Excavation

“Which is what?” Henry asked, stepping beside Maggie.

“To make me rich! For years, I have endured the abbot’s superior airs as he promoted others of pure Spanish blood above me. With this gold, I will no longer be half-Indian, half-Spanish. I will no longer have to bow my head and play the role of the lowly mestizo. I will be reborn a new man.” Otera’s eyes shone brightly with his dream.

Henry moved nearer. “And who do you think you’ll become?”

Otera leveled his pistol at Henry. “Someone everyone respects—a rich man!” He laughed harshly and pulled the trigger.

Henry cringed, gasping and falling back.

But the shot went suddenly awry, striking the roof and casting blue sparks.

As the gun’s blast died away, a new noise was heard. “Aack…” Otera choked and reached for his chest. A bloody spearhead sprouted from between his ribs. The friar was lifted off his feet. Gouts of blood poured from his mouth as he moaned, mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. His pistol fell with a clatter from his fingers.

Then his head slumped, lolling atop his neck, dead.

His limp body was tossed aside by the spear-bearer.

From behind him, a large figure stepped into view. He wore singed and torn robes.

“Pachacutec!” Sam cried.

The man suddenly stumbled forward, falling to his knees before the Incan temple. Tears streaked his soot-stained face. “My people…” he mumbled in English. “Gone.”

A second figure appeared out of the darkness behind the man.

“Norman!” Maggie ran up to the photographer. “What happened?”

Norman shook his head, staring at the impaled form of the friar. “I ran into Pachacutec on the trail, amid the slaughter. He was coming to the temple, chasing after those who would violate his god. I convinced him to help.” But there was no satisfaction in the photographer’s voice; his face was ashen.

Norman’s eyes flicked toward Denal. The photographer wore a look of shame. But the boy crossed to Norman and hugged him tightly. “You saved us,” he mumbled into the tall man’s chest.

As Norman returned the boy’s embrace, tears rose in his eyes.

Off to the side, Pachacutec groaned. He switched back to his native tongue as he bowed before the temple, rocking back and forth, praying. He was beyond consolation. Blood ran from under his robes and trailed into the golden chamber. He looked near death himself.

Henry crossed closer to the king. If Maggie’s story was true, here knelt one of the founders of the Incan empire. As an archaeologist who had devoted his entire lifetime to the study of the Incas, Henry found himself suddenly speechless. A living Incan king whose memories were worth a thousand caverns of gold. Henry turned to Sam, his eyes beseeching. This king must not die.

Sam seemed to understand. He knelt beside Pachacutec and touched the king’s robe. “Sapa Inca,” he said, bowing his head. “The temple saved my life, as it once saved yours. Use it again.”

Pachacutec stopped rocking, but his head still hung in sorrow. “My people gone.” He raised his face toward Sam and the others. “Maybe it be right. We do not belong in your world.”

“No, heal yourself. Let me show you our world.”

Henry stepped forward, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder, adding his support. “There is much you could share, Inca Pachacutec. So much you can teach us.”

Pachacutec pushed slowly to his feet and faced Henry. He reached a hand to the professor’s cheek and traced a wrinkle. He then dropped his arm and turned away. “Your face be old. But not as old as my heart.” He stared into the temple, his face shining. “Inti now leads my people to janan pacha. I wish to go with them.”

Henry stared over the king’s shoulder to Sam. What could they say? The man had lost his entire tribe.

Tears ran down Pachacutec’s cheeks as he slid a gold dagger from inside his robe. “I go to join my people.”

Henry reached toward the Sapa Inca. “No!” But he was too late.

Pachacutec plunged the dagger into his breast, bending over the blade like a clenched fist. Then he relaxed; a sigh of relief escaped his throat. He slowly straightened, and his fingers fell away from the blade’s hilt.

Henry gasped, stumbling back, as flames jetted out from around the dagger impaled in the king’s chest. “What the hell…?”

Pachacutec stumbled into the temple’s chamber. “I go to Inti.”

“Spontaneous combustion,” Sam whispered, stunned. “Like the cavern beasts.”

Maggie nodded. “His body’s the same as the creatures’.”

“What’s happening?” Henry asked, staring at the flames.

Maggie explained hurriedly, “The gold sets off some chain reaction.” She pointed to Pachacutec. Flames now wound out from the dagger and coursed over his torso. “Self-immolation.”

Henry suddenly recalled Joan’s urgent message to him in the helicopter. She had warned him of a way to destroy Substance Z. The gift stolen by Prometheus. Fire!

Turning, Henry saw Pachacutec fall to his knees, his arms lifted. Flames climbed his raised limbs.

Oh, God!

Henry grabbed Sam and Maggie and shoved them toward the tunnel’s exit. “Run!” he yelled. He kicked the kneeling guard. “Go!”

“What? Why?” Sam asked.

“No time!” Henry herded them all onward. Denal and Norman ran ahead, while Henry and Maggie helped Sam on his wobbly legs. As they fled, Henry recalled Joan’s final warning: Prometheus packs a vicious punch! Like plastic explosive!

Her words proved too true. As they reached the tunnel’s end, a massive explosion rocked the ground under their feet. A blast of superheated air rocketed the entire group down the path, tumbling, bruising. The passage behind them coughed out smoke and debris.

“On your feet!” Henry called as he bumped to a stop. “Keep going!”

The group obeyed with groaned complaints, limping and racing onward. The trail continued to tremble under their heels. “Don’t stop!” Henry called.

Boulders crashed down from the volcanic heights. The shaking in the ground grew even worse. Below, hundreds of parrots screeched and flew out of the jungle canopy.

What was happening?

As Henry reached the escarpment below the cliffs, he risked a glance back up. A monstrous crack in the rock face trailed from the tunnel straight up the side of the cone.

Sam leaned on Maggie, both catching their breath. The others hovered nearby. Sam’s eyes suddenly grew wide. “Oh, God!” he yelled. “Look!” He pointed across the valley.