The Dig (31 page)

Rheese parted the leaves in front of him and found himself looking out at the dirt road. So where the hell
were
the bastards? He looked at his watch, then stared back into the thicket. He had heard something. Had someone followed him? But… why would they? These were scientists, not detectives. But nosy, to be sure—an inquisitive, meddlesome bunch, examining and pondering his every move and motivation.
Well, not for long
.

He heard the truck, then saw it crest the rise a half mile away, pulling a plume of reddish dust behind it.
Slow down, you fools,
he thought.
They’ll bloody well hear you!

An older American pickup that had once been white approached, and Rheese stepped out from the trees, waving his hat.

“Garrett Rice?” the driver said.

“No, you idiot. I’m someone else meeting you in the bloody spot where I said to meet. And what’s the goddamn meaning—”

The metallic
cha-chink
of the rifle’s bolt silenced his rant. The passenger was armed as well.

“Ah, yes, well… ,” he said, his tone suddenly affable, “I see you have your equipment. Good.”

“Money,” the driver said.

Rheese didn’t like being unable to see the man’s eyes through the black sunglasses. Would he be shot dead here on the side of the road, leaving his killers ten thousand dollars richer? He reached behind him under his shirt and pulled out the bound stack of bills. Flipping through it in front of them, he could almost see them salivate.

The driver took his hand off the gun and held the eager palm out the window. “Give it.”

Rheese considered saying something tough like “Just remember what you’re being paid for,” or “Don’t screw it up,” but thought better of it and simply handed over the money. He watched as the truck whipped around in a three-point turn and roared off in the direction it had come.

Turning back to the woods, he chided himself for being such a coward. For all he knew, those two could be driving off to Nairobi for a wild night of debauchery with HIV-infected prostitutes. Not that there was much he could do about it if they were, though their boss, the Gray, would certainly disapprove—he had as much invested in this as Rheese, and they knew it. They also knew that the Gray would burn their homes and remove their manhood with a broken Tusker beer bottle should they be fools enough to cross him.

Rheese walked back to the site, ever mindful of snakes and more nervous than ever about what lay ahead.

Enzi caught his eye as he came out of the forest. Rheese gave a single nod of inquiry, then watched Enzi make a subtle gesture toward the RV.
Damn!
He speeded up his pace, rounding the excavation while doing his best to look composed. The door swung open in front of him, and out stepped the buxom Collette woman with the Turner brat in tow. Behind them, he could see Hank Felch rolling up more of his maps and replacing them in their bins.

He glanced back at the pit, looking for Sharma, and there he was, of course, getting his hands dirty so he could feel like a real field scientist. And what about the dusky Amazon? She and Turner were seldom apart. Very soon he would have to find something else to occupy her interest. Entering the RV, he heard the toilet flush and realized that it had to be her. Felch turned toward him and gave him an accusing look.
What’s on
your
mind, sheep-head?
Rheese wanted to say, but instead he gave him a cordial sneer and looked casually at the maps still on the table. What the hell would he be looking at on that one?

The door snapped open behind him, and Tuni came out, drying her hands. “Oh, hello, Mr. Rheese,” she said.

“Hi, there,” he replied cheerily, seething behind his smile.
Keep calling me “Mister,” cheeky little slag—soon you won’t be so perky
.

She walked out the door, leaving the two men alone.

“So, Doctor Rheese,” said Hank, “I was noticing the circles you have on some of the satellite imagery—”

“It’s lunchtime, lad,” Rheese interrupted. “Let’s discuss your fascinating observations later, shall we?”

“Oh… well…” Hank hesitated and began to move one of the maps.

“I’ll take care of putting those back in their proper bins, Mr. Felch—you needn’t bother, m’kay?”

Hank sighed and handed Rheese the map. “Fine,” he said, “but we need to discuss something after.” And donning his leather-lined shades, he left Rheese alone in the RV.

Discuss something
—a line from Sharma’s book if ever there was one. They would do no such thing, of course, for soon there would be ample goings-on to distract them all.

Rheese picked up the sat phone and punched in a number.

Matt sat hunched over at the food tent, his chin resting on his gloved hands as he munched on peanuts. The dark bags under his eyes were growing. Gazing absently toward the pit, he saw the silhouettes of Hank and Peter chatting. The lowering sun hung just behind their heads.

A girl’s voice behind him, “So… why are you here again?”

Matt spun around and saw the American girl—Felicia, he thought he’d heard. She was cute, though the generally flirtatious type.

“This and that,” Matt smiled.

She squinted accusingly while still smirking. “Funny, I haven’t seen you do either. You just disappear into the RV and talk to Peter and that tall chick.”

“Pretty much.”

“Are you and her… like, together?”

“Often.”

Felicia sighed and appeared flustered by him: clearly not something with which she was accustomed. She plopped down right next to him, a little too close for strangers or familiars.

She looked him over. “What are you, twenty? Twenty-one?”

The RV door swung open and Tuni stepped down. Matt watched her survey the site. Was she looking for him?
Well, this is an interesting opportunity…

He turned to face Felicia directly. Her face was only a few inches from his. “Twenty-five,” he replied. “You’re what, seventeen? Eighteen?”

Obviously offended: “Twenty-two.” She looked him over. “So seriously, what do you do?”

“I’m just looking over the artifacts. Offer theories, stuff like that.”

“Okay, but what’s your field?”

“Matthew?” Tuni was right on top of them.

“Oh, hey,” he said. Her face didn’t reveal anything as he had hoped.

“I was waiting for you,” she said, nodding pleasantly toward the RV. She turned to Felcia, “Mind if I steal him for a bit, dear?”

Felicia wore a saccharin smile, “Not at all, dear.” She got up and walked off toward the pit.

“She seems to like you,” Tuni said.

Matt shrugged. Still nothing to read from Tuni. He wondered why he thought she would have cared.
Deluding yourself
, he thought. “I’m on break. Gotta get my head clear. Starting to not feel so good.”

“Oh—I hadn’t realized… sorry if I’ve been pushing or anything…”

Hand and Pete spotted them and made a beeline for the table.

“Hey, Matt,” Peter said as they approached. He was even more animated than usual. “We’re getting a helicopter brought over tomorrow to map out a proposed site path. We’re going to start doing small sample sites in a broad line from here west. Radar units coming in the morning, along with some other cool stuff that will let us find underground anomalies without having to dig anything up.”

“Yeah,” Hank added. “If this site is representative of their migration path, we might be able to find more artifacts along the way.”

“Sounds great,” Matt replied. “Do you need me… you know, to
do
anything?”

“Oh, no, not really,” Peter replied. “Just do as many sessions with the k’yot as you’re comfortable with, and keep track of any directional changes as they go. Oh, and uh…” Peter smiled apologetically. “I didn’t want you to think the chopper was for you.”

“Got it… so, about that, when do you think would be a good time for me to go? By Saturday?”

“Oh, yeah, Saturday, definitely! That’d be great if you stuck around that long—I really appreciate it.”

They walked away, enthusiastically discussing their plans.

Tuni said quietly, “Don’t feel pressured by him, either. He’s eager, but if you’re not feeling well…”

“Thanks, no, it’s fine. I’ll be fine after a long break. Maybe after dinner.”

“I was wondering about that—what if you were to eat something ghastly and rotten and then do a session? Would you still vomit?”

“This is the kind of stuff you think about?”

“It’s a serious question, Matthew.”

“Yeah, I would probably puke my guts and drown in it. It would be a horrendous tragedy.”

They turned to the table as Wekesa slid stainless steel bowls of unknown foodstuff in front of them.

“Speaking of… ,” Tuni murmured.

“Absolutely!” Rheese answered when Matt and Tuni asked for the artifact from the safe. He squeezed his cigar into the ashtray by his folding chair and popped up on his feet.

Tuni and Matt exchanged a skeptical look as he opened the door and bounced up the steps into the RV. He pulled the artifact from the safe and placed it on the empty table.

“Enjoy,” he said, and went back outside, whistling.

“He seems a little too happy,” Matt whispered.

“He’s faking it, dear. I bet you Peter gave him a stern talking-to after the episode with Hank.”

Matt sat down and pulled the timer from his pocket. “What do you think?” he asked. “An hour?”

“You said you were feeling ill…”

“Oh that passed quick. It’s really annoying doing short sessions now. It used to be, I’d only get the
good
stuff, so to speak, but with them, they have to leave the k’yot on the floor for there to be a gap—you know, the dark space. He’s
always
wearing it, though not in his sleep yet, thank God. It’d be hours of dreams, I’m sure.”

“Well, I’ll be here for the next hour, then, dear.”

He frowned. “You have to stop that,” he said. “Not with me, okay?”

“Stop what?” she said, obviously puzzled.

“The ‘dear’ thing. I’m sorry… It’s just that it’ll keep bothering me until it means something.”

Her face changed and she put her hands in her lap, looking at him for a moment before saying quietly, “Okay. Sorry.”

M
ATT’S SENSES RETURNED TO HIM QUICKLY
as he felt his shoulder being shaken. He heard garbled yelling. He hadn’t felt the timer’s buzz, but Irin had more than likely gone through an hour of walking around caves and talking to people. It had been utterly uneventful, and he was ready for the hour to be up. He realized that the k’yot was no longer under his hands and that it was Tuni’s voice yelling at him for “missing it.” But, missing
what
? Her face came into focus, and her expression was very different from the one she had worn when he went under.

“Sorry,” he said. “Say it again—I didn’t quite catch what you were saying.”

“Hank is missing!”

“
What?
Where… he was just…” He paused, realizing he had no idea where Hank just was, because he had been unconscious for the past fifty-four minutes. He pulled off his timer and slid his hands into his gloves as Tuni stood over him, looking out the blinds. Outside, Matt could see flashlight beams bouncing about and could hear people yelling, “Hank!”

The door swung violently open, and Rheese appeared, with Peter right behind him. Peter looked frantic, but Rheese exuded only anger.

“God damn it!” Rheese barked as he picked up the sat phone and began pushing buttons. “This is what happens when you treat a bloody jungle like a summer camp! Bloody nature walks in the dark…”

“Who are you calling first, Rheese?” Peter said as he riffled frantically through his notebook. “I think we should call the American embassy—that’s his embassy.”

“Waste of bloody time, Sharma! You think they’re going to care about someone who’s missing for an hour? They have no idea what that amount of time means out here in the jungle. Besides, they don’t have searching resources themselves—we have to go right to the source.”

“And who is that?” Peter asked.

“Law enforcement, lad—the bloody law enforcement. They’ll be far more responsive to an American missing in their country than the Americans themselves. They’ll also understand that an hour’s no joke out here. We need dogs; we need choppers… hello?
Hello!
We have an emergency here! English—need English, not bloody Swahili!” He listened on the line for a moment, shaking his head, then glanced at Tuni. “You speak their damned jabber, don’t you?”

She nodded and took the phone.

“
Hebu?
” She began. “
Habari za jioni… jina langu ni
Tuni Saint James…
ndiyo… ndiyo. Samahani, kuna mtu anayesema Kiingereza? Ndiyo…”
She turned back to Rheese. “She’s getting someone who speaks English for us. She’s just the cleaning lady.”