Joseph Solares had proven to be their unlikely savior. The good-natured Indian, who was a joy to work with, had come across the alternative location while thumbing through Baray’s journal. With the lieutenant colonel finally responding to her inquiries, perhaps Joseph’s last-minute discovery had saved her from a hasty decision that she could now be extremely sorry for. She was conscious that the permission to return to Tranquillon could be in her hands as soon as the next afternoon, and her mood lightened. Patience was a virtue she had largely ignored during her quick rise up the scholastic hierarchy. Perhaps she should be a little more aware of its merits. With this in mind, she put her back into her stride and, after checking her watch, proceeded south down the beach for another three minutes.
The first evidence that the fog was beginning to lift came when she looked to her left and viewed a clear section of beach that had previously been veiled. By the time she reached the end of her planned ten minute hike, the sun was even visible overhead.
Though it was still substantially masked, enough direct rays were penetrating to burn off a good amount of the mist that had formed inland. Because of this new clarity, she was able to view a wide patch of human tracks leading from the water line to the distant dunes. Since this line crossed the beach approximately an eighth of a mile beyond her present location, she had yet to overshoot her mark. Proud of her directional skills, Miriam chartered her own course to the dunes.
As she left the firm wet sand of the tide line, her progress was significantly slowed. The soft sand she was now crossing shifted beneath her every step and she soon felt its effects on her ankles and calves.
Regardless of this new obstacle, she pushed herself eastward with a renewed determination. A wide band of sweat had gathered on her forehead as she reached the first of the dunes and began climbing over it.
From the top of the rolling, twelve-foot-high ridge of sand, Miriam was afforded an excellent view of the surrounding terrain. The fog had completely lifted, to reveal a clear blue sky. Checking the progression of the tracks that she had been following, she saw that they crossed over a succession of lower dunes. There the sandy ground was covered with a variety of desertlike shrubs. The predominant plant was a prickly type of miniature cactus. Careful to remain clear of its razor-sharp thorns, Miriam picked her way eastward, towards the railroad tracks that lay another half mile inland.
The ground was hilly, the sand giving way to a coarse, rocky soil. After passing over a series of ever steepening ravines, Miriam spotted a familiar-looking canyon. Cut from the dry ground, this narrow valley was shaped by two precipitous walls over thirty feet high. She couldn’t help but grin upon spotting her ragtag crew, busily working at the canyon’s base. So busy were their efforts that they didn’t even realize her presence. Their backs were to her, their attentions focused on a low ledge of sandstone, as she approached them.
Joseph Solares was the bare-chested figure that they were gathered around. His muscular torso was sweat-stained, his long dark hair tied back with his customary red bandana. In the process of lecturing to his spellbound audience, Joseph proved to be the one who first set eyes on the newcomer.
“Hey, Boss, welcome to Sun City. You won’t believe what we’ve been excavating all morning.”
Nodding toward the quick succession of smiling faces that soon greeted her, Miriam made her way to the ledge and focused her line of sight downward.
There, embedded in the arid soil, was the outline of a narrow, elongated, nine-foot-long vessel. Having only seen such a primitive canoe in a museum before, she gasped.
“Is that a tomolof” “The very same,” replied Joseph proudly.
“Mr. Whitten chanced upon it five minutes after we arrived here.”
“Does this mean that I get to skip finals?” jested the class clown, who arrogantly puffed out his chest.
“Not while I’m teaching this class,” countered Miriam, as she bent down to examine their find more closely.
Kneeling beside her, Joseph chipped away a section of blackish rock that lay between the bleached remnants of the canoe and the surrounding soil.
“My preliminary guess is that the vessel was somehow preserved by a pocket of asphaltum. It just has to be over five hundred years old. Brother, did Robert Baray hit this site right on the spot!”
“I’ll say,” observed Miriam, who ran her fingers cautiously over the canoe’s outline.
“What are the chances of exhuming it intact?”
Joseph grinned.
“It could take a little effort, Boss, but did you expect any less from the finest crew of bone-pickers this side of the Colorado. We’ll get this sucker out in one piece okay, although I doubt that she’ll be very seaworthy afterwards.”
Meeting this comment with a facetious scowl, Miriam shook her head.
“Then get on with it, Mr. Solares. You never know how much longer we’ll have to work here.”
Issuing a mock salute, Joseph began explaining just how he thought the excavation should go, just as an excited voice came from up above.
“Hey, you guys, take a look at this!”
Angling his line of sight upward, Joseph spotted a tall beanpole of a figure standing on the upper wall of the canyon.
“What in the hell has Thompson spotted now? I only sent him up there to scout for arrowheads.”
“I’ll go check it out, Joseph,” volunteered Miriam.
“You’re doing such an excellent job with this tomolo that I’ll only get in the way here.”
Joseph shrugged his shoulders.
“Be my guest, Boss. Only be careful on the way up. It’s rather steep. And by the way, if Thompson’s pulling our legs again, send him down here so that I can personally fill that creep’s mouth with sand.”
Not bothering to respond to this, Miriam stood and, after slipping off her vest, rolled up the sleeves of her cotton T-shirt and ambled over to the path that led upward. Five minutes later, she arrived at the canyon’s summit, her forehead soaked and her lungs wheezing for breath. Not giving herself any time to recover, she immediately approached the lanky figure of sophomore Mick Thompson, who stood on the ledge, his gaze focused westward.
“What have you got, Mr. Thompson?” asked Miriam between gasps of air.
Pointing toward the Pacific, clearly visible beyond, the student stuttered, “You can still see it about a half mile out there. I’ve never seen anything like it before!”
Following the direction of his forefinger, Miriam looked out to the surging ocean. The first thing that she was aware of was the fact that the fog had completely dissipated. Miraculously, not even a hint of the thick mist remained. As she looked out past the pounding breakers, it took her almost thirty seconds to finally spot the object that had caught the youngster’s attention.
Over two hundred feet long from its rounded bow to its tapered stern, the sleek black submarine cut a frothing line through the relatively calm blue seas.
Fluttering proudly from its protruding sail was an American flag. Immediately behind the conning tower, an odd-shaped object sat strapped to the vessel’s backside. Appearing as though it could be either a large bomb or even a mini-sub, it was like nothing she had ever seen before. No stranger to submarines, since her own father had been a twenty-eight-year underwater veteran, Miriam watched the vessel continue up the coastline.
It was only when it passed directly before them that she sighted the trio of tiny figures that stood on the sub’s conning tower. Wondering where in the world they were bound for, she looked out with her curiosity piqued as the submarine turned to the west and, ever so slowly, began descending into the ocean’s black depths.