A miracle, yes. They'd wedged against each other, forming a triangle above her head and scattering the other falling rocks to either side. As the earthquake continued to rumble, she could hear more rocks falling, burying her deeper. She could hear the screams of the tribesmen, crushed at the scene of their own destructiveness. Served them right. They all died except for Diehl. He got away.
The son of a bitch.
She could, even now, hear Dick Diehl calling her name. He'd had to run. She knew that, had known it then. He thought she was dead. Anyone would have died beneath the mountain of rock that fell onto her. It was just by pure chance— a whim of fate— that she had survived, unhurt.
Oh, God, let him have gotten away, the pompous, unromantic shitheel. Let Dick Diehl be safe.
The Valium was working. The screaming razor's edge was beginning to dull. Good, good. Maybe she would sleep. The less time spent conscious, the better. After all, she thought, it could be night. Maybe it was time to sleep.
A stone fell from above and skidded along her cheek. She gasped. Another stone. A fall of limestone powder.
The rocks. They're giving away.
More stones fell. She skittered to the far side of the area, opposite the knapsacks, and flattened herself against the wall. Another earthquake? Or just the normal shifting of things, an unseen hand moving the big rocks where they belonged, where they should have been all along. On top of her broken body.
Her face was wet. She realized that she was crying. No pleas to the Almighty now. This final irony didn't deserve them. Just tears, all the tears she'd been saving since she learned that serious women didn't cry. Go ahead and cry now, baby. It's time.
"Watch it. We don't want a landslide."
"What?" she said aloud. Someone was out there. The falling stones and dust must have opened an air passage in the far wall. And someone was there, there to help her, speaking English.
"I'm here!" she shouted. "In here!"
"She's in there," the voice said.
"Do you think I am deaf?" came another voice, a high singsong.
"Watch the rock."
"Watch your own rock. And straighten your elbow."
At least one of the men was an American. Could Dick Diehl have sent them? Was this a third expeditionary team? Oh, God, could Diehl be with them?
"Dick," she shrieked.
"Remo," came the voice.
"Chiun," came the other. "Greetings."
Greetings? What kind of way was that to talk to someone who'd been buried alive?
"Get me the fuck out of here," she yelled.
"Take it easy, girl. We'll get you."
He'd called her girl. She hated them already. Well, no point in being picky. She would deal with them later, report them to their superior. But at this point, they could be two redneck wifebeaters as far as she was concerned, as long as they got her out. Just keep coherent. Don't lose your head.
"There are two big stones, about two by two by four feet each, wedged in a triangle over my head," she said clearly.
"What did I tell you about your elbow?"
"Aw, lay off, Little Father. This isn't an exercise."
"All movement is exercise. Even the smallest motion should be performed correctly."
"All right. This way?"
"A little better. Not Korean, but better."
"Didn't you hear me?" Elizabeth Drake screamed.
"We heard you," Remo said.
"The yak drivers of the Himalayas could hear her," Chiun whispered. "The elbow."
A trickle of sand sifted down onto the archaeologist's head. "Watch what you're doing, you cretins!" she shouted.
"Look, you want us to come get you or not?"
"I want you to get me alive, idiot. Are you using pulleys?"
"An insult," the singsong voice said.
"We don't need them."
Crackpots. Her life was being entrusted to two lame-brains trying to dig her out with their bare hands. Graduate students, probably.
"Look, don't do me any favors by giving me a swift death. I'll hang on. Go into Progresso and get some pulleys or something. Maybe a crane, if there is one. I'll hang on."
"I told you, we can get you out," the American said. He sounded annoyed. Well, she had a hell of a lot more to be annoyed about than he did, the punk.
"And I told you to get some pulleys. Damn it, do this right, you fog-headed baboon."
"Come, Remo. We will leave this ungrateful wench."
"No," Dr. Drake gasped. "Don't leave. Please don't leave."
"Do you promise to be nice?" came the taunting American voice.
I'll be nice, she thought. Whoever that weirdo named Remo is, he'll see how nice I can be. With a nice kick into his nice nuts. "Just get me out of here," she said levelly.
Not that they could do it. No machinery, no levers. It was just her luck to be discovered by two macho male chauvinists who thought they could move a mountain of rock unassisted.
She settled back. Wonderful. This was just great. She couldn't be allowed to die quickly, by the guns the natives carried, oh, no. She couldn't die in the earthquake. The rocks that crushed the maggot-eaten thing on her right had to miss her. She wouldn't die of starvation. No. In the bizarre twists that fate had offered, she would survive all of those things so that she could be murdured by two half-wits trying to rescue her.
Well, fine. So be it. She was too tired to argue anymore. And the Valium was giving her a little buzz— not much, just enough to take the edge off a violent death. Screw it. She was going to lean back and get some sleep. It would be nice if the end came while she was unconscious. She'd always hoped to die in bed.
Then, just when things were swirling around her head nicely, the back fell out from behind her. She tumbled backward into fierce light. It took her eyes a few moments to adjust. The air was fragrant, moving. Sounds of wild creatures were everywhere, chirping, croaking, calling. She even thought she could hear the river. And the light, once she got used to it, was not blazing sunlight at all, but the soft, diffused light of the deep jungle. She smiled. Overhead were the fat leaves of eucalyptus trees and jungle rushes and... people. Two faces were staring down at her, one dumb-looking skinny young guy and an Oriental so old, he looked as if he were going to crumble to dust any second. And now a third face entered the strange picture above her, framed against the black foliage and the blue sky: a child. Native, Mayan stock. Huaxtec, probably, judging from his build and facial characteristics. A resident of the Quintano Roo region, most likely.
"Are you archaeologists?" she asked.
"We are assassins," the old one said.
That was it. Even valium wouldn't help now.
"What'd she start screaming for?" Remo shouted above the woman's wailing.
"Because she is female," Chiun said.
"Is she hurt?" Remo quickly pulled her out through the opening, prodding her ribs and limbs. The screaming continued unabated. "Do you think she's in pain?"
"Who can say?" Chiun said, shrugging. "Women always feel pain, whether it exists or not."
"Let's get her over here, in the shade." Remo pulled her under a tree. "Now calm down, lady. You're all right."
Dr. Drake stopped screaming abruptly and looked up at him. "You're going to kill me, I suppose," she said.
Remo looked over to Chiun, then back at the woman. She was beautiful, lean and tall, with green eyes and blonde hair pulled up into an unkempt knot. It was the kind of thick Nordic hair that, under better circumstances, would be spilling over bare shoulders and onto her firm, big breasts between expensive sheets. A classy woman, lots of style. But nuts.
"Now, would you mind telling me why I'd go to the trouble of saving your life if I wanted to kill you?" Remo asked, exasperated.
"He said you were assassins," she said, looking warily at Chiun.