James Rollins - Excavation

“Calm yourself, Professor Conklin. I’ve already sent a team of mining experts to assist in the rescue.”

Henry wrung his hands together. Joan stepped nearer, drawing an arm around his shoulders. He stood stiffly in her embrace. After the death of his wife and brother, Sam was his only family. Henry had no room for anyone else. If he had not been so enamored of his old college flame, Henry might have been thinking more clearly and avoided this whole mess. Stepping out of Joan’s embrace, Henry spoke to the abbot through clenched teeth. “If any harm comes to Sam from this, I will kill you.”

Abbot Ruiz backed up a step, while Friar Carlos moved in with his Glock, warning Henry off. The abbot’s voice trembled slightly. “I’m sure your nephew is safe.”

Another booby trap!

As the gold floor trembled underfoot, Sam pulled Maggie to his side. She had been attempting to unlock the statue’s door, but it had locked tight behind them. “Brace yourselves!” Sam yelled above the growing roar of rushing water below. “Be ready to act!” Through his bootheels, the reverberations thrummed up his legs and tingled his ribs and spine.

A step away, Denal supported Norman; the young Quechan’s eyes were huge saucers.

The rumble below grew deafening in the small space, and the floor bucked under Sam’s boots. “Hang on!”

Suddenly the roar filled the space around them; the floor trembled as if holding back an immense pressure. Then the loud knock of catches releasing echoed all around them. The platform shot upward under them. Norman fell to his hands and knees, crying out in pain as his injured limb struck the metal floor. No one else spoke, hushed with fear, frozen in tense postures.

The platform rocked and jolted, but continued on its upward course – slowly at first, then faster, spinning slightly as it ascended the shaft. Underfoot, the floor continued to tremble with whatever force propelled it.

“Hydraulics!” Norman cried out over the roar. He was helped to his feet by Denal.

“What?” Sam asked.

Maggie pushed free of Sam’s embrace and studied the floor. “They must’ve tapped into an underground river, perhaps a tributary of the one we swam in yesterday. It’s a bloody hydraulic lift!”

Sam stared up into the throat of the passage above. “But where is it taking us?”

Maggie frowned. “If they wanted to kill intruders, this is an overly elaborate way to do it,” Maggie said, eyeing the flow of smooth walls. “I think it’s taking us all the way up.”

“To the roof?” Sam said, remembering the stance of the Incan king, arms raised up, palms on the ceiling as if supporting the ceiling of the cavern. He pictured the statue’s form. It was a straight shot up.

“Hopefully not just to crush us up there,” Norman said sourly. “That would ruin an otherwise perfectly good day.”

“I don’t think so,” Maggie answered, her voice unsure.

Denal suddenly cried out. He pointed overhead. “Look!”

Maggie swung her flashlight up, but there was no need. Far above them the end of the passage came into sight, a dome of gold, the interior crown of the statue’s skull. Light streamed from regularly spaced cracks in the roof’s surface. Then like the petals of a flower, six sections of the roof peeled fully open. Bright sunlight flowed down toward them.

“It’s a way out!” Sam exclaimed. He whipped off his Stetson and let out a whoop of joy. “We’ve made it!”

Norman added more quietly, “Some of us, that is.”

Sam’s smile faded. He replaced his hat, picturing Ralph’s face. Norman was right. It was inappropriate to cheer their own salvation when one of their friends was not beside them.

Maggie moved nearer to Sam. Her eyes were bright with both relief and sadness. She craned her neck to study the opening dome.

Sam put his arm around her. “I’m sure Ralph would be glad we escaped.”

“Maybe…” she mumbled softly.

He hugged her tighter. “The dead do not begrudge the living, Maggie – not Ralph, not even your friend Patrick Dugan back in Ireland…” And to this list, Sam silently added his own parents.

Maggie leaned into him, her voice tired. “I know, Sam. I’ve heard it all before.”

Holding her, he gave up on words. He knew that sometimes forgiving yourself for living was harder than facing death itself. It was something you had to do on your own.

Slowly now, the elevator climbed toward freedom, and the platform pushed up into the opened dome. Finally, it settled to a stop. The six sections of the dome had retracted fully. Underfoot, the click of latches bumped the floor, locking the platform in place once again. Below them, the whoosh of water receded, flushing down the shaft.

“We’re home,” Norman said.

After the dimness of the cavern, the late-afternoon sunlight was blinding, even when filtered through the heavy mists that seemed to cloak the skies overhead.

“But where the hell are we?” Sam asked, stepping forward. He craned his neck all around.

They appeared to be in some deep wooded valley. Towering steep walls of reddish black rock surrounded them on all sides, impossible to scale without mountaineering equipment and considerable skill. Overhead, mists roiled and obscured the sunlight to a bright haze.

“What’s that smell?” Norman asked.

The air, thin and warm, was tainted by the odor of rotten eggs. “Sulfur,” Maggie said. She turned in a slow circle, then pointed an arm. “Look!”

Near the north wall of the valley, a plume of steam shot skyward from a crack in the rock near its base. “A volcanic vent,” Sam said. This region of the Peruvian Andes was still geologically active, riddled with volcanic cones, some cold and silent, others still steaming. Earthquakes rattled through the mountains almost daily.

Maggie waved an arm. “This is no rift valley. We’re in some type of volcanic caldera.”

Norman limped closer, eyes on the rock walls. He frowned. “Great. Why is the phrase ‘ out of the frying pan, into the fire ’ coming to mind right now?”

Ignoring the photographer’s dour words, Sam studied the heights around them. “If you’re right, Maggie, we must be among that cluster of volcanic peaks east of our camp.” He nodded his head to a dark shadow to the south. Another cone, its rocky silhouette masked in steam, seemed to climb from the south wall itself, towering over their volcanic valley. “Look how many there are.”

Maggie nodded. “You’re probably right. This region’s never been explored. Too steep and dangerous to trek through.”

Denal spoke up, sticking close to Norman’s side. He wiped his brow with a shirtsleeve. “Warm in here,” he muttered.

Sam agreed, taking off his Stetson and swiping back his damp hair. At this altitude, wearing only his vest, he should be chilled as twilight approached, but instead the breeze was warm, almost balmy.

“It’s the steam vents,” Maggie explained. “They’re keeping this place heated and humid.”

“Like some tropical greenhouse,” Norman said, his eyes on the jungle surrounding the gold dome. “Look at all this growth.” He struggled to free his camera.

Around them spread a dense forest. Draped with vines, the tangle of trees spread in all directions. From their vantage point higher in the valley, they could spot a few open meadows, breaks in the jungle canopy, mostly near the ubiquitous volcanic vents. Otherwise, within the walls of the volcanic cone, the forest appeared undisturbed. Under its insulating canopy, a profusion of wild growth flourished. Giant ferns, with fronds longer than a man was tall, obscured the forest floor, while hundreds of orchids with fist-sized yellow blooms hung from the crooks of trees. Even some form of jungle rose climbed on thorny creepers along limbs and vines.