Excavation

Maggie froze. Answering cries exploded from the forest’s edge. It was a trap, and here was the sentinel. Maggie ducked. But the scout was too quick, lightning fast. The beast hit her. She fell backward and used the attacker’s momentum to fling it down the short slope behind her. She did not wait to see what happened. She scrambled to her feet and dived for the tu

Behind her, spats of gunfire exploded; screams of terror and pain accompanied the weapons fire. But over it all, the wail and shriek of the beasts.

In the safety of the tu

Maggie backed down the tu

Jesus! There was nowhere to run.

“You will suffer. That I guarant—” Suddenly the abbot was yanked backward with a squawk of surprise. His gun went off, the shot wild. The bullet ricocheted past Maggie’s ear.

A scream of horror erupted from the man as he was dragged from the tu

She swung away and turned her back on the slaughter.

Behind her, a sharp screech of pain died into a wet gurgle. She hurried farther down the passage, toward the torchlight, away from the howling.

At the temple’s entrance, she saw the lone guard. He stepped toward her, gun pointed. “Que hiscistes?” he barked in Spanish, asking her what she had done. She saw the terror in his eyes.

Suddenly, Henry stepped behind him and pressed the barrel of a pistol to the back of the guard’s head. It was the weapon the professor had taken from the monk by the helicopter. “She was taking out the garbage.” He pressed the barrel more firmly. “Any problem with that?”

The man dropped his rifle and sank to his knees. “No.”

“That’s better.” Henry crossed in front of the man and kicked the rifle toward Maggie. “You know how to use that?”

“I’m from Belfast,” she said, retrieving the gun. She cocked it, checked the magazine, and lifted it to her shoulder.

Henry turned to his prisoner. “And you? Do you know how to fly the helicopter?”

The man nodded.

“Then you get to live.”

Suddenly a groan sounded from the next room. Henry and Maggie swung around. They watched the golden umbilicus spasm and the gold coating begin to slide from Sam’s body. Like a large siphon, it drew the metal from his skin, then coiled up on itself, churning and slowly twisting overhead.

Another groan flowed from Sam.

The guard stared into the temple, mouth gaped open in surprise. He crossed himself hurriedly.

“He’s breathing,” Henry said. He stepped toward the entrance.

Maggie grabbed his elbow. “Be careful. I don’t know if we should interfere yet.” Her words were strained, speaking while holding her breath. Dare she hope…?

Sam pushed to one elbow. His eyes were unfocused. His other arm rose to swipe at his face, as if brushing away cobwebs. He moaned slightly, wincing.

Henry reached a hand out. “Sam?”

He seemed to focus on the voice, coughing to clear his lungs. “Un… Uncle Hank?” Sam shoved up, weaving slightly. His eyes finally seemed to focus. “God… my head.”

“Move slowly, Sam,” Maggie urged. “Take it easy.”

Sam swung his feet to the floor with another groan. “I could use a bucketful of aspirin.” He finally seemed to realize where he was. He craned his neck and stared up at the twined ball of golden strands. “What am I doing here?”

“You don’t remember?” Maggie asked, concerned. He sounded lucid, but was there some sustained damage?

Sam frowned at his chest. The fingers of his right hand trailed to his bullet-torn vest. He stuck a finger through the hole, then pulled open his vest. There was no wound. “I was shot.” His statement had the edge of a question.

Maggie nodded. “You died, but the temple cured you.”

“Died?”

Both Maggie and Henry nodded.

Sam pushed to his feet, stumbled a step, then caught himself. “Whoa.” He moved more slowly, deliberately, concentrating. “For a dead man, I guess I shouldn’t complain about a few aches and pains.” He crossed toward them.

Henry met Sam at the entrance and pulled his nephew to him. Their embrace was awkward due to the pistol in the professor’s right hand. “Oh, God, Sam, I thought I lost you,” he said, his eyes welling with tears.

Sam hugged his uncle fiercely, deeply.

Maggie smiled. She wiped at her own cheeks, then knelt by the stretcher and retrieved Sam’s Stetson.

Henry pulled away, rubbing at his eyes. “I couldn’t face losing you, too.”

“And you don’t have to,” Sam said, swiping a hand through his hair.

Maggie held out his hat. “Here. You dropped something.”

He took it, wearing a crooked smile, awkward, half-embarrassed. He slipped it to his head. “Thanks.”

“Just don’t die again,” she warned, reaching and straightening the brim.

“I’ll try not to.” He leaned toward her as she adjusted his hat, staring into her eyes.

She didn’t pull away from him, but she didn’t move closer either. She was too conscious of the professor’s presence and the weight of the rifle over her left shoulder. They stared for too long, and the moment began slipping away. Maggie gritted her teeth. To hell with her fears! She reached toward him—but Sam suddenly turned away.

A new voice suddenly barked from the darkness behind them, “Drop your weapons!” A figure stepped into the edge of the torchlight. He held Denal in his arms. The boy’s mouth was clamped tightly shut, a long military dagger at his throat. The stainless-steel blade reflected the glow of the torches. The boy’s eyes were wide with terror.

“Otera!” Henry hissed.

Norman fled through the jungle, crashing through the underbrush. His vision was blurred by tears. He attempted halfheartedly to keep his flight quiet, but branches snapped and dried leaves crunched underfoot. Still, he stumbled on—in truth, he did not care who heard him any longer.

Again he pictured the friar leaping to his feet from the grassy meadow. The bastard had been playing possum, lying in wait for Norman and Denal as the pair had crossed toward the helicopter. The friar had grabbed the boy before Norman could react, twin blades flashing out from wrist sheaths. Norman’s response was pure animal instinct. He had leaped away from his attacker, diving into the jungle and racing away.

Only after his panicked heart had slowed a few beats did Norman recognize the cowardice of his act. He had abandoned Denal. And then he’d not even attempted to free the boy.

Logically, in his mind, Norman could justify his action. He had no weapons. Any attempt at rescue would surely have gotten them both killed. But in his heart, Norman knew better. His flight had been pure cowardice. He recalled the terror in Denal’s wide eyes. What had he done?

Fresh tears flowed, almost blinding him.