Thunderhead

for the priests. For that reason alone, it would be exceedingly interesting to study.

The Sun Kiva itself was unadorned except for the great polished disk, glinting in the harsh light. Thick ribbed dust lay in drifts against its base and along its walls. The kiva had been carefully plastered with adobe, and she saw that the only opening in its side had been blocked with rocks.

“Look at that stonework,” said Black. “It’s the most fortified kiva I’ve ever seen.”

A pole ladder was leaning against one side of the kiva. “That was leaning against the roomblocks,” Black said eagerly, following Nora’s glance. “I brought it over and climbed onto the roof. There’s no roof opening. It’s been totally sealed shut.” His voice dropped a notch. “As if it’s hiding something.”

Sloane broke away from the group and walked up to the sun disk. She stroked it lightly, almost reverently, with her fingers. Then she glanced back at Nora, briskly unpacked her camera kit, and began setting up the first shot.

The group stood silently while Sloane moved about the cavern, shooting the kiva and its associated roomblocks from a variety of angles. Soon she rejoined them, folded up her tripod, and put the camera body back in its case.

Even the loquacious Smithback had remained silent and, most uncharacteristically, taken no notes. There was a palpable tension in the air; a tension quite different, Nora realized, than any she had felt at the site before.

“Done?” she asked. Sloane nodded.

“Before we leave tomorrow morning,” Nora went on, careful to keep her voice neutral, “we’ll reblock the hole as best we can. There’s not much to bring a looter back behind the granaries. If we hide it well, they’ll miss it.”

“Before we leave?” Black repeated.

Nora looked at him and nodded.

“By God, not until we open this kiva,” said Black.

Nora looked at his face, then at Sloane. And then at Swire, and Bonarotti, and Smithback. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” she said quietly. “And nobody’s opening this kiva.”

“If we don’t do it now,” Sloane said, her voice loud, “nothing will be left when we return.”

There was a tense silence, broken by Bonarotti. “I would also like to see this kiva full of gold,” he said.

Nora waited, taking measured breaths, thinking about what she was going to say and how she was going to say it.

“Sloane,” she began quietly. “Aaron. This expedition is facing a crisis. One person has died. There are people out there who killed our horses, and who may try to kill us. To open and document this kiva properly would take days. We don’t have days.” She paused. “I’m the leader of this expedition. It’s my choice to make. And we’re leaving tomorrow.”

A tense silence gathered in the cave.

“I don’t accept your so-called choice,” Sloane said in a low tone. “Here we are, on the verge of the greatest discovery, and what is your answer? Go home. You’re just like my father. You have to control everything. Well, this is my career, too. This is my discovery as much as it is yours. If we leave now, this kiva will be looted. And you’ll have thrown away perhaps the greatest discovery in American archaeology.” Nora saw that she was shaking in anger. “I’ve been a threat to you from the beginning. But that’s your problem, not mine. And I’m not going to let you do this to my career.”

Nora looked hard at Sloane. “You mention your father,” she said slowly. “Let me tell you what he said to us, right before we left for Quivira: ‘You are representing the Institute. And what the Institute represents is the very highest standard of archaeological research and ethical conduct.’ Sloane, what we do here, what we say here, will be studied, debated, second-guessed by countless people.” She softened her tone. “I know how you feel. I want to open this kiva as much as you do. And we will be back to do this the right way. I promise you’ll get all the credit you deserve. But until that time, I absolutely forbid the opening of this kiva.”

“If we leave here now, there will be nothing left when we return,” Sloane said, her eyes locked on Nora. “And then we’ll be the ones doing the second-guessing. Go on and run, if you want. Just leave me a horse and some supplies.”

“Is that your final word?” Nora asked quietly.

Sloane merely stared in return.

“Then you leave me no choice but to relieve you of your position on the archaeological team.”

Sloane’s eyes widened. Then her gaze swivelled to Black.

“I’m not sure you can do that,” Black said, a little weakly.

“You’re damn right she can do it,” Smithback suddenly spoke up. “Last time I checked, Nora was leader of this expedition. You heard what she said. We leave the kiva alone.”

“Nora,” Black said, a pleading note entering his voice, “I don’t think you appreciate the magnitude of this discovery. Just on the other side of that adobe wall is a king’s ransom in Aztec gold. I just don’t think we can leave it for . . .”

His voice trailed off. Ignoring Black, Nora continued to look hard at Sloane. But Sloane had turned away, her eyes fixed on the large painted disk on the kiva’s side, glowing brilliantly in the fluorescent light. Then she gave Nora one last, hateful look and walked to the low passageway. In a moment she was gone. Black stood his ground a little longer, staring from the kiva to Nora and back again. Then, swallowing heavily, he tore himself away and wordlessly made his way out into the Crawlspace.

43

SKIP KELLY MADE HIS CAREFUL WAY DOWN THE far reaches of Tano Road North, doing his best to keep the VW from bottoming out on the dirt road. It was terrible road, all washboard and ruts: the kind of road that was a much-coveted asset in many of Santa Fe’s priciest neighborhoods. Every quarter mile or so, he passed another enormous set of wrought-iron gates, flanked by adobe pillars, beyond which a narrow dirt road wound off through pinon trees: portals to unseen estates. Occasionally, he caught glimpses of buildings—a caretaker’s cottage, an immaculate set of barns, an enormous house rising from a distant ridgeline—but most of the great estates along Tano Road were so well hidden that one hardly knew they existed.

The road narrowed, the pinons crowding in on either side. Skip slowed even further, eased his foot onto the clutch, elbowed Teddy Bear’s huge muzzle out of his face, and once again checked the number scribbled onto a folded sheet of paper, dim in the evening light. Not far now.

He came over the brow of a hill and saw the road peter out a quarter mile ahead, ending in a thicket of chamisa. To the left, a great rock of granite rose out of the earth. Its face had been polished flat, and ESG had been engraved on it in simple, sans-serif letters. Beyond the rock was an old ranch gate. It looked much more battered than the shiny monstrosities he had just driven past. As he eased the car closer, however, he saw that the shabbiness of the gate belied its immensely strong construction. Beside it was a small keypad and an intercom.

Leaving the engine running, he got out of the car, pushed the single red button beneath the intercom’s speaker, and waited. A minute passed, then two. Just as he was preparing to get back into the car, the speaker crackled into life.

“Yes?” came a voice. “Who is it?”

With mild surprise, Skip realized that the voice wasn’t that of a housekeeper, chauffeur, or butler. It was the authoritative voice of the owner, Ernest Goddard himself.

He leaned toward the intercom. “It’s Skip Kelly,” he said.

The speaker was silent.

“I’m Nora Kelly’s brother.”

There was a brief movement in the vegetation beside the gate, and Skip turned to see a cleverly hidden camera swivel toward him. Then it panned away, toward the Volkswagen. Skip winced inwardly.