“Did you say Bones? I’m looking for someone who knows Isaiah Horsely.”
Bones sat up straight, his head clearing fast. Something was wrong. “This is Uriah Bonebrake. I’m his cousin. What’s up?”
“Bonebrake, Bones, sorry about that I’m just upset.” A nervous laugh. “And I’m babbling. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s all right ma’am. What can I do for you?” He struggled to keep the impatience out of his voice.
“My name is Allison Hartwell. I’m Doctor Horsely’s neighbor. I found your name and number on a notepad on his kitchen table. I need to let someone know that there’s been…” The pause seemed interminable. He was about to tell her to speed it up when she finished the sentence. “There’s been an accident.”
Forty minutes later he was wandering through the mostly empty corridors of the local hospital looking for the pre-op room. There weren’t many people to guide him this time of night, but thankfully it was a small place. He soon found the door, and walked in without knocking.
“Excuse me, but what are you doing?” A gaunt young doctor with stringy ginger hair and a clipboard stepped in front of him. He had guts. The fellow was almost Bones’ height, but couldn’t weigh more than a buck and-a-half. “You can’t be back here.”
“I’m here to see Isaiah Horsely. I’m his next of kin.”
The doctor’s eyes narrowed and a look of skepticism crossed his face. “Mister Horsely is about to go into surgery.”
“I understand the concept of pre-op,” Bones said. He leaned in, the two of them now nose-to-nose. “I’m asking nicely. Please.”
The fellow could take a hint. “Come with me.” He turned and led Bones to a curtained room where a uniformed police officer stood.
“Who is this?” the cop asked. He wasn’t foolish enough to stand in Bones’ way.
“He is the next of kin,” the doctor said. “He’ll only be a moment.”
“I’ll want to talk to you when you’re done in there,” the officer said. Bones nodded and stepped into the pre-op room.
Isaiah lay under a pristine white sheet. His face was swollen, and his head heavily bandaged. His swollen lips were an ugly purple under the too-bright lights. He had taken a hell of a beating. The neighbor girl, Allison, had warned Bones, but it was still terrible to see. Isaiah’s arms were atop the sheet, and both were badly bruised. Defensive injuries, Bones supposed. His eyes followed the I.V. drip from Isaiah’s hand up to the bag. He looked at the vital sign monitors, but the numbers meant little to him. He couldn’t believe someone would do this to Isaiah, who had always been so bookish and gentle of spirit, and was a good man. Bones grimaced. The culprits had better pray the cops got to them before he did.
A nurse stepped into the room and cleared her throat. “We’re taking him back now. You can say your goodbyes.”
Bones knelt down next to Isaiah’s right shoulder and laid his hand on his upper arm. “I’m here. You awake?”
Isaiah opened one eye as much as his swollen lids would allow. The corners of his mouth twitched. He was trying to smile.
“They’re going to get you all fixed up, man.” Bones said, hoping this was true. “And when you’re all better, we’ll get this mess cleaned up. All of it.” He gave Isaiah’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and stood to leave.
“Bones,” Isaiah said in a soft voice that was almost a wheeze.
“Yeah?” Bones leaned down so that his ear was close to his cousin’s face. “I’m listening.”
“Orley… doesn’t have a bull.” Isaiah closed his eyes and said no more.
“What was that?” Bones asked, but Isaiah’s steady breathing indicated that he had lapsed into sleep.
“I’m sorry sir, but we have to take him now,” the nurse said. “The waiting area is down the hall to your right. The doctor will find you when the surgery is over.”
Bones thanked her and headed to the waiting area. He wanted to sleep, but something told him he would be up all night trying to figure out why in the world it mattered that Orley did not have a bull.
Chapter 7
Chaco Canyon was the root of Anasazi Culture. This desert country, with its long winters, short growing seasons and minimal rainfall seemed to Dane an unlikely place for civilization to take root, yet it was once the center of Anasazi life. From the end of the first millennia to the middle of the second, people had farmed this canyon and constructed fantastic great houses and kivas. In terms of architecture, life and social organization, the Anasazi of Chaco Canyon had reached heights unsurpassed by their kindred of the Four Corners region.
The Chacoans constructed their magnificent center of trade and worship on a nine-mile stretch of canyon floor, with an eye to longitude and the cycles of the sun and moon. Working with only primitive tools and without a system of mathematics, they raised massive buildings that still inspire awe.
Dane was too focused on the sheer desolation of the land to take notice of the architecture. Most of the ruins were just far enough off the road to make it nearly impossible to see much of anything. He was road weary from the seemingly never-ending trek from the highway to the park, which lay in the midst of sparse, dry land.
Saul had insisted on driving the car even before their plane touched down in Durango, Colorado. Dane sat in the back of the rented Range Rover, poring over a park map with Jade.
“Are you sure there’s anything out here?” Saul asked, not for the first time. “This is the emptiest place I’ve ever seen. There aren’t even any tourists around.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Jade said, not looking up from the map. “Just keep going.” She sighed loudly, but Saul was focused on his own thoughts.
“And people really lived out here? Hard to believe, it’s so dry.”
“Chaco Canyon was actually the center of Puebloan culture for a long time,” Jade said. Saul snorted but said no more.
“So, go over the plan with me again,” Dane said. He remembered the plan well enough, but he preferred Jade’s voice to Saul’s any day. He was still weary from the whirlwind of the last three days. Since he had recognized the picture on the breastplate as being that of Pueblo Bonito in Chaco Canyon, they had scrambled to make arrangements. Willis Sanders, an old SEAL comrade who helped Dane out from time-to-time, flew to Argentina to help Matt and Corey finish the job on which they and Dane had been working in Argentina. Meanwhile, Jade worked furiously to research Chaco Canyon and any possible connection to Fray Marcos.
“The cross on the breastplate,” Jade said, pulling a folder out from underneath the map, “is, I think, more than a cross.” She laid the folder on top of the map and opened it to reveal the photos she had taken of the artifact. “A line with a sunburst at each end is a symbol commonly associated with a solstice or an equinox.” Her finger traced the vertical bar of the cross, coming to rest on the top sunburst. “It can’t just be a cross, or else why bother putting sunbursts there?” She closed the folder and slipped it back beneath the map.
“Here,” she indicated a spot far from the park entrance they had passed not long before, “is Fajada Butte. Atop it sits the most famous astronomical marker in Chaco Canyon, perhaps the most famous in Anasazi Culture: the Sun Dagger. At midday, three large, vertical slabs cast a dagger-shaped shaft of light onto a spiral petroglyph carved into the rock face behind the slabs. The carving is used to demarcate solstices, equinoxes and phases of the moon. We’ll climb to the top and check it out.”
“And you’re hoping we’ll find what?” Dane asked.
“We’ll know when we get there,” Jade said. “The pictures I found on the internet didn’t tell me much, but there could be something there. I think there’s a clue carved into the rock, or possibly buried.” She sounded determined, if not confident.