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"Do we have a problem?" Hollis asked the Captain about as charitably as a sidewillder eyeing a gopher.
The Captain's mouth dropped open and his men froze in position. He took a few steps closer and gawked at Hollis more carefully, seeing no obvious sign of rank.
"Who are you?" he blurted. "What is your outfit?"
"Colonel Morton Hollis, Special Operations Forces."
"Captain Louis Cranston, sir, 486th Engineering Battalion."
Salutes were exchanged. Hollis nodded toward the line of engineers, their automatic weapons at the ready. "I think you can give the order for your men to stand at rest."
Cranston was unsure what to make of an unfamiliar colonel who appeared out of nowhere. "May I ask, Colonel, what a Special Forces officer is doing here?"
"Seeing that these people are allowed to conduct an archaeological survey without interference."
"I must remind you, sir, civilians are not permitted in a restricted military zone."
"Suppose I told you they have the authority to be here."
"Sorry, Colonel. I am under direct orders from General Chandler. He was very explicit. No one, and that includes yourself, sir, who is not a member of the battalion is to be allowed to enter-"
"Am I to understand you intend to throw me out as well?"
"If you can't present signed orders from General Chandler for your presence," Cranston said nervously, "I will obey my instructions."
"Your hardnose position won't win you any medals, Captain. I think you'd better reconsider."
Cranston knew damned well he was being toyed with and he didn't like it.
"Please, no trouble, Colonel."
"You load up your men and return to your base, and don't even think of looking back."
Pitt was enjoying the encounter, but he reluctantly turned away and climbed down into the trench. He began probing the dirt on the bottom.
Giordino and Sandecker idly strolled over to the edge and watched him.
Cranston hesitated. He was outranked, but his orders were clear, He decided his stance was firm. General Chandler would back him if there was an investigation.
But before he could order his men to clear the area, Hollis took a whistle from a pocket and blew two shrill blasts.
Like ghosts rising from the graves of a horror movie, forty forms that looked more like bushes and undergrowth than men suddenly materialized and formed a loose circle around containing Cranston and his men.
Hollis's eyes turned venomous. "Bang, you're dead."
"You called, boss?" said a bush that sounded like Dillenger.
Cranston's cockiness collapsed. "I . . . must report this . . . to General Chandler," he stammered.
"You do that," said Hollis coldly. "You can also inform him that my orders come from General Clayton Metcalf of the Joint Chiefs. This can be verified through communi
cations to the Pentagon. These people and my team are not here to interfere with your excavation on Gongora Hill or get in the way of the General's operations along the river. Our job is to find and preserve Roman surface artifacts before they're lost or stolen. Do you'read, Captain?"
"I understand, sir," replied Cranston, gazing around uneasily at the purposeful-looking men, whose facial expressions appeared frightful under the camouflage makeup.
"Found another one!" Pitt shouted, unseen below ground.
Sandecker excitedly waved everyone to the trench. "He's got something."
