Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [44]
Before I can say anything to Espy, I hear the sounds of someone coming through the passage from the surface. A quick count reveals that my entire crew is present with me, that the magical moment has them all foregoing the dust-free air topside. But I don’t allow the ramifications of this puzzle to manifest until I see a stranger enter the chamber, the fluorescent lighting revealing a man in clothing unsuited to the environs. I recognize him; he’s the man who introduced me to Gordon Reese.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Hawthorne,” Gregory Hardy says, brushing the dust from his clothes, wearing a smile that is not quite a smile.
CHAPTER 10
I’m thinking about my cactus, trying to remember when I watered it last. Was it two days before I left for Venezuela, or two weeks? It might seem like a small thing but I’d hate to get home and find it dead.
The road passes beneath us as I guide the SUV through the mountains. Antonio has the other truck on my bumper. I’m going too slowly for him, but he’ll have to live with it. I’m not as adventurous in my driving as he is.
Beside me, Esperanza sits silent, brooding. I’ve done my best to keep the mood light but, despite the fact that we’ve found something of real significance, she’s in one of those dark moods I remember from our old days together. And she’s not even the one wrestling with her future. It’s me who will have to study what we’ve discovered and either return to the Reese mansion and tell a dying man that I can’t follow this thing further, or make the decision to invest my foreseeable future in the pursuit of relics that may or may not exist. Of course, it’s not as simple as that—knowing what I now know.
Espy’s astute enough to know that something else is going on. She can tell that I’m rattled. Hardy’s arrival has made it simpler to explain away my newfound irritability, but the fact is that knowing the man I saw at the bar in Rubio is the same man from the KV65 dig has brought me to a different place, one that’s still too painful to visit.
Gordon Reese’s little project now has larger, more dangerous parameters. It’s not what I signed on for, even if the intrigue of an Egyptian connection makes it perhaps the most important discovery of the century. Truth be told, I’m worried where this will lead.
Just below these misgivings is a simmering anger that now has a focus. I’m not used to the feeling, and I don’t much care for it, even as I realize that it might be a good thing. And the wound isn’t raw enough to cancel out the fact that there’s a part of me that wants to keep on task, to dig into this thing and figure out how all the pieces fall into place—and where my mystery man fits.
Hardy’s arrival complicates matters. He’s in his own vehicle, trailing the second truck. It irritates me that Reese has sent his pet to keep an eye on things. I force myself to remember that my employer has invested a great deal of money, and that sending someone to ensure the proper use of that money is within his rights. In fact, it’s not much different than the inspectors utilized by the SCA. Still, it’s irksome. It’s this sort of miscalculation that does not fit with what I know of the billionaire. It’s a desperate gesture, and while I can suspect his reasons for wanting to hasten the recovery of the artifacts, why would he sabotage his best hope for success?
With that in mind, I pull out my cell phone and thumb the display. Duckey’s message count is now at six, and it gives me some perverse pleasure to know I’ve vexed him.
“What are you doing in Venezuela?” It comes out loud through the earpiece—enough so that I draw the phone away, losing the next sentence.
I wait for a break before repositioning the phone. “Hey, Ducks.”
I hear the intake of a long breath on the top half of the world, followed by a calmer voice.
“Merry