Dark Bear’s idea, Sam explained, was for us to collect all the ancient original manuscripts sealed in containers here in the cave, and once again to transcribe them and translate them into English—this time, along with the rune manuscript of unknown provenance I’d gotten from Jersey. Then we’d publish these translations, one by one, on a computer network, for the edification and enlightenment of the public at large.
After publication, Dark Bear thought we should parcel out the ancient source records—the delicate tin plates and parchment scrolls—to various American Indian museums and libraries, whichever ones possessed the wherewithal to preserve and handle them properly.
Unlike the famous Dead Sea Scrolls of similar antiquity, which had been closely held in the hands of a few totalitarian data-mongers these past forty years, Pandora’s and Clio’s wonderful trove of exotica would be made available for study and analysis to qualified scholars in every field. If we translated these things ourselves, we’d at least know nothing was swept under the rug. And if we did learn of something dangerous—for instance if there were spots on Mother Earth that could be manipulated, but that were sacred or vulnerable or both, like Wolfgang’s hints about Tesla’s inventions—we would make that knowledge public too, so action could be taken to protect those places.
We three formed a relay to remove the lucite tubes: Bambi handed them out through the crevice of the cave to Sam, who knotted them together with twine in three big bunches while I ascended the steep rock to the top of the cliff. Then Sam lifted the bunches, and I hauled them from above by sturdier rope. I set them beside the waterfall until the others clambered up.
Though individually each lucite tube was light as a feather, their combined weight was fairly hefty; I estimated my parcel and Bambi’s to weigh close to twenty pounds apiece, and Sam’s seemed heavier. Further, though the tubes were tightly sealed, Sam feared that, due to the delicacy of many of the items, if anything leaked or even sweated, some of their valuable contents might be destroyed.
So we carried our bundles on our backs, well above waterline, the tubes stacked horizontally from waist level to just above our shoulders. Sam secured them to our backs with a buntline hitch such as mountaineers use, in case one of us went down and had to quickly shed the pack. The awkwardness of our loads, we hoped, would be offset by weight, helping to provide a firmer grip on the river bottom against the onrush of water.
Just before I stepped into the river, I looked across at Dark Bear waiting on the opposite bank beside a tense-looking Olivier—who was wearing my backpack with Jason inside it. Then I climbed carefully down into the icy waters and we moved out into the river single file—Sam leading the procession to keep the rope taut, Bambi in the middle, and I bringing up the rear—all of us clinging tightly to the rope. I had to concentrate as hard as I could to keep my knees flexible, my body balanced, and my feet planted firmly as I felt my way along the slippery, uneven rock on the bottom of the riverbed. So I was well out into the river before I suddenly realized something was terribly wrong. Sam had stopped dead in midriver.
There on the opposite bank, at the forest’s edge, were the two very last people on earth I wanted to see: my boss Pastor Owen Dart, and Herr Professor Dr. Wolfgang K. Hauser of Krems, Österreich. Wolfgang was holding Olivier with a gun at his throat. Dark Bear, only yards away, had been firmly lashed to a tree.
How did they get here, a hundred miles into the wilderness? Then I realized that in the few minutes, back at the house, when Dark Bear had stepped inside, we’d left the cars unattended. Those few moments might have been all the time required to attach tracking devices to our vehicles. It seems Wolfgang had learned from his experience the last time he’d tailed me.
Even at this distance, I could see Wolfgang’s deep turquoise eyes riveted on the three of us out across the river—first resting briefly on Bambi and me, then burning like horrible coals into Sam, as if he couldn’t believe what he saw.
I wanted to weep. But my more immediate desire was to stay alive, a prospect that didn’t seem too awfully promising just at this moment. I suddenly noticed that the Pod held a hunting knife in his hand. Now he set his other hand firmly on the thick line of rope that was tied to the tree just beside him—the rope we were all clinging to, our total life support system out here in the rapid waters. A twinge of fear ran up my spine as I realized he was about to hack it in two! But then I saw Wolfgang shake his head and speak a few quick words to the Pod, who removed his hand from our lifeline with a nod of agreement, and glanced back at us.
Bambi and Sam and I stood there in midriver, frozen like statues, as I prayed that maybe Wolfgang had had a change of heart, maybe he’d undergone radical personality surgery in the few hours since I’d seen him. After all, I tried to reason, if their objective was to destroy all trace of these documents, leaving their team with the copy Sam himself had made as the only version in existence, then there was no reason why the Pod shouldn’t cut us all loose like bait and toss us over the falls to feed the fish.
But of course there was a reason, and it wasn’t long before I grasped it.
