But maybe one of them was speaking to him now, through these flowing lines of proto-Hebrew. Still, Hank knew he would need help to understand the message he was receiving.
He straightened and interrupted Painter, who was in conversation with the Frenchman. It seemed as if the enemies had become colleagues. Still, Hank noted the nervous edge to Painter's mien, the quickness with which his fingers formed themselves into fists, the angry pinch to his eyes, the clipped manner of his speech. He imagined it was taking all of the man's control to keep from ripping Rafael's head from his shoulders. Hank also saw the raw wound in Painter's eyes, born of guilt and pain, whenever he looked in Kai's direction.
It was made worse by the waiting and tension.
Hank offered him something to do. 'Painter, could we use your tool to take a photo of the writing on this side of the jar? I can send it to my colleague, the expert in ancient languages and linguistics. When I spoke to him last, he believed he might be able to help us translate it. Not the entire message, mind you. He thought he might be able to pick out a few words here and there, those bits that still bear some relation to modern Hebrew.'
'At this point, I'll take any help I can. Even a single word could be the final key to solving this puzzle.'
Hank was hanging back while Painter and the French team worked to get a copy uploaded to BYU when he accidentally bumped into the carrying case that had been used to transport the canopic jar.
Painter suddenly called out, drawing everyone's attention.
'NASA just sent word. We got a hit!'
Chapter 36
June 1, 7:06 A.M.
Hohenwald, Tennessee
The sun had come up by the time they were able to off-load the backhoe from the flatbed. Gray trundled the earthmover across the empty parking lot of the Meriwether Lewis State Park. The recreation area lay about eighty miles south of Nashville along the Natchez Trace Parkway. At this hour, the park was still closed, and the gravesite they sought was well off the road, surrounded by thick forest.
If they moved quickly enough, they shouldn't be disturbed.
Earlier, Kat had cleared the way for this little bit of grave robbing by arranging permits for a bogus sewer repair job to cover their actions, along with renting the backhoe from a local heavy-equipment dealer in the nearby town of Hohenwald.
Monk and Seichan, both suited up in blue utility jumpers and carrying shovels, led the way from the parking lot.
Gray followed, working the two brakes to control his turns and peering over the top of the loading bucket. He'd driven tractors and backhoes as a kid back in Texas. He was rusty, but it was coming back to him.
Entering the main grounds, they passed several commemorative and informational signs, as well as a restoration of the original Grinder's Stand, where Lewis died. The log structure stood to one side of the park. The grave marker lay ahead, across a swath of lawn. It was a simple monument with a stacked stone base holding up a broken plinth of limestone, symbolic of a life that was cut short.
Gray headed across the lawn toward it, going slowly.
Once they got close enough, Monk circled his arm in the air. 'Turn her!'
Gray obeyed, swinging the backhoe fully around, to bring the rear boom and bucket to bear. He shifted into neutral and set the brake. Once the machine was ready, he swiveled his seat to face the stubby controls to the rear digging arm and lowered the stabilizer legs to either side.
But before digging, he had to do a little clearing.
With a cringe against the violation he was about to commit and a silent apology to the dead pioneer, Gray lifted the boom and extended the arm, using the bucket like a ram against the top of the pillar. Hydraulics whined and slowly the broken plinth toppled over, ripping out of its stacked-stone base. It crashed, penetrating deep into the lawn on the far side.
Once that was done, it took another fifteen minutes to remove the base: scooping stone and mortar and dumping it to the side. After this, Gray pointed the bucket's teeth to the ground and began to dig in earnest, one scoopful at a time.
Monk and Seichan helped guide his actions, checking after each bucket load, jumping in and searching around with their spades. Finally, a sharp whistle drew Gray's attention. Monk straightened from the hole and pointed down.
'Time to wake up the dead!'
Monk and Gray cleared the rest of the way with the shovels. Monk had a bit of difficulty with only one hand, but he'd learned long ago to manage most tasks through the artful use of his stump.
Seichan watched from the lip of the open grave.
According to information supplied to them by Eric Heisman, Gray's team was not the first to violate Lewis's resting place. A monument committee had dug up Lewis's body back in 1847, to confirm that it was indeed the famous pioneer in this grave before allowing the construction of the broken-pillar grave marker. The committee's report to the state legislature also stated their firm belief that Lewis met his end through murder, not suicide, declaring he'd
The coffin was probably dated back to that time.
A worry nagged at Gray. Had the committee, he wondered, committed any further violation, such as emptying anything they found here?
They were about to find out.
Inside the grave, Gray set the edge of his spade and broke the rusted locks from the wood coffin. With Monk's help, he got the lid raised. Skeletal remains rested in the tattered remnants of an old suit. Dried bits of flesh still clung in flaking patches.
Monk fell back a step and pointed a thumb up. 'I think I'm going to go join Seichan.'
'Go ahead,' Gray said, releasing him from duty.
They were done here.
Folded neatly over the body's skeletal legs was the hide of a buffalo. It looked to be in poor shape, the fur of the pelt ragged, almost bald, but the leather itself appeared intact.
Gray bent closer to examine it as the crack of a rifle suddenly split the bright morning quiet. Monk came falling back into the grave, sprawling atop the bones.
Gray reached to his side, and his fingers came back bloody.
Seichan leaped down to join them as more shots blasted into the edge of the grave. 'Where are our rifles?' she asked.
'Still in the backhoe's cab,' Gray said.
It was a foolish oversight.
Monk groaned. 'Looks like we dug our own graves.'
Chapter 37
June 1, 5:05 A.M.
Yellowstone National Park
Half an hour after getting word from NASA, Painter stood within the landscape pictured on the canopic jar.
