Cibola

Chapter 6

Come on Cuz, your public is waiting.” Bones clapped Isaiah on the back as they left the dig site. Up ahead, a throng of people stood outside the gate to Orley’s ranch. He counted at least two vans from local television stations. A few others were too far away to identify. He spotted a bored-looking young man with an expensive camera slung around his neck, and two other men armed with note pads and tape recorders. At the front of the pack, looking quite pleased with herself, stood Amanda Shores. They were walking smack into a press conference.

Orley waited just inside the gate, his face even redder than usual. “You answer their questions and you get ‘em out of here, or I’m shuttin’ the whole thing down, you hear me?”

“Yes, I understand, Mr. Orley,” Isaiah said, his voice tired. Public relations was definitely not his strong suit. “But you must understand, the discovery we’ve made might be of great significance. It’s understandable that the public is interested.”

“To hell with that.” Orley cleared his throat and spat a wad of phlegm in the dust at Isaiah’s feet. “Like I done told you, this is a working ranch, and I want ‘em out of here.” He shoved past Isaiah without giving him a chance to reply. Bones wondered at the man’s comment. He hadn’t noticed much work of any kind going on at the ranch, save the dig.

“Dr. Horsely,” Amanda called out above the din of voices. “Amanda Shores from the Deseret Bugle. We spoke yesterday.”

“Yes, I remember,” Isaiah said. Warily he approached the crowd of reporters. Bones trailed behind, feeling wickedly amused. This ought to be good.

The photographer started clicking away, while two men with television cameras appeared from the throng and started rolling. Amanda asked the first question.

“Dr. Horsely, is it true that your dig has found an image of Jesus Christ among some undisturbed pictographs?”

“Wait a second," Isaiah said, holding up his hands. “We don’t know what the picture is, save that it appears to be a bearded man who is not Native American. Beyond that, we cannot say who the picture represents.”

“Is it true that the image shows natives worshipping Jesus?” asked one of the news reporters, his hooked nose and piercing eyes giving his stare the intensity of a hawk on the hunt. He held his pen poised above the paper like something out of ‘The Pit and the Pendulum”.

“Um, the figures in the picture do appear to be bowing,” Isaiah said, looking stunned. He obviously was not expecting the details to have gotten out so quickly. Someone on the dig needed to keep his or her mouth shut, Bones thought, or have it shut for them.

“Was it common for the native peoples of this region to bow down to bearded men on a regular basis?” Amanda chimed in. People in the crowd laughed. Even Isaiah cracked a smile.

“You have to understand that there are any number of things that are uncommon about this find,” Isaiah protested. “Aside from the fact we’re talking about a painting rather than a pictograph, the representation is done with a level of detail unheard of for the time period, and in a style that is inconsistent with the other images found at this site. We aren’t ruling out anything just yet.”

“But do you have any reason to believe that the painting, or whatever it is, is not legitimate?” This reporter, a willowy blonde in a navy suit, looked and sounded unhappy to be out on this hot, dry, dirty piece of earth. “Aren’t forgeries easy to spot?”

“As I said,” Isaiah said, “we aren’t ruling anything out. The image in question was concealed behind a false wall of sorts, and was not really a part of the other images, which are simply pictographs. I wish I could tell you more, but we just don’t know very much.”

“You are aware that the L.D.S. church has a belief that Jesus visited the New World?” Amanda asked. “Wouldn’t that be the simplest explanation? These natives encountered Jesus and worshiped him?”

“There is no simple explanation for what we’ve found,” Isaiah said. “At any rate, I’m not interested in the simplest explanation, only the truth.”

One of the newspaper men, thick around the middle and thin and gray on top, raised a manicured hand, letting the sun glint off of his fake Rolex. “What sort of proof will you need before you can conclude that this is, in fact, the image of Christ?

“I’m not gathering evidence to support any particular hypothesis. There are local legends that could tie in with this find. There are stories of men with scales that some believe represent Spanish armor. This could very well be evidence of contact with Spanish explorers.”

Not liking the answer, Amanda turned to Bones. “What about you Mr. Bonebrake? What do you think about what you’ve uncovered? I understand it was you who discovered the painting?”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Bones said, wishing she’d left him out of it entirely. “I accidentally busted up some rocks, and there it was. I stepped out of the way and let Dr. Horsely do his thing.”

“We’d still like to hear your thoughts,” the blonde interjected, sounding as if the only thing she’d like would be to get out of there pronto.

“I really wouldn’t be of any help,” Bones said, putting on his biggest dumb smile. “Like I told Miss Shores yesterday, I’m not an archaeologist, just a…”

“You’re just a hard rocking Indian,” Amanda said, her voice cynical. There was a triumphant look in her eyes that made Bones distinctly uncomfortable. “I did some checking on you. Fortunately, Uriah Bonebrake is not exactly an everyday household name.”

“That’s just my nickname,” Bones said, his tension rising at what he suspected was coming. “My real name is Fred Smith. I’m a landscaper from Topeka.”

The blonde actually giggled, but Amanda swooped in for the kill. “What would you like to tell us about first, Mr. Bonebrake? Your service in the SEALS? Your career as a treasure hunter and marine archaeologist?” The other reporters were now looking very interested. “I know,” Amanda said as if she had just thought of it. “Why don’t you tell us about the last archaeological dig you were on? I believe it was at Petra?”

“It was nothing,” Bones said. “I was just a tourist on one of those volunteer digs. I didn’t do much.”

“That’s true,” Amanda said. “You only found a carving of Goliath that had been hidden since Petra’s re-discovery.” This statement elicited a loud murmur from the gathered crowd. The blonde reporter even appeared interested. Amanda continued to press him. “You seem to have a knack for uncovering ancient pictures of biblical figures, don’t you?”

“I didn’t actually find the Goliath carving,” Bones said. Isaiah grinned at him, enjoying the turnabout.

“I’m sorry, was it your partner Dane Maddock who discovered it?” Amanda asked sweetly. “I have a call in to him.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Bones said. “He’s not a people person like I am.” He was filled with a growing certainty that he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this one.

“Tell us about the part where you and Mr. Maddock crawled out of an underground chamber behind the carving, having managed to bring down a whole mountain and effectively destroying the dig.”

Bones thought fast. He had always been a risk-taker. Time to take a chance. “You’re absolutely right, Miss Shores. I do have a fascinating story to tell.” He strode to the gate and vaulted it, landing nimbly on the balls of his feet. Not bad for a sea dog. “I have decided to grant an exclusive interview to this young lady right here.” Two steps took him to where the blonde stood, looking surprised and pleased with the turn of events. He hooked an arm around her waist. “Where is your vehicle Miss..?”

“Dixon,” she stammered, blushing furiously. “Emily Dixon, from Channel..”

“We can discuss all of that later, Miss Dixon. Right now, what I need is a tall, cold cervesa. That’s Cherokee for Budweiser. Care to join me?” Emily laughed and nodded her assent.

Bones turned back toward the tangle of reporters, all protesting vehemently. “I’ll be leaving you now, but Dr. Horsely will be happy to continue this discussion with you.” He ignored the frustrated look in Isaiah’s eyes, and turned back to his new friend. “Shall we go?” She nodded, and he led her toward his truck.

“Mr. Bonebrake!” Amanda shouted. “Will you at least tell us if you think it’s possible that the image is that of Christ?”

“Who knows if Jesus came to America?” Bones shouted back. “I mean, he’s the son of God. I guess he could… I don’t know… fly.”

He didn’t know if it was the rattle of his cell phone vibrating on the nightstand, or the “Detroit Rock City” ringtone, but one of the two awakened him in a most unpleasant way. He rolled over, groaning at the pain in his head, and grabbed the phone. The number on the display was unfamiliar, but it was from the local area code. It was probably Isaiah.

He flipped it open and held it to the ear that was ringing the softest. “Bones,” he croaked.

“Uh, I’m sorry,” said a soft, feminine voice. “What did you say?”

“This is Bones,” he growled. He really wasn’t in the mood for a wrong number, especially after Emily had played him like a violin. He had been completely sucked in by her ditsy reporter act, and when he finally spilled the Petra story, she’d suddenly remembered that she needed to be home early. He’d always been a sucker for the sorority girl types, but they’d never been any good for him. In fairness, she had said goodbye with a kiss that had some potential, and a phone number that might even have been hers. He hadn’t bothered to check it out. “How can I help you?”

“Did you say Bones? I’m looking for someone who knows Isaiah Horsely.”

Bones sat up straight, his head clearing fast. Something was wrong. “This is Uriah Bonebrake. I’m his cousin. What’s up?”

“Bonebrake, Bones, sorry about that I’m just upset.” A nervous laugh. “And I’m babbling. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s all right ma’am. What can I do for you?” He struggled to keep the impatience out of his voice.

“My name is Allison Hartwell. I’m Doctor Horsely’s neighbor. I found your name and number on a notepad on his kitchen table. I need to let someone know that there’s been…” The pause seemed interminable. He was about to tell her to speed it up when she finished the sentence. “There’s been an accident.”

Forty minutes later he was wandering through the mostly empty corridors of the local hospital looking for the pre-op room. There weren’t many people to guide him this time of night, but thankfully it was a small place. He soon found the door, and walked in without knocking.

“Excuse me, but what are you doing?” A gaunt young doctor with stringy ginger hair and a clipboard stepped in front of him. He had guts. The fellow was almost Bones’ height, but couldn’t weigh more than a buck and-a-half. “You can’t be back here.”

“I’m here to see Isaiah Horsely. I’m his next of kin.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed and a look of skepticism crossed his face. “Mister Horsely is about to go into surgery.”

“I understand the concept of pre-op,” Bones said. He leaned in, the two of them now nose-to-nose. “I’m asking nicely. Please.”

The fellow could take a hint. “Come with me.” He turned and led Bones to a curtained room where a uniformed police officer stood.

“Who is this?” the cop asked. He wasn’t foolish enough to stand in Bones’ way.

“He is the next of kin,” the doctor said. “He’ll only be a moment.”

“I’ll want to talk to you when you’re done in there,” the officer said. Bones nodded and stepped into the pre-op room.

Isaiah lay under a pristine white sheet. His face was swollen, and his head heavily bandaged. His swollen lips were an ugly purple under the too-bright lights. He had taken a hell of a beating. The neighbor girl, Allison, had warned Bones, but it was still terrible to see. Isaiah’s arms were atop the sheet, and both were badly bruised. Defensive injuries, Bones supposed. His eyes followed the I.V. drip from Isaiah’s hand up to the bag. He looked at the vital sign monitors, but the numbers meant little to him. He couldn’t believe someone would do this to Isaiah, who had always been so bookish and gentle of spirit, and was a good man. Bones grimaced. The culprits had better pray the cops got to them before he did.

A nurse stepped into the room and cleared her throat. “We’re taking him back now. You can say your goodbyes.”

Bones knelt down next to Isaiah’s right shoulder and laid his hand on his upper arm. “I’m here. You awake?”

Isaiah opened one eye as much as his swollen lids would allow. The corners of his mouth twitched. He was trying to smile.

“They’re going to get you all fixed up, man.” Bones said, hoping this was true. “And when you’re all better, we’ll get this mess cleaned up. All of it.” He gave Isaiah’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and stood to leave.

“Bones,” Isaiah said in a soft voice that was almost a wheeze.

“Yeah?” Bones leaned down so that his ear was close to his cousin’s face. “I’m listening.”

“Orley… doesn’t have a bull.” Isaiah closed his eyes and said no more.

“What was that?” Bones asked, but Isaiah’s steady breathing indicated that he had lapsed into sleep.

“I’m sorry sir, but we have to take him now,” the nurse said. “The waiting area is down the hall to your right. The doctor will find you when the surgery is over.”

Bones thanked her and headed to the waiting area. He wanted to sleep, but something told him he would be up all night trying to figure out why in the world it mattered that Orley did not have a bull.