. Get to the treasure cavern."
"I can't leave you here."
"Busted bones or not, I can still float. I'll follow you later."
"Take care when you get there," said Pitt grimly. "You may drift, but you can't escape the current. Mind you stay close to shore out of the mainstream or you'll be swept beyond recovery."
"No big deal if I am. Our air tanks went with the Wallowing Windbag. If we meet a flooded gallery between here and the treasure chamber longer than we can hold our breath, we'll drown anyway."
"You're supposed to look on the bright side."
Giordino removed a spare flashlight from a belt around one thigh. "You'll need this. Your headlamp looks like it lost a fight with a rock. Come to think of it, your face is a mess too. You're bleeding all over the shredded remains of your nice clean wet suit.'
"Another dip in the river will fix that," said Pitt, attaching the flashlight around the forearm above his broken left wrist where the computer used to be. He dropped his weight belt. "I won't be needing this any longer."
"Aren't you taking your air tank?"
"I don't want to be hindered any more than I have to."
"What if you come to a flooded chamber?"
"I'll have to free dive through as far as I can on my lungs."
"One last favor," said Giordino, holding up the empty harness straps that once supported his air tanks. "Wrap my legs together to keep them from flopping around."
Pitt cinched the straps as tight as he dared, conscious of his broken wrist and the need to be gentle. Except for a sharp intake of breath, Giordino uttered no sound. "Rest up for at least an hour before you follow," Pitt ordered.
"Just get a move on and do what you can to save Loren and Rudi. I'll be along as soon as I'm able."
"I'll keep a watch for you."
"Better find a big net."
Pitt gave Giordino's arm a farewell grip. Then he waded into the river until the current swept him off his feet and carried him into the next cavern.
Giordino watched until Pitt's light vanished around the next bend in the canyon and was lost in the darkness. Two kilometers (1.2 miles), he mused. He hoped to God the final leg of the journey was in air-filled chambers.
Zolar drew a long, relieved breath. Things had gone well, better than he'd expected. The project was winding down. The trailer used for the operations office, the forklift, and the winch had been airlifted away along with most of Colonel Campos's men. Only a small squad of army engineers remained behind to load the final lot onto the army transport helicopter that was parked beside the stolen NUMA craft.
Zolar looked down at the remaining pieces of the golden treasure, which stood in a neat row. He studied the brilliantly gleaming antiquities with an eye toward their ultimate sale price. The artistry and magnificence of the metalwork of the twenty-eight golden statues of Inca warriors was indescribable. They each stood one meter high and provided a rare glimpse into the creative mastery of Inca artisans.
"A few more and you'd have yourself a chess set," said Oxley, admiring the golden display.
"A pity I won't keep them," replied Zolar sadly. "But I'm afraid I'll have to be content with using the profits from my share of their sale to buy legitimate artifacts for my personal collection."
Fernando Matos hungrily devoured the sight of the golden army with his eyes while he mentally estimated his 2 percent cut of the spoils. "We have nothing that can touch this in our National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City."
"You can always donate your share," said Oxley sarcastically.
Matos shot him a barbed look and started to say something but was cut off by the approach of Colonel Campos. "Lieutenant Ramos reports from the cavern that no objects remain inside the mountain. As soon as he and his men arrive from below, they will load the objects. Then I will be on my way to the airstrip to oversee the transshipment."
"Thank you, Colonel," Zolar said politely. He didn't trust Campos as far as he could throw the stone demon. "If you have no objections, the rest of us will join you."
"But of course." Campos looked around the nearly vacated summit. "And your other people?"
Zolar's deepset eyes took on a cold look. "My brother Cyrus and his crew will follow in our helicopter as soon as they tie up a pair of loose ends."
Campos understood. He smiled cynically. "It makes me sick to think about all the bandits running loose to rob and murder foreign visitors."
While they waited for Lieutenant Ramos and his squad to exit the passageway and load the artifacts, Matos walked over and inspected the stone demon. He reached out and laid his hand on the neck and was surprised at the coolness of the stone after it had been absorbing the sun's rays all day. Abruptly, he jerked his hand back. It felt as if the cold stone had suddenly turned pliant and slimy like the scaly skin of a fish.
He stepped back, startled, and half spun around to hurry away. At that instant he saw a human head rising over the edge of the sharp drop in front of the demon. As a man who grew up in a family of university instructors, he did not believe in superstition and folklore. Matos stood frozen more out of curiosity than fright.