Aaron Elkins - Curses!

But no. “All-right,” he said in a way that told Gideon he was just getting started. “All right now."

He spat dirt from his mouth, leaned over the chest, and shoved his sleek arm under the lid as far as he could, grimacing with the effort. But he could only get it in up to his elbow, and with a grunt of frustration he jerked it out. He got to his feet and stared sullenly at the lid, as if it were keeping him from the codex out of stubborn perversity. Two angry-looking welts from the rough stone ran down his forearm, slowly oozing blood. Apparently he hadn't noticed.

"I'm going to need everyone's help,” he said. “Preston, Gideon, Leo, you three-"

Gideon decided there had to be a confrontation, like it or not. “Howard-” He had to stop to wipe the dust from his lips with the back of his hand. Perspiration had turned it to a gritty mud. “I think we'd better stop right now and get everyone out of here. This place is going to need more shoring up."

Howard turned on him. “Are you out of your mind? Just leave the codex?"

"It'll wait. Somebody's going to get killed if we stay here."

And that was only part of it. There was the material itself. Howard had already mutilated the magnificent lid, and now he was trying to haul out the codex with all the delicacy of a nineteenth-century grave robber. You didn't simply reach in with sweaty fingers and grab a precious thing like that. Before the contents of the chest were touched they had to be recorded, photographed, drawn in situ. And the codex had to be studied to see what its state of preservation was before it was removed and exposed to the outside air. Howard knew all that, damn him. He was letting his excitement get the better of him.

For a moment the director glared at him. Then it was all sweet, slippery reasonableness. “Now, Gideon, don't get melodramatic. Nobody's going to get killed. Don't you think I know what I'm doing?"

Gideon was silent.

"We can have it out in fifteen minutes if everybody cooperates.” Howard's voice edged upward. “We can't just leave it here unprotected!"

"We can get guards,” Gideon said.

As Howard opened his mouth to answer, a beam let out a sharp, popping crack somewhere above them, and dirt showered from the ceiling onto the top steps. A few pebbles skittered down the stairs toward them.

"Uh, I think Gideon's right,” Leo Rose said tentatively. Leo had been a building contractor at one time, and knew about these things. “This whole thing could come down any minute.” A few others murmured agreement.

"Guards?” Howard said with a husky chuckle; he was going to try treating it as a joke. “Now just where in the hell are we supposed to get guards we can trust by tonight?"

"Tonight we can guard it ourselves,” Gideon said. “We can take turns.” He put what he hoped was an implacable expression on his face. The quicker this was over, the better; he just wanted everybody out.

Howard continued to smile at him, but in his cheek a sinew popped. And all at once, he threw in the towel.

"All right, fine,” he said genially, as if the whole thing struck him as a silly quibble he could afford to be magnanimous about. “Let's go, everyone."

Once outside, he reestablished his authority. “We'll take turns standing guard all night; four-hour shifts, two people per team, men only."

"Why only men?” one of the three women demanded. Howard ignored her. “I'll take the first shift. Worthy, you take it with me."

"Me?” Worthy Partridge was a prunish, middle-aged writer of children's stories. “I'm afraid I know very little about standing guard."

"What is there to know? All right, now-” He stopped, scowling and suspicious. Avelino Canul, the Mayan foreman, was hovering nearby, paying close attention.

"What do you want, Avelino?” Howard asked in brusque Spanish. “You can go home now. You too, Nas. All of you."

Respectfully the foreman explained that they were waiting for their pay. It was Friday.

Muttering and impatient, Howard patted the rear pockets of his tan shorts. “Hell, I forgot all about it,” he said, slipping into English. “I left my wallet at the hotel."

"We should wait until Monday?” Avelino asked hopefully. This was not the first time it had happened, and Howard had made a practice of giving them a little something extra for the inconvenience. By Mayan wage standards, it was considerably more than a little something.

Howard nodded curtly and waited for them to go. “Now, the rest of you go on back and get some dinner. Gideon, you and Leo take the next shift. Be back at-what time is it now, anyway?"

"A little after five,” Worthy told him.

"Okay, be back at nine. Worthy and Joe, you're on at one to four. Then you and me, Preston, from four to eight.” He paused and looked accommodatingly at Gideon. “How's that? Does that meet with your approval?"

Gideon hesitated. He would have been happier taking the first shift himself; Howard could use some time to settle down. And Worthy wouldn't have been his first choice as a partner. But he'd already won the big battle, and he didn't feel like having another argument. Besides, the chances of temple robbers materializing in the next four hours to steal a codex that had been discovered less than two hours ago were remote, to say the least.

"Okay,” he said. “We'll see you at nine."

"Something's wrong here,” blurted Leo, not normally the most intuitive of men.

It was ten to nine. They had returned to the site under a sultry, darkening sky to find the work shed empty, Howard and Worthy nowhere to be seen. On the work table was the empty, cracked holster of the old. 32 caliber revolver that Howard kept at the site as protection against bandidos. The lights were on, the generator humming. An opened but untouched bottle of Coca-Cola rested on the floor near a chair.

"They're probably just looking around,” Gideon said. “That's all."

"Yeah, sure, that figures."

All the same they glanced uneasily at each other and began walking quickly across the plaza toward the temple. They had reached the foot of the pyramid when they heard scraping noises above them and looked up into the half-darkness to see Worthy floundering sideways down the steps.

"Gideon!” he called. “Leo! My God!"

He came perilously close to slipping on the uneven stones, righted himself after some gawky flapping with his long arms, and continued coming down with more care. “My God,” Gideon heard him murmur again. “Oh, dear Lord."

This, Gideon said to himself, is not going to be good news.

When he got to the bottom, Worthy looked apprehensively at both of them. “Where's Howard? Have you seen him?"

No, definitely not good news.

"What do you mean, have we seen him?” Leo said. “Where is he?"

Worthy clutched Gideon's arm, an uncharacteristic gesture. “It's terrible up there-it's-it's-"

Gideon was off, taking the steps of the pyramid two at a time. Worthy gave a little whimper and scrambled up behind him, trying to keep up, to catch his breath, and to explain, all at once.

"He said-Howard said-he heard something…about an hour ago. He took that wretched gun, and a crowbar too, and went to check…"

"You didn't go with him?” Gideon called over his shoulder without slowing down.

"He said not to. He said he'd do a…do a patrol himself. You know the way the man is…"

Gideon did indeed. He reached the top and ran across the weedy, stonelittered terrace to the temple. In every direction the dense mat of tropical forest stretched to the flat horizon, a bleak irongray in the fading light.

It was black inside the windowless temple. He switched on the flashlight he'd brought with him,

Worthy caught up to him. “He was gone so long…I began to wonder. I went to check. And when I got here I found-I found-"