Legend

1

The woman paced in the small, cluttered office, pausing for a brief moment to look at the old man sitting in the swivel chair behind an ancient mahogany desk. He was dressed in a chambray work shirt and wore carpenter's overalls. The thick, horned-rimmed glasses would slide down his nose and he would absentmindedly push them back up to their proper place. He handled the old letter, a set of orders actually, carefully and with the necessary respect one had to show documents of that age. The woman wiped away the sweat on her brow and then without thinking about it pulled her blond hair back and slipped a thick rubber band around it, forming a ponytail. She then turned to look out of the five-hundred-year-old leaded glass window, which gave a blurry, skewed look to the world outside.

San Jeronimo el Real was one of the oldest Catholic churches in Spain and was currently closed for a much-needed engineering renovation. The beautiful Gothic building dated back to 1503 and had already seen many restorations, but this time it was work that would allow the building to stay on its original foundations for another five hundred years. The hammering and sound of jackhammers echoed in the ancient edifice, while outside in the streets many of Madrid's older population passed by and crossed themselves in reverence of the church.

"My dear professor, this letter," the man lightly brushed his right index finger across the dried ink, "could be a clever forgery, have you even considered that?"

The woman turned away from the window to face the archbishop of Madrid. The old man carefully laid the letter down and gently tapped the two pages together, carefully aligning them on his desk blotter. The woman noted the delicate way he handled the pages and knew he believed them to be authentic. She stepped to a chair, opened her small case, and removed a laptop. She typed in a quick command and then laid the computer on the archbishop's desk, carefully avoiding the old text she brought for him to examine.

"The signature on the letter has been identified as that of Father Enrico Fernaldi, clerk of the Vatican Archives. The handwriting was verified by the Vatican Archives, and what you see is a copy of that verification taken from the texts of not less than twenty-seven other documents of that time, including the two-page authorization letter you just examined from 1873."

Archbishop Lozano Santiago, the seventy-two-year-old curator of this and twenty-one other Vatican properties, smiled and looked up from the computer screen that held the image of the very same signature that was on the Vatican letter sitting before him.

"I compliment you on the trap you have so easily sprung on me, Professor Zachary, very clever."

Dr. Helen Zachary, chairperson of the Zoology Department of Stanford University, smiled also. "I mean you no disrespect, Your Eminence," she responded, knowing his blessing would depend upon that very point of proof. As a guardian of one of the most protected Vatican secrets in the world, this man would prove to be formidable.

"Just because the letter and the orders contained in it seem to be authentic, doesn't mean it holds truth in its words," he said as he lightly closed the lid to her laptop. "After all, the Holy Church has been known from time to time to use subterfuge in the handling of state secrets, a small conceit for something as taboo as the information you are seeking.

"The artifacts that are clearly described and mentioned in the order were sent away from the Vatican in 1875, after one of the civilian clerks was arrested by the Swiss Guard for trying to smuggle them out of the archive subbasement in November of the previous year, 1874. As it says in that letter to Pope Pius IX himself, and I quote, 'The necessity of hiding the articles is a must; their presence will only cause corruption in good and decent men.' That is why the mission to hide the artifacts was trusted only to knights of the Vatican, the papal medalists, and why, according to that letter you just read, Pope Pius IX ordered the diary to be sent here to Madrid and hidden away in this very church. The map was to be sent as far away as it could be sent and still be in the trusted hands of a knight of the Holy Order. That place was the United States, but the knight it was entrusted to met an unfortunate end and the map was lost forever."

The archbishop slid his large chair back and stood without much difficulty. For a man that was used to grandeur in all things, he seemed well suited to a working man's clothes.

"You don't strike me as a fanatical treasure hunter." He crossed from behind his desk to the front, where he carefully picked up the two-page Vatican letter. "I was sure the area of zoology tended toward the acquisition of knowledge on a more… nonavaricious level."

"I assure you I'm not a treasure hunter. My field is the study of animal life, not hunting down the Padilla legend."

The archbishop regarded the letter once again and then held it out to Zachary. The mere mention of the lost expedition of Captain Padilla, a story handed down by word of mouth from Spaniard to Spaniard and which was fraught with tales of gold and mystery, the legendary El Dorado, was almost enough for him to stop talking immediately.

"You are to be congratulated at the very least for your persistence in digging up such a rare find as a Vatican document as important as this."

Helen took the age-yellowed pages from his hand.

"These were," she hesitated a moment, "lent to me by a friend in the States who collects very old things."

"Indeed," he said. "I would be interested to know how many more secret documents this friend has that belong to the Church. Maybe Interpol would be curious as well."

Helen wanted to steer away from her source of the letter; she didn't need that headache. And the mere thought of Interpol's tracking down her source was almost laughable.

"So you agree it is an authentic order?" she asked.

"Even if it were I would never divulge any information about the Padilla diary or the map, my dear professor. Even if said knowledge was in my possession, I would never allow — I mean, the Church would never allow such recklessness to once again stain its history, and surely not for treasure seekers such as you or whoever is backing you." He turned his back on her. "If I were to guess, you have a partner in this endeavor, yes?"

Helen looked at her feet a moment and then closed her eyes. She held the thin and precious pages gently in both hands.

"I do have a silent partner that will back me for my reasons for going, and that reason is not for gold or glory, but for a far greater find."

The archbishop turned and stared hard at the thirty-six-year-old woman. She was tanned and striking, her green eyes ablaze with passion.

"Perhaps it is time you tell me the reason you want to see the diary." He held up a finger when Helen's smile returned. "This is not an admission that I have the cursed thing, or that it is even in the possession of the Holy Church."

"Believe me, Your Eminence, I would never have had to bother you if the quest for the Padilla map had been successful, but I'm afraid it's truly lost."

He frowned. "You are positive?"

"Yes," she said sadly as she moved toward a far corner of the small office, "I'm afraid it's gone forever."

"A shame, indeed, but as you know, the legend says that Padilla had managed to secure samples from the richest gold mine in history; are they lost also?"

"I have no interest in that part of the legend. Only the fact that Father Escobar Corinth had the map and samples placed into two separate containers of which no description has ever been discovered."

"For good reason perhaps, for even your Vatican letter says that to open these containers would bring a curse upon anyone who defied the Vatican locks."

Helen reached the far corner of the room and carefully picked up an aluminum container. She hefted it and placed it on the desk, narrowly avoiding the laptop there.

"I didn't think the Catholic Church gave credence to such ridiculous superstition."

"It is just a story that is told. We don't believe in curses, officially anyway. Even Satan has taken a backseat, a mere lowercase evil in today's teachings."

"So, is it a tale that is remembered through mere legend, or one that you read in a diary by a long-dead conquistador of Spain?" she asked while matching his smile with her own.

He wagged a finger at her. "You are fishing again, Professor, but this fish is not so easy to hook."

She turned and unsnapped the four clasps on the aluminum box. An audible pop was heard as the airtight container became unsealed.

"You are indeed a difficult fish to hook, Your Grace," she said, nodding at the aluminum carrying case, "possibly as hard as this fish would be to catch." She opened the box and stepped away so the archbishop could see its contents.

He immediately froze and found taking a breath had become a chore. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs for that simple reflexive action. His eyes widened and he quickly crossed himself. Around him the noises from the ongoing foundation renovation continued, but it went unheard by the archbishop.

"Our Lord Jesus Christ," he mumbled as old church doctrine came flooding back to him.

Helen Zachary didn't smile or speak. Having had to show the contents of the container was a last-ditch effort to get the archbishop's assistance. Not only that, but much more important, his trust. After all, she was only asking him to disobey a papal command in order to help her.

"As I said, the treasures I seek have nothing to do with gold or the riches of man. It's knowledge I seek. I need your help. The rumor of strange and exotic animal life described in the diary may be connected to this object."

"This…this, fossil, how old is it?"

Helen looked at the skeletal remains of the hand. They had been carefully packed in a soft foam cutout. The four fingers were long, at least seventeen inches from palm to tip. The thumb was half that length, and the bone was thick and very powerful looking. Three of the digits had very lethal-looking clawed tips. The other claws were obviously absent due to its extreme age. Patches of petrified flesh were visible.

"I'm afraid it barely qualifies as a fossil, Your Grace, we have estimated its age at only seven hundred years, give or take a decade, placing it in the time frame of the Padilla expedition."

"Is this possible?" he asked. "No, no, this cannot be."

Helen slowly and carefully placed the lid back on the aluminum container and snapped the clasps closed. Then she pressed a small button on the container's lid once, twice, three times, expelling the air that had entered the protective box and thus any contaminant that may have been allowed in. When she was finished she placed the container back onto the floor and turned back to the archbishop.

"The legend of the Padilla expedition and the rumors surrounding its demise may have been no mere legend, or just a story to scare school-children at night. This is the treasure we are seeking. Can you imagine what we may discover at that site if we can find the route? If you have read the diary, is such a strange and wonderful creature as this described by Padilla?"

Archbishop Santiago slowly made his way to his chair. His emotions were in a vortex, for he had always prided himself as being a progressive entity in his church. Never one to shy away from real facts of science, he was one of the few that knew the real truth of this world can only strengthen one's faith in there being a God and his son Jesus Christ. But this was something he had never counted on, possible proof that man had sprung from something other than God's image. He removed his glasses and tossed them onto his desk. The words he had read many times over the years that sent chills down his spine — were they words that painted a picture of actual creatures and not just the ravings of overzealous imaginations? The legend of Padilla was told by millions of people the world over, and each telling told of the wondrous sights and all described the horrible beast that guarded a magical valley.

"I need to examine that diary. I'm begging you," Helen said as she sat down in a chair. She placed her arms on her knees as she leaned forward. "I know one of your many passions is learning about our past; you even have a doctorate in world history from the University of Venice. So you must see that this fossil is possible proof we didn't develop alone, that we had relatives that grew alongside of us."

Santiago sat in his chair motionless. He rubbed his eyes, at the back of which had suddenly sprouted a headache.

"Was it sent to San Jeronimo el Real for safekeeping in 1875?" she asked point blank, while closing her eyes as if in prayer.

He swallowed and cleared his throat.

Helen looked up and into the man's brown eyes. Her own were now wide and expectant.

"I will not allow the diary to leave church property. You may make two copies of the pages you seek; they may give enough descriptive information of landmarks to allow you to find the area you wish to find. The rest of the diary is not for your eyes, even if it can help you. There's a reason that information is buried in this church. And since the map and gold samples are irrevocably lost to the world, it would seem I have little choice but to help you. I will not be a roadblock to knowledge." He noticed her expression. "You are shocked? At first I was also, but then I thought this is not faith shattering, it only proves that God is still mysterious and his ways unknowable. But that does not mean that knowledge cannot be a dangerous thing."

Helen closed her eyes again and clasped her hands together, not really listening to Santiago's warning. But she refrained from verbally expressing any joy when she saw the archbishop's expression of consternation as he rose from his chair.

She stood also, shaking with the excitement at knowing her search for the diary of Captain Hernando Padilla had come to an end. The artifact she had shown the archbishop had the effect she had prayed for.

"I'm afraid you may have stumbled upon something God has seen fit to hide in an inaccessible place for a reason, and, from what I saw in that case, Professor, you would be wise beyond your young years to leave this alone."

"If I may ask, why are you willing to assist me?"

He turned toward her again, his face a scowl. "I have read the diary, from cover to cover, many times." He saw her expression. "Does it surprise you that I would naturally be curious as to the old legends? But it is not only mere curiosity that guides me, but the fact that there are other things in that jungle besides your mysterious animal I must know about firsthand. You will be my messenger, because certain decisions will have to be made about this mysterious world you are going to, and you will assist me in acquiring the information I need to make those decisions. That is the deal, and for that reason alone is why I will help you."

She started to respond but the archbishop had already opened the thick oaken door and was gone.

The Preciados Hotel Madrid had luxurious nineteenth-century room decor and twenty-first-century avant-garde public areas. At ten o'clock in the evening, those public areas were crowded with tourists and businesspeople enjoying a warm summer night.

In her room for the past hour after returning from her appointment with Archbishop Santiago, Helen Zachary sat on the edge of the large bed, deep in thought. She looked over at her suitcase that was packed and ready to go. Only moments before, she had moved up her flight to New York and was now booked to leave at three in the morning. Inside her carefully packed suitcase, tucked between some innocuous pages of her notebook, were photocopies of the two pages she had been permitted to see of the diary of Captain Hernando Padilla. She had actually started to shake when the old diary had been placed in her hands by the archbishop. The book had felt warm to her touch. It was as if the weight of the days described within its pages fell directly onto her shoulders. Without reading the tale that was written by a once strong hand, Helen knew the journal told details of wonder and horror. When she opened the diary, the archbishop had removed it easily from her grasp to turn to the agreed-upon pages that described the route one needed to take to find the lagoon and falls that were hidden in a small valley. He didn't trust her enough to allow her to even accidentally read anything other than those two pages.

As she sat there and calculated how long it would be before she could start organizing the million and one things she would have to coordinate to launch the expedition, a knock sounded at her door. She was startled out of her thoughts.

"Yes?" she called.

There was no answer through the thick door. Helen stepped up and asked again as she leaned close to use the peephole. "Yes?"

"It is Madrid, Dr. Zachary, not Tehran," a voice answered through the door. "It is quite safe to open your door here."

She swallowed when she finally recognized the voice. She moved quickly to undo the chain and unlock the door. Standing there, dressed casually, was a tall man in a black suit, white shirt, and scarlet-colored tie. His blond hair was combed straight back and he was smiling.

"Dr. St. Claire, how in the world did you know what hotel I was in?" She opened the door wider to allow him in.

"Professor, your expense account and credit cards have been issued by our mutual friend in Bogota. Believe me when I say it wasn't at all difficult to locate you." He stepped easily into the room and immediately noticed the suitcase.

"You caught me off guard. I didn't even have time to call you with the wonderful news."

"So your mission to Madrid has been fruitful?" he asked with undisguised excitement.

"Yes, the archbishop relented and allowed me to copy the route from the diary."

"I must know, Helen, what was it like, grasping the diary, something that has been so elusive to us?"

"Oh, Henri, it was indescribable, it was like holding on to history itself."

The tall man smiled and grasped her hands. "I knew it would be. Tell me, did you have to show him the fossil?"

Helen Zachary momentarily closed her eyes and then smiled and opened them. "Yes, he was shocked, but he also knew something of marine life. You were right about that; how did you know?"

"Always know what it is that will move those to your side of the game board." He let go of her hands and looked in a deliberate manner around the room. "Why, it looks as if you are packed; according to my information, you aren't due to leave here until tomorrow."

"Yes, I thought I would get an earlier flight back home as soon as possible. I don't want to waste any time at all in getting things started. If we hurry we can miss the rainy season in Brazil," she lied.

He turned and fixed her with his blue eyes. He smiled broadly, showing his teeth, but Helen saw that the smile never reached his eyes.

"Good news, then; you can return to the States with me. Banco de Juarez International Economica has a private jet refueling even as we speak. We can fly straight to California without the need for a layover in New York."

Helen was taken aback for a moment, then she quickly recovered and tried to look pleased. "That's wonderful, the sooner the better. Do you think there will be any problems with the initial financing for the expedition, now that we know where we are going?"

"Not at all considering what we are after. Joaquin Delacruz Mendez and his banking concern have never once denied me financing on a project." He looked pointedly at her suitcase. "Helen, are you forgetting something?"

She turned away and removed her coat from the closet. "I don't believe so."

"The copies, you silly goose; may I see them?"

She took a deep breath and started to recite the lines she had memorized just in case she was asked this very question before she returned to home soil.

"I know I'm just being paranoid, but to be on the safe side I sent the copies to myself by registered mail along with the fossil, Henri. I didn't want any Customs problems with either the copies or the artifact." She walked over to her suitcase, in which she had carefully placed the notebook.

"Prudent, but didn't I explain before you left that Customs in New York would have been taken care of?" His left eyebrow rose with the question.

"It completely slipped my mind." She lifted her suitcase and then cringed inwardly when Henri took it for her.

"Well, too late to worry about that now; by the time I return from Bogota the copies will have arrived, and then we can examine them together and chart our route." He moved to the door and opened it, her suitcase firmly in hand. He allowed her to exit the room, then closed the door and followed. His eyes never left the back of Helen Zachary's head as they walked down the richly appointed hallway. He sensed deceit in her but held his tongue.

"What an adventure we have ahead of us, Henri," she said as she felt his eyes on her back.

"Yes, yes we do, my dear professor, a grand adventure," said the man known to Helen as Henri St. Claire. His real name was Colonel Henri Farbeaux and he maintained his false smile as he carried her bag behind her. An international thief of antiquities, Colonel Farbeaux was wanted by the police agencies and governments of many nations around the world. And they all knew the man could be a coldblooded adversary. But for the moment he was content to be known as just Helen Zachary's silent partner.

2

Helen's offices on the Stanford University campus were dark save for the small sanctuary she called home when she wasn't in the field. The rooms could barely be called an office at all. The outer classroom was taken up with equipment and seating for her students, along with numerous exhibits from her time outside of the university. Her personal space was cluttered with a small lab table, and by maps of every conceivable size that were pinned to every inch of wall space. They all showed regions in South America that were affectionately known as the edge of the world to her many students. A few of them had handwritten legends stating Here there be Dragons, as a joke aimed at her cryptozoology leanings. Henri St. Claire stood looking over Helen's shoulder at the map laid out on her desk, showing the route she had painstakingly planned.

"So we will enter the basin from the Brazilian side and not follow Padilla's original route? I would think that you would follow the Spaniard's trail precisely to make sure nothing is bypassed."

"Normally I would, but his original trek was through the Andes and many hundreds of miles of rainforest that we can now avoid by going through Brazil rather than Peru. The mixture of jungle and forest is so thick that even space-based photography is unable to penetrate it, and I really don't relish the thought of boating through that, do you?" She pointed to several color images taken from the U.S. Geological Survey photos. "We know the tributary is there, we have the proof now. Entering the valley and the lagoon from the east is possible; just because we can't see it, doesn't mean its not there. Besides, getting permission from the Peruvian government to cross their territory has proven in the past to be impossible. Now, as long as we are straightforward, Brazil offers up assistance freely, with only the proviso that their government is represented on the expedition to make sure nothing untoward takes place."

"That is also a concern not only of mine, but also of our financial backer, Mr. Mendez. We take security very seriously, Helen; after all, he is not exactly using just his own funds for this venture, but the Banco de Juarez also. Strangers should not be allowed to come."

"Unavoidable, I'm afraid." She made a show of examining the handwritten route as laid down by Hernando Padilla. "Brazil has had an inordinate amount of antiquities leaving their country. They insist on having a Customs official in attendance on the expedition and, believe me, they will tolerate no change in their policy." She laid the magnifying glass down and looked Henri in the eye.

He smiled. "Then that is the way it shall be. So that brings the number of team members to forty-six students, professors, and guides."

Farbeaux looked down once again at the copies of the diary pages that he had methodically examined for himself upon his return from Colombia. He agreed the route Helen proposed was indeed the best one, according to the description laid down by the Spanish captain.

"Very well, Professor Zachary, I approve of the route you have chosen and will relay that approval to Mr. Mendez upon my return to Bogota for the final payment of the expeditionary funding. Helen, you have done marvelously. All the research, the trail going cold time after time, but your tenacity and your beliefs finally paid off."

"Thank you. If I didn't have the free hand you gave me it wouldn't have been so smooth." She handed him a glass of champagne. "To a new, or should I say, an old life form we hope to bring to the light of day," she toasted.

"To history," he countered, "and lost things," hoisting his glass.

He sat the glass down, carefully avoiding torching the new maps that Helen had worked so hard on. He rolled up the copy she had made so he could deliver it to Bogota and their financier.

"So I will see you next in five weeks in Los Angeles."

"Helen, this is one boat ride I wouldn't miss for the world," he said as he tapped the rolled-up map against her shoulder.

Helen watched as Henri climbed into his rented car and drove away. She laughed softly as she turned and walked back into her small office. She sat at the small lab table she used as a desk and looked down at the map they had just studied together. She used her right index finger to lightly trace the flow of the Amazon River she had depicted. Then she used both hands to wad up the copy of the map and toss it into the waste can in the corner. She did the same with the copy of the Padilla diary pages. It had taken her a full three days to plan the misleading route she had given to St. Claire, and another two days of actually drawing it and creating the falsified diary pages. But she knew it had been worth it, as the good Professor St. Claire had taken to heart her grand forgery and fake route.

After she had tossed the forgery into the trash, Helen poured herself another glass of champagne and walked with it to one of her filing cabinets that crowded the office. She sat the glass on top, unlocked the second drawer, and removed a folded chart and a small file folder. She took the chart, the file, and her glass to her table and sat down. She unfolded the real map and then removed from the file the copies she had actually made of the diaries.

Helen smiled and took a sip from her glass. Then she took her cell phone from her pocket and started pushing numbers she had memorized. She had never actually programmed them into her phone, for security reasons.

"This is Robert."

"Is everything ready in San Pedro?" Helen sipped from her glass again.

"We're loading the largest of the equipment now, deck space will be kinda tight, but we'll manage; we should be finished in a few hours."

"How about the replacement grad student, the one you found at Berkeley, did she show up?"

There was only a moment's hesitation, then her assistant Robby answered, "Yes, ma'am, she arrived an hour ago and is already situated. I think you'll be more than satisfied with her. She's one of the brightest in her field; she knows animals."

"Good. Look, I'll be down in about three hours, I'm flying into LAX. My attorney should be arriving there about the same time my flight is landing, so please make sure he's shown to the ship's company office and tell him I'll be there soon, okay?"

"You got it, Doc. So how did your final meeting with the money man go?"

"It went better than expected. He gave us the second check and left for Bogota to pick up the third part of our financing. It's just too bad we didn't need that part. But it will keep him away and out of our hair until we sail. Have our new benefactors arrived yet?"

"Yeah, they're here, all six of them, that Dr. Kennedy guy and five others. What do you want us to do with all of Henri St. Claire's geological stuff, the magnetometers and other mining equipment?"

She took a large swallow of champagne and smiled as it went down. "Leave it on the dock with a note saying, 'Liar, liar, pants on fire.' "

"You got it, Doc, see you in a few."

Helen closed her cell phone and stopped smiling. She hated screwing over someone like Henri St. Claire, but he never should have misrepresented himself as someone who was in this for the sole reason of discovering one of the mysteries of the ages. He was in this for greed, his own and that of the gangster who called himself a banker.

"There would be no hunting for the mythical El Dorado on this trip, Dr. St. Claire. Where we're going, you cannot follow," she said to herself as she placed the real map and Padilla pages in her briefcase, stood, and made her way out into the evening.

The national security advisor sat behind his desk facing his computer monitor that was presently split into four separate pictures. In the far left corner was General Stanton Alford, commanding general of the United States Army Corps of Engineers. On the right top was Rear Admiral Elliott Pierce, U.S. Naval Intelligence; directly below him was the frowning countenance of General Warren Peterson, U.S. Army Intelligence; and to the left of him, U.S. Air Force Intelligence chief General Stan Killkernan. They were there to discuss a file the CIA, and before them the OSS, the Office of Strategic Services, had kept under wraps since the days before World War II. The gathered intelligence officers weren't taking the new development well.

"If the Joint Chiefs or the president even get an inkling of what we've done it will be all our asses in a sling, and it all starts with you, Mr. Ambrose. The last I heard, the president wasn't too fond of his generals around here. I believe the title of the book we opened to the world these past few days is called treason. Not only have we supplied an outlawed material to a foreign nation, but now we are stealing actual weapons for use on the soil of a friendly country. This whole plan is spiraling out of control," General Peterson said as he glared into the camera on his end at the Pentagon.

"We have no choice but to send the weapon and team down to South America as a precaution. What if the old site is rediscovered? The prewar material could only be traced back to us if a link is found from the old incursion, something that leads to the storage facility where the material was stored. But other than that, the only way it can be linked to us is if one of you loses his nerve. Gentlemen, if that professor brings that area of Brazil out into the light of day, the whole damned mess becomes public," the national security advisor said angrily.

"I agree," said Stanton Alford. "After all, we may not even have a site that has to be destroyed. I don't believe this Professor Zachary will ever find it. Hell, we don't even know where it is. We only have the material, not the location where it was found. The Corps of Engineers was the only department to document the 1942 incursion, and that report was buried in National Archives files. And since the old material is in Iraq and no longer in this country, it's untraceable back to us unless this one engineer report from the war years is discovered in the National Archives files, and we'll have that file tagged and monitored."

"What about Zachary's source? We're not even sure how she got her information."

Alford was tiring of the debate. "The only other mention of the mine is in rumor and innuendo and a possible diary that's over five centuries old. My department had control of the army samples for seventy years. It was never turned over to the regulatory commission nor was it ever classified as a weapon by the old War Department. So, I say we err on the side of caution and send our team in with the expedition. As I said, that crazy woman probably won't find a damned thing. She's using five-hundred-year-old data from a conquistador, for Christ's sake! It's like finding one needle in five thousand haystacks. She could have only come across the description of the location in the National Archives' database. The diary theory is ridiculous."

"And if the site is found? You say the answer is to possibly eliminate the entire Zachary expedition with your fail-safe alternative, with a nuke and some SEALs? It's fucking murder!" General Peterson exclaimed angrily.

"My men won't let it get that far. I've worked with this particular strike team before and they're very good. No American citizens will be harmed. I can guarantee that," Rear Admiral Pierce said confidently. "Besides, what if this mine is still in existence, we could never allow a third-world nation to have access to Pandora's box, now can we? We set the tactical weapon inside the mine and bring it down. Problem solved."

"There are too goddamn many variables, Elliott, sneaking a team in there right under the noses of the Joint Chiefs and the president. I'm not even going to mention how Brazil would react to an intrusion like that. And this tactical weapon you're sending? I don't want to think about what security procedures have been violated for that little bit of skullduggery. This is fucking madness and I didn't sign on to kill American citizens!"

"General Peterson, it's already been decided. We unanimously agreed, you included, that the location of the Padilla site cannot become public knowledge, ever. As for the material — if it's discovered in Iraq, only by a long shot can it be traced back here to our doorstep, because it was neither refined nor mined here. The only way for it to come to light is if some reference is found to it. Yes, this lady professor in her maddening zeal to find the Padilla site discovered one link, but it was a fluke. The only other reference to the area is in the old Padilla legends that the scientific community scoffs at and doesn't take at all seriously. The location of the site and what exactly was mined and brought out of there are buried deep in the memories of the survivors of the initial incursion in the forties, if any are even alive today. Now, you went along with the deployment of the material the same as we did, and the aggression was stopped."

"As I said, we've gotten in over our heads here, we need—"

"You'll have your position in the government after the next election, just as I will. The mission is a 'go.' And that particular weapon you are so concerned about, if it is to be used at all, was entered into the naval inventory as inactive and destroyed, so no one will miss it. Anyway, I doubt very much anyone has to be eliminated. Now, that's all, just go about your business, and let Rear Admiral Pierce and myself handle the fine print. Good day, gentlemen."

Ambrose didn't wait for another concern to be voiced that would lead to splintering; it was always best to commit right away so there would be no going back.

The thin-framed national security advisor turned away from his desk and shook his head as he again picked up the morning intelligence report on the border activity between Iran and Iraq. He smiled as he saw the sentence in italics: As of 0345 this morning eastern daylight time, satellite imagery has verified the total withdrawal ofall Iranian combat divisions from the adjoining border with Iraq.

As he tossed the morning briefing on his desk, he walked over to the coat rack and put on his suit jacket in preparation for the president's morning intel brief. He couldn't help but wonder in the end what price one would pay for peace. He picked up his phone and placed a call.

"Yes," the tired voice said.

"Congratulations on your mission to Iran. How's your jet lag?"

"I'm too tired to think about it, but we did leave the damned Iranians something to ponder. Iraq may not have the bomb to stop them from invading, but they now have something just as terrifying. Now, what about this expedition you briefed me on, this Professor Zachary?"

"We have it covered; there will be no amazing discoveries coming out of that area of the world. And if anyone else here goes digging into the same files the last person did, we'll be alerted; it's been red-flagged and we'll be able to trace it to the computer terminal that's being used. Sometimes it's very advantageous to be partners with the intel chiefs."

"Good. Is there anything else before we brief the president and the press corps on our diplomatic triumph?"

"No, everything is going well. I will be speaking to our partners in Brazil soon, to finalize our fail-safe positions as far as this expedition is concerned, if our SEAL friend fails to do what was ordered."

"I know it is distasteful at times to deal with people such as this, but the end will justify the means. Let's just close up the mine connection for good and move on with the real business at hand."

"I agree. Enjoy all the accolades for your harrowing diplomacy from our current man in office. If he only knew how he was helping us in the election! Anyway, this latest diplomatic coup should put you right over the top in the polls. Peace in our time, right?" He thought he was being smart, quoting Neville Chamberlain.

"I sometimes wonder if it was all worth it. As they say, you can't put the genie back in the bottle."

As the national security advisor hung up the phone he placed the morning report back in the red-bordered file and then he frowned. He knew that the sale of their souls to the Devil was the price all six conspirators had just paid for "peace in our time."

After Robby Hanson closed the cell phone he looked around and, when he saw no one watching him, he turned to the overhang of the second deck and waved the girl over. She smiled and came out of the shadows.

"What did she say?" the twenty-year-old asked.

"She's clueless; as long as she's finally going on her dream cruise down the Amazon, Professor Zachary doesn't care who's on this trip. Besides it's not like we're lying about your being a grad student from Berkeley, is it?"

The girl smiled and leaned forward to kiss Robby on the lips. "I just had to go. How could I miss the trip of a lifetime?"

"Yeah, but how much trouble am I going to get into? Remember it was me who helped you ditch your protection. Your father's going to freakin' flip his gourd." Robby shook his head, kissed the girl again, then turned her away from him.

"Go to your cabin and start getting acquainted with your fellow travelers, and stay out of sight until you check your equipment. And by the way, Kelly, your name is Cox. Leanne Cox. God, I'm dead," he mumbled.

She batted her eyes. Grabbing her brand-new seabag, she started for the hatchway leading belowdecks. Then she stopped and turned. "Don't tell me my secret fiance is afraid of my father?"

Robby smiled and started making check marks on his manifest. "Why would I be afraid of one of the most powerful men in the world, surely not I, Ms. Cox?"

Farbeaux decided to drive to Los Angeles from Palo Alto. Taking Highway 1 relaxed him and allowed his mind to absorb the mission and think. He had placed Helen Zachary's map inside a cylindrical container and placed it in the trunk. As he whistled he removed from his jacket pocket a Spanish cross once owned by Father Corinth. The last time Pizarro's priest had seen the cross was in 1534. The warmth of it radiated out into his hand as he looked at it. How clever of Corinth to have placed both ore samples together in this most ingenious way. The large cross had inadvertently fallen to Farbeaux over a year earlier when it had been offered as payment by a former employer for services rendered. It had gone through a few changes while handed down through the Corinth family. Jewels had been added, and a thin plating of gold. The surprise he found inside its hidden compartment was an amazing stroke of luck.

Farbeaux knew the riches to be found in that near-forgotten lagoon were now close to being in his possession, partly thanks to this very cross and the secrets it had revealed to him. A five-hundred-year-old myth, an old legend that refused to die, would soon become a reality that was worth more than all the lost treasures ever torn from the earth.

After her arrival at the harbor, Helen was making a final check of the crated equipment strapped down across the deck of the Pacific Voyager. She only hoped that they would have enough room on the river tug Incan Wanderer and the river barge Juanita when they transferred the equipment in Colombia. Kennedy and his team had three more crates than she had allowed them. On her clipboard she made a check mark by each space that indicated the weight of his crates. She frowned when she added it all up.

"Robby, where's Dr. Kennedy?" she asked her brightest graduate student. He tossed a coiled rope to one of young girls who populated Helen's expedition and pointed toward the stern of the Pacific Voyager.

She bit her lip and handed him the clipboard with the manifest on it. "Give this to the captain," she said, as she turned toward the stern. "Tell him we are over by three hundred pounds, but still within his load capacity."

"You got it, Doc." He watched her for a moment, wondering if maybe he should accompany her to see Kennedy and his men. But he decided that if anyone could handle these guys, it was Dr. Zachary. His eyes next sought out Kelly. She was on deck, checking her camera equipment. The thick-rimmed glasses and dyed hair didn't hide her beauty, but they did go a long way toward hiding her identity. He figured everyone on the ship would find it difficult to recognize her.

Helen approached Kennedy and his associates, who were huddled near one of the ships large stern cleats. They were deep into conversation when Kennedy looked up and saw her walking toward them. He nodded and his men turned and walked away, but not before Helen noticed one of them partially raise his hand toward his forehead. Kennedy's eyes locked on the man in question and he quickly lowered his hand and moved off. She wondered what that was all about.

"Professor Zachary, we about ready to shove off?" Kennedy asked as he straightened and walked over to meet her.

"I have a meeting to attend, but we should be able to depart in about twenty minutes." She zipped up her dark blue coat. "Doctor, according to the manifest, you have three crates that were not accounted for nor inspected, and the weight of those three crates placed us over our limit. It makes me wonder if you were trying to get these items past me."

Kennedy, a man of about twenty-six with short cropped blond hair, laughed. "My pharmaceutical company sent us two computers and a fluoride analyzer at the last minute. Nothing earth shattering, quite boring stuff really."

"Then you wouldn't mind if I inspect them?"

"Not at all, I'll have them opened for you. I don't think it should delay us more than two hours. It's a royal pain but they're packed quite well because of their sensitive components. But we don't want to break any rules. Mr. Lang, will you unstrap the analyzer and her component computers and break down the crates for the—"

"That won't be necessary, Doctor," Helen said, irritated by the possible delay. She was nervous and didn't trust Henri St. Claire at all. It felt as if he might drive onto the dock at any moment and catch them before they could make their way out to sea. "Your pharmaceutical company picked up the remaining portion of the bill for this trip, but please don't assume that gives you the right to circumvent my authority." She turned and strode away.

"I would never think of it," he said to her retreating form. "We value this opportunity to examine the fauna of this new and unexplored area of the basin for the chance at—" He trailed off, giving up his rehearsed speech when she didn't slow down. His eyes remained on Helen as she started down the gangplank toward the ship's offices.

Helen entered the office and removed her coat while her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the interior. She finally saw the man sitting in the corner with one of his long legs crossed over the other.

"I honestly thought you were going to keep me waiting all night long in this smelly place," he said as he stood.

"I imagine you've been in worse places." She greeted him with a hug.

"As a matter of record, my dear, your father and I shipped out of this very harbor a million years ago bound for that paradise we know as Korea." He released her and looked her over. "You, young lady, look exhausted."

"Goes with the territory." She patted him on the chest and then sat on the edge of a desk that occupied the center of the office.

"So, you finally got the grant you always wanted for this mysterious field trip. Are you excited?"

"I will be if we ever get out of here," she answered as she looked at her father's oldest friend and family attorney. She was sorry for having to lie to him about where the money came from. She managed to force the guilty thought from her mind. "I've got a secret mission for you, Stan."

"Ooh, sounds mysterious," he said jokingly.

"You don't know the half of it," she said, thinking, If he only knew. "You're the only one I can trust to do what I ask, and not ask a bunch of silly questions."

"At my age, I've learned to only ask pertinent questions, never silly ones. What do you want me to do?"

Helen stood and walked to the door. She bent down and retrieved the aluminum case that contained the fossil. She held out the case to the attorney.

"If for some reason I don't make it back by September first, or call you by that date on the satellite phone, I need you to take this sample to Las Vegas and give it to a friend."

Stan took the case and looked at his friend's daughter.

"You're kidding, right?"

Helen reached into her pocket and placed an envelope of the top of the container.

"The address is in here, along with my friend's name. There's also a brief on the expedition. My friend has the resources to know how to track me, so for security reasons and your safety, I didn't leave him directions on how to find me. Stanley, will you do this for me?"

He didn't say anything at first, as he made his way to the desk and placed the container on it. Then, "What have you gotten yourself into, Helen? Just where in the hell are you going and why do you need to leave me with such a cryptic list of instructions?"

She smiled and once again patted him on the left lapel. "You worry too much; it's just a competitive type thing, the race for the prize."

"And what prize is that?"

"A big one, Stanley." She rose on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "It's dangerous only because the place is so remote. I have fifty people coming with me, so I'm not in this alone. Will you do this for me?"

He was about to respond when the ship's horn sounded and drowned out his answer. He grimaced. When the horn stopped blaring there was a quick rapping at the office door and Kimberly Denning, a third-year student, poked her head through.

"Captain said he has to get this tide or you can forget about sailing until morning," Kimberly said, then vanished.

Helen grabbed her coat and put it on. "Wish me luck?" she asked Stan.

"I do. I just wish I knew what it was you were up to."

She smiled and turned for the door, raising her hand in good-bye. "All I'll tell you is that, when I get back, no one will look at the world the same way again."

The door opened and Helen was gone. Stan took the white business envelope from the top of the container as he made his way to the window. Helen turned when she reached the top of the gangplank and waved at him, and he held the envelope up and waved back. Her students were lining the rails and waving at family who were in the parking lot. To Helen's right, standing away from her and her students, was a group of men who were watching from the railing. They weren't waving, just leaning against the steel gunwale as the ship's crew cast off her thick rope lines. Stan watched as the ship drifted away from the pier with her horn sounding. There was an explosion at her stern when the engines began turning her screws and the Pacific Voyager started making for the open sea.

Stan turned from the window and looked down at the envelope he held in his hand. He squinted and moved to stand by the desk lamp. Helen's womanly scrawl was written across the white paper in flowing lines. Stan looked up through the window at the receding lights of the blue-painted Pacific Voyager and then back at the name and address on the envelope. He read it aloud to himself: "Dr. Niles Compton, c/o the Gold City Pawnshop, 2120 Desert Palm Avenue, Las Vegas, Nevada.

"A pawnshop?" he said wonderingly.

He placed the envelope in his overcoat and looked out the window again, now taking in the few family members and friends of Helen's students as they started their cars and moved out of the small parking lot. Then Stan, for no reason that he knew of, got goose bumps down his arms as the vehicles departed. He didn't believe in premonitions or any of the other strange sciences that occupied the newspapers these days, yet had a distinct feeling that he would indeed deliver this envelope to that pawnshop in Las Vegas. And that the families that had watched their loved ones sail into the night would never again see them alive.

Stan picked up the aluminum container and made for the door. He allowed himself one last look out into the harbor, but the ship's running lights had vanished into the dark Pacific waters.