sharp claws.
'We actually discovered the helmet first,' Thurston said. 'We shut down the pump immediately and luckily we didn't damage the body.'
'A wise decision,' Renaud said. 'An archaeological site is vulnerable to contamination, very much like a crime scene.'
Skye poked her fingers through a rough opening in the right side of the helmet. 'This looks like a bullet hole.'
Renaud snorted. 'Bullet hole! A spear or an arrow would be more appropriate.'
'It's not unusual to see proof marks, dents in armor where it was tested against firearms,' Skye said. 'The hole is unusually clean. This steel is of exceptionally high quality. Look, except for a few scratches and dings it's hardly damaged after being squeezed by the ice. You've called in a forensics expert?' she said.
'He should be here tomorrow,' Renaud said. 'We don't need a specialist to tell us this fellow is dead. What can you tell us about this helmet?'
'I can't place it,' she said, with a shake of her head. 'The general shape resembles some I have seen, but the markings are unknown to me. I'd have to look for an armorer's mark and check it against my database. There are many contradictions here.' She gazed at the body. 'The clothing and the gun look twentieth century. He appears to be an aviator, judging from his uniform and the goggles. Why would he be wearing an old helmet, if that is the case?'
'Very interesting, Mademoiselle Labelle,' Renaud said with an impatient sigh, 'but I expected you to be more help.' He took the helmet from her hands and replaced it in the container after first pulling out a small riveted strongbox. He cradled the battered metal box like a baby. 'This was near the body. What we find inside may
identify this person and tell us how he got here. In the meantime,' he said to Thurston, 'I would like you to continue melting the ice around the body in case there are other identifying objects. I will take full responsibility.'
Thurston gave him a skeptical look, and then shrugged. 'This is your country,' he said, and started the hot water hose again. He melted another few inches of ice on either side of the body, but found nothing. After a while they went back to the lab for some nourishment and to warm up, then returned to the ice cave and resumed their explorations. When Renaud said he would stay in the lab while the others went back to the ice cave, no one protested.
Thurston had worked on the ice for a while longer before Renaud showed up and clapped his hands for attention. 'We must stop for now. We have visitors.'
Excited voices echoed along the passageway. A moment later, a trio of men carrying video and still cameras and notebooks burst into the cave. Except for a tall man, who held politely back, they noisily jostled each other and bumped shoulders in their zest to film the body.
Skye grabbed Renaud by the sleeve and pulled him aside. 'What are these reporters doing here?' she demanded.
He looked down his long thin nose. '/ invited them. They are part of a press pool chosen by lot to cover this great discovery.'
'You don't even know what this discovery is,' she said with unveiled contempt in her voice. 'And you just lectured us against contaminating the site.'
He dismissed her protest with an airy wave of his hand. 'It's important to let the world know about this wonderful find.' Renaud raised his voice to gain the reporters' attention. 'I'll answer your questions about the mummy as soon as we move outside the tomb,' Renaud said, leading the way out of the cave. Skye simmered with anger.
'Jeezus!' said Rawlins. 'Mummy. Tomb. He's making himself sound like he just found King Tut.'
The photographers took another battery of shots and moved out of the chamber, except for the tall man. He was around six and a half feet tall, his face was a pasty white and he had a muscular build that matched his height. A camera hung around his neck and slung from his shoulder was a large canvas gear bag. He stared impassively at the body for a moment, and then he followed after the others.
'I overheard what you said to Renaud,' Thurston said to Skye. 'The site will start freezing up again soon and maybe that will protect it.'
'Good. Let's see what that idiot is cooking up in the meantime.'
They hurried from the cave and down the ladder and the wooden stairs to the main tunnel. Renaud stood outside a lab building, holding the strongbox high above his head.
'What's in it?' a reporter called out.
'We don't know. We will have to open it under controlled circumstances so as not to damage the contents.'
He spun around on his heel so everyone could get a shot. The big man with the camera around his neck failed to take advantage of the photo op, however. Instead, he shouldered his way past the others, ignored the murmurs of protest from his fellow reporters and planted himself directly in front of Renaud.
'Give the box to me,' he said in an impassive tone, extending his large hand.
Renaud looked startled. Then, thinking the man was joking, decided to play along with the game. He grinned and hugged the box tightly to his chest. 'Not on your life,' he said.
'No,' the man said, without raising his voice. 'Not on your life!'
He reached inside his coat, brought out a pistol and slammed the barrel down on Renaud's knuckles. The expression in Renaud's eyes went from amusement to surprise to pain. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his mangled fingers.
The man caught the box before it fell to the ground. Then he wheeled around and waved the gun at the reporters, who fell over themselves trying to back up, before he strode off down the tunnel.
'Stop him!' Renaud said through his pain, holding his crushed fingers.
'What about that telephone?' one reporter said.
Thurston snatched the telephone off the wall and held it to his ear. 'Dead,' he said with a frown. 'The line must have been cut. There's no one back at the living quarters anyhow. We'll hike to the entrance and call for help.'
Thurston and LeBlanc helped Renaud to his feet. They administered first aid to his hand with a kit from the lab while the reporters speculated as to the identity of the big man. None of them recognized him. He had simply appeared bearing the proper credentials and been given a seat on the float plane that dropped them off at the edge of the lake where LeBlanc had picked them up.
LeBlanc and Skye said they would join Thurston. The reporters decided to stay put after Thurston warned that the gunman might be waiting in the tunnel. They walked briskly for several minutes, their headlamps stabbing the semidarkness. Then they walked at a slower pace and more deliberately, as if they expected the big man to leap out of the darkness. They listened for footsteps, but all they heard was the dripping of water off the ceiling and walls.
Suddenly, a loud hollow explosion came from the dark tunnel ahead, followed by an earthshaking shock. Almost simultaneously, a blast of hot air surged through the tunnel. They hit the ground, trying to bury their faces into the wet floor as the pressure wave swept over them.
When it seemed safe, they stood and wiped the muck off their faces. Their ears were ringing, so they had to shout to be heard. 'What was that}' LeBlanc said.
'Let's take a look.' Thurston started forward, fearing the worst.
'Wait!' Skye said.
'What's wrong?' Thurston said.
'Look at your feet.'
Light from their headlamps began to reflect off something that was sparkling and moving on the tunnel floor.
'Water!' Thurston yelled.
The torrent rushed toward them.
They turned and ran deeper into the tunnel, with waves lapping at their heels.
THROUGH HIS BINOCULARS Austin had watched Skye get into a car and followed the vehicle as it climbed the slope to one side of the glacier and disappeared berjind the trees. It was as if the earth had swallowed her up.
