Clive Cussler - Inca Gold

"Can you sketch them?"

"I'm a miserable artist, but I think I can draw reasonably accurate pictures. No need to visit the place again. I can just as well illustrate what I remember while lounging by a swimming pool at a resort hotel."

"Sounds sensible to me," Giordino said cheerfully.

"No," Gunn said, "it's not sensible. Your job goes much deeper. As much as it turns my stomach, you two middle-aged delinquents are Peruvian national heroes. Not only are you in demand with the Customs Service, the State Department wants a piece of you."

Giordino stared at Pitt. "One more manifestation of Giordino's list of laws. Any man who volunteers for a rescue mission becomes a victim."

"What does the State Department have to do with us making a round trip to the temple?" Pitt demanded.

"Since the South American Free Trade Treaty, the petroleum and mining industries have been denationalized. Several American companies are currently completing negotiations to help Peru better exploit its natural resources. The country desperately needs foreign investment, and the money is ready to pour in. The catch is that labor unions and the opposition parties of the legislature are against foreign involvement in their economy. By saving the lives of sons and daughters of the local VIPs, you and Al indirectly influenced a number of votes."

"All right, so we give a speech at the local Elks Club and accept a certificate of merit."

"Fine as far as it goes," said Gunn. "But State Department experts and the Congressional Committee on Latin American Affairs think you both should hang around and make the dirty Yankees look good by helping to halt the looting of Peru's cultural heritage."

"In other words, our esteemed government wants to milk our benevolent image for all it's worth," said Pitt stonily.

"Something along those lines."

"And Sandecker agreed to it."

"Goes without saying," Gunn assured him. "The admiral never misses a chance to stroke Congress if it can lead to more funding for NUMA's future operations."

"Who is going in with us?"

"Dr. Alberto Ortiz from the National Institute of Culture in Chiclayo will supervise the archaeological team. He'll be assisted by Dr. Kelsey."

"Without reliable protection we'll be asking for trouble."

"The Peruvians have assured us they will send in a highly trained security force to control the valley."

"But are they trustworthy? I don't want an encore by an army of rogue mercenaries."

"Nor me," Giordino agreed firmly.

Gunn made a helpless gesture. "I can only pass on what I was told."

"We'll need better equipment than what we took in on our last trip."

"Give me a list and I'll handle the logistics."

Pitt turned to Giordino. "Do you get the distinct impression we've been had?"

"As near as I can tell," said the stocky Italian, "this makes about four hundred and thirty-seven times."

Pitt did not look forward to a repeat dive in the sinkhole. There was a haunted aura about it, something evil in its depths. The yawning cavity gaped in his mind as though it were the mouth of the devil. The imagery was so irrational that he tried to erase it from his mind, but the vision would not go away. It clung like the vague memory of a repugnant nightmare.

Two days later, at about eight in the morning, preparations were completed for the dive to retrieve Doc Miller's body from the sacred well. As Pitt stared down at the surface slime of the sinkhole, all his apprehension evaporated. The loathsome cavity still looked as menacing as when he had first encountered it, but he had survived its deadly surge, climbed its sheer walls. Now that he knew its hidden secrets, it no longer held any threat. The first hurried, planned-on-the-spot rescue was quickly forgotten. This was now a state-of-the-art project.

True to his word, Gunn had chartered two helicopters and scrounged the necessary gear for the job. One whole day was spent ferrying Dr. Kelsey and Miles Rodgers, the dive crew, and their equipment to the site and reestablishing the destroyed camp. Gunn was not known for running sloppy operations. There was no deadline, and he took the time to plan every step with precision. Nothing was left to chance.

A fifty-man contingent from Peru's elite special security unit was already in place when Gunn's first helicopter landed. To the taller North Americans the South American men seemed small in stature. They had an almost gentle look on their faces, but they were a tough lot, hardened by years of fighting Shining Path guerrillas in the heavily forested mountain country and barren coastal deserts. They quickly set up defenses around the camp and sent patrols into the surrounding jungle.

"Wish I was going with you," said Shannon from behind Pitt.

He turned and smiled. "I can't imagine why. Retrieving a human body that's been decomposing in tropically heated soup is not what I call a fun experience."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sound cold-hearted." There was little expression of sorrow in her eyes. "I had the deepest admiration for Doc. But the archaeologist in me wants desperately to explore the bottom of the sacred pool."

"Don't get your hopes up of finding a treasure in antiquities," Pitt consoled her. "You'd be disappointed. All I saw was an acre of silt with an old Spaniard growing out of it."

"At least allow Miles to dive with you and make a photo record."

"Why the rush?"

"During the recovery, you and Al might disturb the bottom and move artifacts from their original positions."

Pitt gazed at her through disbelieving eyes. "You consider that more important than showing respect for Doc Miller?"

"Doc is dead," she said matter-of-factly. "Archaeology is an exacting science that deals with dead things. Doc taught that better than anyone. The slightest disturbance could alter significant findings."

Pitt began to see a side of Shannon that was all business. "After Al and I bring up Miller's remains, you and your Miles can dive and retrieve artifacts to your heart's content. But mind you don't get sucked into the side cavern again."

"Once is enough," she said with a tight smile. Then her expression turned to one of concern. "Be careful and don't take chances."

Then she kissed him lightly on the cheek, turned and hurried off toward her tent.

Dropping into the water went smoothly, thanks to a small crane and a motorized winch operated under the watchful eye of Rudi Gunn. When Pitt was about a meter above the water, he released the safety catch holding him on the end of the cable running to the winch. The upper, slime-laden level of the water was as tepid as expected but he did not recall it smelling quite so pungent. He floated lazily on his back, waiting for the cable to return topside before lowering Giordino.

Pitt's full face mask was connected to a communications and safety line while Giordino dove free and unencumbered, relying on hand signals from Pitt for instructions. As soon as his diving buddy slid into the muck beside him, Pitt motioned downward, and they rolled forward and dove into the depths of the sinkhole. They stayed close to avoid becoming separated and losing sight of one another in the dismal murk before reaching the incredibly clear water 4 meters (13 feet) below the surface of the pool. The grayish brown of the bottom silt and rocks materialized out of the gloom and came up to meet them. They leveled off at 2 meters (6 feet), and Pitt made a motion to stop all movement. Carefully, so he didn't stir up a cloud of silt, he removed a stainless steel shaft that was attached to a reel of nylon cord and shoved it into a pocket of silt.

"How are you doing?" Gunn's voice came over the earphones inside Pitt's face mask.

"We've reached bottom and are beginning a circular search for the body," Pitt replied as he began unwinding the line.