p&c.thunderhead-第3章

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ly　marked　on　the　Institute's　U。S。G。S。　topographical　map　collection。　Nora　knew　that　only　the　tiniest　fraction　of　these　sites　had　ever　been　excavated；　the　rest　lay　slumbering　under　the　sand　or　hidden　in　caves。　Each　site　number　corresponded　to　an　entry　in　the　Institute's　secure　database；　containing　everything　from　detailed　inventories　to　surveys　to　digitized　sketches　and　letters…electronic　treasure　maps　leading　to　millions　of　dollars　worth　of　prehistoric　artifacts。　
　How　strange；　Nora　had　always　thought；　that　such　a　place　would　be　guarded　by　Owen　Smalls。　Resplendent　in　beat…up　leathers；　heavily　muscled；　Smalls　always　looked　like　he　had　just　returned　from　a　harrowing　expedition　to　the　farthest　corners　of　the　earth。　Very　few　who　met　the　man　realized　he　was　an　Eastern　boy　from　a　wealthy　family；　a　summa　cum　laude　graduate　of　Brown　University；　who　if　placed　out　in　the　desert　would　be　dead　or　lost…or　both…within　the　hour。　
　The　steps　ended　at　a　metal　door　with　a　small　casement　window；　a　red　light　glowing　above　it。　Nora　dug　into　her　bag；　extracted　her　security　card；　and　inserted　it　into　the　slot。　When　the　light　turned　green；　she　heaved　the　door　open　and　stepped　inside。　
　Smalls　occupied　a　fanatically　neat　little　office　outside　the　vault　itself；　overlooking　the　reading　area。　He　rose　as　he　saw　her　enter；　placing　a　book　carefully　on　his　desk。　
　〃Dr。　Kelly；〃　he　said。　〃Nora；　right？〃　
　〃Morning；〃　Nora　said　as　casually　as　possible。　
　〃Haven't　seen　you　around　for　a　while；〃　Smalls　replied。　〃Too　bad。　Hey；　what'd　you　do　to　your　arm？〃　
　Nora　glanced　briefly　at　the　bandage。　〃Just　a　scratch。　Owen；　I　need　to　look　at　a　couple　of　maps。〃　
　Smalls　squinted　back。　〃Yeah？〃　
　〃In　the　C…3　and　C…4　quadrants　of　Utah。　Kaiparowits　Plateau。〃　
　Smalls　continued　scrutinizing　her；　shifting　his　weight；　sending　a　creak　of　leather　echoing　through　the　room。　〃Project　number？〃　
　〃We　don't　have　a　project　number　yet。　It's　just　a　preliminary　survey。〃　
　Smalls　placed　two　giant；　hairy　hands　on　the　desk　and　leaned　over　them；　looking　at　her　more　intently。　〃Sorry；　Dr。　Kelly。　You　need　an　approved　project　number　to　look　at　anything。〃　
　〃But　it's　just　a　preliminary　survey。〃　
　〃You　know　the　rules；〃　Smalls　replied；　with　a　disparaging　grin。　
　Nora　thought　fast。　There　was　no　way　that　Blakewood；　the　Institute's　president　and　her　boss；　would　assign　a　project　number　based　on　the　meager　information　she　could　give　him。　But　she　remembered　working　on　a　project　in　a　different　part　of　Utah；　two　years　before。　The　project　was　still　current；　if　a　bit　moribund…she　had　a　bad　habit　of　not　finishing　things　up。　What　was　the　damn　project　number？　
　〃It's　J…40012；〃　she　said。　
　Small's　bushy　eyebrows　raised。　
　〃Sorry；　I　forgot　it　was　just　assigned。　Look；　if　you　don't　believe　me；　call　Professor　Blakewood。〃　She　knew　her　boss　was　at　a　conference　in　Window　Rock。　
　Smalls　turned　to　the　puter　on　his　desk　and　rapped　at　the　keys。　After　a　moment；　he　looked　up　at　Nora。　〃Seems　to　be　approved。　C…3　and　C…4；　you　said？〃　He　resumed　his　typing；　the　keys　ludicrously　small　in　his　hands。　Then　he　cleared　the　screen　and　stepped　away　from　the　desk。　
　Nora　followed　as　he　stepped　up　to　the　vault　and　swung　the　door　open。　〃Wait　here；〃　he　said。　
　〃I　know　the　routine。〃　Nora　watched　as　he　stepped　into　the　vault。　Inside；　bathed　in　pitiless　fluorescent　light；　lay　two　rows　of　metal　safes；　locked　doors　across　their　tops。　Smalls　approached　one；　punched　in　a　code；　and　lifted　its　door。　Hanging　within　the　safe　were　countless　maps；　sandwiched　in　layers　of　protective　plastic。　
　〃There　are　sixteen　maps　in　those　quadrants；〃　Smalls　called　out。　〃Which　ones　do　you　want　to　see？〃　
　〃All　of　them；　please。〃　
　Smalls　paused。　〃All　sixteen？　That's　eight　hundred　eighty　square　miles。〃　
　〃As　I　said；　it's　a　survey。　You　can　always　call　Professor…〃　
　〃Okay；　okay。〃　Holding　the　maps　by　the　edges　of　their　metal　rails；　Smalls　stepped　out　of　the　vault；　nodding　Nora　toward　the　reading　area。　He　waited　until　she　sat　down；　then　gently　placed　the　maps　on　the　scarred　surface　of　the　Formica　table。　〃Use　those；〃　he　said；　indicating　a　box　of　disposable　cotton　gloves。　〃You've　got　two　hours　to　plete　your　study。　When　you're　done；　let　me　know　and　I'll　replace　the　maps　and　let　you　out。〃　He　waited　while　she　donned　a　pair　of　gloves；　then　grinned　and　returned　to　the　vault。　
　Nora　sat　at　the　table　as　he　shut　first　the　safe；　then　the　vault；　and　returned　to　his　office。　You'll　know　when　I'm　done；　she　thought　to　herself。　The　〃reading　area〃　consisted　of　a　large　table　with　a　single　chair；　placed　in　clear　view　of　Smalls's　glass…windowed　office。　It　was　a　cramped；　exposed　space。　Not　at　all　suitable　for　what　she　had　in　mind。　
　She　took　a　deep　breath；　flexed　her　white…gloved　fingers。　Then；　carefully；　she　spread　the　maps　out　on　the　table；　the　plastic　crackling　as　she　aligned　them　along　their　edges。　The　sequence　of　7。5…minute　maps…the　most　detailed　U。S。　Geological　Survey　maps　made…covered　an　exceedingly　remote　area　of　southern　Utah；　framed　by　Lake　Powell　to　the　south　and　east　and　Bryce　Canyon　to　the　west。　It　was　almost　entirely　Bureau　of　Land　Management　country：　federal　land　that；　in　effect；　nobody　had　any　use　for。　Nora　had　a　good　idea　of　what　the　area　was　like：　slickrock　sandstone　country；　bisected　by　a　diagonal…trending　maze　of　deep　canyons　and　escarpments；　sheer　walls；　and　barren　scabland。　
　It　was　into　this　desolate　triangle；　sixteen　years　before；　that　her　father　had　disappeared。　
　She　remembered　with　painful　vividness　how；　as　a　twelve…year…old；　she　had　pleaded　to　go　along　with　the　searchers。　But　her　mother　had　given　a　brusque；　dry…eyed　refusal。　And　so　she　spent　two　tormented　weeks；　listening　for　news　on　the　radio　and　poring　over　topographical　maps。　Maps　just　like　this　one。　But　no　trace　was　ever　found。　Then　her　mother　instituted　proceedings　to　have　him　declared　legally　dead。　And　Nora　had　never　looked　at　a　map　of　the　area　since。　
　Another　deep　breath。　This　would　be　the　hard　part。　Making　sure　her　back　was　to　Owen　Smalls；　Nora　slid　two　fingers　into　her　jacket　and　removed　the　letter…the　letter　she　had　never　allowed　from　her　person　since　she　found　it；　just　nightmarish　hours　before。　
　The　envelope　was　discolored　and　brittle；　addressed　faintly　in　pencil。　And　there；　as　she　had　in　the　glow　of　the　headlights　the　previous　night；　she　read　the　name　of　her　mother；　dead　six　months；　and　the　address　of　the　ranch　that　had　been　abandoned　for　five　years。　Slowly；　almost　unwillingly；　she　moved　her　gaze　to　the　return　address。　PADRAIC　KELLY；　it　confirmed　in　the　generous；　loopy　hand　she　remembered　so　well。　Somewhere　west　of　the　Kaiparowits。　
　A　letter　from　her　dead　father　to　her　dead　mother；　written　and　stamped　sixteen　years　ago。　
　Slowly　and　carefully；　in　the　fluorescent　silence　of　the　Map　Vault；　she　removed　the　three　sheets　of　yellowed　paper　from　the　envelope　and　smoothed　them　beside　the　maps；　shielding　them　from　Small's　view　with　her　body。　Again；　she　glanced　at　the　strangest　things　of　all：　the　fresh　postmark　and　POSTAGE　DUE　stamp；　showing　the　letter　had　been　mailed　from　Escalante；　Utah；　only　five　weeks　before。　
　She　brushed　her　fingers　along　the　soiled　paper；　over　the　red　POSTAGE　DUE　notice　and　the　badly　faded　ten…cent　stamp。　The　envelope　looked　as　if　it　had　been　wet；　and　then　dried。　Perhaps　it　had　been　found　floating　in　Lake　Powell；　swept　down　the　canyons　in　one　of　the　flash　floods　the　area　was　famous　for。　
　For　perhaps　the　hundredth　time　since　she　first　read　the　letter　the　night　before；　she　found　herself　forced　to　squash　a　surge　of　hope。　There　was　no　way　her　father　could　still　be　alive。　Obviously；　somebody　had　found　the　letter　and　mailed　it。　
　But　who？　And　why？　
　And；　more　frighteningly：　was　this　the　letter　the　creatures　in　the　abandoned　ranch　house　were　after？　
　She　swallowed；　throat　painfully　dry。　It　had　to　be；　there　was　no　other　answer。　
　A　loud　squeak　shattered　the　silence　as　Smalls　shifted　in　his　chair。　Nora　started；　then　slipped　the　envelope　beneath　the　nearest　map。　She　turned　to　the　letter。　
　Thursday；　August　2　（I　think）；　1983　
　　
　Dearest　Liz；　
　Although　I'm　a　hundred　miles　from　the　nearest　post　office；　I　couldn't　wait　to　write　you　any　longer。　I'll　mail　this　first　thing　when　I　hit　civilization。　Better　yet；　maybe　I'll　hand…deliver　it；　and　a　lot　more　besides。　
　I　know　you　think　I've　been　a　bad　husband　and　father；　and　maybe　you're　right。　But　please；　please　read　this　letter　through。　I　know　I've　said　it　before；　but　now　I　can　promise　you　that　everything　will　change。　We　will　be　together　again；　Nora　and　Skip　will　have　their　father　back。　And　we　will　be　rich。　I　know；　I　know。　But；　dear　heart；　this　time　it's　for　real。　I'm　about　to　enter　the　lost　city　of　Quivira。　
　Remember　Nora's　school　report　on　Coronado；　and　his　search　for　Quivira；　the　fabled　city　of　gold？　I　helped　her　with　the　research。　I　read　the　reports；　the　legends　of　some　Pueblo　Indian　tribes。　And　I　got　to　thinking。　What　if　all　the　stories　Coronado　heard　were　true？　Look　at　Homer's　Troy…archaeology　is　full　of　legends　that　have　turned　out　to　be　fact。　Maybe　there　was　a　real　city　out　there；　untouched；　containing　a　fabulous　treasure　of　gold　and　silver。　I　found　some　interesting　documents　that　gave　an　unexpected　hint。　And　I　came　out　here。　
　I　didn't　really　expect　to　find　anything。　You　know　me；　always　dreaming。　But；　Liz；　I　did　find　it。　
　Nora　turned　to　the　second　page；　the　crucial　page。　The　writing　grew　choppy；　as　if　her　father　had　grown　breathless　with　excitement　and　could　barely　take　the　time　to　scribble　the　words。　
　ing　east　from　Old　Paria；　I　hit　Hardscrabble　Wash　past　Ramey's　Hole。　I'm　not　sure　which　side　canyon　I　took…on　a　whim；　mostly…maybe　it　was　Muleshoe。　There　I　found　the　ghostly　trace　of　an　ancient　Anasazi　road；　and　I　followed　it。　It　was　faint；　fainter　even　than　the　roads　to　Chaco　Canyon。　
　Nora　glanced　at　the　maps。　Locating　Old　Paria　beside　the　Paria　River；　she　began　sweeping　the　nearby　canyon　country　with　her　eyes。　There　were　dozens　of　washes　and　small　canyons；　many　unnamed。　After　a　few　minutes　her　heart　leaped：　there　was　Hardscrabble；　a　short　wash　that　ran　into　Scoop　Canyon。　Scanning　the　area　quickly；　she　found　Ramey's　Hole；　a　large　circular　depression　cut　by　a　bend　in　the　wash。　
　It　went　northeast。　It　exited　Muleshoe　Canyon；　I'm　not　exactly　sure　where；　on　an　old　trail　pecked　into　the　sandstone；　and　I　crossed　maybe　three　more　canyons　in　the　same　way；　following　ancient　trails。　I　wish　I　had　paid　more　attention；　but　I　was　so　excited　and　it　was　getting　late。　
　Nora　traced　an　imaginary　line　northeast　from　Ramey's　Hole；　still　following　Muleshoe。　Where　had　the　trail　jumped　out　of　the　canyon？　She　took　a　guess　and　counted　three　canyons　over。　This　brought　her　to　an　unnamed　canyon；　very　narrow　and　deep。　
　I　traveled　the　next　day　upcanyon；　veering　northwest；　sometimes　losing　the　trail；　sometimes　finding　it　again。　It　was　very　tough　going。　The　trail　jumped　to　the　next　canyon　through　a　kind　of　gap。　This；　Liz；　was　where　I　got　lost。　
　Breathing　quickly；　Nora　traced　the　unnamed　canyon；　traveling　across　a　corner　of　the　next　map　and　into　a　third；　miles　of　deadly　desert　travel　for　every　inch　her　finger　moved。　How　far　would　he　have　gone　that　day？　There　was　no　way　of　knowing　until　she　saw　the　canyon　herself。　And　where　was　this　gap？　
　Her　finger　came　to　a　stop　amid　a　welter　of　canyons；　spread　ove