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Logan, staring daggers at me because I’m taking his picture again.
These will look fantastic on an expedition reportage.
For three more hours, we venture deeper into the jungle, slipping into territory unknown to mankind for a thousand years. Until the ever-thickening rainforest finally seems to thin away, making our advance easier.
Machetes back in their sheaths, we trudge on for another hour before Logan halts, raising a hand to signal for us to do the same.
He stands so still that, for a moment, I wonder what’s the matter. In front of him, a peaked mountain covered in even more vegetation blocks the way. Is he pissed about yet another obstacle to bypass?
But Logan seems transfixed, turned to stone where he’s standing. With a few strides, I’m next to him, ready to ask what the holdup is, when I notice the glistening in his eyes.
I follow his gaze toward the hill, not sure what has moved a grown-ass man to tears. Then a rare gust of wind rustles the branches overhead. The light shifts, and, underneath its blanket of vines, the mound seems to sparkle as if it was made of solid—holy crap!
“Is that gold?” I ask.
Not averting his eyes from the incline, Logan nods, sinking to his knees.
He makes for a beautiful image, the gorgeous, teary-eyed archeologist prostrated before his discovery. The photographer in me wants to immortalize the moment, but the woman decides it’s too private for the world to witness. This is Logan’s moment. And his alone.
* * *
Logan
After years of research spent enduring the skepticism of every single one of my colleagues… The gossip, the snickering comments about me having gone mad after Tara left… Tara’s own reservations delivered by email; she couldn’t even bother to call… I’m looking at the legend: the lost city of gold.
The city is real.
Well, sorry to all the big heads of the archeology community; you’ll all have to eat your words.
Brushing tears of joy—of vindication—away from my eyes, I stand up and approach the building in front of us. With my bare hands, I tear at the vines covering the exterior. Some come off easily, while other thicker, more gnarled ones require me to pull with all my strength, but I can’t risk using the machete and damaging the treasure underneath. So I fight with the vegetation until I’ve cleared a surface of three square feet, revealing the head of a scaly, horned creature, its features contorted in a terrifying snarl.
A guardian dragon.
“Hello, my friend,” I say to the beast, gently patting its pointed teeth.
At once it’s clear the statue isn’t made of solid gold, but rather stone painted gold or covered with gold foil. Still, the effect such a monumental construction will have once the vegetation blanket is cleared off will be unprecedented. A sight like no other.
A click next to me makes me turn, and I find Winter dutifully snapping pictures of the dragon head, and of me, too.
I scowl.
But the damn woman grins at me and immortalizes my frown.
What part of “I don’t like to have my picture taken” wasn’t clear, I wonder.
Anyway, Winter’s interruption reminds me the others are here. I’ve been so absorbed by the temple in front of me, I’d forgotten. But now I turn to them. “Somchai,” I call.
His mule tethered to a tree, our local guide is next to me in a few quick strides. “Yes, Dr. Spencer.”
“We need to set up camp for the night. Please see to that.”
Somchai bows his assent.
“Then tomorrow, I need you to go back to the main camp and show Dr. Boonjan the way. He should be recovered by now and he’ll want to see this. And Tucker, too, if Archie can manage on his own. We need to establish a permanent secondary camp here. You think you can make a return trip in one day?”
“Two days,” Somchai says. “One to go, one to come back.”
Not the answer I’d like, but if Somchai says two days, it can’t be done any quicker.
