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"Graft," Pitt stated philosophically, "makes the world go round."
Rodgers nodded. "Shannon's right. This is tomb robbery on a grand scale. The profits could easily match the take of any top drug smuggling operation. Whoever the mastermind is, he couldn't conduct business without paying off government officials."
"We can use our own frequency and contact Juan," suggested Shannon.
"Juan?"
"Juan Chaco, the Peruvian government coordinator for our project. He's in charge of our supply headquarters at the nearest city."
"Can he be trusted?"
"I believe so," Shannon replied without hesitation. "Juan is one of the most respected archaeologists in South America, and a leading scholar on Andean cultures. He's also the government watchdog on illegal diggings and smuggling of antiquities."
"Sounds like our man," Pitt said to Giordino. "Find the radio, call him up and ask for a chopper to airlift us the hell back to our ship."
"I'll go with you and notify Juan of Doc's murder," offered Shannon. "I'd also like a closer look at the structures around the temple."
"Take along weapons and keep a sharp eye," Pitt warned them.
"What about Doc's body?" asked Rodgers. "We can't leave him lying around like a road kill."
"I agree," said Pitt. "Bring him inside the temple out of the sun and wrap him in some blankets until he can be airlifted to the nearest coroner."
"Leave him to me," Rodgers said angrily. "It's the least I can do for a good man."
Amaru grinned hideously, actually grinned through his agony. "Fools, crazy fools," he sneered. "You'll never leave the Pueblo de los Muertos alive."
"Pueblo de los Muertos means city of the dead," Shannon translated.
The others glanced in disgust at Amaru. To them he seemed like an impotent rattlesnake too injured to coil and strike. But Pitt still saw him as dangerous and was not about to make the fatal mistake of underestimating him. He didn't care for the eerie expression of confidence in Amaru's eyes.
As soon as the others hurried out of the room, Pitt knelt beside Amaru. "You act pretty sure of yourself for a man in your position."
"The last laugh will be mine." Amaru's face contorted in a sudden spasm of pain. "You have blundered into the path of powerful men. Their wrath will be terrible."
Pitt smiled indifferently. "I've blundered up against powerful men before."
"By lifting a tiny piece of the curtain you have endangered the Solpemachaco. They will do whatever necessary to prevent exposure, even if it means the elimination of an entire province."
"Not exactly a sweet-tempered group you're associated with. What do you call them again?"
Amaru went silent. He was becoming weak from shock and the loss of blood. Slowly, with much difficulty, he lifted a hand and pointed a finger at Pitt. "You are cursed. Your bones will rest with the Chachapoyas forever." Then, his eyes went unfocused, closed, and he fainted.
Pitt stared at Shannon. "Who are the Chachapoyas?"
"Known as the Cloud People," Shannon explained. "They were a pre-Inca culture that flourished high in the Andes from A.D. 800 to 1480, when they were conquered by the Incas. It was the Chachapoyas who built this elaborate necropolis for the dead."
Pitt rose to his feet, removed the guard's felt hat from his head and dropped it on Amaru's chest. He turned and walked into the main chamber of the temple and spent the next few minutes examining the incredible cache of Chachapoyan artifacts. He was admiring a large clay mummy case when Rodgers rushed up, looking disturbed.
"Where did you say you left Doc Miller?" Rodgers asked, half out of breath.
"On the landing above the exterior steps."
"You'd better show me."
Pitt followed Rodgers outside the arched entrance. He stopped and stared down at a bloodstain on the stone landing, then looked up questioningly. "Who moved the body?"
"If you don't know," said an equally mystified Rodgers, "I certainly don't."
