near the shoulder joints, and what was left of the skull was a good five feet away near the far wall, where it rested against an open case of fancy picks and geologist's utensils. The entire top half of the cranium had been broken away, revealing an empty bowl where the brain and pituitary gland should have been. Dried brown skin still clung to the face beneath the eyes and across the cheekbones, but the lips and tongue were gone, leaving a frame of broken teeth frozen several inches apart in a final eternal scream.
A pistol rested on the floor near the head. Colton crossed to it and lifted it from the floor. He sniffed the barrel. Cordite. He ejected the clip of the Beretta Px4 Storm semi-automatic, and fed the remaining rounds into his palm. Seven. He ejected another from the chamber.
The man had managed to fire only two shots.
'Any idea who this might have been?' he asked.
Leo shook his head in reply.
They surveyed the jumble of belongings that surrounded the cavern. There were backpacks and boxes. A small table had been thrown together using a length of flat stone, upon which were the shattered fragments of beakers and test tubes, small bottles of chemicals that looked like eye drops, and a toppled can of Sterno. The blue sludge had oozed out into a phlegm-like puddle. Several wrappers from dehydrated rations littered the floor. A miner's helmet rested beside them, the plastic cracked like the Liberty Bell, the lens of the light a mess of frayed wires. A brownish crust lined the inside of the dome.
After a minute's search, Colton found another helmet. He switched on the light and set it on his head.
The powerful beam illuminated the better part of the chamber and startled the bats to nervous flight overhead, where they raced and collided for a long moment before resuming their inverted perches. The cavern was roughly the size of a large garage, but more ovular in shape. A sharp mat of guano covered the floor and the few stalagmites that pointed back up at the ceiling.
Both men averted their eyes from the remains.
What at first appeared to be a wall of shadows resolved into a narrow corridor as Colton neared, but it wasn't a natural formation like the crevice through which they'd entered. It was maybe twice the width of his shoulders, and he had to duck to enter. He walked at a crouch. The surfaces of the walls were uneven from being chiseled by primitive instruments. There were no wooden supports to brace the earthen ceiling as one would find in a modern mine, making it feel as though the entire weight of the mountain pressed down upon his head. The shaft stretched another thirty yards before it appeared to terminate against a solid block of granite.
Quartz glinted from the walls, which were stratified with long black streaks.
Colton smiled.
They'd found their gold.
He appreciated the width of the black veins of gold ore, which surrounded him as he walked. Lord only knew how far they extended into the mountain. His first impression was that the extraction wouldn't be nearly as difficult as he had originally estimated. The gold showed through in several spots where the vein had been tapped.
A small cave had been formed at the end of the tunnel. It was approximately the size of a half-bath, but at least it was tall enough for him to stand fully erect. Slightly to his right, a thin, angular crevice led away into the dark heart of the earth, barely large enough for a man to wriggle through. He knelt and peered inside. The sides were smooth, the level floor thick with congealed guano. It was a natural formation. Had the rest of the tunnel been widened from this narrow channel? The beam of his headlamp terminated against a bend twenty feet away.
'Hello,' he called, listening as his voice echoed away into oblivion.
Based on the intonation and duration of the echo, this small tunnel led much deeper into the mountain. If this area was riddled with passages and hollows, the mining might prove challenging after all.
He started to rise again, but something caught his eye.
A subtle green shimmer.
He flattened to his stomach and reached as far as he could into the hole until his fingertips grazed something soft. After a moment of fumbling with it, he pinched it between his fingers, withdrew his arm, and held the object beneath the lamp on his forehead.
It was a feather.
VIII
Tasker wiped the paste of sweat and dust from his brow. He had stripped to his undershirt, which was now thoroughly soaked, and his body odor probably rivaled that of the stiffs around him. They had ripped open every single mummified bundle, exposing the contents and dumping the brittle, desiccated corpses. There were enough feathers to stuff a thousand pillows and enough dry grain to sow a field the size of Texas, but outside of the hundreds of ceramic bowls he had shattered in frustration, there hadn't been a single grave good of any real value.
Where was all the gold?
He bellowed in frustration and turned to find McMasters sitting on a mound of rubble, sipping contentedly from his water bladder. The mere fact that he could be so collected under the circumstances grated on Tasker's nerves.
After what they'd found buried inside the odd sculptures, he had hoped they would discover enough treasure here to allow them to call it good and get the hell out of the jungle. Maybe the blasted pottery would have been worth something, but how many clay bowls would they have needed to sell to justify the kind of effort it would have taken to ship them downriver? Besides, right now, destroying them served as a productive way of venting his fury.
He eyed the closest of the opened bundles they had exhumed from the shelf in the base of the statuary, then quickly looked away.
Images of the three slaughtered bodies they had discovered on the trail flashed across his mind, but he chased them away, only to have a vision of Jones's bloody remains rise to the forefront. The man had been a trained soldier---a
Tasker ground his teeth with an audible screech and forced down the memories. He refused to allow fear to take root. It would only weaken him when now it was imperative to be strong. He allowed rage to supplant any possible feelings of doubt. They had a job to do, and they would execute their plan to perfection even if it killed them. There was nothing left for them back in Lima. There was no way they would be able to explain the deaths of Jones, Reubens, and Telford to a military tribunal. The only option now was to press on, and either they accomplished their goal and lived the rest of their lives in the lap of luxury, or died trying.
'Get up,' he said. When McMasters didn't immediately snap to attention, he shouted again so loudly that it reverberated through the cavern and the valley beyond. 'Get up!'
McMasters raised his cold stare to meet Tasker's and slowly screwed the cap back into place on his canteen. His eyes never left Tasker's as he returned the water to his rucksack, leisurely rose from where he sat, and walked toward his former commanding officer until their faces were only inches apart.
Tasker wanted nothing more than to grab the man by the throat, press his fingertips into the soft spots over the carotids, and rip out his trachea. He was so furious that his hands shook, forcing him to curl them into fists.
'Yes...
Tasker's hand found the grip of the pistol in the holster beneath his left arm.
Not yet. He still needed the soldier's help, but once McMasters outlived his usefulness...
He reluctantly released his sidearm and followed McMasters toward the outside world. The sheeting rain filled the mouth of the cavern, the droplets whipping from side to side at the behest of the howling wind. A churning mist had settled into the valley, obscuring the view of everything but the siege of raindrops and the occasional diffuse strobe of lightning. He couldn't have asked for better weather. The storm would mask their presence and wash away their tracks. Their prey wouldn't know they were coming until it was too late. And maybe not even
