The Dig (34 page)

“Yeah, a woman from the museum, for Peter.” He looked at Rheese and saw an odd expression on his face.

“Oh? And what did they have to say?” He stepped a little closer to the table, looming over Matt.

“She just wants him to call her back.”

Rheese smiled at him and nodded with accusing eyes.

“And you’re going to tell me now that that is all dear Maggie had to say, are you?”

Matt frowned and looked through the window in the door to see if anyone else was near. His mind raced. Was there something he had missed? What had Hank said about impacts? They had been arguing. Hank said something about glass, and Rheese replied, “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Rheese glanced outside.
What’s he doing?
Matt wondered, alarm bells sounding.
Seeing if the coast is clear. What’s he going to do, kill me right here? Tuni’ll be back any—

Rheese turned back to him and, without a word, slapped Matt’s bare hand down onto the artifact. He watched Matt’s eyes roll back and then close. Careful to not move the hand off the artifact, he adjusted Matt upright, into his customary position while reading, and then slowly let go of his shoulders. Leaning back, he peered out the window again to be sure no one was coming. Still clear.

Now, then, you American pissant —should have left the phone alone.
Rheese snapped his fingers in front of Matt’s face; the eyes did not flinch. Putting his knee on the bench beside Matt, he bent down to his ear.

“Can you hear me, nosey bastard?” He whispered. “Your dearest Tuni is outside twisting tongues with her shadowy brethren, the cooks. You should see where her hand is right now.” He moved back and flicked Matt’s ear. Nothing. He looked down at the timer and saw that it had not yet been started. He scolded himself for almost making such a silly mistake. Then he reached across himself and pressed the start button with his fingernail, and it began to count down: 59:59… 59:58… 59:57…

One more test, dear boy, then it’s down to business.
Rheese turned around and opened a drawer, pulling out a safety pin. He opened it and, reaching behind Matt’s head, jabbed it into his scalp, drawing blood. Nothing flinched; nothing moved.

After taking another quick look out the window, Rheese dropped the safety pin back in the drawer and withdrew a set of needle-nose pliers with a wire cutter, squeezing them closed and open again. He climbed onto the bench beside Matt and, placing his hand over Matt’s, brought the tool down, clipping a tiny length of metal thread, no longer than a couple of millimeters, from the artifact. Picking it up with the tip of the pliers, he brushed aside the hair where he had stabbed Matt with the pin, and found the dot of blood. With luck, there would be time to clean it later. He moved in close and used the pliers to slide the tiny wire into the puncture wound. He twisted it and nudged it and finally got it to slide under the skin. Releasing it from the pliers, he saw the dull gray tip protruding like a splinter. It was bent; he needed to get it all the way in. He tapped it with his index finger, and it slid in a little farther, but now it was bleeding a bit too much. Turning, he reached for a paper towel over the kitchen sink—and gasped.

Tuni was leaving the food tent and coming this way. He tore off a piece of paper towel and quickly dabbed the blood from the back of Matt’s head, feeling a rising panic. Tuni was perhaps ten steps away. He rubbed violently, tousling the hair back into its usual state which pushed the fiber of k’yot all the way under the skin.

When the door clicked open, he was at the sink, pretending to wash his hands. Tuni looked at his back, then over at Matt. She stepped up and into the trailer and leaned over Matt to check the timer. He had been under only four minutes. Rheese must have just come in—Matt would never have begun a session with just the two of them in the trailer. She sighed and slid onto the seat across from him.

Rheese tucked the paper towel into his shirt sleeve and turned off the water. He wanted to dump it in the loo, but he was just washing his hands. Would that look too suspicious? He cleared his throat.

“Well, huh,” he said, “have to drain the weasel.”

Tuni rolled her eyes, “Ugh, charming.”

With a sophomoric snicker, he went into the loo, closing the door behind him. For Tuni’s benefit, he let out a long sigh, then dropped the wad of paper towel into the bowl and flushed the toilet, watching the blue liquid soak it before it slithered down the hole.

When he came back, Tuni was doodling with pencil and paper; Turner was still upright and playing his part. He would have another fifty minutes of quiet before anyone noticed something amiss.

Enjoy your coma, Mr. Turner.

Soon, with these last two pests removed from his pantry, he could regain control over his own destiny. Sharma, for all his big talk, had been a pushover—couldn’t think about more than one thing at a time. After the heat died down about Turner and Felch, Rheese would recall that he knew a little something about asteroids and perhaps, with a bit of prodding, would help Sharma track down the precious location of his much-ballyhooed city-killing asteroid, a mere fourteen kilometers directly east of the site. It hadn’t been the next red circle he planned to visit, but definitely in the top three. He chided his prior foolishness, seeking not the most significant impact sites, but instead focusing on the most plentiful limestone deposits. Re-examining the satellite data after Turner’s proclamation of an easterly impact, Rheese had looked at the maps with new eyes.

I’ll be damned to hell
, he had thought.
Not only is Turner for real, so is this precognitive fellow he spoke of.
At that moment, and for who knew how long, Rheese was the sole living being on earth that knew the location of a devastated, pre-human, intelligent civilization. This fact buzzed and throbbed in his head for only a moment before he had moved on to what it really meant to him.

Massive dolomitic limestone deposits hid beneath this entire area for kilometers in every direction. Dolomitic limestone that, when subjected to the extraordinary heat and pressure of an asteroid impact, turned into something much more rare and precious: diamonds.

Of course, there was nothing wrong with surveying for precious stones, but not on the dime of a non-profit organization. He also had no intention of sharing the find with the Kenyan government. The Gray would help him smuggle the stones out in return for an ungodly cut.

If Felch wasn’t already onto him, he surely would have been, and in short time.

T
HE DOWNPOUR BEGAN TO EASE, BUT
the wind had picked up. Now, though there was less rain, it came almost horizontally, stinging the eyes and face in intermittent flurries. Across the way, several new played on the rocks, clambering in and out of the little bowl-shaped caves. Irin watched with mild interest as he sucked on a gwotl half. He wondered about the time of night and whether the dark clouds to the east would allow them much warning of impending daylight.

He tossed the gwotl husk to the ground and wiped the sticky pulp on his foot coverings. Beside him in both directions, others sat and watched their new at play. Those without such concerns enjoyed the protection of the caves. Someone asked him if this was to be their new home. No, he explained, they were still too close to the valley, and also, there would be no water here once the rains ended. He said nothing about the ongoing threat of screamers. Let them believe there were no more—only the fighters need remain on guard.

He stood and walked back up to the stifling, packed screamer cave. The air was even worse now with the smell of hot, damp bodies.

Owil seemed to be asleep, and Orin nodded that indeed she was. Wil lay beside her, eyes open and staring at the back of her neck. The newest was in another woman’s arms, wriggling and making small crying noises. Irin gestured to Orin to put the newest on Owil’s breast now, while she slept.

Orin made a face, not liking the idea, worried that Owil would wake. She decided to try it, though, and reached around to the other woman, taking the newest and pulling aside Owil’s coverings. She slid the tiny, wrinkled thing into contact with Owil’s body, and its behavior changed immediately. The newest began opening and clinching its tiny fists while its lips and tongue seemed to sense food nearby. Its head turned from side to side until it found the object of its search and locked on. Irin watched the little legs kick out, and the hands punch at Owil’s breast as if in battle. Orin tried to calm it and held the arms close to its body so as not to wake Owil.

Hearing the newest make a choking sound, Wil rose up on his elbow to see what was happening. He saw the newest trying to feed and looked around at Orin and Irin and at his woman’s face, terrified she would wake and do something to the newest. Irin gestured for him to remain calm, but the newest pulled away from the breast and released a dry, throaty wail. Orin looked up at Irin and shook her head; it wasn’t working.

Owil’s eyes opened suddenly, and she looked down at the newest as it gnashed down again on her nipple. She flinched, and Irin prepared to restrain her, but Orin put her hand on Owil’s arm as she looked down at her newest with an odd expression. Owil took quick, panting breaths as she watched its desperate motions, kicking and nestling into her. Wil saw her hands become fists, and moved his own hand to hold back her wrist if it should move.

Then her eyes softened and her shoulders appeared to relax, and she let her head drop back down onto the bedding. Owil’s eyes slowly closed, and the newest calmed as loud swallowing sounds could now be heard from its throat. All sighed and relaxed.

“How long must it feed?” Irin asked.

“Until
she’s
done, Irin,” his woman answered.

“We’ll begin reloading and forming the line. That should give it—
her—
enough time, yes?”

Orin nodded, inwardly pleased.

A short time later, the wind had mostly calmed, and light rain fell. Wil and three women, including Orin, helped Owil out of the cave and down to the awaiting n’wip, filled only with bedding. They sat her facing rearward and handed the newest to her.

Irin stood atop the high ledge and watched as the line stretched off in the distance. He sent Pwig and Norrit down the sides to count.

“And don’t forget to add one,” he told them.

They both looked at him strangely for a second, then smiled and went about their task.

“We are missing one,” Norrit told him as he approached.

Pwig had counted in the opposite direction and was just now walking up to them, shaking his head.

“We have one extra,” he said.

Irin looked at them both with annoyance and waved them off to count again. Time was growing short—they must be off.

A bit later, Pwig and Norrit returned with the correct count.

Irin stood and raised his arms to get the people’s attention. From his perch atop the higher cave, he cupped his hands around the sides of his mouth and shouted to them. “Pwin-T! Let us continue as we did last night! Fast… safe… helping each other!”

They nodded, and some raised their hands up to him—a rather muted response, but he did not mind. They had been cramped in a hot cave for the entire first half of the night and now stood soaking in rain. They neednt’ be excited; they need only walk.

He climbed down from his rocky perch and went to the front as his people began to make their way down the hill.

A
COIL OF CIRCLES BORDERED THE
top of a circle of equal size. Two more circles, for glasses, surrounded two smaller circles: the eyes. It wasn’t making
fun
of him, Tuni reflected; it was just that, above the neck, Hank was basically a cluster of circles of various sizes. She drew a flashlight in his hand and added sharp eyebrows to make him look more formidable.

Outside, the beat of a helicopter grew louder, then quieter, as it paced over the forest canopy, searching for the missing man. Feeling a growing knot in the pit of her stomach, Tuni wondered if Enzi could have done something to him. Or was it Rheese? She wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that all this was a product of her overactive imagination. Rheese was clearly a coward, shrinking and groveling before anyone with any real authority. Would someone so spineless be capable of actually following through with something like that? And
why
? Circles on a map in the middle of Africa… more circles. She sighed at her own foolishness. Right, it was a bloody message:
circles
.
Pull your head out, Tuni girl.

She looked up at Matt’s expressionless face and recalled how interesting she had found it the first time she watched him do a reading. Not even his eyes moving behind his lids, as someone in a dream would do. It was truly as if his spirit had left his body and traveled back in time, returning only after he released the k’yot. She looked at his lips and wondered. Twenty-five years old. If only he were thirty.

They would soon leave this place and return to New York. But then what? Could they remain friends? What if he ever made a move on her? Would he even try? Could he even try? How exactly did that work, she wondered. What matter? He didn’t even live in the city, not even in the state.
North Carolina?
She considered for a moment why he would move there, and then remembered that his sister attended the university there. He also probably enjoyed being away from a huge city with so many people, so much history, so much untidy human baggage. She imagined what it might be like living in a small town. It seemed as though there would be nothing at all to do, but then, it probably had that beauty that only smaller towns seemed able to possess.