Serpent (24 page)

The middle of nowhere.

Gamay was regretting having begged off when she and her husband, Paul, got the call to return to Washington for an important meeting of NUMAs Special Assignments Team. She, had been trying to arrange this rendezvous with Professor Chi for days and didn't know if she would ever have another opportunity. She wondered what merited yanking them back to headquarters on such short notice. They had joined the Nereus shortly after it arrived in the Yucatan to take part in the meteorite project. Paul would be creating the undersea computer graphics that were his specialty. Gamay would bring in her expertise as a marine biologist. It seemed like a very pleasant assignment indeed. No heavy lifting. Then the call came in from headquarters.

She smiled to herself. Kurt Austin must be back on the scene. Things tended to happen when Austin was around. Like the shootout she'd heard about on the Nereus. She'd call Paul when she got back to the ship to see if she should hop a plane home.

Good God, she wondered, taking in her surroundings, why had the professor asked to meet her in this dismal place? The only signs of human habitation, past or present, were the faint grass-grown tire tracks that disappeared into the forest. She waved away an insect that strafed the tip of her nose. The Cutter's bug repellent was wearing thin. So was her patience. Maybe she should leave now. No, she would wait fifteen more minutes. If Professor Chi didn't show, she would pack it in and head back to the NUMA ship. She would have to admit that the two hour drive in the rented Jeep had been for nothing.

Damn. She'd never get a chance like this again. She really wanted to meet Chi. He sounded so pleasant on the phone, with his American accent and a Spanish courtliness. Wilted by the heat, a strand of the long darkred hair swirled up on her head dropped down over her nose. She stuck her lower lip out and tried to blow the wisp out of the way. When that didn't work she brushed it away, checking from habit in the rearview minor. She saw a speck in the road. The dot grew larger, vibrating in the heat waves. She leaned out the door for a better look. The object materialized into a blue and white bus. Obviously lost, she concluded. She withdrew her head and was taking another swig of water when she heard the hiss of air brakes.

The bus had stopped behind the Jeep. The door opened, and the tomblike silence was shattered by a blare of Mexican music that was heavy on decibels and brass instruments. The local bus systems all had speakers that must have been left over from Woodstock. A lone passenger stepped from the bus. He wore the standard Indian garb, a cotton shirt, baggy white pants, and sandals. On his head was a hard straw hat with a slightly rolled-up brim. Like most Mayan men he was short, barely over five feet tall. There was an exchange of rapidfire Spanish between the passenger and the bus driver and a waved goodbye. The door clunked shut, and with a grinding of gears the bus took off down the road like a large rolling jukebox.

Ouch!

Gamay bent forward to slap a bug that had sunk its fangs into her calf. When she looked in the mirror again the man had disappeared along with the bus. She checked the side minor. Only the empty highway. Odd. Wait. Movement to her right. She froze. Eyes like black stones were staring at her from the Jeep's passenger side.

"Dr. MorganTrout, I presume."

The man had the same softspoken voice with the American accent she had heard on the call from Mexico City. Tentatively she said, "Professor Chi?"

At your service." He realized that Gamay was staring at the double-barreled shotgun curdled in his arm and lowered it from sight. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. My apologies for being late. I was out hunting and should have allowed more time. Juan, our driver, is a good-hearted but garrulous man who chats with all the female passengers young and old. I hope you weren't waiting long."

"No, that's quite all right." This little brown man with the broad nut-brown face, high cheekbones, and long and slightly curved nose wasn't exactly what she expected. She scolded herself for thinking in stereotypes.

Dr. Chi had lived in the white man's world long enough to recognize the embarrassed reaction. The stony expression didn't change, but the dark eyes sparkled with good humor. "I must have surprised you, a stranger coming up suddenly like that with a gunlike a bandito. I apologize for my appearance. When I'm home I go native."

"I should apologize for my rudeness, letting you stand out there in the hot sun." She patted the seat beside her. "Please sit in the shade."

"I carry my shade around with me, but I will accept your kind invitation." He removed his hat, revealing gray bangs over a retreating forehead, unslung a canvas game bag, and climbed into the passenger side, carefully resting the shotgun, breech open, between the seats with the muzzle pointing toward the rear. He placed the game bag on his lap.

"From the looks of that bag I'd say you had a successful hunt," Gamay said.

Sighing theatrically, he said, "I must be the laziest hunter in the world. I stand at the roadside. The bus picks me up and drops me off. I walk into the forest. Poppop. I walk out to the road and catch the next bus. This way I can enjoy the solitary

delights of the hunt and the social rewards of sharing my triumphs and failures with my neighbors. The hardest part. is timing the buses. But yes, all went well." He lifted the game bag. "Two plump partridges."

Gamay flashed a dazzling smile that displayed a slight space between her upper front teeth like the actress and model Lauren Hutton. She was an attractive woman, not gorgeous or overly sexy, but lively and vivacious in a tomboy way most men found appealing.

"Good," she said. "May I give you and your birds a lift somewhere?"

"That would be very kind of you. In return I can provide you with some liquid refreshment. You must be very hot from waiting out here."

"It wasn't bad," Gamay said, although her hair was dearly out of control, her T-shirt stuck to the seat, and her chin dripped with perspiration.

Chi nodded,
 
appreciating the polite lie. "If you could back up and then follow that track for a bit."

She started the Jeep, put it in reverse, then shifted into. low' gear and turned off the road. The tires followed the dried mud ruts through dense forest. After about a quarter of a mile the trees thinned and the ruts gave way to a sunlit clearing dominated by a native shelter The walls of the but were fashioned of sticks and the roof thatched with palm leaves. They got out of the Jeep and went inside. The only furniture was a metal folding table, a camp chair, and a woven hammock. A couple of propane gas lanterns hung from the rafters.

"Be it ever so humble there's no card like me casa," Chi said, sounding very much as if he meant every word. Scuffing the dirt floor with his toe, he said, "This land has always been in my family Dozens of houses have stood on this spot through the centuries, and the design hasn't changed since the first one was built at the beginning of time. My people 'learned that it was easier to throw a house together every so often than to try to build one that would outlast hurricanes and damp rot. May I get you a drink?"

"Yes," Gamay said, looking around for a cooler. "Thank you. I'd like that."

"Follow me, please." He led the way outside the but to a well-worn path through the woods. After a minute's walk they came upon a cinderblock building with a corrugated steel roof. The professor opened the unlocked door, and they stepped inside. Chi reached into a dark alcove and rummaged around, muttering in Spanish under his breath. After a few seconds an engine popped into life.

"I turn the generator off when I'm away to save gas," he explained. "The air conditioner should kick in momentarily."

A bare bulb went on overhead. They were in a small entryway. Chi opened another door and hit a wall switch. Fluorescent lighting flickered on to illuminate a large windowless room with two work tables. On the tables were a laptop computer, scanner and laser printer, stacks of paper, a microscope and slides, and assorted plastic bags holding hunks of stone. Larger pieces, carefully tagged, lay here and there. Manila folders were piled everywhere. The bookshelves groaned with the weight of thick texts. On the wall were topographic maps of the Yucatan peninsula, site photographs, and drawings of Mayan carvings.

"My lab," Chi said with obvious pride.

"Impressive." Gamay never expected to see a fully equipped archaeological lab in, well, the middle of nowhere. Dr. Chi was full of surprises.

Chi sensed her astonishment. "People sometimes wonder when they see the contrast between where I live and where I work. Outside Mexico City I require only the barest essentials to exist. A place to sleep and to eat, a hammock with mosquito netting, a roof to keep the rain out. But it's a different story when you have to work. One must have the tools. And here is the most important, tool in conducting scientific inquiry"

He went over to a beatup but serviceable refrigerator, stuffed the game bag on a shelf, and took out two Seven-Ups and ice cubes which he put into a couple of ail plastic tumblers. With a sweep of his arm he cleared space among some files and brought over two folding chairs. Gamay sat down, took a sip, and let the cool sweet ..liquid flow down her parched throat. It tasted better than a fine champagne. They sat a few moments quietly enjoying their drinks.

"Thank you, Dr. Chi," Gamay said after accepting a refill, of bottled water this time. "I'm afraid I was more dehydrated than I thought."

"It's not difficult to lose body moisture in this country. Now that our energies are restored, how may I help you?"

As I said on the phone; I'm a marine biologist. I'm involved in a project off the coast."

"Oh, yes, NUMA s tektites survey near the Chixulub meteor impact site."

Gamay cocked her head. "You know of it?"

He nodded solemnly. "Bush telegraph." Seeing her puzzled expression, he chuckled and confessed, "I can't lie. I saw an email to the museum from NUMA headquarters informing us of the survey as a courtesy."

He reached over to a file cabinet, opened a drawer, and pulled out a manila folder.

"Let me see," he said, reading from the file's contents. "Gamay MorganTrout. Thirty years old. Resident of Georgetown. Wisconsin born. Expert diver. Holds degree in marine archaeology from the University of North Carolina. Changed specialties, enrolling in
 
Scripps Institution of Oceanography, where she eventually attained a doctorate as a marine biologist. Puts her talents to work for the world-renowned . National Underwater and Marine Agency."

"Not a fact out of place," Gamay said raising a finely curved eyebrow.

"Thank you," Chi said, replacing the file in the cabinet. "My secretary's work, actually. After you called I asked her to hook onto NUMA's Web site. There's a complete description of ongoing projects with brief biographies of those involved in them. Are you any relation to Paul Trout, the deep ocean geographer whose name was also listed?"

"Yes, Paul is my husband. The site probably didn't mention that we met in Mexico. We were on a field trip to La Paz. Otherwise, I'd say you did your homework"

"It's my strict academic training, I'm afraid."

"I tend to retain details, too. Let's see if I can remember." Gamay dosed her eyes. "Dr. Jose Chi. Born in Quintana Roo, Yucatan peninsula. Father was a farmer. Excelled in his studies, sent by the government to private schools. Undergraduate studies at University of Mexico. Graduate degrees from Harvard University, where he is still affiliated with the prestigious Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology. Curator at Mexico's National Anthropological Museum. Winner of the MacArthur Award for his work in helping to, compile a corpus of Mayan inscriptions. Now working on a dictionary of the Mayan language"

She opened her eyes to see Chi's toothy grin. He dapped his hands lightly. "Brava, Dr. MorganTrout."

"Please call me Gamay"

A beautiful and unusual name."

"My father was a wine connoisseur. The color of my hair reminded him of the grape of Beaujolais."

"Well chosen, Dr. Gamay. I must correct something, though. I'm very proud of my work on the dictionary, but the corpus is actually the work of many talented people. Artists, photographers, cartographers, catalogers, and so on. I contributed my skills as a 'finder.' "