Burial Ground (5 page)

Sam inclined her head and swallowed the lump
in her throat. In a practiced motion, she swept her long,
raven-black hair behind her ears and studied this specter from her
past through deep blue eyes. She felt like a child in his presence,
as though in a heartbeat her skirt and blouse had reverted to dirty
jeans and a baggy T-shirt.

The last time she saw Leo was following her
mother's funeral. She had just graduated from the University of
Pennsylvania with a doctorate in Cognitive Anthropology and
Ethnoscience after spending two consecutive summers, and then a
full year, excavating the Chachapoya ruins at Kuelap and the
Karajia Tombs. Wide-eyed and overflowing with principles, she had
lit into him with a ferocious tirade about his practices of raping
the sites he discovered, pillaging the heritage of vanished
cultures for profit, and stealing natural resources that should
rightly belong to the impoverished masses. She had said things she
knew she could never take back, and in doing so had tarnished her
father's memory as well, but her beliefs hadn't changed one iota in
the interim, and she wasn't about to recant.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Leo
said, "Perhaps we didn't part on the best of terms last time we
spoke, but I hope to make amends. I won't apologize for the life
I've led. With your father by my side, we built a financial empire
and salvaged lost societies from their own ruins. And we did so by
the letter of the law."

"I don't want to have this argument with you
again. Not now."

He waved her off. "That's not why I'm here
either. Nor am I here just to catch up with an old and dear friend
whom I've always thought of as a daughter."

Sam flashed a wan smile. "Who are you
calling old?"

Leo returned the smile. This time it was
genuine, not forced, though it contained a measure of sadness that
she could feel, even from across the desk.

"I've been thinking a lot about my legacy
lately," Leo said. His eyes latched onto hers. "I had always
thought that Hunter would follow in my footsteps and take the
company to a new level. And now there's no one. Certainly not you.
No offense." He sighed. "But this isn't about me. Advanced
Exploration will persevere, and your father's share---your share---will
be there when you decide to claim it."

"I don't need the money, Leo."

He shook his head as though she had made a
poor joke. "Indulge an old man and hear me out. All of this
thinking about my legacy led me back to Hunter. In the end, I
really don't care what people think about me, or if they do at all,
but it's important to me that everyone knows that Hunter mattered,
that his life made a difference to the world. And that's why I flew
all the way out here to talk to you in person."

Sam saw the sincerity in his eyes. But what
could he possibly need from her?

"I want to show you something," Leo said. He
removed an envelope from his jacket pocket and passed it across the
desk. "Go ahead. Open it."

Sam lifted the flap and slid out a small
stack of photographs. She tried to maintain her poker face as she
flipped through them one at a time.

"Looks like Mochica. Early eighth century
possibly. They were a Pre-Inca society that flourished in the
Peruvian coastal region. Renowned for their metallurgy and
specifically their headdresses." She scrutinized the images of the
ornate golden sculpture. The smooth, arched crown was framed with
long filigreed feathers that nearly glowed, rather than the
traditional Mochica motif of the eight arms of their sea god. The
rounded front was lined with pointed teeth and twin jeweled eyes of
what she assumed to be chrysocolla, a blue-green quartz found in
copper deposits, which would have made the wearer appear to have
been looking out through the open jaws of some frightening
mythological creature. The Mochica was definitely a warring tribe;
however, their rulers were considered gods, and dressed the part.
Yet the mask didn't fit the traditional mold. She looked up at Leo,
whom she now suspected already knew as much and was holding out on
her. Was he testing her? "Where did you find this?"

"It was recovered with Hunter's belongings,
several miles northwest of Pomacochas, Peru."

"That's outside the known Mochica range."
She paused. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks almost
Chachapoyan. But they didn't demonstrate such craftsmanship or
skill working with metals until after their conquest by the Inca.
And that section of the Andes would have been well north of their
established territory."

"So what's your professional opinion?"

"I'll need to do some research. Can you give
me a little time to think about it?"

"Can you think on a plane?"

United States Consulate

Lima, Peru

October 22
^nd

4:35 p.m. PET

Eldon nearly fell out of his chair halfway
through the article when he saw the dollar amount. He leaned closer
to the screen and started reading again from the top. There must
have been some crucial information he'd missed. His heartbeat raced
and his hands trembled. He skimmed:
Mochica headdress from
approximately 700 AD confiscated from London law
firm
...
returned to the National Museum of
Peru
...
estimated value
...and here he paused...

"Two million dollars," he said aloud.

He closed the article and initiated a new
search. There were hundreds of nearly identical recounts on as many
sites. The words changed, but never the dollar amount.
Two
million dollars
.

The Consul-general abruptly rose from his
chair and sent it clattering to the floor. The room spun around him
as he narrowly averted tripping over his own feet in his rush to
the small closet in the corner of his office. He threw open the
door, grabbed the wooden crate from the shelf, and staggered back
to his desk. Casting aside the lid, he swept out a blizzard of
Styrofoam popcorn and removed the headdress. He shoved the box away
and gently laid the exquisite sculpture on the antique surface. It
wasn't quite as elaborate as the headdress on the monitor, which
appeared significantly larger with its curling, stylized octopus
arms, nor was the craftsmanship quite as stunning, but it was every
bit as beautiful. Say it was worth even half as much as the other.
That was still a million dollars. Even through discreet channels he
could surely get that amount. A million dollars would go a long way
toward buying him a seat in the Senate.

The rational portion of his brain struggled
to the forefront. What he was considering was wrong. The headdress
rightfully belonged to the people of Peru, which was the whole
reason he had confiscated it in the first place. If he were to get
caught trying to sell it, not only would he lose his job and his
tenuous standing in the world of politics, but he would undoubtedly
find himself a long-term guest in the ghastly San Juan de
Lurigancho prison. There would be no more dreams of grandeur, only
the reality that even the life he now lived would no longer be
within his grasp.

But if he managed to get away with it...

He racked his brain. Who all knew about the
headdress? The man who had brought it to him, Wes Merritt, had
secreted it from the local authorities, and presumably hadn't
mentioned it to anyone else out of some overdeveloped sense of
integrity. Eldon had been prepared to return it to the Peruvian
government himself, but for whatever reason had decided to wait a
few days, which had turned into a week. Maybe these thoughts had
been brewing all along and his subconscious had caused him to drag
his feet. Regardless, the internet search had confirmed what he
already suspected. He was sitting on a veritable fortune, and the
only person with whom he had shared the existence of the headdress
was the dead man's father, who hadn't seemed to care about it in
the slightest, and whomever he might have told. Granted, the elder
Gearhardt's political connections gave him pause, but his only
proof was a handful of photographs, and he hadn't once so much as
called since. For all Gearhardt knew, Eldon had already sent the
treasure to the government, which certainly wasn't world-renowned
for its honesty. It could have disappeared at any level in that
chain.

So what was the worst-case scenario?
Gearhardt contacts the Peruvians demanding the headdress. If that
were going to happen, it would have already come to pass. The only
real threat now was time. The longer it remained in his possession,
the greater the chances someone might discover it. If he quickly
offloaded it, who would ever know? But how was he supposed to
contact potential buyers? Surely there was some sort of broker who
dealt in merchandise of questionable provenance. Such a person
would demand a significant cut, but even if he cleared
three-quarters of a million dollars, he could still take a great
leap toward making his dreams come true.

He just needed to figure out how to contact
a broker and start---

His office door opened inward and he nearly
had a heart attack. Eldon scrambled to return the headdress to the
crate, but in his earlier hurry had unknowingly knocked it to the
floor.

"Relax and have a seat, Mr. Monahan."

Eldon realized he needed to play it cool.
Thus far he had done nothing wrong. For all anyone knew, he was
readying the headdress for return at this very moment. He could
easily justify the delay since so much red tape still needed to be
cut.

Straightening his tie, Eldon righted his
chair, calmly sat down, and laced his fingers on the desk in front
of him beside the golden relic. He faced his visitor with a
practiced smile.

"Going to have to get someone to come up and
take care of this mess for you," a uniformed Marine said, taking
one of the seats on the opposite side of the desk without
invitation. He raised a piece of Styrofoam between his pinched
fingers and blew it into the air.

Eldon recognized the man as the head of the
Consulate's security contingent, though he had never bothered to
learn his name. The man wore his crisp dress blues, but had already
removed his white cap, which now rested in his lap. He just sat
there with a smug expression of secret knowledge on his hard face,
and stared impassively through unreadable brown eyes. His dark hair
had been shorn to the scalp, and had only begun to stubble. Eldon
placed him somewhere in his mid- to late-thirties.

"It's customary to knock," Eldon said. "As
Consul-general, I---"

"Should have sent that fancy golden mask to
the proper authorities several days ago," the man interrupted. "You
don't think we allow just anybody to walk in off the street wanting
to drop off a backpack without thoroughly searching it first, do
you? Since then, let's just say I've made it a priority to follow
through on my commitment to your welfare."

Eldon balked.

The Marine simply smirked and inclined his
head toward the clock on the wall. Eldon had completely forgotten
about the security camera, especially after repeated assurances
that no one would be monitoring his personal space without cause or
consent.

"I wanted to do a little research on the
object before blindly consigning it to such a corrupt entity,"
Eldon said. "Until this very moment, I couldn't even be sure it was
of Peruvian origin."

The Marine made him nervous, but he still
held the power here.

"I would imagine you encountered the same
information that I did then."

"And what information is that?"

The man smiled and leaned back in the
chair.

"What exactly can I do for you, Corporal...?"
Eldon asked.

"First Sergeant. First Sergeant Kelvin
Tasker."

"State your business and be on your way,
First Sergeant Tasker."

"I just wanted to drop by and share some of
my thoughts. You see, I've been thinking about a couple of things
over the past few days. Like...where exactly did this headdress come
from, and more importantly, if one were to chance upon this
location, what else might one find?" Eldon's stomach turned sour.
"I also just happened to notice that a gentleman by the name of
Gearhardt registered travel plans for ten individuals with our
Embassy. I'm thinking he might have grown a wild hair to see if he
can do a little searching for himself."

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing." Tasker rose and pinned his cap
under his left arm. "I just wanted to swing by and formally
introduce myself." He extended his right hand across the desk.

Eldon eased tentatively out of his chair and
grasped the proffered hand. Tasker's palm was coarse, his grip
uncomfortably firm.

"Nice to officially meet you, Mr. Monahan,"
Tasker said. "I trust you'll find that I make a splendid
partner."

California Raptor Center

University of California, Davis

Davis, California

October 23
^rd

6:30 a.m. PST

This was Galen Russell's favorite time of
the day. He still had three hours before his first lecture began,
and half an hour alone in the lab before the earliest volunteers
arrived. Not that he minded the human interaction, but there was
simply something magical about this time alone with his feathered
friends. He enjoyed the teaching aspect of his post as chair of the
Avian Sciences Department at the University of California, Davis,
and liked to think he made a difference in the lives of the next
generation, which would have to take up arms in the battle for
conservation of the few natural resources left unexploited if there
were to be any hope for the hundreds of species teetering on the
brink of extinction, but this was his true passion. Birds were the
link to the past as well as to the future, their behavior patterns
far more complex and intriguing than most even suspected. Their
evolutionary adaptations were well ahead of the biological curve,
and reflected changes in their habitat more quickly than any other
higher order of animal life, thus making them the perfect research
subjects for the kind of revolutionary theories postulated by
pioneers like Charles Darwin and Ernst Mayr. Galen's professional
aspirations were far less ambitious. He merely wanted to know
everything about them.