Clive Cussler - Inca Gold

Officials of the state of Sonora who were on the Zolars' payroll had approved all the necessary licenses and permits within twenty-four hours, a process that would normally have taken months and perhaps years. The Zolars had promised to fund new schools, roads, and a hospital. Their cash had greased the palms of the local bureaucracy and eliminated the usual rivers of red tape. Full cooperation was given by an unwitting Mexican government misled by corrupt bureaucrats. Joseph Zolar's request for a contingent of engineers from a military base on the Baja Peninsula was quickly approved. Under the terms of a swiftly drawn up contract with the Ministry of the Treasury, the Zolars were entitled to 25 percent of the treasure. The rest was to be deposited with the national court in Mexico City.

The only problem with the agreement was that the Zolars had no intention of keeping their end of the bargain. They weren't about to split the treasure with anyone.

Once the golden chain and the bulk of the treasure had been hauled to the top of the mountain, a covert operation was created to move the hoard under cover of darkness to a remote military airstrip near the great sand dunes of the Altar Desert just south of the Arizona border. There, it would be loaded aboard a commercial jet transport, painted with the markings and colors of a major airline company, and then flown to a secret distribution facility owned by the Zolars in the small city of Nador on the north coast of Morocco.

Everyone had been ferried from the hacienda to the mountaintop as soon as it became daylight. No personal effects were left behind. Only Zolar's jetliner remained, parked on the hacienda's airstrip, ready for takeoff on a moment's notice.

Loren and Rudi were released from their prison and sent over later the same morning. Ignoring Sarason's orders not to communicate with the hostages, Micki Moore had compassionately tended to their cuts and bruises and made sure they were fed a decent meal. Since there was little chance they could escape by climbing down the rocky walls of the mountain, no one guarded them and they were left on their own to wander about as they pleased.

Oxley quickly discovered the small aperture leading inside the mountain and wasted no time in directing a military work crew to enlarge it. He stayed behind to oversee the equipment staging while Zolar, Sarason, and the Moores set off down the passageway followed by a squad of engineers, who carried portable fluorescent lights.

When they reached the second demon, Micki lovingly touched its eyes, just as Shannon Kelsey had done before her. She sighed. "A marvelous piece of work."

"Beautifully preserved," Henry Moore agreed.

"It will have to be destroyed," said Sarason indifferently.

"What are you talking about?" demanded Moore.

"We can't move it. The ugly beast fills up most of the tunnel. There is no way we can drag Huascar's chain over, around, or between its legs."

Micki's face went tense with shock. "You can't destroy a masterwork of antiquity."

"We can and we will," Zolar said, backing his brother. "I agree it's unfortunate. But we don't have time for archaeological zealotry. The sculpture has to go."

Moore's pained expression slowly turned hard, and he looked at his wife and nodded. "Sacrifices must be made."

Micki understood. If they were to seize enough of the golden riches to keep them in luxury for the rest of their lives, they would have to close their eyes to the demolition of the demon.

They pushed on as Sarason lagged behind and ordered the engineers to place a charge of explosives under the demon. "Be careful," he warned them in Spanish. "Use a small charge. We don't want to cause a cave-in."

Zolar was amazed at the Moores' vast energy and enthusiasm after they encountered the crypt of the treasure guardians. If left on their own, they would have spent a week studying the mummies and the burial ornaments before pushing on to the treasure chamber.

"Let's keep going," said Zolar impatiently. "You can nose around the dead later."

Reluctantly, the Moores continued into the guardians' living quarters, lingering only a few minutes before Sarason rejoined his brother and urged them onward.

The sudden sight of the guardian encased in calcite crystals shocked and stunned all of them, as it had Pitt and his group. Henry Moore peered intently through the translucent sarcophagus.

"An ancient Chachapoya," he murmured as if standing before a crucifix. "Preserved as he died. This is an unbelievable discovery."

"He must have been a noble warrior of very high status," said Micki in awe.

"A logical conclusion, my dear. This man had to be very powerful to bear the responsibility of guarding an immense royal treasure."

"What do you think he's worth?" asked Sarason.

Moore turned and scowled at him. "You can't set a price on such an extraordinary object. As a window to the past, he is priceless."

"I know a collector who would give five million dollars for him," said Zolar, as if he were appraising a Ming vase.

"The Chachapoya warrior belongs to science," Moore lashed back, his anger choking him. "He is a visible link to the past and belongs in a museum, not in the living room of some morally corrupt gatherer of stolen artifacts."

Zolar threw Moore an insidious look. "All right, Professor, he's yours for your share of the gold."

Moore looked agonized. His professional training as a scientist fought a war with his greed. He felt dirtied and ashamed now that he realized that Huascar's legacy went beyond mere wealth. He was overcome with regret that he was dealing with unscrupulous scum. He gripped his wife's hand, knowing without doubt she felt the same. "If that's what it takes. You've got yourself a deal."

Zolar laughed. "Now that's settled. Can we please proceed and find what we came here for?"

A few minutes later, they stood in a shoulder-to-shoulder line on the edge of the subterranean riverbank and stared mesmerized at the array of gold, highlighted by the portable fluorescent lamps carried by the military engineers. All they saw was the treasure. The sight of a river flowing through the bowels of the earth seemed insignificant.

"Spectacular," whispered Zolar. "I can't believe I'm looking at so much gold."

"This easily exceeds the treasures of King Tut's tomb," said Moore.

"How magnificent," said Micki, clutching her husband's arm. "This has to be the richest cache in all the Americas."

Sarason's amazement quickly wore off. "Very clever of those ancient bastards," he charged. "Storing the treasure on an island surrounded by a strong current makes recovery doubly complicated."

"Yes, but we've got cables and winches," said Moore.

INCA GOLD

"Think of the difficulty they had in moving all that gold over there with nothing but hemp rope and muscle."

Micki spied a golden monkey crouched on a pedestal. "That's odd."

Zolar looked at her. "What's odd?"

She stepped closer to the monkey and its pedestal which was lying on its side. "Why would this piece still be on this bank of the river?"

"Yes, it does seem strange this object wasn't placed with the others," said Moore. "It almost looks as if it was thrown here."

Sarason pointed to gouges in the sand and calcium crystals beside the riverbank. "I'd say it was dragged off the island."

"It has writing scratched on it," said Moore.

"Can you decipher anything?" asked Zolar.

"Doesn't need deciphering. The markings are in English."

Sarason and Zolar stared at him with the expressions of Wall Street bankers walking along the sidewalk and being asked by a homeless derelict if they could spare fifty thousand dollars. "No jokes, Professor," said Zolar.

"I'm dead serious. Somebody engraved a message into the soft gold on the bottom of the pedestal, quite recently by the looks of it."