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ar into the empty caching room they had chosen in a remote part of the city。 There…with any luck…it would remain hidden； dry and free from animals until they returned。
Until they returned。。。。 Black found himself sweating profusely。 He licked his lips； staring at the blue sky above the canyon rim。 Maybe nothing would happen。 Maybe it would happen someplace else。
One at a time； Sloane； Swire； and Bonarotti emerged from the darkness of the city and joined Black at the retaining wall。 Bonarotti removed a canteen and wordlessly passed it around。 Automatically； Black took a drink； tasting nothing。 His eyes roved over what remained of the camp： the tents； already broken down and ready to be carried out； the neat row of drysacks beside them； the small pile of equipment that still had to be lugged up to the cache site 。 。 。
It was then that he heard something。 Or perhaps he felt it； he wasn't exactly sure： a strange movement of the air； almost a vibration。 His heart began to race； and he looked toward Sloane。 She was staring out into the valley。 Aware of his gaze； she glanced toward him for a moment； then rose to her feet。
〃Did you hear something？〃 she asked nobody in particular。 Handing the canteen back to Bonarotti； she moved toward the edge of the cliff； followed by Swire。 A moment later； Black came up behind。
The valley below still looked pastoral： somnolent in the heat； drenched in late morning sunlight。 But the vibration； like a deep motor ing to life； seemed to fill the air。 The leaves of the cottonwoods began to dance。
Bonarotti came up beside him。 〃What is it？〃 he asked； looking around curiously。
Black didn't answer。 Two emotions were warring inside him： terror and a breathless； almost nauseating excitement。 There was now a rising wind ing from the mouth of the slot canyon： he could make out the saltbushes at its fringe； gyrating as if possessed。 Then the canyon emitted a long； distorted； booming screech that grew louder； then still louder。 It must be in the canyon now； thought Black。 There was a buzzing sound； but he wasn't sure if it was ing from the valley or inside his head。
He glanced at the pany ranged beside him。 They were all staring toward the mouth of the slot canyon。 On Swire's face； puzzlement gave way first to dawning understanding； then horror。
〃Flash flood；〃 said the wrangler。 〃My God； they're in the canyon 。 。 。〃 He broke for the ladder。
Black held his breath。 He thought he knew what was ing； he felt that he was prepared for anything。 And yet he was totally unprepared for the spectacle that followed。
With a basso profundo groan； the slot canyon belched forth a mass of boulders and splintered tree trunks…hundreds of them…which burst from the narrow crevice and came spinning down to earth。 Then； with the swelling roar of a beast opening its maw； the slot vomited forth a liquid mass…chocolate…brown water； mingled with ropes of viscous red。 It coalesced into a rippling wall that fell in thunder against the scree slope； sending up secondary spouts and smoking plumes。 It tore down the floodplain； smoking along the banks； ripping away chunks of the slope and even peeling off pieces of the canyon wall in the extremity of its violence。 For a moment Black thought； with horror； that it would actually surmount the steep banks on either side of the plain and take away their camp。 But instead it worried； chewed； and ate away at the stone edges of the benchland； its fury contained but made all the more violent。 Near the bank of cottonwoods； he could make out Swire； shielding his face with his arms； beaten back toward camp by the fury of the blast。
Black stood at the edge of the cliff； buffeted by the wind； motionless in shock and horror。 Beside him； Bonarotti was yelling something； but Black did not hear it。 He was staring at the water。 He could never have imagined water capable of such fury。 He watched as it swept down the center of the valley； tearing at the banks； engulfing entire trees； instantly turning the lovely； sun…dappled landscape into a watery vision of hell。 A thousand rainbows sprung up from the spume； glistening in the appalling sunlight。
Then he saw a flash of yellow amid the churning chocolate： Holroyd's body bag。 And then； moments later； something else； caught in a standing wave： a human torso； one arm still attached； wearing the shredded remnants of a tan shirt。 As Black stared in mingled shock and disgust； the gruesome object erupted off the top of the wave and spun around once； the limp arm flapping in a travesty of a gesture of help。 Then it bobbed over in a haze of chocolates and grays and was swallowed in the flood。
Almost unconsciously； he took a step backward； then another and another； until he felt his heel bump against the rock of the retaining wall。 He half sat； half collapsed onto it； then turned his back to the valley； unwilling to see any more。
He wondered what it was he had done。 Was he a murderer； after all？ But no： not even a lie had been told。 The weather report had been clear and unequivocal。 The storm was twenty miles away； the water could have gone anywhere。
The roar of the flood continued behind him； but Black tried not to hear it。 Instead； he raised his eyes to the cool depths of the city that lay spread before him： dark even in the bright morning sun； serene； utterly indifferent to the calamity that was taking place in the valley beyond。 Looking at the city； he began to feel a little bit better。 He breathed slowly； letting the tightness in his chest ease。 His thoughts began trending once again toward the Sun Kiva and the treasure it contained…and especially of the immortality that it represented。 Schliemann。 Carter。 Black。
He started guiltily； then glanced over toward Sloane。 She was still standing at the edge of the cliff； staring down into the valley。 Her look was veiled； but on her face he read a play of emotions that she could not hide pletely： amazement； horror； and…in the glint of the eye and the faintest curl of the lip…triumph。
51
RICKY BRIGGS LISTENED TO THE DISTANT sound with irritation。 That rhythmic swat meant only one thing： a helicopter； heading this way by the sound of it。 He shook his head。 Helicopters were supposed to keep out of the marina's airspace； although they rarely did。 There were often choppers doing flybys of the lake； or en route to the Colorado River or the Grand Canyon。 They annoyed the boaters。 And when the boaters got annoyed； they plained to Ricky Briggs。 He heaved a sigh and went back to his paperwork。
After a moment； he looked up again。 The helicopter sounded different from usual： lower； throatier somehow。 And the sound of the engine seemed strangely staggered； as if there were more than one。 Over the drone； he could hear a diesel pulling up beside the building； the chatter of onlookers。 Idly； he leaned forward to glance out the window。 What he saw caused him to jump from his seat。
Two massive helicopters were beating up from the west； ing in low。 They sported amphibious hulls； and Coast Guard logos were emblazoned on their sides。 They slowed into a hover just beyond the marina's no…wake zone； huge airfoils beating the sky。 A large pontoon boat dangled from one of them。 Below； the water was being whipped into a frenzy of whitecaps。 Houseboats were rolling heavily； and pink…skinned bathers were gathering curiously along the concrete apron。
Briggs grabbed his cellular and ran outside onto the shimmering tarmac； punching up the number for the Page air…control tower as he lumbered along。
Out in the baking heat； an additional surprise awaited him： a huge horse trailer parked at the ramp； same as before； SANTA FE ARCHAEOLOGICAL INSTITUTE stenciled on one side。 As he watched； two National Guard trucks pulled in behind it。 Ranks of guardsmen scrambled out of the rears； traffic barriers in hand。 A murmur came up from the crowd as the pontoon boat was dropped from the helicopter with an enormous splash。
His phone chirruped； and a voice sounded through the tiny speaker。 〃Page；〃 it said。
〃This is Wahweap！〃 Briggs screamed into the telephone。 〃What the hell is going on at our marina？〃
〃Calm yourself； Mr。 Briggs；〃 came the unruffled voice of the air…traffic supervisor。 〃There's a big search…and…rescue being organized。 Just learned about it a few minutes ago。〃
One group of guardsmen was laying down the traffic barriers； while another group had gone down to the ramp to clear a trail； shooing boats away from the marina。 〃What does that have to do with me？〃 Briggs shouted。
〃It's in the back country； west of Kaiparowits。〃
〃Jesus。 What a place to be lost。 Who is it？〃
〃Don't know。 Nobody's saying anything。〃
Must be those dumb…ass archaeologists； Briggs thought。 Only a crazy person would go into that back country。 Another approaching engine added to the din； and he turned to see a semi backing a large； sleek…looking motorboat toward the water。 Twin…diesel housings jutted from its stern like machine gun turrets。
〃Why the helicopters？〃 Briggs plained into the phone。 〃There's such a maze of canyons back there you'd never find anything。 Besides； you couldn't land anywhere even if you did find something。〃
〃I understand they're just ferrying equipment to the far end of the lake。 I told you； this is big。〃
The boat had been set in the water with remarkable speed； and with a roar the semi pulled away； leaving the ramp awash。 The boat rumbled to life； turned； and nudged the dock； waiting just long enough for two men to board： one； a young man wearing a José Cuervo T…shirt； the other a thin； gray…haired man in khakis。 A monstrous…looking brown dog leaped in behind them。 Immediately； the boat took off； roaring through the no…wake zone at full speed； leaving a hundred jetskis bobbing madly in its wake。 The huge helicopters dug their noses in the air and turned to follow。
Briggs watched with disbelief as the horse trailer came sliding down the ramp toward the waiting pontoon boat。
〃This can't be happening；〃 he murmured。
〃Oh； it's happening；〃 came the laconic reply。 〃I'm sure they'll be calling you； too。 Gotta go。〃
Briggs punched at the phone furiously； but even as he did so it began to ring： a shrill； insistent chirp over the grinding of gears and the calls of the onlookers。
52
BLACK SANK DOWN BESIDE THE DEAD FIRE； exhausted and soaked through。 The belated rain beat its regular cadence upon his shoulders； not as furiously as it had an hour before； but steadily； with large； fat drops。 He paid it no heed。
Although the initial surge of the flood had abated； the water continued to roar down the center of the valley； its brown moiling surface like the muscled back of some monstrous beast。 Distantly； he watched its wide course； around and over stranded trees； arrowing for the mouth of the smaller slot canyon at the far end of the valley。 There； in the confined space； the violence of the water returned； and huge spumes of froth and spray leaped up toward the cloud…heavy sky。
For almost two hours they had hovered at the water's edge。 Sloane had made a valiant rescue effort： roving the banks； spanning the flood with rescue ropes； scanning the water ceaselessly for survivors。 Black had never seen such a heroic attempt。 Or such a believable piece of acting； for that matter。 He passed a hand over his eyes as he sat hunched forward。 Perhaps it wasn't an act； right now； he was too tired to care。
Eventually； all except Sloane had gravitated away from the water's edge to the camp。 The remaining drysacks； scattered by the wind； had been organized； the tents repitched and restaked； the riot of twigs and branches cleared away。 Nobody had spoken； but all had lent a hand。 It was as if they had to do something； anything； constructive； anything was easier to endure than standing uselessly； staring at the rushing water。
Black sat back； took a deep breath； and looked around。 Beside him； in neat rows； lay the gear that had been intended for the trip home： still packed and ready to be hauled out； a silent mockery of the portage out the slot canyon that had never happened。 Nothing else remained to be done。
Bonarotti； taking his cue from Black； came over and silently began to unpack his kitchen gear。 This； more than anything else； seemed to b