Gods and Men- The Hank Boyd Omnibus, page 8
part #1 of Gods and Men Series
Oh, well… C’est la vie.
And, for what it’s worth, seeing how these people live is heartbreaking. They reside in what I would describe as a cozy little ranch-style home on the edge of town. They even have a herd of sheep in their backyard…and absolutely nothing else. There’s very little the house is furnished with that isn’t used daily. At least we can help them, if only a little.
Now, when I said the dig site was ten minutes away… I meant by car. Unfortunately, this is a UNESCO sectioned nature preserve, so no driving unless it’s an emergency. I guess us not wanting to sweat any more than we have to doesn’t count to the authorities. Also, Dad really doesn’t want to tread any more than we already have on the land. Something about erosion and not leaving a sizeable footprint and yadda, yadda, yadda. So, we’re walking. I actually don’t mind, though, the hike gives me time to think.
We quickly stopped in, paid the couple for the week, and unloaded some of our gear we wouldn’t need at the physical site. The couples wide-eyed look when I handed them $700 made me smile a little. They graciously thanked us and left us to ourselves, knowing we’re in a hurry. Gathering today’s essentials, we exit the home and get on our way, just me and my thoughts and—
“This is bullshit!”
My mind and I are rudely interrupted from our collective daydream. I glance over at Kane and watch as he wipes his face down with an outsized, extremely damp handkerchief.
“Is that hankie soaked because of your face or did you dump water on it?” I ask.
He wrings it out. “All me babe…all me.”
“How can one man perspire so much?” Omar asks, looking appalled.
“I’m from Montana—Big Sky Country. It gets hot for like two weeks out of the year there and never like it is now. But this?” Kane waves his hand in the air, motioning to the landscape around us. “This is friggin torture.” He puts his hat back on. “Look, all I’m saying is that no one said there was going to be a thirty-minute trek through the desert.”
I glance up at his head. “Is that a fedora?”
Kane looks at me and gives me a sheepish grin.
“I couldn’t help it. When I found out I was being reassigned here, I had to pack one. Plus, I’ve always fancied me some Indiana Jones.”
Aw crap, I think. I close my eyes and shake my head, visibly embarrassed.
“Funny you should say that,” my dad says, beaming with pride. “Harrison here was named after Dr. Jones himself, or rather, the actor who portrayed him.”
I hear an excited gasp and look over to see Kane smiling ear-to-ear. He claps his hands together, looking almost a little giddy. The guy’s personality has come out in spades since our initial encounter. I’m not sure why, but he and I had a connection from the start, like two long lost friends or something.
“That is so awesome!” he says, getting a little too amped.
Then, he gets an epiphany, and his smile widens—if that’s even possible. “You know how cliché it is that you yourself are an archaeologist, right?”
“The thought never crossed my mind, Lennie.” I can see he doesn’t recognize the jab I just gave him. Referring to someone as the mentally challenged character from John Steinbeck’s, Of Mice and Men, is only funny if the other person knows what the hell you’re talking about.
At least I feel a little better.
Then, I get on the defensive—a natural reaction to someone bringing up my famous first name. “By the way, I’m not technically an archaeologist. I’m a digger. I don’t even have a degree or anything. Heck, I barely graduated high school.”
“How does the famed, Harrison Boyd, have no formal education or training?” Omar asks, laying on the sarcasm.
“First off, it’s Hank,” I reply, getting irritated. “There’s only one person alive that calls me Harrison and gets away with it. Education is what you study and how you digest the information, not where you study said information. The actual training part was easy, but the studying…”
Omar just stands there waiting for me to finish my answer, but I don’t get to give him one. It comes from someone else.
“On the job, Mr. Jafari,” My dad says, actually looking proud. “He learned his trade on location with some of the best and brightest. It was a better learning experience than any university could have offered.”
“A boatload cheaper too!” Kane exclaims.
“Two boats actually,” I say, holding up two fingers like a peace sign.
“Just remember one thing, Mr. Jafari…” Dad pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Just because my son doesn’t have the title Doctor in front of his name, or a Ph.D. after it, doesn’t mean he’s completely incompetent.”
And there it is.
I give Dad an annoyed look since he decided to emphasize the word completely.
“Really?” I ask.
“Also, while I’m impressed with Harrison’s work, I still would’ve liked to have seen him get a formal education. It may have cleaned up his personality a little.” Now I get the same look back from my father, but I also get a slight nod from him too.
All I can say is, “Thanks?” Not quite sure how to respond to the backhanded compliment he just paid me.
Sadly, the admiration from my father doesn’t last.
“You should be!” Dad barks. “You’d be laying in the gutter somewhere if it wasn’t for me!” He then turns and starts back towards our destination, the excavation’s command tent. It’s where all our project gear was sent ahead of us is now stored.
All I can do is stand there. I have nothing to say. So instead, Kane says it for me as he laughs.
“You and your father have the weirdest relationship.”
“You have no idea, big guy. You should’ve seen what it was like when I first started on with him, back when I was completely incompetent…” I let out a sigh. “Let’s go.”
The last leg of the journey thankfully continues in silence.
We make our way around a few large dunes and then another smaller one. It’s only until we get past them that I see the tracks in the sand. The last set was cleared away from the center of the camp by an excavating machine of some type.
I can picture the grounds from the air, looking like a circle of sand outside an inner loop of tents, not unlike a wagon circle in the Wild West. Just inside the ring of tents is the dig site. From my experiences with other desert digs, I know that the shelters will act as a buffer to help keep out the high winds coming in from the desert. If violent enough, they can re-bury our prize in short order. I’ve unfortunately seen that too.
A delay like that could cost us more than just time, I think, replaying the attack in Algiers.
We enter in through the rear of the main tent, the hub of the dig site. There are all kinds of equipment lining each side. On the left wall is shelving with different types of tools along with workbenches filled with samples. Most are just various types of rocks and nothing to look at. The right wall has more workstations, but instead of samples, they’re filled with computers and an assortment of microscopes and diagnostic machines, neither of which I’m thoroughly versed in. And by thoroughly versed, I mean not versed…at all.
But none of these holds anyone’s attention. Everyone is currently gathered by the front entrance, staring off into whatever is outside. Kane stands off to the left holding open the heavy flap so everyone can appreciate the view. I have to push through the crowd a little to see what all the commotion is about.
What I do see is like nothing I could have imagined.
17
None of us speak, we just stare. Fifty feet in front of us is a sloping ramp that’s been dug and cleared, allowing the enormous excavation equipment access. The slanted entry into the cleared pit is roughly ten feet below us. The site is huge, now an expanse of leveled sand about the size of an Olympic-sized pool—around eighty-feet-wide and twice that in length.
At the heart of the pit is a gleaming stone slab, which is in itself the size of a basketball court. Except, it’s not stone. Stone doesn’t gleam... It’s like a darker shade of gold, or maybe a bronze color, I think. But, there’s more than just the color of the stone or metal or whatever the hell it is that has everyone’s attention. There’s also a dizzying amount of writing covering its surface—inscribed into it really. They represent the ancient languages of the world.
Just like the photo Omar sent Dad, I think. Incredible…
Instead of coming up with something groundbreaking or halfway intelligent to say, all that comes out is, “Um…” I mean honestly, what other reaction could any of us come up with? It’s so ominously quiet that you could probably hear a camel fart. Even the wind has died down some, giving the site even more of an eerie feeling. I should probably be more excited than I am now, but inside I’m a little weary. This is truly a find that people will kill for.
“Is it gold?”
Kane’s question is a valid one and probably at the top of everyone’s list right now—including mine. He’s looking to my father for an answer but gets it from someone else.
“No, it is not.” A voice to our left breaks the unnerving silence, catching our attention. It’s female and laced with a European accent. “We actually have no idea what it is... Yet.”
She steps out of the shadows created by the tent next to us, moving into the sun. It’s then I get a look at her, or should I say I get to ogle her. She is absolutely stunning and tall for the average woman. Standing just under six-feet, the tall blonde is very, how should I say…curvy. She’s basically Scarlett Johansson with Ronda Rousey’s muscle tone. The predatory look on her face matches the fighter’s as well. They aren’t angry or conniving. They’re just unbelievably intense.
Ummm… My brain goes into shutdown mode. It’s only until she speaks again, that my mind starts to reboot.
“We are currently analyzing different types of stone and metal, but unfortunately have found nothing.” The newcomer’s accent is easily recognizable now since I’m actually listening to what she’s saying and not just lost in thought. It’s a crisp Swedish accent. Every single word is like art as it comes out of her mouth. “If our present examination brings up nothing, we may be at a stalling point. We can’t let that happen.”
“You have no idea,” Kane says under his breath.
The Swede is about to inquire about his comment, but I don’t let her. A realization about the gold-like material pops into my head. Could it be?
“It’s orichalcum,” I say.
Everyone’s eyes turn to me.
“Ori-what-now?” Kane asks, scratching his head.
I blink, take a breath, and come out of my stupor. “I think it’s orichalcum.” More silence... So, I continue, explaining it further. “In many Atlantean legends orichalcum is as valuable as gold. It’s additionally treasured to some because of its super-secret bronze-alloy mixture. It would’ve been ideal for making weapons and armor—something the Atlanteans were supposed to be experts at.”
“Bronze you say?” our new lady friend asks. “No wonder we haven’t detected anything. We haven’t been using the correct procedures to analyze that particular metal. We have been focusing on gold so far. Bronze was our next guess. But as you can see…” She motions to the plating. “It very much looks like gold.”
“Ms. Andersson, could you please let the rest of the team know that we’re here and then rejoin us below?” Dad asks, gesturing to the pit.
Ms. Andersson? Well, at least our mystery guest has a name.
“Yes, Dr. Boyd. Anything else?”
“No, Ms. Andersson. Thank you.”
She turns on a heel and marches away, heading towards another tent. My eyes linger longer than the rest, watching as she makes a left around the excavation. As she moves, she barks orders to the others posted here.
Again, no one speaks, so I get to break the silence for a second time. But instead of incoherent babble, I pose a question regarding the blonde.
“So… Who’s she?”
“She’s your father’s assistant and also his project leader,” Omar says with a look of annoyance. “Nicole Andersson is Dr. Boyd’s right-hand man, or should I say, right-hand WO-man.” His attempt at humor fails miserably, and Kane doesn’t let it go unnoticed.
“Not used to being bossed around by a girl, are you there Jafar?” Kane asks, digging into Omar. While funny, referring to him as Aladdin’s nemesis may not have been such a good move considering the ease in which Omar gets worked up. That doesn’t mean I’m not laughing on the inside though.
The jab must be enough, because Omar huffs and puffs, but senses he’s outmatched once again. So instead of fighting back, he just turns and heads back into the operations tent, slamming the flap. Can you slam a tent flap?
“That’s enough, Mr. Kane,” Dad says, disapprovingly. “We still need him and his local connections here cooperating regardless of what you think of him.”
Kane glances over at me, and we share an inward giggle.
“On another subject, Mr. Kane, could you please join Ms. Andersson and go over the site’s security and make sure it’s up to your standards?”
This gets the big man’s attention. Regardless of how nonchalant his attitude is, he’s a professional at what he does, that much is easy to tell. He uses humor like I do, but is a hundred percent dedicated to the task at hand. Confirming my assumption of the man correct, Kane just nods and purposefully heads off in the direction Nicole did.
This leaves just my father and me alone. He turns and see’s that I’m a little uncomfortable with the current state of things. My dad and I don’t really get a lot of alone time together. It’s never been a calming experience in the past. We fight over the stupidest things when it’s just the two of us. Thankfully, the only time I really see him regularly is while we’re working and the conversations generally stay job oriented.
“Shall we, Harrison?” he motions with his hand towards the slab of orichalcum, getting my attention, erasing the awkwardness.
I smile. “Yes, we shall.”
We head down towards the ori-what-now, as Kane so eloquently christened it.
Could this be just another tomb or could it possibly be an unknown treasure trove of some kind? No. It all seems a little off. We’ve done those things. This feels different. I can almost feel some sort of presence in the air. Or make that two presences. I can sense what feels like a game of tug-o-war going on in my body. Like my soul is being pulled in two different directions.
I glance at Dad and see him walking towards the discovery. Nothing seems to be bothering him, or at least he isn’t letting on. Which one, I’m not sure.
All I know is that this is going to be a find like none we’ve ever uncovered before. An experience we’ll never forget for sure. We walk towards the center portion, stepping onto the platform of the bronze-alloy base. As soon as I step on it, I get a weird shivering sensation shooting up my back. Chalking it up to shock and anticipation, I pay it no attention and continue forward.
We get to the exact middle of the perfectly preserved vestige and stop. Looking down, I see an odd combination of symbols and languages intertwined together. The one that catches my eye first is a Latin inscription framed by a Greek omega.
I step into the horseshoed character and read the text, “Liberate te ex inferis—”
“Save yourself from hell,” Dad says, translating it aloud.
We meet eye-to-eye in confusion and—
I get another strange tingle up my spine, and a feeling of slight nausea in my gut as a new sensation overtakes my body, one of falling. I look down and see nothing but darkness beneath my feet.
18
I’m weightless, falling into the shadows below me. Then, I abruptly stop, jarring to a halt. I’m being suspended above the massive hole that just appeared beneath my feet. My senses return, the feeling of falling subsiding. But the shock of almost falling to my death still has my mind in its death grip, and it’s taking it longer to return to reality. As it does, I slowly start to fully comprehend my precarious situation.
My wrist feels like a vise has clamped down on it arresting my plunge. I now dangle over lord knows how deep of a void and the only thing keeping me here is a sweaty set of fingers. Looking up, I see my father’s flushing, strained face. But what gives me the greatest pause is the sight of his trembling arm, feeling his grip slip as it weakens. Not good.
“Hang on, son!” Dad shouts, looking around, trying to get someone’s attention. “Kane, Nicole—anybody! Help!” The strain and fear in his voice makes it plainly evident to those who heard that he isn’t fooling around. Not that he ever fools around on the job. From my point of view, I can see his reddening face and clenched jaw, both a telling sign that A) he’s doing everything he can do to prevent me from plummeting to my death and B) he’s about to drop me.
From down in what I now figure is some sort of trap door, I hear a murmur of voices from above but can’t make out what’s being said. I can also hear the pounding of footsteps as they ring off the metal slab, alerting me that help is on the way. A grunt and a boom arrive just before Kane slides into view.
“Hank, give me your other hand!” he yells, reaching down for me with one of his bear-sized paws.
“Dr. Boyd, when I grab him you let go and grab my belt from behind. Then, when I call for it, pull!”
I swing my left hand up in a pathetic arc, missing the offered hand by six inches. The second attempt is closer, grazing Kane’s fingertips, but to no avail. My right hand slips and I lunge a third time, finally connecting.
An instant later, a crushing embrace twice what Dad could do, wraps around my left wrist. I almost screech in pain, but I’m a little preoccupied.
As Kane steadies himself, Dad scurries away and gives the all clear that he’s ready to pull. Kane starts to lift me out, with one hand. I’m almost two hundred pounds of dead weight and sweat, and this guy is slowly lifting me out of a hole like he’s some Viking warrior pulling up the anchor to his warship. The pressure building in my good shoulder is almost too much to take. If it were my right shoulder, I’d be wailing in agony for sure. Hanging by my right arm was tolerable when Dad was just holding me, but being pulled apart like I am now would have been too much to bear.
