PERRY SLID DOWN a slope of loose soil, descending into a cloud of dust and diesel smoke. He tried to slow his descent by digging the heels of his work boots into the dirt. It helped some, but not much. What he had done was foolish. It was also necessary. One of his men was in danger, perhaps injured, and Perry wanted to waste no time in getting to him.
Perry stopped suddenly when his feet hit something hard. Light from above filtered through the dust, creating an eerie, fog-like scene. Pausing for a moment to be certain he was no longer moving, Perry rose slowly, the video camera in hand. He used the camera’s light like a flashlight. Most of the light reflected back, diffused by floating particles of dust and smoke. A dark shape loomed before him. Waving his hand in front of his face, Perry tried to clear the air. It was a futile gesture. The dirt would settle in its own time, and Perry could do nothing about that.
He coughed then gagged. Perry pulled the collar of his shirt over his mouth and used it as a breathing filter.
The shape in front of him was tinted yellow through the haze. He reached forward and laid a bare hand on the metal. It was the underside of the rig. The backhoe was on its side.
“Perry! Perry!”
Jack’s voice pierced the dark distance. Perry had no idea how deep he was, but he knew that some sinkholes were large enough to bury a ten-story building. “Yeah,” Perry shouted back. “I’m okay.”
“I’m coming down,” Jack said.
“No, not yet. I may need you up there.”
There was no response, but Perry could imagine Jack gritting his teeth. He was not one to sit on the sidelines. Perry took a step forward and noticed that his feet were buried in the loose soil. Walking was difficult, as if he were slogging through shin-high snow. The smell of diesel fuel and oil permeated the already choking atmosphere. Perry felt like he was on another planet.
The backhoe was small compared to some, and Perry was glad since he was now faced with scaling what had been the underside of the powerful piece of equipment. Small or not, it was heavy, and his biggest fear was that the machine had fallen on his worker.
“Talk to me, Perry,” Jack said. It was more an urgent order than a request. “Can you see Lenny?”
Lenny. At least now he knew the worker’s name. “Not yet, the backhoe is on its right side. I’m at the undercarriage.” Perry set the camera on the rear tire, its light directed toward the overturned cab. The dust was starting to settle, and Perry could see the outrigger used to stabilize the tractor reaching skyward like a man’s outstretched hand grasping for help. He placed both hands on the edge of the foot rail and pulled himself up, kicking his feet to gain the extra inch or two needed to throw his leg over the side. If the backhoe were in its normal upright position, the handhold that Perry used would be the rig’s footstep.
It was a struggle but Perry soon positioned himself so that he could see into the open cab. It had no windows, just a metal roof supported by corner posts. The supports were bent at an odd angle. Perry saw Lenny lying on his back, unmoving.
“Lenny,” Perry said. “You with me, buddy?”
There was no answer, and Perry feared the worst. “I found him,” Perry shouted to his friends. “He’s not moving. I’m going to try to get to him.”
Using the cab supports, Perry lowered himself to the injured man, straddling his prone body. He felt for a pulse and found one. He strained his eyes to peer through the darkness. Standing again he reached up and took hold of the video camera, aiming its light at the injured man. Blood trickled from his forehead and left ear. Not good, Perry decided.
In the distance, the squeal of sirens grew louder. “We’re going to need a backboard to get him out safely!”
“There’s no need to yell,” Jack said. The voice came from a foot behind him, and Perry jumped. “I’m right here.”
“I thought I told you to stay topside,” Perry said.
“Did you? Must’ve missed it.”
“You’re impetuous, you know that?”
“Look who’s talking,” Jack retorted. He was standing awkwardly on the side of the cab. “How is he?”
“Head injury of some sort. There’s blood from his ears. We need an air ambulance. The best hospital is going to be in Bakersfield.”
“Agreed.”
“How big is the hole?” Perry asked.
“I’m guessing we’re down forty or fifty feet from grade,” Jack said. “I didn’t take time to measure the opening, but I’m betting that this thing is as wide as it is deep.”
“That’s big. Why didn’t we see it coming?”
“No idea, Perry. You’d think the surveys would have given some clue.”
“We’ll deal with that later. We’re going to have to cut away the cab,” Perry said, patting the steel uprights. “We can’t fit a backboard in here, put Lenny on it, and pull him up without moving him in ways that would make his condition worse.”
“The firemen should have an extrication saw or something. If not, we have a plasma torch on-site. That should do the trick.”
A voice from above: “The fire department is on scene.” It was Gleason. “I sent Brent down to the road to guide them up.”
“Good,” Perry shouted. “Good. Lower some lights to Jack.” He returned his attention to the unconscious man at his feet and felt helpless. He removed his shirt and laid it over Lenny to help keep him warm. There was nothing to do now but pray. And Perry did.
PERRY WAS THE last one out of the sinkhole, insisting that Lenny and the paramedics go first. The injured worker had not regained consciousness, and Perry could read the concern on the faces of the emergency personnel. They’d bravely lowered themselves into the hole, which still rumbled occasionally. If the situation and noises frightened them, they didn’t show it. That made them heroes in Perry’s eyes.
He watched as they placed a padded cervical collar around Lenny’s neck and checked his vitals. Deciding that the hole was still dangerous, they opted to move him as quickly as possible. Perry helped them gently slide a rigid backboard beneath Lenny’s back and strap his body and head to it, immobilizing him to avoid additional injury. An aluminum litter was lowered, and the patient, still strapped to the backboard, was placed in it. The firemen above pulled the stretcher up, guided by the paramedics.
Moments later, the medics and Jack were assisted out, then Perry started up the side, holding tight to a rope that was anchored around Jack’s massive body. He found a sense of security in that. Once out of the hole, Perry ordered everyone back from the sinkhole’s rim.
Perry struggled to breathe. The dust and smoke had filled his lungs and now his chest hurt with each inhalation. His clothing—and his face—were covered in dirt several layers thick. He coughed again, clearing his throat. Jack joined him.
“Here,” he said, “take some of this.” He held out a clear plastic medical mask with a plastic tube running from it. It was an oxygen mask. Perry took it gladly. “The paramedics said we could return it tomorrow.”
“Lenny in the ambulance?”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “They’re taking him to the same place our helicopter landed yesterday. An air ambulance is on the way.” Even as Jack spoke, the solid thumping of rotors filled the hills.
After a few deep inhalations of oxygen, Perry turned to the wide hole in the middle of the pasture. “How did this happen, Jack? Why didn’t the GPR and other surveys show the kind of geological weakness that would cause this?”
“The weakness may have been too deep,” Jack replied. “Or . . .” he trailed off.
“Or what?”
“Maybe it wasn’t a function of nature. Maybe it was intentional.”
Perry studied his friend for a moment trying to determine if he was making a joke. “Intentional? Like a booby trap?” He began to dust himself off. “That would have to be the world’s biggest animal trap, Jack.”
“I know, but take a look at it.”
Perry stepped back to the edge of the depression. Below he could see the backhoe lying on its side like a sick elephant, a full quarter of it buried in loose soil. He let his eyes trace the rugged edge of the pit. It hit him. “It’s rectangular.”
“I was under the impression that sinkholes generally collapsed in a circular or oval shape, not a rectangular one. At least I don’t ever recall seeing a rectangular sinkhole.”
“Me neither. How long before we can get a geologist out here?” Perry asked.
“I bet we could have one by noon tomorrow.”
“Let’s do it,” Perry said then examined the site again. “I suppose it could be done, although I don’t know how. That would have been a lot of work.”
“So were the pyramids,” Jack rebutted. “Given enough time and enough people, almost anything is possible.”
“What triggered it? The weight of the backhoe? I doubt an ancient people could have imagined a device like a backhoe.”
“Not weight,” Jack said. “Something else.”
Perry thought for a moment. “The digging.”
“Right,” Jack said. “Digging is digging, no matter how it’s done. Dirt is moved. We’re just a few meters from the leading edge of our target. If we were digging by hand the ground would have given away at some point.”
“But the size, Jack. It’s enormous.”
“A lot of years have passed since then; who knows what has happened below grades. Centuries of water percolation could have enlarged the underlying cavity.”
“It’s something to look into,” Perry said. “In the meantime . . .”
“I should arrest you,” a familiar voice said. Perry turned slightly and saw Montulli walking up the grade.
“I wondered where you went,” Perry said. “Arrest me? Why? Did I double-park?”
“You know why. I told you stay put. You could have been killed down there.”
“If it’s any comfort, Sergeant, I told Jack to stay out of the pit too, and he came in anyway.”
“You two deserve each other,” Montulli snapped. A moment later he asked, “You okay?”
Perry said he was.
“Okay, I guess I’ll let your total disregard for my authority in a disaster area go this time,” he said, nodding at the downed backhoe. “How are you going to get that out?”
“We’ll have to tow it out with the dozer,” Perry said, “but not until after a geologist looks at things.”
“So you’re shut down for a while,” Montulli said. “Again. That’ll disappoint the crowd.”
“They’re still there?” Perry said. “At this hour?”
“They’ve thinned some,” Montulli explained, “but they’ll be back tomorrow. With all the excitement, there may be even more of them. You’re the best entertainment in the county.”
“Great,” Perry said as he pondered what to do next. “The last thing we need to be is someone’s entertainment.”
In truth, the crowd bothered him less than the decision he needed to make next. In any other circumstance, he would halt the project until a complete investigation had been performed. But this was not a typical project. So far his secrecy had been compromised, confidential documents had been stolen, crowds were gathered just out of sight, a man had been killed and another injured. Add to all those things that history had just been turned on its ear by the finds already made, and Perry realized that the situation was not going to get any better. Stopping work might actually make things worse.
“Jack,” Perry said, “I want to meet with you, Gleason, and Dr. Curtis. Send as many of the crew you can spare back to the motel for the night. I want everyone here tomorrow, but let them sleep in a little.”
“Will do,” Jack said. “You still want the geologist?”
“Absolutely, and the sooner the better; however, our primary goal has to be reached soon. Additional work can carry on after that.” He paused then said, “Let’s meet in the trailer. Where is Gleason?”
“He and Brent went down to the ambulance with Lenny,” Jack explained. “He said he’d follow them to the landing spot and come back once the air ambulance was on its way. They should be back soon.”
“Good,” Perry said. He lowered his head, something he did when his mind kicked into high gear. “Brent can wait out here. I want it to be just the four of us.”
“I understand.” Jack motioned to the oak grove office. “I think someone else wants to meet with you.”
Perry raised his head and directed his weary eyes in the direction Jack indicated. Anne was standing in the penumbra created by the work lights. Her hands were folded in front of her, and even at this distance she looked tense.
“I found her in the crowd when I was coming back up from the ambulance,” Montulli explained. “She wasn’t able to get past my deputies. She said she wanted to talk to you.”
“Demanded, don’t you mean?” Perry said.
“Not at all. In fact, she seemed . . . different. Reserved. I thought she’d be livid about having been kept away from the accident site, but she wasn’t. Emotionally up one moment, down the next. They have a word for that. Mercury-something-or-the-other.”
“Mercurial,” Perry corrected. “Like mercury in a thermometer.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Montulli said.
“Give me a few minutes with her,” Perry said.
“Sure, but if you need help, just scream,” Jack said. “I’ll send the sergeant in with guns blazing.”
“You’re trying to get me killed,” Montulli said. “He’s on his own. As for me, I’m going to call it a night. There are enough deputies to handle what’s left of the crowd until your rent-a-cops get here.”
Perry turned to the officer; he held out his hand. “Thanks for your help and concern,” Perry said. “I know we have been . . . something of a problem.”
“You got that right,” Montulli shot back. He paused then said with a slight nod, “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
Perry returned the nod and started toward Anne, steeling himself for another onslaught.
ANNE TOOK A deep breath as she watched Perry approach. She was relieved to see him walking. From what Montulli had told her when he escorted her up the slope, Perry was lucky to be alive.
“Um, hi,” she said with a slight smile.
“Hello,” Perry said. “I didn’t expect to see you again, especially at this hour.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she offered. “Greg . . . Sergeant Montulli told me what happened. I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
Perry laughed lightly. “Me too. Unfortunately, my worker wasn’t so fortunate.”
“Will he be okay?”
“I don’t know. He had a head injury, and it looked serious.” Perry motioned to one of the camp chairs. Anne took it, and Perry pulled another chair close to her. On the ground behind them rested six crates in two rows. An uncomfortable silence grew between them. Anne shifted in her chair. “May I ask what happened?”
Perry explained what little he knew, leaving out Jack’s idea about an ancient booby trap.
“And you just jumped in?” she asked with amazement.
“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“You’re a brave man, Perry Sachs. I don’t know anyone else who would have done that.” She shifted in her chair again. Her stomach turned; her breathing went shallow.
“It has nothing to do with bravery,” Perry said. “You seem nervous.”
“What does it have to do with?”
She watched Perry look off in the distance, staring at the big hole in the ground. “Faith, I suppose. Faith and responsibility. He worked for me. I felt responsible.”
Anne inhaled deeply. “You were right,” she blurted. She felt her throat tighten.
“About what?”
“About my owing God an apology.” She bit her lower lip then continued. “Something happened to me tonight, something good . . . wonderful. I didn’t expect it, but it happened anyway. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“You faced God,” Perry said flatly.
“I suppose you could say that. What you said got to me.”
“No, it wasn’t what I said. I just brought up what you already knew, at least subconsciously. The Holy Spirit did the rest. Care to share what happened?”
Anne did, recounting her trip to O’Tool’s, her anger with him, her frustration with herself, and the spiritual catharsis that followed. She left nothing out, and when she finished, she felt new, fresh. “The pain of my husband’s loss is still there. I suppose it always will be.”
“Did you love him?”
The question surprised her. “Yes, I did. I loved him very much.”
“Grief is a function of love,” he said. “Much love means much grief in loss. Hard as it is to live with, it’s a . . . tribute.”
“I suppose. I’ve never thought of hurt as honorable.”
“Our society does everything it can to avoid discomfort. We are pleasure driven these days, not purpose driven.”
“Is that what you are? Purpose driven?”
Perry ran a hand across his face and then through his hair. Dust flew skyward; dirt fell earthward. “I guess so. I’m happiest when I’m working at something that matters.”
“Like your secret mission here?”
“It won’t be secret forever,” Perry said. “Hopefully not for much longer.”
“So you’re pressing on?” Anne asked.
“I have to. I’m meeting with my key people in a few minutes. We’ll make decisions then.”
“Looks like that’s them,” she said, nodding toward the bottom of the slope. A yellow Ford explorer was pulling up the slope.
“Jack went to the road to wait for Gleason and Brent.” He stood. “I’m going to have to cut this short.”
Anne understood. She rose. “I’ll leave you to your planning. I just wanted to apologize for trying to slap you.”
He smiled. “I was pretty direct. Maybe we can start over.”
“Agreed,” she said and held out her hand. He took it in both of his. His touch was warm and strong. “No more jumping in pits.”
“I’ll do my best.”
THE SMALL TRAILER was crowded with somber men. A narrow worktable served as desk and equipment catchall. Several metal folding chairs were stacked against the opposite partition. Perry moved coffee cups, handheld radios, and a few other items to make room for survey drawings made the previous day. Finding a red marker pen, he drew a loose shape on one of the drawings. It represented the cavity that had swallowed the backhoe and its operator in one gulp.
“We were blindsided, guys,” Perry said. “Somehow this got past us all.”
“There was no indication from the GPR or any other survey we did,” Gleason offered. “We did it right, and we did it multiple times, except . . .”
“Except we didn’t do a deep search,” Jack said. “Our initial survey found what we were looking for in general. We used shallow survey devices. Once we got returns on that, we were able to map out the site and plan our coring and digging. I should have called for a deep radar search. That would have shown the sinkhole.”
Perry turned to his men. Jack stood straight and met his eyes, but Perry knew he felt responsible. It had been he who oversaw the project until Perry’s arrival. Gleason looked as if the world had been dropped on his shoulders. He leaned against the wall, head down. Dr. Curtis stood silently in the corner, hands dangling at his side. These were men with unique qualifications for the work they did, but they were also men with feelings and pride. Something had gone terribly wrong, and with the exception of Curtis, they felt responsible.
“Hindsight is always 20/20, guys. You know that.” Perry spoke directly and firmly. His men, his friends, didn’t need to be soothed; they needed to know that they were not to blame. “You did things exactly as I would have. If we knew of every possible problem ahead of time, then we could test for it, plan for it, even avoid it. That’s not an option available to us. We do the best we can and take what comes our way. I could have asked for a deep GPR survey, but I didn’t. Why? Because I knew, as you did, that what we were looking for would be shallow. We weren’t looking for geological faults; we were looking for something man-made. And we found it.” Perry turned to Curtis. “When do we ship out the crates, Doc?”
“I’ve made all the contacts with researchers that I trust, and they’re ready to receive the finds. I didn’t tell them what they would be receiving. I thought they might enjoy receiving the shock of their lives. Just a little academic humor on my part. I’d pay money to see their faces.”
“You’re an animal,” Jack said. “We can’t take you anywhere.”
“Is that true for . . .” Perry was having trouble saying it. Like the others, he was having trouble believing his own eyes. “ . . . Site Six?”
“No,” Curtis said. “She will be sent to my university. I have a couple of aides to receive the shipment and put her under lock and key. I’ve also notified the president of the college. He said he’d make sure security was provided.”
“So you told him what we found . . . who we found?” Perry inquired.
“No. Just that the college was about to be put on the map.”
“Will he open the crate?” Gleason asked.
“I asked him not to. He’s a man of science himself so he understands protocol.”
“Good,” Perry said. “I need advice, men, and I’m turning to you. I want to press on toward the mark. Am I crazy?”
The silence only lasted a moment. “Of course you are, Perry,” Jack answered. “You’ve always been crazy. That’s what we like about you. Normal people are boring. I say we push on without interruption.”
“Even though you think we might have our own Oak Island here?”
“It would explain a few things,” Jack said.
“Oak Island?” Gleason asked.
“It’s an island off the coast of Nova Scotia,” Jack explained. “In 1795 two young men went exploring on the island. They found an oak tree with unusual marks on it, like rope marks. Long story short, they found a treasure pit, and a deviously clever one at that. To this day, despite many repeated attempts, the pirate treasure has eluded recovery. Six people have died trying to get it out.”
“What makes it so hard to excavate?” Curtis asked.
“It appears that whoever buried the treasure—and ideas ranging from Captain Kidd to Francis Bacon have been suggested—booby-trapped the site. In a nutshell, there is a thirteen-foot-wide shaft that descends to about two hundred feet. Coring has brought up bits of oak board, charcoal, putty, spruce, bits of gold coin, cement, iron chain, and more. The booby traps were as ingenious as they were deadly. Sloping shafts ran from the vertical shaft to the ocean. When the digging got deep enough, the shaft opened and flooded the site. Over the years other would-be treasure hunters found another such shaft.”
“But there’s evidence of treasure there?” Gleason asked.
“Oh, yes. One group bored a hole about ninety meters from the money pit and found several artificial cavities. They lowered a remote camera down the borehole and they saw three chests, a severed hand, and a body.”
“So you’re suggesting that the sinkhole was a cleverly devised trap?” Curtis said.
“I’m suggesting that we consider the possibility. A lot of time has passed since our Roman friends set up camp here. Maybe they planned a trap, and the passing years made it more dangerous. Or maybe this was exactly what they meant to happen. We don’t know, and we won’t know until geologists have had time to do a proper examination.”
“Jack’s point is well taken,” Perry said. “The Oak Island pit was probably dug centuries after this site, but it does show that such traps can be devised and implemented by people with nothing more than hand tools.”
“Considering everything else that has happened,” Gleason said, “I think it would be wise to assume that there may be other dangers.”
“You advocate pulling back?” Perry asked.
“No, just the contrary. I’m saying that we move forward, but we assume that something else is going to happen and take precautions. If you’re right, we’re after more than mere gold.”
“I agree,” Perry said. “We may or may not be facing dangers from the past, but we know that we have present-day problems to deal with, not the least of which is a murderer. We push on. Agreed?”
The men agreed.
“All right then. I want to limit the crew’s access to the site. The fewer bodies, the less chance of injury. Now, we have one other thing we need to do.”
Perry turned his back on the table with its papers and reached for one of the folding chairs. He passed one to each man, who opened it and took a seat, each facing the other. Perry sat leaning his arms on his knees, his head bowed forward. He closed his eyes and shut out the room, the trailer, the site, and the rest of the world. Silence settled in the cramped trailer. A moment later, Perry spoke. “Our Father in heaven, we praise You for this day and this opportunity . . .”
The prayer lasted fifteen minutes as each man intoned praise and lifted a request for wisdom and safety. They prayed for their fallen worker, Lenny, and asked for healing. When each man had prayed, Perry made one last intercession, a heartfelt prayer for Anne Fitzgerald.