"Not unless you can walk across thirty meters of rushing water," said Giordino.
Pitt scanned the cavern by sweeping his light along the barren floor. "Looks like the Chachapoyas and the Incas took their bridge with them. You'll have to do your study and shoot your pictures of the treasure from here."
"I'll use my telephoto and pray my flash carries that far," said Rodgers hopefully.
"What do you suppose all this is worth?" asked Giordino.
"You'd have to weigh it," said Pitt, "figure in the current market price of gold, and then triple your total for the value as rare artifacts."
"I'm certain the treasure is worth double what the experts estimated," said Shannon.
Giordino looked at her. "That would be as high as three hundred million dollars?"
Shannon nodded. "Maybe even more."
"It isn't worth a good baseball card," remarked Pitt, "until it's brought to the surface. Not an easy job to barge the larger pieces, including the chain, off an island surrounded by a rushing flow of water, and then haul them up a narrow passageway to the top of the mountain. From there, you'll need a heavy transport helicopter just to carry the golden chain."
"You're talking a major operation," said Rodgers.
Pitt held his light on the great coiled chain. "Nobody said it was going to be easy. Besides, bringing out the treasure isn't our problem."
Shannon gave him a questioning stare. "Oh, no? Then who do you expect to do it?"
Pitt stared back. "Have you forgotten? We're supposed to stand aside and hand it over to our old pals from the Solpemachaco."
The repulsive thought had slipped her mind after gazing enthralled at the wealth of golden artifacts. "An outrage," Shannon said furiously, her self-esteem blossoming once more, "a damned outrage. The archaeological discovery of the century, and I can't direct the recovery program."
"Why don't you lodge a complaint?" said Pitt.
She glared at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
"Let the competition know how you feel."
"How?"
"Leave them a message."
"You're crazy."
"That observation has been cropping up quite a bit lately," said Giordino.
Pitt took the rope slung over Giordino's shoulder and made a loop. Then he twirled the rope like a lariat and threw the loop across the water, smiling triumphantly as it settled over the head of a small golden monkey on a pedestal.
"Ah, ha!" he uttered proudly. "Will Rogers had nothing on me."
Pitt's worst fears were confirmed when he hovered the helicopter above the Alhambra. No one stood on the deck to greet the craft and its passengers. The ferry looked deserted. The auto deck was empty, as was the wheelhouse. The boat was not riding at anchor, nor was she drifting. Her hull was resting lightly in the water only two meters above the silt of the shallow bottom. To all appearances, she looked like a ship that had been abandoned by her crew.
The sea was calm and there was no pitch or roll. Pitt lowered the helicopter onto the wood deck and shut down the engines as soon as the tires touched down. He sat there as the sound of the turbine and rotor blades slowly died into a morbid silence. He waited a full minute but no one appeared. He opened the entry door and dropped to the deck. Then he stood there waiting for something to happen.
Finally, a man stepped from behind a stairwell and approached, coming to a halt about 5 meters (16
feet) from the chopper. Even without the phony white hair and beard, Pitt easily recognized the man who had impersonated Dr. Steven Miller in Peru. He was smiling as if he'd caught a record fish.
"A little off your beat, aren't you?" said Pitt, unruffled.
"You seem to be my never-ending nemesis, Mr. Pitt."
"A quality that thrills me no end. What name are you going under today?"