Burial Ground (28 page)

Leo had promised her that the ruins would
not be pillaged. While she had always known him to be a man of his
word, she was prepared to go to war with him if he so much as
thought about reneging.

Protecting the sites was an imperative, the
more immediate of her concerns, but what about the descendents that
had managed to remain hidden in the jungle for so long? How would
they react to having the spotlight of the scientific world shined
into their faces? Would that even be in their best interests? Was
there a way to announce their discovery without flooding the
rainforest with researchers who would insist upon poking and
prodding them, and sharing the wonders of modern technology, and
diseases for which they had no antibodies, and religions hell-bent
on the annihilation of mankind?

They had seemed unconcerned, as though a
band of strangers passing through their village was a common
occurrence. Was it possible that others had stumbled upon their
fortress before Hunter, and yet word had somehow never managed to
leak?

Let them pass. They are dead already.

Those cryptic words echoed in her head,
summoning a sudden uneasiness that had nothing to do with the dark
storm clouds rolling toward the mountains from the east. Thunder
rumbled in the distance. Indigo lightning strobed. Rain was a
foregone conclusion. They needed to reach level ground before the
storm overtook them. The already treacherous stone ledges and muddy
paths would be downright lethal with a deluge racing down the
slope.

They rounded the mountain and now faced west
into the dense gray clouds trapped between them and the opposite
peak. The valley below mocked them from out of sight with the
grumble of waterfalls and the whistle of the wind across the sheer
cliffs.

Somewhere out there, obscured by the clouds
and shrouded by vegetation, were the crumbled remains of a vanished
society, the link between the ancient dead in the traditionally
accepted Chachapoya range to the south, and those still living in
the jungle.

Her heart rate accelerated and her body
became electric with nervous energy. She wanted nothing more than
to barrel through the others and sprint ahead toward the discovery
of a lifetime.

The first raindrop slapped her backpack. A
moment later she felt another spatter of coldness on her shoulder.
This time they were all within easy reach of their ponchos, and
used the rare advance notice to don them.

"This must be just like going to Disneyland
for you," Merritt said from behind her.

She couldn't help but smile.

"You have no idea."

They reached a point where the path widened
and he caught up so he could walk beside her. Trees rose from the
downhill side of the path to block their view of the cloud-cloaked
valley and smothered the roar of the waterfalls. The timing was
perfect as the rain pummeled the upper canopy, which absorbed the
brunt of the storm for them.

"I don't know." He offered a lopsided grin.
"I'd like to think I'm something of an expert on Disneyland."

Her smile broadened.

"So what do you think we'll find over
there?" he asked, nodding to the right.

"That's half the fun. I don't really know.
We could discover an amazing fortress that would make Machu Picchu
pale by comparison, or we could find that whatever was once there
has deteriorated and fallen to ruin in the bottom of the
gorge."

"You don't really think that's the case. I
can see it in your eyes. You're just downplaying your expectations.
You know there's something truly astonishing hiding behind those
clouds."

"I hope so. Otherwise we've come all this
way for nothing."

"What will you do with all of the artifacts
you find?"

It was a loaded question, she knew. He'd
made no secret of how he felt about protecting the heritage of his
adoptive home.

"Everything will be documented and
catalogued
in situ
. Only once we've done so will I allow any
relics to leave the site."

"And what will become of them from
there?"

"I imagine the museum in Leymebamba will
happily clear space for them." She read his next question in his
eyes and answered before he could ask. "There will be no looting.
You have my word on that. Like I said, we aren't grave
robbers."

"What about Leo?"

"He promised that nothing would be taken,
and I fully intend to hold him to it."

Merritt nodded, but he still looked
troubled.

"You don't believe me?" she asked.

"No. It's not that." He paused to formulate
his words. "How well do you know Leo?"

"I've known him all my life. Granted, we
don't see eye-to-eye on this particular issue and haven't been on
the best of terms for the last several years, but I trust him.
Despite all of his glaring faults, I've never had a reason to doubt
his integrity."

"But what about his motives? I mean, what
exactly are we doing here?"

"We're searching for the ruins that Hunter
discovered. I suppose that by doing so we're recreating his final
days so that Leo can give himself a measure of closure. Hunter's
death broke my heart, but I won't even pretend to understand how
Leo must feel."

"I can't help but think there's more to it
than that."

"How so?"

"Look at it objectively. We all know Leo's
son died, but there were four other men in his party that no one
seems to want to talk about. What happened to them? And no one's
even mentioned why Rippeth took off in the middle of the night.
He's a hard man with serious military training, not the kind of guy
who tucks tail and runs when things get rough. The fact that he and
the other men are even here speaks volumes about Leo's perception
of the situation. Think about how much money has been invested into
this expedition, and for what? Leo's a businessman. What's the
return on his investment?"

"He's only human. He needs to know what
happened to his son and he has the financial means to do so."

"But haven't you noticed how he and Colton
have withdrawn from the rest of us? They're definitely plotting
something."

"You're being paranoid."

"Am I?" He sighed. "Maybe I am, but I've got
to go with my gut. Something's just not right here. There has to be
another reason for this trek, and only Leo and Colton know what it
is."

"I already told you they promised not to
plunder the ruins. What else could there possibly be?"

"I can't put my finger on it, but I think it
has something to do with the missing members of Hunter's group and
the whole reason their expedition was launched in the first
place."

"Leo would have told me if he had an
ulterior motive," she said. "He's never been one to tiptoe around
the truth, even knowing the kind of argument that might result.
Believe me."

"You're certain he told you everything?"

The tone of his voice betrayed his
doubt.

"Do you know something that I don't?"

He didn't immediately reply. When he finally
did, he spoke in a voice so soft she wasn't sure if he had meant
for her to hear.

"I know we're following a game trail, and I
haven't seen any sign of the animals that could have made it."

12:21 p.m.

The path narrowed and Merritt fell in behind
Sam. He needed time to think. Too many things bothered him about
the situation, and he was running out of time to figure them out.
He felt a sense of inevitability, as though they were hurtling
toward some unforeseen end. Despite what Sam said, he didn't trust
Leo. Perhaps the time had come to have a little chat with Leo and
Colton and see if he could determine what they were hiding.

Suddenly, he was hip-deep in the kind of
problems he had sought to avoid. He had accomplished what he had
set out to after leaving the Middle East. He had vanished from the
face of the earth. As long as he kept his head down, the Army would
never be able to find and extradite him. So why then had he stuck
his neck out and risked drawing attention to himself after finding
the body by the river? There hadn't even been any sort of internal
debate. He had simply assumed responsibility because it had been
the right thing to do. And now here he was, on an expedition he
knew nothing about, miles into the untamed Peruvian wilds. The man
whose son's effects he had taken to the Consulate out of the
goodness of his heart had dragged him along under the threat of
handing him over to the military, but had paid him handsomely to
assuage his guilt. They had to be nearly fifty miles into a forest
where even the animals feared to tread. The natives who had stalked
them from the shadows insisted that he was dead already. And to top
it all off, his feet were soaked from the blasted storm.

So why
was
he here? Why had he
abandoned his life of comfortable anonymity to join this
godforsaken party when he could just as easily have disappeared as
he had already done once before?

Sam turned around and smiled.

And just like that, he knew.

He had known on an unconscious level since
she had first hopped up into the copilot's seat in his plane and
begun to annoy the heck out of him. Since he had first seen the
sparkle of the starlight reflecting from her striking blue eyes as
she stared past him toward the shores of Pomacochas.

"Crap," he muttered under his breath. He
kicked a rotting agave fruit into the forest.

The sound of jogging footsteps and labored
breathing reached him from behind. He didn't need to look back to
see who approached. It was his new best friend. He rolled his eyes
as Galen fell into stride beside him, wheezing heavily.

If nothing else, at least this would prove a
welcomed distraction from his thoughts.

"Got a second?" Galen asked. He was huffing
as though he'd sprinted up the mountain, instead of stumbling along
behind them at a snail's pace.

Merritt sighed. The path through the trees
lightened ahead. They were about to lose their umbrella of
vegetation. From a dozen paces behind him he heard the crinkle of
plastic as Jay weatherproofed his camera.

"There's something I need to show you,"
Galen said before Merritt could answer. The man's eyes were
haunted, his expression pained. He held out two feathers and
pressed one into each of Merritt's hands as they walked. "Look at
those two feathers and tell me what you see."

Merritt decided to humor the birdman, and
inspected the feathers. The one in his left hand was slightly
longer and shimmered with green when he tilted it to the light just
right. The one in his right had a slightly darker color, more black
than brown.

"Other than the coloration, they're pretty
much identical."

"Now blow on them."

"What?"

"Trust me, will you? Just bring them close
to your mouth and blow on them."

Merritt rolled his eyes, but placated Galen,
who grew more agitated by the minute. He puckered and blew on the
feather in his right hand first. It shivered between his fingers,
but did little else. He eyed Galen, who gestured in a rolling
motion with his hands to encourage him to proceed to the other
feather. With a shrug, he blew on the iridescent green plume in his
left. The feathery portion attached to the quill fanned out
slightly, but fell back into place when he stopped to draw another
breath.

"There," Galen said. His eyes widened. "Did
you see that?"

"What was I supposed to see?"

"Don't you understand? You're a pilot, for
God's sake!"

This was growing old in a hurry, and farther
along the path, those in the lead had pulled up the hoods of their
ponchos in anticipation of stepping back out into the storm.

"Look, look, look," Galen said, snatching
back the feathers and holding them where Merritt could clearly see
them. "You saw how the vanes spread apart when you blew on them. If
this were the wing of an airplane, would it be able to stay aloft?
But the vanes on the other feather stayed together when you blew on
them."

"Where are you going with this?" Merritt
raised the hood of his poncho and braced himself. The path opened
onto what looked like a waterfall.

"Okay. Here's a quick lesson on the anatomy
of avian flight. A feather is composed of a hollow, tubular main
shaft called a rachis toward the tip, and a calamus where it
inserts into the follicle on the skin. Vanes branch out from the
rachis to form the majority of the feather. The vanes themselves
divide further into barbs, then barbules, and finally into
barbicels. These barbicels serve as miniature hooks to bind the
vanes together. Without them, the wind passes through the feather
on the downstroke, and the bird simply can't become airborne. There
are other contributing factors, obviously, like the alignment of
the β-keratin fibers and the orientation of the feathers, but
that's flight in a nutshell. On the other hand, flightless birds
like ostriches and emus have feathers that lack the interlocking
barbicels."

"So you're saying that the bird with the
greenish tint to its feathers can't fly." Merritt bowed beneath the
ferocity of the torrent as he stepped out of the protection of the
trees and onto a sheer slope with a deadfall beside him. The path
ahead veered to the right onto a jagged crest of rocks that
connected this mountain with the one to the west. A series of
waterfalls tumbled over the slick stone in uneven steps toward the
valley floor. The air around them was hazy with spray. "What's the
big deal?"

"You were the one who found Hunter
Gearhardt's belongings. This is the same type of feather that he
had considered important enough to pack. Only I found this one at
the site where the jaguar had been slaughtered. And there were even
more of them in that awful clearing with the alpaca bones. You see,
they may look like the feathers of a carrion bird like a condor,
which is what I initially suspected, but they're not. They belong
to an avian from a different order---if not class---entirely."