David Sakmyster
The Smithsonian Objective
Near the summit of one of the canyon's highest internal peaks, the seven-thousand-foot geological marvel fancifully named The Isis Temple, Diana Montgomery hauled herself over a jutting incline of red sandstone slate, rolled onto her back and took a moment to catch her breath.
The ferocious sun simmered in a cloudless sky and thrust the shadows of the canyon's cyclopean inner structures over each other and the walls of the North Rim. She gazed to the west, toward the peak of the striated plateau called The Cheops Pyramid; muscles wincing from the six-hour ascent, she took a deep breath and tried to sit up.
She was close. Another five hundred feet, according to the crude map she'd found in the Smithsonian archives back in Washington. Almost there. Almost to the cave. To the discovery of a lifetime. She just—
Two thick ropes dropped from above. Rocks tumbled free from the wall, shards of limestone and shale shattering at her feet. And then heavy boots thudded onto the ledge, and as she tried to move, two black-clad men withdrew large automatic handguns and aimed them at her face.
She knew that finding the map was a little too convenient. Especially given the explosive nature of what she might discover up here.
Two months ago, an anonymous package had arrived at her office. Inside was a newspaper article from the Arizona Gazette dated April 5, 1909, which detailed an explorer's incredible archaeological find at the Grand Canyon. Also in the package, the sender had included a series of letters to the Smithsonian from interested researchers — all of which apparently had gone unanswered, at least to anyone's satisfaction.
She went to her boss, Assistant Director Darien Simcoe, demanding to be shown anything relating to the Gazette article. Seeing she wouldn't let it go, he reluctantly retrieved an item from the archives on one of the restricted sublevels below the Smithsonian. It was the journal of one G.E. Kincaid, a freelance explorer, not officially on the Smithsonian's payroll — although the Gazette had inferred that he was.
The journal mostly matched the story in the Gazette, describing Kincaid's adventures along the Colorado River. But the final page, which wasn't in the Gazette, had a map detailing his hike up from the river to this very monument, "The Isis Temple" — a fitting name given what kind of artifacts Kincaid claimed to have found there within a cave.
But one final item in the anonymous package had stood out from the rest, galvanizing Diana's obsession. It was a sketch: a charcoal drawing on a loose sheet of paper showing Diana herself, an avid rock climber before her work at the Smithsonian became too demanding. In the sketch, she was on a ledge on the Isis Temple. But the oddest part was that there were two ropes ascending off the page.
At the time, Diana believed the artist had merely assumed she would need to arrange for experienced guides. But now, with the two military-attired men aiming a small arsenal at her, in almost the same pose as the picture, she knew differently.
Someone had set her up.
"Get on your feet, Ms. Montgomery."
The other man grabbed her under the arms and hauled her to her feet. She pulled free, spun around. "What the hell is this? Who are you?"
Her mind was racing. Maybe some of the wilder rumors she'd heard were true: that this whole area was off limits, ruthlessly protected by a government agency trying to hide what Kincaid had found out here.
The other climber — shorter, wearing glasses with mirrored lenses in which she could see her terrified face — shoved her against the hot rock wall.
"This is ridiculous," she spat. "I'm an associate of the Smithsonian Institution. I—"
"No, ma'am, you're not. Got a call from your boss yesterday, claiming you had stolen confidential museum property, that you were to be apprehended on sight."
Damn Simcoe. She hung her head after an upwards longing glance to where a small cave beckoned. What about that anonymous package? Was that Simcoe too? None of this made any sense.
Dejected, she headed to the edge. The soldiers put their guns away, secured their harnesses and prepared to rappel alongside her when suddenly another figure dropped almost silently behind them. Dressed in khakis, with a leather hat partially covering hair as red as the layers of shale behind him, the newcomer sprang up from his crouch and delivered a kick to the first soldier, sending him sprawling over the edge.
The other spun around, arms up in a fighting pose, but the red-haired man ducked a punch as if he knew exactly when it was coming, rose up and slammed a fist into the soldier's chin, knocking him back. His heels slipped off the edge and his arms spun wildly.
Diana watched open-mouthed as the newcomer stepped right up to the flailing soldier, placed a finger on his chest, smiled and pushed.
She scrambled to the edge and looked down to see both men dangling sixty feet below, spinning wildly, slamming against the rock wall and bouncing off.
A hand gently caught her shoulder. "Come on," he said, with just a touch of urgency. "That won't stop them long."
Diana shot to her feet, met the man's piercing blue eyes, then glanced up to the cave. "Were you…?"
"Up there? Yeah, hiding since last night, waiting for them to make their move."
"Great, then you can get me back up there? We can—"
"Sorry but that's not where we're going."
"What? But the map…" She paused. Could she trust someone who appeared all of a sudden, dressed like Indiana Jones minus the whip? "Wait, who the hell are you?"
He continued smiling, and the sun sparkled mischievously in his eyes as he slipped a large waterproof backpack off his shoulders. He proceeded to extract several expandable metal rods and unravel what looked like the fabric of a parachute. "My name's Xavier Montross. And I sent you the package."
Diana stared at him. "You? Then—" She stopped talking as soon as she focused on what it was he was busy assembling. "What the hell is that?"
"Hang glider."
She took her eyes off him long enough to look down the sheer cliff wall. One of her attackers was still out cold, dangling in the winds. The other, his face bloody, was climbing swiftly, fixing her with a vile look.
"We don't have much time," Xavier said.
Diana shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers."
He stopped assembling the triangular apex and the handles. "All you need to know, Diana Montgomery, is right here." He reached into his backpack one more time and retrieved a sketchbook. Flipped to a dog-eared page, ripped it free and showed her the charcoal drawing:
An image of her likeness, standing at a podium before a rough outline of an audience. News cameras. On a table sat a collection stones and urns with clear Egyptian hieroglyphics.
"What is this?" she asked, just as the wind whipped the page out of her hands and sent it soaring over the canyon's deep, shadowy abyss. She thought for a moment, even as she saw the rope at her feet moving, the peg shifting with the climber's weight as he ascended. "Wait. That drawing — the one you sent me. It was exactly what just happened."
"So?"
"So, you knew they'd be here. Maybe you're Simcoe's man, or you're working with these thugs and—"
Xavier shook his head as he put away the sketchbook and zipped up the pack. "The answer is much less credible, and yet perfectly simple." He bent down, extended the hang glider's wings and attached a harness to his back.
"What could be simpler?"
He grinned. "I can see the future."
In the ensuing seconds, Diana couldn't recall the actual events that led her to leap off the six-thousand foot high ledge with a man she had only just met. But something about his obvious belief in what he was saying led her to strap herself in and wrap her arms around his chest just as she heard the grunts of the soldier reaching the top.