Despite his despair, Henry was jolted. “What?”
His startled reaction drew the eye of the guard. The monk glared at him, lifting his pistol higher.
Henry lowered his voice, then reached and touched Joan’s cheek. It did not require much acting to play the lover of this woman. “What do you mean?” he whispered. “I tossed the cross away back at the lab.”
Joan reached to a pocket in her blouse and pulled out the corner of a yellow sheet of paper. “My copy.”
Henry’s eyes grew wide. Here he had been wallowing all night in his own guilt and anger, and Joan had spent the hours laboring at the crucifix’s cryptogram. Shame flushed his cheeks. But why should her action surprise him? She had always been so resourceful.
Joan continued in hushed tones, “It warns that this mysterious metal is dangerous. His last words seemed to be a garbled warning about some disease or pestilence associated with Substance Z. Something I think his order knew nothing about… and still doesn’t.”
Henry found himself drawn into the mystery. He could not help Sam directly from here, but knowledge could be a powerful weapon. “What was he afraid of?”
Joan shrugged her face. “I couldn’t decipher it all. There are gaps missing and strange references: the Serpent of Eden, the Greek myth of Prometheus.” She stared intently at Henry. “I need your help in figuring it out.”
Henry’s gaze flicked toward the guard. He wanted to get a peek at her translation, but there was no way with the guard looking on. “The Serpent of Eden is surely a reference to the tempter of forbidden knowledge in the Bible, a metaphoric reference to something that both tantalizes and corrupts.”
“Like Substance Z, perhaps.”
Henry’s brows lowered. “Maybe…”
“But what about the Prometheus reference?”
Henry shook his head. “I don’t see that connection at all. He was one of the mythic Titans who stole fire from the gods and brought it to mankind. He was punished by being chained to a rock and had his liver eaten out by a huge vulture each day.”
Joan frowned. “Strange… why mention that?”
Henry leaned back into his chair and silently pondered the mystery. It was better than uselessly worrying over Sam. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “There must be a reason.”
“That is assuming the man was still sane when he etched the cross.”
“I don’t know. Let me think about this. According to Abbot Ruiz, Francisco was pursuing the mother lode, the true source of el Sangre. He already knew of its transformational property, so I think your earlier assumption was correct. He discovered something up in the mountains, something that changed his mind about the metal.”
“And something that scared the hell out of him.”
Henry nodded. “But he was also eventually executed and mummified, suggesting he had been captured by the Incas after making this discovery. If he wanted to get a warning out to his order, a message on the cross was a smart move on his part, a calculated chance. He must have known that the Incan shamans would have left unmolested any personal items, especially gold, on the body of the deceased. It was his one chance of getting his message out, even if he did not. He must have hoped his body would be returned to the Spaniards, rather than mummified and buried like it was.”
“So what does all this suggest?”
Henry turned to Joan, worry in his eyes. He had no answer.
Any response from Joan was cut off as the door opened again. Abbot Ruiz marched into the room, his face red from either exertion or excitement. Carlos followed in his wake and took up a station beside the other guard. Ruiz continued to his desk, sighing as he eased his large bulk into his seat. He eyed Henry and Joan for a few silent moments. “I have good news, Professor Conklin. Word from the mountains reached us early this morning.”
Henry sat up straighter. “Sam and the others?”
“You’ll be pleased to hear they’ve made it out of the buried temple. They’re safe.”
Henry swallowed back a sob of relief. Joan reached a hand out to him, and he clutched it gratefully. “Thank God.”
“Indeed you should,” Ruiz said. “But that is not all.”
Henry raised his eyes. Joan still held his hand.
“It seems you’ve trained your nephew well.” Ruiz wore a broad smile.
“What do you mean?” Henry asked, his voice hard.
“He and his fellow students have made an astounding discovery up in the mountains.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed.
The abbot leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the suspense. “He’s found a lost Incan tribe, a village nestled high in a volcanic cone.”
“What?” Shocked, Henry clutched Joan’s hand harder. He did not know what to make of this pronouncement. Was it some trick of the abbot’s? But Henry could think of no motive. “Are… are you sure?” he asked, dismayed.
“That is what we are going to verify,” Ruiz said. “I’ve spent all morning making arrangements and getting everything in order for our journey.”
“Our journey?”
“Yes, both you and I. We’ll need your expertise up there, Professor Conklin. We’ll also need your presence to convince your nephew to cooperate fully with us.” Abbot Ruiz quickly told of Sam’s radioed message and of the students’ escape through caves to the hidden site of the village. “So you see, Professor Conklin, we don’t know exactly where this volcano is. There are hundreds in the area. Your nephew has proposed signaling us by a set of bonfires, and with you alongside us, I’m sure he’ll do so posthaste.”
Henry sat stunned by the news. It was too much to assimilate at once. Sam was safe—but if Henry got involved, if he went along with Ruiz’s plan, then he could put Sam into more danger. On the other hand, out in the field, perhaps he’d have a chance to warn his nephew, stop whatever Ruiz schemed. Imprisoned here, he had little chance of doing anything to help his nephew.
Joan squeezed his hand, clearly sensing his distress. He found comfort in her grip.
Abbot Ruiz stood up. “We’re set to leave by helicopter in ten minutes,” he said. “Time is critical.”
“Why?” Henry asked, taking strength from Joan.
Ruiz stared Henry down. “Because we have come to believe your nephew has uncovered more than just an Incan tribe. He may have unearthed the site of el Sangre del Diablo’s mother lode. Why else would a small clan of Incas still be hiding up there? Unless they were guarding something.”
Joan and Henry exchanged concerned glances.
“We must hurry.” The abbot waved to Carlos, who shuffled forward in his robe, his 9mm Glock again in his hand.
“Move,” the guard said harshly, jabbing his gun into Henry’s throat.
The abbot seemed oblivious to his aide’s rough manner. As if washing his hands of the matter, he circled around the desk and headed to the door.
At gunpoint, Henry and Joan stood.
“Not you,” Carlos said, indicating Joan. “You’re staying here.”
Joan’s brows crinkled with fear.
Still holding her hand, Henry pulled her closer. “She comes with me, or I don’t leave.”
By the door, the abbot paused at the commotion. “Fear not, Professor. Dr. Engel simply remains here to ensure your cooperation. As long as you obey our orders, no harm will come to her.”
“Fuck that! I’m not going!” Henry said fiercely.
A nod from the abbot and Carlos struck faster than Henry could react. The large man swung his arm and slapped Joan a resounding blow across her face. She fell to the floor, a surprised cry on her lips.
Henry was instantly at her side, kneeling beside her.
She lifted her hands from her pale face. Her fingers were bloody, her lip split.
Henry turned to take in both Ruiz and Carlos. “You god-damned bastards! There was no need for that!”
“And there is no need for profanity either,” Ruiz said calmly from the doorway. “The lesson could’ve been much worse. So I’ll invite you again, Professor Conklin, please come with me. Do not disobey again, or Carlos will not be so lenient next time.”
Joan nudged Henry away. “Go,” she said around her tears, her voice shaky. “D… Do as they say.”
He leaned closer to her. He knew he had to leave. Still… “I can’t abandon you here.”
She pushed to her knees and swiped at the blood trailing down her chin. “You have to,” she said tremulously, near to sobbing. Joan then reached out and hugged him, falling into his arms. She whispered in his ears, her voice instantly dropping from its frightened demeanor to a firmer tone. “Go, Henry. Help Sam.”
Henry was stunned by the transformation, suddenly realizing the “shrinking violet” act was for the benefit of their captors.
Joan continued, “If the bastards are right about the mother lode being up there, you’re the only one who knows of Francisco’s warning. So go. I’ll manage what I can from here.”
Henry could find no words to match this woman’s strength. “But—?”
She hugged him tighter, faking a sob, then hissed into his ear, “Oh, quit this chauvinistic crap. I thought you were better than that.” She leaned her cheek against his own. Her voice grew louder again for the benefit of Carlos and Ruiz. “Oh, please, do… do whatever they ask of you. For my sake. Just come back to me!”
Even considering the circumstances, Henry could not hold back a tight grin. He buried his expression in the folds of her thick raven hair. “Okay, now you’re laying it on a bit too thick.”
She kissed him gently by the earlobe, her breath hot on his neck, her voice a whisper again. “I meant every word. You had better come back for me, Henry. I won’t have you disappearing from my life like you did after college.”
They held each other for a few silent seconds. Then she shoved him brusquely away. “Go!”
