Kai returned to her post in front of the wolf and waved for Jordan to do the same. Once in position, she began to walk in the direction of the wolf’s stare. Jordan followed the eagle’s gaze. Step by step, they continued out across the field, slowly approaching each other, attempting to determine the spot where the stares of the two totems met.
Everyone followed.
Forty yards out, Kai reached out her free arm and took Jordan’s hand, the two of them coming together at last. They stood before another cone. Standing four feet high and about three feet wide, it was squat and unremarkable looking, resembling nothing so much as a fat mushroom cap.
“I don’t understand,” Rafael said.
The Asian geologist came forward and examined the structure from all sides. “Looks like any of the others.” He placed his palms atop it and stayed in this position for several breaths. “But it’s not vibrating. Even the dormant ones have a palpable tremor to them.”
“What does that mean?” Kai said.
He pronounced his judgment. “This is fake.”
Full sunrise brightened the day, but not their moods.
“Why don’t we just blow it up?” Kowalski asked.
“It may come to that, but let’s give Hank and Chin at least a minute to finish their examination.”
Still, Painter had to consider Kowalski’s option. They had roughly forty minutes until the valley exploded.
“Just in case,” Painter asked, “do you have any C4 with you?”
He had asked Kowalski to secure some of the explosive for the flight here, in case they needed to blow their way into a tunnel or passage. But the man had come here with no satchel or pack.
“I have a little,” Kowalski admitted. He stepped back and flared out both sides of his ankle-length duster, revealing a vest covered in cubes of C4.
“You call that a little?”
Kowalski glanced down. “Yeah. Should I have brought more?”
Over by the mushroom rock, Hank and Chin stood up together.
Hank gave their assessment. “We think it’s meant to act like a plug, perhaps symbolic of an infant’s umbilical cord. Either way, we need four strong men to hook their arms around that lip — which I believe is the very reason it’s there — and lift straight up.”
Kowalski volunteered, as did Major Ryan, Bern, and Chin.
Bending at the knee, the men circled the stone and linked arms.
“The rock is porous,” Chin said. “Hopefully we can lift it free.”
On a count of three, they all heaved up. From the strain on their faces, the geologist’s assessment was proving questionable. But then a grating metallic sound groaned from the earth. The stone plug rose in the men’s arms. With the stopper finally loosened, the men easily lifted the stone and sidestepped out of the way to set it down.
Painter moved forward with Hank and Rafael.
“Is that gold?” Jordan asked behind them.
If it was, they’d definitely found the right place.
Painter studied the bottom of the stone stopper. Gold coated the lower foot of the mushroom-shaped rock and rimmed the pit’s edges.
“The precious metal must be to keep the plug from corroding into place permanently,” Chin said.
Hank studied the hole. “This reminds me of the opening to a kiva. The entrance to the underworld.”
Kowalski glared down that hole. “Look how well that turned out for us last time.”
Hank followed Painter down into the pit. The initial drop was only four feet, but the tunnel below sloped steeply from there, aiming back toward the heart of the geothermal basin and its strange cones. The air was hot but dry, smelling strongly of sulfur.
Painter led the way with a flashlight while a small parade of other people trailed behind him. Chin and Kowalski followed Hank. Behind them came Rafael, assisted by two of Bern’s men and Ashanda, who by force brought Kai along. Everyone else stayed topside.
Jordan agreed to stay on top of the pit to watch Kawtch — though doing so brought an ominous chill as he remembered Nancy Tso and the fate of the dog’s last caretaker.
The remaining armed military men on the surface stayed divided, grouping on opposite sides of the opening.
The tunnel sank steadily deeper, growing ever hotter. Hank touched one of the walls with his palm. It didn’t burn, but the rock was definitely hot, reminding him of the hellfires burning below — both literally and figuratively.
Was this how the world ended?
After another minute, Hank thought he might have to turn back, his lungs on fire. How much deeper must they go? It felt like they were a quarter mile underground, but most likely only half that.
“We’re here,” Painter said at last.
The tunnel squeezed into a final choke point. Here the walls pinched close together, requiring them to sidle through sideways for the last couple of feet.
Painter went first.
Hank followed — then heard Painter gasp loudly as he broke free, sounding both amazed and horrified. Once he was through, Painter stepped rigidly to the side.
Hank pushed after him, stepping out and moving clear for the others. Still, his feet stumbled in shock. He had to reach to the wall behind him to keep himself steady. His other hand rose to cover his mouth.
“Mon Dieu!” Rafael wheezed out.
Kowalski swore.
As the rest of the party entered, the glow of more and more flashlights illuminated the vast chamber, pushing back the darkness.
Mummified bodies, thousands of them, covered the floor of a vast cavern, rising at least seven stories high. The desiccated figures seemed to have arranged themselves in rows, radiating out from a massive temple in the center like spokes on a wheel.
Hank struggled to keep his attention focused on the poor souls who ended their lives here. Like those they had seen in Utah, they all seemed garbed in Native American attire: feathers, bones, loose skirts, leather moccasins, and breechcloths. Their hair was worn long, often braided and decorated, but Hank witnessed shades of every color, certainly plenty of raven-haired men and women, but also blond, chestnut, even fiery red.
The Tawtsee’untsaw Pootseev.
Again dagger blades, mostly steel but several made of bone, littered the floor or were clutched in bony grips.
So much death.
All to keep a secret, to protect a world against a lost alchemy.
Staring up now, Hank understood the potential source of that science. A temple rose before him, built of native slabs of rock mortared together. It climbed six stories high, seeming to stretch toward the ceiling and filling the center of the massive chamber.
He knew what this place was.
Or rather what it had been modeled after.
Even the facade’s dimensions seemed to be correct.
Twenty cubits wide, thirty-five cubits tall.
Right out of the Bible.
But it wasn’t the dimensions that made him certain. It was the temple in its entirety. Stone steps led up to a porch, the entrance framed by two mighty pillars — the famous Boaz and Jachin — only rather than brass, these two columns were made of gold, as was the massive bowl standing before the temple.
The golden chalice rose nine feet tall and twice that wide, resting on the backs of twelve oxen. The original was named the Brazen Sea, or Molten Sea. It was a fitting name for this copy. The bowl sat in the middle of a steaming hot spring that rose from the floor and fed into the basin. Water spilled over its top to return to the pool before spilling over the top again in an endless cycle.
“What is that place?” Kai asked. “Looks like Pueblo construction but the shape’s all wrong.”