“What do you make of it?” Painter asked.
“I don’t know.”
Before they could ponder it further, a rope fell heavily, coming close to knocking the jar out of Painter’s hands.
“Careful, Kowalski!” he called up.
“Sorry.”
Painter stepped under the opening and lifted the jar with both arms. “Come take this!”
Kowalski gladly took the prize and held it at arm’s length, letting out an appreciative whistle. “At least we found some treasure! Makes my bruised ass feel less sore.”
With a bit of effort, Painter and Hank climbed out of the kiva, and they all worked their way free of the frozen pueblo. Once out in the open cavern, Painter packed the gold jar, accepting the burden for the return trip, wrapping it next to the plates Kai had stolen. His pack had to weigh something like sixty or seventy pounds. He did not look forward to the long climb back to the sun, but there was no choice.
“We should head up before Nancy calls in the cavalry.”
As he turned to the tunnel, a dark shape came flying out the opening and shot past his legs, almost knocking him off his feet. Hank stumbled back in fear—then suddenly recognized a familiar friend.
“Kawtch?” the old man blurted out, surprised.
The dog hugged the professor’s legs, circling and circling, whining deep in his throat. The leash still hung from his collar, tangling up Hank’s feet. He dropped to a knee to calm his dog.
“Must’ve run away from Nancy,” Hank said.
“I think it’s worse than that.” Painter pointed his flashlight down at the ice. A dark crimson streak skittered across the surface, left behind by the dragging leash.
Blood.
Chapter 26
May 31, 8:07 P.M.
Louisville, Kentucky
Hurry up and wait . . .
Monk kept forgetting that this was the motto of the military. He hated cooling his jets—in this case, literally. The three of them sat in the cabin of a Learjet 55 outside a private terminal at the Louisville Airport. It was an older model, but it got them here to Kentucky in one piece, and he appreciated these aged birds with a little air under their tails. He stared out the window, looking down the length of the white wings, searching the dark tarmac.
The trio was waiting for a military team from the U.S. Army Garrison over at Fort Knox to arrive and escort them to the Bullion Depository. They’d been here for over ten minutes. His knee began to bounce. He’d hated leaving Kat over at Sigma. She was starting to have cramps, which, with her being eight months along, set him on edge. She claimed it was just back spasms from sitting for long stretches, but he was nervous enough to interpret every bit of indigestion as a potential miscarriage or impending labor pains.
Kat had practically pushed him out the door for this trip, but not before a long embrace. He had kept one palm resting on her belly—as proud father, as loving husband, even as army medic, making sure she was doing well. He knew how frightened she’d been during the debriefing following the events in Iceland, though she kept her game face on the whole time.
But he knew better.
And now this evening hop to Kentucky. He wanted to get this over with and be back at her side ASAP. He loved missions, hated downtime, but with a baby due any day, he just wanted to be at her side, rubbing her feet.
Yes, he was that much of a man.
Monk pressed his forehead against the glass. “Where are they?”
“They’ll be here,” Gray said.
Monk fell back into his seat, glaring at Gray, needing someone to blame. The bird’s-eye maple interior of the jet was configured with four leather seats: two facing forward, two toward the tail. He sat directly across from Gray, while Seichan sat next to his partner, her bad leg propped up on the opposite chair.
“Do we even know what we’re looking for here?” Monk asked, not expecting an answer, just seeking to distract himself.
Gray continued to stare out the window. “Maybe I do.”
Monk’s knee stopped bobbing. Even Seichan looked over at Gray. Before the wheels had lifted off in D.C., the basic plan had been simply to pop in and take a look around Fort Knox. Not exactly the most brilliant strategy, but no one knew the mysterious source behind these radiating neutrinos. The anomalous readings picked up by the Japanese physicist might be significant, or they might not. The three of them were on a fishing expedition and had left home without their poles.
“What’s your idea?” Monk asked.
Gray picked up a folder tucked into the side of his seat cushion. He’d been reading through all the intelligence reports concerning this mission. If anyone could pick through miscellaneous details and come up with a pattern, it was Gray. Sometimes Monk wished his own mind worked that way, but maybe it was better it didn’t. He knew the burden often placed on his friend’s shoulders. He was more than happy to play the support role. Somebody had to haul out the garbage and make sure the dog got fed.
“I read over the physicist’s assessment again,” Gray said, and glanced up. “Did you know he has Asperger’s syndrome?”
Monk shrugged and shook his head.
“Guy’s a genius, likely a superb intuitive, too. He believed the small neutrino bursts he detected—here, out west, and in Europe—came from something closely related to, but different from, the compound that destabilized and exploded both in Utah and Iceland. He posited that the new substance might be a closely related isotope or maybe even a by-product of the explosive material’s manufacture. Either way, he’s convinced they’re connected somehow.”
“So what are you getting at?” Seichan asked, suppressing a yawn with a fist.
“Hear me out. The other ancient nanotech artifacts found inside that Indian cave were the strange steel daggers and those gold tablets.” Gray stared hard at Monk. “Painter has a couple of those gold plates with him out west.”
“Where the other readings were recorded,” Monk said, catching on.
“They also picked up a reading in Belgium, where the Guild team that we tangled with in Iceland originated. I’m guessing the Guild has one of those plates. Look at how hotly they went after Painter’s niece. Maybe their plate is secured in Belgium.”
Seichan lowered her injured leg and sat straighter. “And now all of us are heading to a gold depository.”
Monk thought he understood. “You think there might be some of those gold tablets hidden at Fort Knox.”
“No,” Gray corrected him, and tapped the file on the seat. “I’ve been doing research on the history of Fort Knox and the early United States Mints. Did you know Thomas Jefferson helped found the very first mint, located in Philadelphia? He even had a set of silver coins minted with his face that were sent with the Lewis and Clark expedition. But he also had gold coins minted.”