“Commandant here.”
“Mon Commandant, this is Colonel Moreau.”
The voice on the other end lightened.
“Ah, Jean, it’s good to hear your voice. As always, it sounds like you are calling from just down the street. I hope things are well at Ariadne.”
Moreau answered guardedly.
“I’m afraid we had a bit of a tragedy here this morning. Five of our maintenance workers were found murdered in the southern security sector. Preliminary evidence points to the Third Brigade as the ones responsible.”
Seconds passed before the Commandant responded.
“That is indeed sad news, Jean. Please convey my respects to the poor victims’ families. Will you be needing assistance from the Legion once again?”
“I believe this time we will be able to handle the situation ourselves. If we are unable to correct the problem, I will inform you at once.”
“Very good, mon ami,” retorted the Commandant, whose tone then turned flat.
“For a while there, I thought that we might have ridden the earth of that scum for good, but que sera, sera. I hate to add more darkness to your already gloomy day, but I thought that you’d like to be one of the first to know that the United States Government has turned down our bid to assist NASA in their time of difficulty.”
Surprised with this revelation, Moreau sat forward.
“But how will they put their satellites into orbit without the services of their space shuttle or Titan?”
Aware of the tension that flavored the colonel’s voice, the Commandant replied coolly, “Believe it or not, our man inside NASA informs us that the military shuttle Condor is currently being brought out of mothballs to place America’s top-priority pay loads into orbit, until a safer, more reliable platform is available. The first launch of this vehicle could take place as soon as forty-eight hours from now.”
Hardly believing what he was hearing, Moreau exclaimed, “Are those Americans crazy? Have they forgotten the results of Challenger already? I can’t believe they’d risk the lives of a brave crew when we hold the alternative right here at Ariadne. They are as stubborn and cheap as they are foolish.”
The Commandant allowed Moreau to catch his breath before continuing.
“Only hours ago, I was summoned to a hastily called meeting of the Board of Directors. At that time, our esteemed finance director informed us that, even with the additional Asian business, the Consortium faces serious cash-flow problems in the near future. The nature of this ever increasing deficit could put Ariadne completely out of business as soon as the end of this year. Only one source of revenue remains untapped that can reverse this position before it’s too late. I’m afraid I have no other alternative but to instruct you to immediately initiate Operation Diablo one more time.”
The instruction cut into Moreau’s soul like a knife into butter. Most aware of just what the Commandant was asking of him, the colonel struggled to summon a proper response. Abandoning his emotions, he allowed his duty to take over.
“Yes, mon Commandant, I will get to work on implementing Diablo at once. Am I to assume that this is not a practice alert, sir?”
“Your assumption is correct, Jean Moreau,” answered the icily cool, deep voice of his superior.
“A full packet of instructions is currently on its way to you via a Mirage jet fighter. You will be receiving them within the hour. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you have the slightest of questions. I don’t have to remind you that the very survival of Ariadne is at stake here. Though our actions might seem a bit harsh, we have no other choice. I do hope you understand this. Au revoir, mon ami. May the Lord be with you.”
Barely offering a goodbye of his own, Moreau managed to hang up the receiver. His mind was still awash with tangled thought as he swiveled around to view-that portion of the facility visible from his office’s central picture window. He hardly flinched when a jagged spear of lightning flashed from the heavens and struck the top of a nearby coconut palm.
A wave of solid water splattered onto the window’s exterior surface, and Moreau found himself focusing in on the sight of his own reflection visible in the glistening glass pane.
Appearing pale and completely drained of energy, the white-haired figure sat there listlessly, his thoughts struggling for rational order. Though he had been well aware that this day might come, he had never considered it seriously. Now that the unthinkable had happened, he could do but one thing.
Otherwise, an entire life’s effort would be totally wasted.
Chapter Eight
The morning fog came in from the Pacific with swirling, thick gray fingers. Blanketing the central California coastline in a shroud of cottony vapor, it played havoc with both seafarers and landlubbers alike. With visibility down to near zero, only the most daring of travelers risked penetrating such an environment.
Miriam Rodgers was well aware that this was an excellent morning to keep their vehicles parked at camp. Since their promising excavation on Tranquil Ion Ridge had been put off limits by the Air Force, she had allowed her senior teacher’s assistant to find them an alternative dig site. Fortunately, Joseph Solares had been able to find one within walking distance of their circle of trailers. Thus their method of transportation was by foot, and not even the fog could hold them back.
The majority of the crew had left for this new site at the first crack of dawn. This left only Miriam and one of her students back at camp. There they were kept busy cataloguing a precise list of every single artifact so far uncovered in their work at Vandenberg.
This included the remnants of an excellent collection of Chumash basketry. So far, they had identified a wide assortment of superbly crafted designs, weaved from such materials as junc as sumac, tule willow, and the roots of sedge and fern. Several of them were even decorated with flicker quills. Their shovels had also uncovered hundreds of obsidian arrowheads and a variety of scrapers, spear points, knives, and awls. Miriam took exceptional pride in the magnificent Olivilla shell necklace that she had personally uncovered only a week after they had initially arrived there.
It was unlike any piece of Chumash jewelry that she had ever viewed before, and she imagined that it had to have been the property of a village matriarch.
Of course, the most spectacular of their discoveries had been their latest. The shiny gray stone spirit bowl had been exhumed from Tranquillon Ridge only minutes before the Air Force sentries had arrived to drive them away. Each time that she studied it, she couldn’t help but be impressed with the hundreds of hours of intricate workmanship that must have been needed to create its lip of tiny five-pointed-star shell bits. And then there was the unique symbol painted on its bottom. If Joseph was correct, the ball of bright yellow and the concentric circles of black and red that surrounded it could be symbolic of the journey of the very soul after death. Quick to stir the imaginations of Miriam and her impressionable coworkers, the lap-sized bowl hinted at even greater discoveries yet to come.
Robert R. Baray, the Sioux Indian staff engineer for Vandenberg, had been correct in his assumption that Tranquillon offered the trained archaeologist a wealth of possibilities. Yet Miriam couldn’t help but wonder if Baray had been aware that this spot could be the location of the legendary Chumash portal of the dead. How her juices had flowed when Joseph had related to them the story of the paved royal road and the circular charm stone temple that would prove this very fact. Aware that such a discovery could have been as close as the next shovelful of dirt, Miriam couldn’t have been more disappointed when the Air Force sentries had arrived to abruptly put her dreams on hold. Powerless to fight their authority there, she could but lead her crew back to camp, where they regrouped and eventually diverted their efforts elsewhere.