“That’s dedication,” he said. “I’m impressed.”
“So…” she teased nodding toward the computer, “You have a secret admirer?”
“Not really. Just posting a daily report…” he said, casually closing the laptop. “Something you wanted to see me about?”
“Actually,” she hesitated, “while I was running, I began thinking about the paintings again… The truth is, they’re so incredible I can’t get the images out of my mind.”
Rising, Corbett turned to fully face her. “So the paintings spoke to you. That’s good. Given the recent advances in cracking the Neanderthal genome, assuming the carbon dating holds up, we could be looking at a significant step forward in our understanding of the culture.”
“That’s exciting.” Stepping closer, she smiled. “I just feel so lucky to be part of it.” Her hair was wet and smelled of lavender. The faint odor of her body wash invaded his nostrils. Feigning disinterest, he held his ground.
She was very close now. Too close to be ignored. Hesitating, she slowly reached up to run her fingers along his cheek. Her lips found his as he kissed her. Their embrace lingered for several seconds as his tongue touched hers. She started to press her body into his only to feel him catch himself.
“Bad idea,” he whispered. His voice sounded thick and unsteady.
“Really…?” She hesitated then kissed him again, harder this time. Feeling him respond excited her. “What makes you think so?”
Attempting to gain some measure of control, he managed to end the kiss but continued to hold her against his body. Whispering in her ear, he could feel her breath against his cheek.
“Priorities…” he said at last. “Too much to do.”
“You’re right,” she whispered back, not really believing it.
“Call it bad timing,” Corbett added, releasing her. He watched as she stepped back, already half regretting his decision. For a long moment, neither seemed willing to break the spell. Then attempting to disarm the moment, he forced a grin. “In Africa, there’s a saying among the Bassari that roughly translates: ‘A man cannot play the drums and fuck his wife at the same time.’ “
Suppressing a wistful smile, she started toward the opening in the tent. “Then I guess I’m lucky I’m not your wife.” Glancing over her shoulder, she disappeared into the early morning light.
Watching her go, he tried to regain control of his emotions. Clearly, she had aroused something unexpected within him. But between exploring the cave and exfiltrating Tariq, the rest of his life simply had to be put on hold. Yet, despite this, he had been powerless to stop himself. In the future, he would have to be more careful.
Disconnecting his computer, he slipped it into the false bottom of his suitcase and relocked it. Rubbing his hands across his two-day stubble, he made the conscious decision to forego shaving, at least for now. One of the few luxuries of an archeological dig, he thought: No need to keep up appearances.
Outside, the rose-colored dawn was beginning to give way as the sun began its climb. Sounds of movement emanated from the cook tent where Gorka was already busily firing up his stove and setting to work. The aroma of wood smoke mingled with the smells of bacon and fresh coffee.
“Hola… Boss? You up?” Hector’s voice called from just outside.
Stepping to the opening, Corbett folded back the tent flap to find him waiting. “Buenos días,” he said. “Good. You’re up early.”
“Si, the winch,’ Hector grinned, “She needs some extra loving this morning. So, I figure I get at it right away.”
“How long do you think it will be before we can actually have the lift up and working?”
“End of the day if all goes well. Tomorrow if it doesn’t.”
“Tomorrow’s too late. Take whoever you need to get it running. Until we can have full access to the cave, we’re just treading water.”
“Gotcha, Boss. I let you know as soon as we’re ready.”
Watching Hector move off, Corbett returned to his desk. Taking out the checklist he had prepared in Salamanca, he began to run through the details. Yesterday’s descent into the cave had whetted his appetite for what lay ahead. The truth was, he loved the exploration of an unspoiled site. It was what had attracted him to study archeology in the first place. The idea that there were secrets hidden in the depths of the earth that might provide some fresh insight into the human condition still fired his imagination. Though it might be seen as his “cover” by Reed and others back in Langley, the work itself had somehow always given him a sense of worth that made all the rest in his life possible. Taking the checklist with him, he headed for the cook tent and breakfast.
*****
Jarral had arisen from a troubled sleep in the darkness before dawn and begun his day as always with the prayer known as Fajr.
He prayed to Allah for strength that they might find Tariq and slay him before he could return to his dying father’s side. Death to both father and son in accordance with God’s law.
Agitated by such thoughts, Jarral finally stood. Rolling up his prayer mat, he placed it against the crumbling wall beside the door then moved to where Buttar sat cross-legged, watching the road for anyone coming or going from the camp.
“Any sign of the Infidel?” he asked.
Buttar shook his head, his eyelids heavy from lack of sleep. “Nothing moves all night.” He answered.
“Vigilance,” he replied. “Trust in Allah and He will surely reward our devotion.”
“Vigilance…?” Buttar scoffed. “Vigilance is for old women and dogs. Are we not men anointed by Allah to carry out His word? Instead of laying here in wait, we should go to their camp and behead them as they sleep. Allah be praised.”
“And if we did, what chance would
