Nighthawk (NUMA Files 14)

“When your work is dependent on grants, you become very familiar with the world’s governmental organizations. Over the last ten years, I’ve applied to every department, of every agency, in every country, in the Americas. Or so it seems. I’ve petitioned NUMA several times. I’m afraid you’ve always turned me down.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Kurt grunted.

Urco laughed. “Not to worry. It’s all part of the business. But tell me, why would an organization that studies the sea be interested in the mountains of Peru and the people who lived there?”

“It’s complicated,” Kurt said. “The other night, you posted a video of a meteor crossing the sky. We wanted to know more about it. Can you tell me what you saw? When exactly it happened? Which direction you were looking?”

“It was very early in the morning,” Urco said. “I get up before dawn each day. The sunrise is my affirmation. That morning, we were going to film a new chamber we’d uncovered. I was checking the cameras to make sure the batteries were charged. As I went about my routine, I looked up and saw a light in the sky. At first I thought it was a star, but it was moving with great speed. I had the camera in my hand, so I pointed and filmed. Pure serendipity. I’m not even sure the video was focused.”

“It was slightly blurred,” Kurt admitted, “but not too bad, considering the circumstances. Which way did it travel?”

Urco pointed to the north. “It came in from that direction, crossed over the clearing and continued south.”

The time interval was right, but the direction seemed off. Although Hiram had suggested the Nighthawk’s right wing appeared to be damaged. That might account for the change.

Kurt chose his next words with care. Urco was obviously a man of great intelligence. He was worldly even if the people who worked for him were relatively simple. Kurt had found truth worked better with such people, better than even the most carefully crafted lies. “What if I told you it wasn’t a meteor in the sky that morning?”

Urco’s face scrunched up, his weathered skin wrinkling, the beard shifting, but hiding any true expression. “I would have to agree with you,” he said. “Up here, one sees shooting stars on a regular basis. No city lights to blind us. I posted the video as a lark, but as the day wore on I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I must admit, my later impression was of something larger and closer. Lower to the Earth, I think.”

“I think so, too,” Kurt said. “I believe you saw an experimental American spacecraft that reentered the atmosphere and went off course. We—and by that I mean NUMA and the United States government—are very interested in finding the crash site. If you help us now, I can promise you, with a high degree of certainty, that you’ll never be turned down for a grant again.”

Urco nodded as if considering the possibilities. “Perhaps we can help each other,” he said. “Have you ever heard of my theory?”

“Afraid not,” Kurt said.

Urco didn’t take offense. “It’s called Civilization Wave Theory. It’s adapted from a field known as cataclysmic evolution, which is the belief that a new form cannot prosper until the existing, dominant form subsides. Mammals, which rule the planet today, were nothing more than scurrying rodents for the first hundred million years of their existence. Surviving only because they were beneath the dinosaur’s majestic notice. But after the Chicxulub meteor impact, the dinosaurs fell. In the blink of an eye, the entire playing field was leveled; indeed, tilted toward small animals with warm blood and fur. And so the rise of the mammals began.”

Kurt nodded.

“My theory suggests that civilization changes in much the same way. Nothing new can rise until the old, dominant power is swept away. Usually by a catastrophe beyond its control.”

“For instance?”

“Being a man of the sea, I’m sure you’re familiar with the sudden collapse of the Minoan empire.”

“Of course,” Kurt said. “After dominating the Mediterranean for centuries, the Minoans were weakened by the tsunamis that hit their island after the eruption of Santorini.”

“Precisely,” Urco said, “but they weren’t wiped out. They still existed. They hung on for centuries in a diminished capacity. But the effect was a changing of the playing field; it was now tilted toward other civilizations of the region. The Mycenaean civilization in particular. Something that would never have happened were it not for the cataclysm.”

Kurt nodded again.

“You see the same thing here,” Urco told him. “Originally, the Chachapoya were more powerful than the Inca, but catastrophe struck them from the outside—not once, but twice.”

Kurt settled in; he loved a good history lesson. “How so?”

“At the end, it was the diseases,” Urco admitted. “But long before that, these people faced another catastrophe. You can find the evidence in a body of water known as the Lake of the Condors, fifty miles from here.”

Kurt had heard something about Lake of the Condors when reading Urco’s website. “There are Chachapoya ruins there as well.”

“Indeed,” Urco said. “Extensive ruins in the cliffs all around it. Everyone knows about these. But what I found is different. Evidence that a major settlement had once thrived on the valley floor, stretching from one side to the other and up into the foothills.”

“This, I hadn’t heard,” Kurt said.

“Few have,” Urco insisted. “Thousands lived within the walls of this city, which made it a very large settlement for its day. They were protected by a strong warrior caste, with some of the finest weapons of the time. I assure you, these men shrank before no one, and for several centuries the Chachapoya were the power of the region, taking tribute from other groups. But then the disaster came upon them.”

“What happened?”

“The city was built in the sheltered area between the mountains. It received its water from the snowmelt and a mountain lake, higher up in the range,” Urco said. “A massive earthquake in the eighth century released the contents of that lake all at once. A fifty-foot wall of water crashed into the city in the dark of night. It drowned the city. The people were trapped. They died by the thousands. It was Noah without any warning from God. Pompeii without the ash. By daybreak, there was nothing left. The wealth was gone; the warriors were gone. The city itself was gone. The reign of the Chachapoya, unbreakable at sunset, was swept away by morning. And in its aftermath the Inca began their storied rise.”