The two trailers pulled up on the vast cement apron of West Boatramp. The van and the pickup came up behind and the company emerged into the sweltering heat, followed by the four Institute employees who would drive the vehicles back to Santa Fe.
Down here near the water, Nora could see Wahweap Marina in all its glory. Styrofoam cups, beer cans, plastic bags, and floating pieces of newspaper bobbed in the brown shallows at the bottom of the boatramp. SKI ONLY IN CLOCKWISE DIRECTION read one sign and nearby was another: LET’S ALL HAVE FUN TOGETHER! Endless ranks of moored houseboats lined the shore in either direction, enormous floating metal-sided RVs. They were painted in garish colors—motel greens and yellows, polyester browns—and sported names like Li’l Injunand Dad’s Desire.
“What a place,” Holroyd said, stretching and looking around.
“It’s so hot,” Black said, wiping his brow.
As Swire went to help back the horsetrailers around, Nora noticed an incongruous sight: a black stretch limousine flying down the parking lot toward the docks. The crowds noticed it too, and there was a small stir. For a moment, Nora’s heart sank. Not Sloane Goddard,she thought, not in a limo.She was relieved when the car came to a halt and a tall young man tumbled rather awkwardly out of the back, straightened up his skinny frame, and took in the marina through dark Ray-Bans.
Nora found herself staring at him. He was not particularly handsome, but there was something striking in the high cheekbones, aquiline nose, and especially in the bemused, confident way he surveyed the scene before him. His soft brown hair was wild, sticking out every which way, as if he had just climbed out of bed. Who in the world can he be?she wondered.
Several teenagers in the crowd instinctively moved toward him, and soon a crowd gathered. Nora could see the man was talking animatedly.
Black followed her stare. “Wonder who that guy is?” he asked.
Tearing her glance away, Nora left the group to gather up their gear and went in search of Ricky Briggs, one of the marina’s managers. Her route to the marina headquarters took her past the limo, and she paused at the edge of the crowd, intrigued, glancing again at the man. He was dressed in starchy new jeans, a red bandanna, and expensive alligator cowboy boots. She could barely hear his voice over the hubbub of the crowd, making comments while he waved a paperback book in one hand. As she watched, he scribbled an autograph in it, then handed it to a particularly ripe-looking girl in a string bikini. The small crowd laughed and chattered and clamored for more books.
Nora turned to a woman standing at the fringe of the crowd. “Who is he?”
“Dunno,” the woman said, “but he’s gotta be famous.”
As she was about to walk on, Nora heard, quite distinctly, the words Nora Kelly.She stopped.
“It’s a confidential project,” the man was saying in a nasal voice. “I can’t talk about it, but you’ll read about it soon enough—”
Nora began pushing through the crowd.
“—in the New York Timesand in book form—”
She elbowed past a heavyset man in flowered trunks.
“—a fantastic expedition to the farthest corner of—”
“Hey!” Nora cried, bursting through the last of the crowd. The young man looked down at her, surprise and consternation on his face. Then he broke into a smile. “You must be—”
She grabbed his hand and began pulling him through the crowd.
“My luggage—” he said.
“Just shut the hell up,” she retorted, dragging him through the stragglers at the edge of the crowd, who parted before her fury.
“Just hold on a minute—” the man began.
Nora continued to pull him across the tarmac toward the horse trailers, leaving the perplexed crowd behind to disperse.
“I’m Bill Smithback,” the man said, trying to extend his hand as he skipped alongside of her.
“I know who you are. Just what the hell do you mean, making a spectacle of yourself?”
“A little advance publicity never hurt—”
“Publicity!” Nora cried. She stopped at the horse trailer and faced him, breathing hard.
“Did I do something wrong?” Smithback said, looking innocent, and holding a book up to his chest like a shield.
“Wrong? You arrive here in a limo, like some kind of movie star—”
“I got it cheap at the airport. And besides, it’s hot as hell out here: limos have excellent air conditioning—”
“This expedition,” Nora interrupted, “is supposed to be confidential.”
“But I didn’t reveal anything,” he protested. “I just signed a few books.”
Nora felt herself beginning to boil over. “You may not have told them where Quivira is, but you sure as hell alerted them that something’s going on. I wanted to get in and out of here as quietly as possible.”
“I amhere to write a book, after all, and—”
“One more stunt like that and there won’t be a book.”
Smithback fell silent.
Suddenly Black appeared out of nowhere with an ingratiating smile, hand extended. “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Smithback,” he said. “Aaron Black. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Smithback shook the proffered hand.
Nora watched with irritation. She was seeing a side of Black that wasn’t obvious from the SAA meetings. She turned to Smithback. “Go tell your chauffeurto bring your stuff and put it with the rest. And keep a low profile, okay?”
“He’s not exactly my chauffeur—”
“Do you understand?”
“Hey, does that hole in your head have an off switch?” Smithback asked. “Because it’s getting a little strident for my tender ears.”
She glared at him.
“Okay! Okay. I understand.”
Nora watched as he went shambling off toward the limousine, head drooping in mock embarrassment. Soon he was back, carrying a large duffel. He slung it on the pile and turned to Nora with a grin, bemused composure regained. “This place is perfect,” he said, glancing around. “Central Station.”
Nora looked at him.
“You know,” he explained, “Central Station. That squalid little spot in Heart of Darkness.The last outpost of civilization where people stopped before heading off into the African interior.”
Nora shook her head and walked toward a nearby complex of stuccoed buildings overlooking the water. She found Ricky Briggs ensconced in a messy office, a short, overweight man yelling into a telephone. “Goddamned Texican assholes,” he said, slamming the phone into its cradle as Nora entered. He looked up, his gaze traveling slowly up and down her body. Nora felt herself bristling. “Well, now, what can I do for you, missy?” he asked in a different tone, leaning back in the chair.
“I’m Nora Kelly, from the Santa Fe Archaeological Institute,” she said coldly. “You were supposed to have a barge here ready for us.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, the smile vanishing. Picking up the phone again, he punched in a number. “They’re here, the group with the horses. Bring the barge around.” He replaced the phone, then turned and without another word charged for the door. As she scrambled to follow, she realized she was showing a little more bitchiness than was good for a leader of an expedition. She wondered what it was about Smithback that had suddenly made her flare up like that.
Nora followed Briggs around the side of the complex and down the blacktop to a long floating dock. Planting himself at the edge of the dock, Briggs began yelling at the nearby boaters to clear away their craft. Then he swivelled toward Nora. “Turn the horse trailers around and back ’em down to the water. Unload the rest of your gear and line it up on the dock.”