Flight of the Serpent Read online

  “How the hell did they find us, anyway?”

  “I’d say it depends on what they’re guarding. A missile base or something like that might have seismic sensors planted along the perimeter. Of course, you put a telescope on top of that mesa, and you could see for twenty miles in any direction. And we weren’t exactly trying to hide, though the next time maybe we should.”

  She braked to a hard stop. “Hold it. Next time we might get ourselves shot.”

  “So you stay out of it.”

  “You’re not taking my truck back there, if that’s what you have in mind.” She was sorry she’d tried to help. It was safer to stick to archaeology, she reminded herself.

  “Nighttime would be best,” Gault mused. “Of course a truck wouldn’t be any use then. Its headlights would show for miles.”

  Nick pretended not to hear.

  “In a plane,” Gault went on, “I could come in at dusk.”

  “If they have sensors, they’ll have radar,” she pointed out.

  “I’ll fly under it.”

  “And do what? There’s no place to land.”

  “A good pilot, flying the right plane, could set down on this road.”

  Open-mouthed, Nick stared at him, looking for any sign that he might be joking. But when he smiled at her, she knew he meant every word.

  Chapter 10

  Nick and Gault returned to Ophir well after dark. By then, they’d driven every back road for miles, without spotting so much as a buzzard, let alone a helicopter. Or any place a Cessna could have landed safely, either.

  The two Feds, Kohler and Odell, were waiting for them when they entered the Emporium. Both looked uncomfortable. Nick sensed bad news immediately. So did Gault, judging by the sudden set of his shoulders.

  The one-room shack, hot and airless as she crossed the threshold, seemed abruptly dank.

  Kohler spoke first. “As you know, Mr. Gault, we sent your grandson’s body to Phoenix. Dental records were transmitted by fax first thing this morning. Identification has been confirmed. That was your grandson in the Cessna. I’m sorry.”

  Nick was about to offer Gault moral support when she saw his face. His jaw was set. He looked more angry than anything else.

  “What we have to do now,” Odell put in, consulting his ever present clipboard, “is to take care of the formalities. We need your approval for disposition of the remains. We can have them sent to a funeral home in Salt Lake City, if that’s convenient.”

  “I’ll pick them up myself, if you don’t mind,” Gault said, his voice taut. “I’ll fly to Phoenix myself.”

  An immediate sense of relief flooded over her. If Gault was flying to Phoenix, he might forget his crazy plan to attempt a night landing in the desert.

  Odell tapped his clipboard. “As for the wreckage . . .”

  “You can keep it, as far as I’m concerned,” Gault said tonelessly.

  “Your insurance company might have something to say about that.”

  Gault opened his mouth to respond, then suddenly seemed to think better of it. His teeth snapped together and he hurried from the room.

  Nick stared after him for a moment. When she turned back to the Feds she felt she had interrupted some secret conversation.

  “By the way, Ms. Scott,” Kohler said, “your father arrived while you were gone. We understand he’s an archaeologist too.”

  “We figured he was worried about your students,” Odell added, “the ones you’ve been neglecting.”

  Nick bristled at the implied criticism and wondered what business it was of theirs. But she decided to keep her mouth shut. Odell reminded her of Ben Gilbert, her unctuous department head at Berkeley. There was something essentially insincere about them both. Besides, her students would be on their way tomorrow, and that would be the end of that complication.

  “Your father filled in for you,” Odell continued. “He got your students digging another trench while he lectured them on the Anasazi Indians. He’s a hell of a speaker, if I do say so myself. I damn near joined in when he said the Anasazi could have been right here in Ophir.”

  Teeth clenched, Nick left the Emporium without another word. Gault was waiting for her just outside.

  “They’re covering up something,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel it in my gut.”

  What Nick was feeling was anger. Thank God her father hadn’t arrived any sooner. His reputation was worldwide. His presence alone would be enough to eclipse her and undermine her authority if the dig were to continue. He wouldn’t interfere intentionally, of course, but her students would look to him, not her. And she couldn’t blame them. After all, Elliot Scott was the grand old man of southwestern archaeology.

  “Most Feds are idiots,” Nick said. “What they usually cover up is their own incompetence.”

  Gault snorted. “I’d agree with you except for the soldiers in the humvee. Matt was looking for a story. Those armed men may be part of it. Though they could be a coincidence. I don’t know yet. But armed men patrolling a perimeter means something big’s going on.”

  “And my helicopter?” Nick said.

  “That’s part of it probably. That and the gas cans you saw in the back seat, though as evidence it’s burned and gone forever. I don’t like any of it, but I don’t know what the hell I can do about it.”

  “I hope that means you’ve given up your plan to land in the desert.”

  He ducked his head sheepishly. “I was angry when I said that. That’s never a good time to make a decision. A night landing in that wasteland would be foolhardy. We both know that. Even so, I’d do it if it would help Matt. But getting myself killed won’t change anything. Still . . .” He gestured helplessly.

  “It’s the right decision,” Nick said. “Even if something funny is going on, I can’t see what it would have to do with Matt’s crash.”

  “I just can’t believe that he would take the risk of loading gas into the back seat of his plane.”

  Before Nick could reply, he shook his head and walked away.

  “You’ll need something to eat,” she called after him.

  He raised a hand, acknowledging the comment, but kept on going.

  Suddenly, she realized he was heading back toward the pickup. She slapped the pocket of her jeans. The keys were there all right, so he wasn’t going anywhere for the moment.

  She sighed. She’d catch up with John Gault later. Right now, she had to deal with her father.

  ******

  Elliot took one look at her and said, “Show my daughter an airplane and all else is forgotten.”

  He was seated in front of a campfire with Nick’s students in attendance. An iron kettle hung over the flames. Since the cooking cauldron was her father’s, a permanent resident of his four-wheel-drive Jeep, she knew he’d driven all night to get there, a three hundred fifty mile trip from Albuquerque. She also knew the next words out of his mouth.

  “The famous Scott stew,” he said, confirming her instincts. “I promised your students a real treat instead of that canned food you’ve been foisting on them. A sort of farewell feast.”

  Taking his time about it, her father looked around the circle of novice archaeologists. “I was only awaiting your arrival before adding the finishing touches.” His eyes glinted with firelight.

  With a groan, Nick sat down and closed her eyes. A day of driving in the desert sun had left her limp and exhausted, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like a supplicant again. In an instant, ten years of hard work fell away. Once more she was a student, there to study at the feet of the great man. But then her father had always had that effect on her. Even a Ph.D., earned on her own at another university to avoid all possibility of nepotism charges, had failed to dispel her awe of his reputation. God alone knew what her students were feeling at the moment, probably awe tempered by the prospect of a decent meal.

  With a dramatic gesture, Elliot rose to stir the pot. Standing in the firelight, casting a long shadow, his six-foot-three frame made him mo
re imposing than ever. Cut him down to our size, Nick’s mother had liked to say, and he wouldn’t be half so formidable.

  “This is an old family recipe,” Elliot said, “created by my wife, Elaine, so that I could turn canned food into something as good as homemade while on my digs. I’m surprised Nick hasn’t introduced you to it before now.”

  Because Elaine’s cooking wasn’t to be trusted, Nick thought. Eating directly from a can or a freeze-dried pack was safer. Nick had learned that after a disastrous Thanksgiving dinner when she was nine years old.

  “Catsup’s the secret,” Elliot went on.

  Sure. It covers up the salmonella.

  But her unsuspecting, wide-eyed students couldn’t take their eyes off Elliot. He had them mesmerized over catsup, for God’s sake. If they’d been using their brains, they’d have caught on to his shenanigans by now and started laughing.

  Nick broke the spell. “Do you remember the food poisoning?”

  “That had nothing to do with one of my stews,” Elliot protested.

  Around the circle gazes faltered. Adoration gave way to hesitation.

  “At least there was a hospital close by where we could get our stomachs pumped.”

  Elliot raised a hand, requesting a truce. “My daughter—your professor—loves her jokes.”

  Nick grinned to let him off the hook. “So let’s eat. I’m starved.”

  Elliot began dishing out the stew. Nick took the first serving and dug in. Whatever he’d done to the canned goods, the result tasted like ambrosia after a day in the badlands with only PowerBars to gnaw on.

  Once everyone was served, Elliot sat beside her. Pointed stares on Nick’s part sent students edging away until she and her father could talk privately, as long as they kept their voices down.

  Between bites, she said, “I hear you put my students to work digging one last trench.”

  “I wanted to make sure they got their money’s worth.”

  “Look at them. They’re exhausted.”

  “Wait till I bring out the marshmallows. There’s nothing like sitting around an open bonfire roasting marshmallows to raise your spirits.” He took a deep breath. “Smell that smoke. Doesn’t that remind you of those digs I took you on as a child?”

  There hadn’t been that many. Elaine wouldn’t allow it. I’ll be alone, she’d worry. Without even my daughter for comfort.

  “I really do have marshmallows,” Elliot went on. “I picked them up on the way here.” He winked, and suddenly she realized the glint in his eye was more than firelight.

  “All right, Elliot, out with it. What the hell are you up to?”

  “Remember what I used to tell you when you’d ask me why I love digging so much?”

  “ ’The next turn of the spade might be the one to reveal an undiscovered world,’ ” she quoted by rote.

  He spread his arms as if congratulating her memory. The students picked up on his gesture and began applauding.

  “You found something.”

  He reached under his seat and came up with a brown octagonal bottle. The brand name, Duffy’s Apple Juice, was in raised glass lettering, as was the 1842 trademark.

  “Does that help?” Elliot asked.

  She hugged him. For her students’ benefit, she said, “This had to belong to the Benson sisters. Throughout their diaries, there are constant references to their mother, who was a great believer in brand names. Duffy’s was one of her favorites.”

  “You’ll need more proof than that,” her father said. “The neighbors could have been using the same brand.”

  “Just you wait,” she said and hurried to her tent.

  When she returned she proudly showed him what she’d found two days before. She noticed that the students were quiet, awaiting the great man’s verdict. Carefully, he removed the object from its protective wrapping and held it up so that it reflected dully in the firelight.

  “I’d say a late nineteenth-century pearl-handled implement of some sort. One end corroded due to oxidation. You can see the start of a curve here. Ah, a buttonhook. A lady’s buttonhook.” Elliot bowed to imaginary applause.

  Nick remembered how much he liked to perform.

  Two could play that game, she thought, and quoted an excerpt from Lillian Benson’s diary from memory. “ ’The fire took most everything we had. But what we miss most are the few treasures mother passed on to us. Our favorite was her pearl-handled buttonhook. But it’s gone forever now, and when we’re gone nothing will remain of our dear mother. It will be as if she never lived.’ ”

  Nick took back the buttonhook. “This will be the highlight of my monograph, but now I can add the bottle.”

  And because of it, she knew, the Bensons would be remembered.

  Elliot put an arm around her. “I taught you well, daughter. The trouble is, I’m only your department head for the summer. Your real boss just happened to give me another call.”

  “Dammit, Elliot. That’s the last straw!” Nick spoke loud enough to send students fleeing for their tents. “If Ben Gilbert has something to say, he should have the guts to do it to my face.”

  As department chair at Berkeley, Gilbert had never forgiven Nick for having Elliot as a father, or for locating a long-lost World War Two airplane whose discovery made her an instant celebrity, not to mention the subject of a lead article in National Geographic. The fact that he had tried to get her fired as a publicity seeker, and failed, didn’t help matters.

  “You’d think he’d have better things to do,” she said, “considering the sexual harassment lawsuits the university is paying off these days.”

  “He’s always sniffing around. Even the fact that my department’s sponsoring this dig doesn’t stop him. Oh, no. Ben Gilbert has his nose to the ground whenever it’s not up somebody’s ass. The trouble is, sooner or later, he’s going to pin something on you. So forget Berkeley. I have an opening in my department right now. Tenure is yours the moment you sign the contract,” Elliot offered.

  “I wouldn’t give Gilbert the satisfaction of leaving.”

  “If it weren’t for him, you’d have tenure on your own.”

  “Just tell me what he said exactly.”

  “ ’Tell her we have to talk soon,’ were his words. It’s what he didn’t say that bothers me.”

  “Such as?”

  Elliot shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I don’t like him any better than you do. So it’s a good thing I came. You need someone to cover your back when you’re playing with your airplanes.”

  “I’m not your little girl anymore.”

  “I should have covered your back then, too.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. Nick’s childhood with Elaine was something she’d never fully discussed with her father. For one thing, no one who hadn’t been there day after day, coping with Elaine’s violent mood swings, could understand what Nick had gone through. For another, Elaine had extracted promises of silence, blood oaths as she called them. Cross your heart, she’d say, and hope to die if you don’t keep our secrets. Elaine had been cowering in dark places most of those times, hiding from demons only she could see.

  “That airplane isn’t one of mine, Dad,” Nick said. “But I’m still glad you’re here.”

  Nodding, Elliot stared into the fire. Maybe it was the flickering light, or the smoke, but her eyes began to water. His too, judging by the way he was wiping them.

  “The plane’s still bothering me, though,” she said after a long silence.

  “I thought you said it was a new one, not collectible at all.”

  “This has nothing to do with archaeology. I think something’s going on.”

  She summarized her brief acquaintance with John Gault, their encounter with armed men in the desert, and the NTSB’s reaction to her eyewitness account of the Cessna and the body inside it.

  When she finished, Elliot paced in front of the fire for a while before speaking. “What is it about you and airplanes? The last one damn near got you killed.”


  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Where is this man, Gault, now? Maybe I’d better meet him for myself.”

  She snorted. “You’re going to like him, Elliot. He’s just like you, obsessive.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “ ’A good archaeologist has to be obsessive.’ Your words, Elliot.”

  It was her motto too, Nick realized. She’d worked hard to get where she was, tenure or no tenure. She, like her father, was a recognized expert in her field. As such, she deserved better than the treatment she’d received at the hands of Kohler and Odell. They’d challenged her abilities. Well, by God, if she got the chance, she’d make them eat their words.

  Chapter 11

  As usual, Nick’s alarm clock woke her ten minutes before sunrise. Even so, Gault was waiting for her outside the wash area. She shooed him behind the modesty tarp.

  “Your father paid me a call last night,” Gault said.

  “Mm,” she said, splashing her face with cold water.

  “He’s a very perceptive man.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What did you tell him about me?”

  She dried her face before responding. “That you’re as obsessive as he is, and that I was worried about you doing something dangerous, like tackling that desert on your own.”

  “I told you I was flying to Phoenix to pick up Matt.”

  “I know what you told me. My father’s told me things like that too, then goes on about his business anyway, even if it’s the exact opposite.”

  “Look,” he said calmly, “you’ve given me more help than I deserve. I’m not at my best right now, but I just think that you—”

  Nick stopped him in mid-sentence. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  She could see that at first he was bewildered. Then a look of understanding showed on his face and he started to laugh.

  He’s not so lost after all, she thought, deciding that he looked almost boyish when he laughed.

  “Are you asking to borrow my truck again?” she said.