Except for a pair of gravel loaders, a large excavator bucket and several dump trucks and gravel lers, the entire yard was deserted.
The underground security guard units and electronic detection equipment were virtually invisible to anyone walking around the equipment yard.
'Can I meet Mr. Trinity?' asked the President.
Sandecker shook his head. 'Afraid not. A good man, Sam.
A good patriot. After voluntarily signing over the rights to the artifacts to the government, he took off on a playing tour of the world's top one hundred golf courses.'
'We compensated him, I hope.'
'Ten million tax-free dollars,' replied Sandecker. 'And we damned near had to hogtie him to take it.' Then Sandecker turned and pointed out a deep excavation a few hundred meters away. 'The remains of Gongora Hill. Now a gravel pit. We've actually made a profit on our sand-and-crushed-rock operation.'
The President's face clouded as he stared into the huge open pit that was once the summit of the hill. 'Did you happen to dig up Topiltzin and Yazid?'
Sandecker nodded. 'Two days ago. We sent their remains through the rock crusher. I believe they're both part of a roadbed.'
The President seemed satisfied. 'Just what the bastards deserve.'
'Where is the tunnel?' asked Schiller, looking around.
'In there.' Sandecker gestured toward a well-used mobile home trailer that was converted to an office. A sign by one window advertised the
'Dispatcher.'
The four Secret Service agents in the van had already exited and begun patrolling the area while the two in the cab of the truck jumped to the ground and entered the office to check it out as a matter of routine.
After the President's party passed through two doors into a small, ban-en office at the rear of the mobile home, Sandecker invited them to step to the center of the room and hold onto a railing that protruded from the floor. He waved at a TV camera in one corner of the ceiling.
Then the floor began to lower through the trailer and into the ground below.
'Pretty slick,' said Schiller admiringly.
'Yes indeed,' murmured the President. 'I can see why the project hasn't been penetrated.'
The lift dropped through the limestone and came to a jerking halt thirty meters under the ground surface. They stepped off into a wide-tunneled passageway lit with fluorescent-tube lights. for as far as they could see the tunnel was lined with sculptures.
A woman waited to greet them.
'Mr. President,' said Sandecker, 'may I introduce Dr. Lily Sharp, director of the cataloging program?'
'Dr. Sharp, we're all deeply in your debt.'
Lily blushed. 'I'm afraid I was only a small cog in the wheel,' she replied modestly.
After she was introduced to Schiller, Lily began the guided tour of the the Alexandria Library.
'We've ed and catalogued 427 different sculptures,' she explained,
'representing the finest work of the early bronze age beginning in 3,000
B.c. and ending m the transcendental style of the Byzanum era of the early fourth century. Except for a few stains from water seepage through the limestone, which can be removed by chemicals, the marble and bronze figures are in a remarkable state of preservation.'
The President walked speechless through the long passage, stopping every so often to gaze in admiration at the magnificent classic sculpture, some of it five thousand years old. He was overwhelmed at the sheer numbers of it. Every age, every dynasty and empire was represented with the best its artists turned out.
'I'm actually seeing and touching the Alexandria museum collection,' he said in reverence. 'After the explosion I couldn't believe it wasn't all destroyed.'
'The earth tremors stirred up some dust and caused a few bits and pieces of the limestone to fall from the roof,' said Lily. 'But the artifacts came through just fine. You're seeing the sculpture just as Jumus Venator last saw them in A.D.
391.'
After nearly two hours of studying the incredible display, Lily stopped at the last artifact before entering the main gallery. 'The golden casket of Alexander the Great,' she announced in a hushed tone.
The President felt as if he was about to meet God. He slowly approached the golden resting place of one of the greatest leaders the world had ever known and peered through the crystal windows.
The Macedonians had laid their king out in his ceremonial armor. His cuirass and helmet were pure gold. The Persian silk that once made up his tunic was mostly gone, rotted away after nearly twenty-four centuries. All that was left of the great subject of romantic legend were his bones.
'Cleopatra, Julius Caesar, Mark Antony, all stood and gazed at his remains,' lectured Lily.
Each took his Turn, hardly able to conceive what lay beneath their eyes.
Then Lily led them into the great storage gallery.
Nearly a hundred people were hard at work. Several were examining the contents of the wooden crates stacked in the gallery's center.
