CHAPTER 1

 

 

            The young geologist ducked under the wing of the small aircraft. Wind whipped and tugged at his golden blonde hair until it stood on end. Dry sand pelted at his bare face, arms, and legs. The roar of the wind made his ears ache. He looked at the older man who sat huddled in a lawn chair, his head buried in his hands. The geologist leaned down and wrapped him in a protective embrace. He would do anything to shield the man who had become like a father to him. 

            “What the hell’s going on?” the man asked.

            “I don’t know,” the geologist answered, “but it should be over soon.” He turned his head to the left, in the direction of the noise, but a wall of sand blinded him. He squeezed his eyes tight and turned away. “Don’t try to look at it,” he yelled to the man he held wrapped in his arms. “Protect your eyes.” 

            The airplane’s wing offered little cover, but there was nowhere else to go. Nothing but miles of blistering sand stretched in every direction. And with the intensity of the wind pressure, there was no way they’d get the aircraft’s door open. Waiting out the maelstrom was all they could do.

            Where had the pilot gone?

            The geologist blinked his eyes open. Tiny dry granules ripped at his corneas so that hot tears streamed down his face. He looked to the right, but there was no sign of humanity. Had the young pilot made it safely inside the airplane before the onslaught had started?

            The raging storm of noise and sand went on mercilessly. The geologist’s skin felt as if it were being licked by searing flames. His head pounded from the thumping tumult.

            Who was doing this . . . and why?

            In an instant, the thumping grew faster . . . and then faster again . . . until it turned into a deafening whirl. The younger man thought his head might explode with the pressure. The older man groaned.

            And then the sound started to move away, and the intense pain on his skin, the burning like a hundred thousand bee stings, finally subsided. Grains of sand fell from the air and landed at their feet. The two men remained still, huddled together like frightened children.

            Within a few minutes the air was motionless and the desert was silent once again. The geologist slowly stood up, intense pain shooting across every inch of his ravaged skin. He brushed the stinging tears from his cheeks, tried to open his eyes, but squeezed them shut again. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on his knees and let the tears fall, allowing nature’s liquid to rinse away the grit. He blinked a few times and, at last, could keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds. Holding up his hand to shield the blazing sun, he looked off in the distance. An indistinguishable aircraft, barely a dot in the distance, vanished over the horizon.

            “Are you all right?” He asked the older man.

            “Yes, I think so.” The man hacked a few times and spat a mouthful of red sand back to the earth. “What the hell was that?”

            “I think it was a helicopter.”

            “A helicopter? It felt like a damned cyclone,” the man sputtered. “Who? . . .What? . . .”

            “I have no idea.”

            The geologist walked away from the craft and stood at the precipice of a gaping hole in the sand that was about the radius of large helicopter blades. He gazed into the chasm and then out into the distance to the place where the craft had vanished over the horizon. Someone was very interested in what they were doing, and he was going to find out who . . . and why the hell they had found it necessary to sandblast a couple of innocent men in the middle of the desert.

            He turned to walk back to the craft when a glint of light at the bottom of the hole caught his eye. He peered closer and spotted a small half-exposed metal object. He glanced over his should at the older man who was still sitting in the lawn chair attempting to brush the offensive sand from his profusely sweating skin.

            The geologist stepped over the edge and slid down into the newly formed abyss until he reached the spot where the object lay. It was no longer in direct sunlight, but still glistened like a flawless diamond. The strange greenish gold orb almost glowed, as if someone had spent hours polishing it to perfection.

            The young man knelt down and blew the sand from the shimmering metal until the entire object was exposed. He reached for it, but hesitated and pulled his hand away. What could the strange piece of metal possibly be? How had it gotten there? It was like nothing he’d ever seen in his geology classes.

            It seemed foreign . . . alien.

            He drew a deep breath. Whatever it was, there was no way he was leaving it behind to be once again swallowed up by the harsh Saharan desert. His hand trembled as he reached out. He picked up the object and turned it over in his hand. It was a perfectly shaped orb that gleamed on all sides.

            He dropped it into his palm and, in an instant, a tingling sensation ran up his arm, into his neck, and rushed through his head.  He threw the object to the ground, stepped back, and shook his hand as if he’d been burned. “What the hell,” he murmured.

            “What’s going on?” the older man called.

            The words seemed to rattle around in his brain. His lips moved, but he couldn’t form a cohesive sentence. What had he been asked? He couldn’t remember. He held his hands to his head and blinked his eyes, yet his mind wouldn’t clear.

            “Is something wrong?”

            The words made some sense now. He could remember.  “Nothing’s wrong . . . nothing at all,” he called over his shoulder. 

            The tingling had lasted only a moment, but his brain seemed to be shrouded in a dense fog. He looked back at the object.

            Now he for sure wasn’t leaving it behind.

            The scientist in him had to know what it was and the archeologist in him needed to know who had left it in the middle of the desert and why. He gave the object a quick poke with his index finger.

            Nothing.

            He poked at it again, this time letting his touch linger a moment longer. Still, nothing happened. Tucking his hand behind his t-shirt, he lifted the object through the cloth and then stood up. He maneuvered the thing into position and let it drop into the pocket of his khaki shorts.

            No tingling. No head rush. Nothing.

            He took a deep breath and climbed out of the hole.

            “How are you doing?” he asked the older man as he approached the aircraft.

            “I’m fine,” the man answered, and then his mouth fell open. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “They look strange,” the elder leaned forward and gazed into the young geologists eyes. “Your pupils, they’re enormous?”

            “Must be from the sand . . . the irritation,” he mumbled.

            “I don’t see—”

            The pilot popped open the airplane’s door and came down the steps looking as fresh as when he’d picked them up that morning. “What’s going on?”

            The older man looked to the pilot. “I was just noticing—”

            “Nothing,” the geologist said.

             “Sorry I couldn’t get you fellows inside the plane in time,” the pilot said, his voice sincere. “Are you both okay?”

            “Yeah, we’re okay,” the younger man answered. “I’m just wondering who the hell just sandblasted us.”

            “Oh, that,” the pilot said. “That would have been the Egyptian Department of Antiquity.”

            The geologist’s heart slammed into his ribcage. He held his palm over the lump in his pocket and swallowed hard. Something extraordinary was going on in this godforsaken patch of desert, and he was determined to find out what it was.

 

 

 

 

             

 

CHAPTER 2

 

 

A warm May sun warmed Ralph Spencer’s shoulders as he made his way across Harvard’s sprawling campus. It was the end of a grueling academic year. Summer was near and he had yet to find the job of his dreams.  He had enjoyed his time at Harvard, but he was now ready to contribute to the world.

In a few days he would interview with Calpetro; the giant oil conglomerate based in San Francisco that had operations all over the world. If only they would see how perfect he was for one of their international positions. Sure, his passion was archeology, but that degree could mean only professional starvation. Geology on the other hand gave him financial security. And what was to stop him from searching for ancient civilizations while drilling for oil? There was a lot of money in oil exploration, especially for a talented geologist.  If he got the job at Calpetro, he could travel to the birthplace of humanity. Who was to say he couldn’t participate in archeological digs along the way?  Maybe he’d even make enough money to fund his own dig one day.

A tingle ran down his spine. Nothing got him more juiced than the idea of uncovering the mysteries of mankind. With two post-graduate degrees and an outstanding GPA, there was no one better qualified for the geology position at Calpetro. But with the economy in such disarray and most major corporations cutting costs in every department, he might have to fight for the job. He drew a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back. He would land that Calpetro job. He had to.

 

 Spencer pulled his jacket around his neck to fend off the early morning San Francisco breeze. In a few hours the sun would break through the fog and it would be another glorious California day. He’d always dreamed of living in the city by the bay and now he had his chance.  He’d had enough of the freezing Virginia winters, which was no better than the bitter cold he’d endured while attending college in New York and Massachusetts. He approached the Calpetro building with a smile. The structure was a glassy black affair that soared above the buildings around it.

A few minutes later a tall man with silver hair strode across the marble Calpetro lobby. “You must be Mr. Spencer.” He shook Spencer’s hand with a firm grip. “I’m John Fortica.

“Yes.” He matched the man’s grip. “I’m Ralph Spencer. Pleasure to meet you.”

Fortica leaned back and stared at Spencer through piercing blue eyes. “I’m due at a site in Indonesia,” he said, “but I stayed on an extra day to conduct your interview myself. Your credentials are impressive.”

“Thank you.” Spencer’s face warmed. A top Calpetro exec had gone out of his way just to interview him. Did it mean the job was in the bag? Probably not, but maybe all he’d have to do was not blow it.

Fortica led Spencer to a small but elegant conference room with a round mahogany table, six executive chairs, and a magnificent view of the San Francisco Bay. There was nothing cheap about Calpetro. But then why should there be when they’d posted a seventeen billion net profit the previous year?

“Please sit down Mr. Spencer and tell me why you want to join our firm?” Fortica said with a tone of sincere curiosity. He gazed at Spencer with that same piercing intensity.

The guy was good. He must have had a lot of interviewing experience. To obtain the position Spencer coveted, he would have to be flawless in his persuasion. “Calpetro is the best in the business. I’ve done extensive research on every oil firm in the world,” he said, “Calpetro has me intrigued. Yours is the only oil firm I know that will assign a geologist rather than a project engineer to a major drilling project. I think that’s smart. But then, I am a geologist . . .” He chuckled.

Fortica didn’t seem to get the joke. It was as if he was in a stare down with Spencer. What was going on behind those intense blue eyes? Whatever it was, Spencer wasn’t about to let it make him squirm. “Anyway,” Spencer added, “my dream is to head up a major drilling operation. The idea of making new discoveries has always excited me.”

“Which explains the archeology degree,” Fortica said.

He broke into a smile. “Yeah, I suppose so.” Spencer’s mind raced ahead. How many digs could he fund with the money earned running a drilling operation? “Moving to San Francisco would be a great perk too.  I could definitely live with the warm climate and gorgeous countryside.”

Fortica’s eyes shifted from Spencer to the spectacular view of the Golden Gate Bridge. His eyes then glazed over for a moment, as if he were checking some internal data stream. He finally turned back to Spencer and gave him a broad smile. “Oh, yes,” he said, “I can understand that. I was born and raised here and wouldn’t live anywhere else. Tell me about your research at Harvard . . .”

Fortica seemed to relax as he asked, and Spencer answered, dozens of questions. Once the staid executive got past interview mode, he chatted cheerfully with Spencer for more than an hour. He was a likable man with a singular devotion to the conglomerate that employed him.

Spencer exited the Calpetro building with lightness in his step. He loosened his blue and gold necktie then bounded down the stairs two at a time. Fortica was impressed, he was sure of it. He’d told Spencer that he would hear from the firm in a week or two. “If you are selected, you’ll be flown back to San Francisco for a briefing and final details on the position,” he’d said.

 

That night Spencer lay in his hotel room bed staring at the shadows on the ceiling.  All he could think about was the job, San Francisco, and the possibility of a new life in California. 

Early the next day he called Paul Seiber, his best friend from undergrad school who had moved to San Francisco two years earlier and made a small fortune in the microchip business. “I might be moving to the Bay Area,” he said.

“You mean permanently?” Paul asked.

“Yep, although I may have to travel for my new job . . . at Calpetro,” he announced with a laugh.”

“No shit? Calpetro?”

“Well,” Spencer said, “I haven’t been offered the job yet, but I feel pretty damn good about yesterday’s interview.”  

 

Two weeks later Spencer sat in his tiny Massachusetts apartment, half-packed boxes at his feet. What would he do if the Calpetro job didn’t come through? He’d been so certain that he’d be hired, he hadn’t made any contingency plans. Yet here he was, two weeks had gone by, and he still didn’t have an answer. No one had better credentials than he did. Calpetro would be crazy not to hire him. Why hadn’t they called?

When the telephone rang the next day, Spencer jumped out of his chair, knocking a cup of hot coffee onto his laptop keyboard. “Damn!”

He grabbed the cordless and punched the green button. “Hello?”

“Mr. Ralph Spencer?”

A lump formed in his throat. It was the call he’d been waiting for; he knew it. “Yes,” he said.

“This is Deb Fisher calling from Calpetro headquarters. I’m Mr. Fortica’s assistant. Your flight to San Francisco is at nine on Monday the twenty-fourth. We’ve arranged a room for you at the Fisherman’s Wharf Marriott. Your briefing will be at two the next day. Is this all acceptable?”

Spencer gazed around the room at the worn gold sofa, scuffed coffee table, and twenty-five year old console television, all of which he’d lugged from one forgettable college apartment to the next for the last eight years. In that moment he made up his mind. If he landed the Calpetro job, he’d leave it all behind and start fresh in San Francisco. He smiled. “Yes, completely acceptable.”

 

He had promised to meet Paul at Ghirardelli Cafe for a cappuccino. The evening was calm and clear. An assortment of sailboats dotted the San Francisco Bay and a puff of white fog hovered over the Golden Gate Bridge.  From Spencer’s vantage point high up on one of San Francisco’s famous hilltops, it was a spectacular sight. He had always imagined the sea as a turbulent predator, its huge waves ready to swallow any sailboat without a moments notice. But today the bay was as smooth as an oil slick and the faraway sailboats slid peacefully through the water. He sighed and let the calm of it all wash over him. He could get used to this new sense of freedom. It was a freedom inspired by nature and guided by the skill of man; it fit him like a well-worn suit. 

“Spencer, my man.”

 He would have known his friend’s familiar voice anywhere. After all, they had been roommates at Cornell for three years during his undergrad stint. He turned around and Paul engulfed him in a bear hug.

 “Long time no see,” Paul said. “How was the flight? And the job, did you get the job?”

            “I’m due for a briefing this afternoon. I’m pretty sure it’s in the bag.”

“Congrats, my man,” Paul smiled and shook his head. “You look great. Getting out in the real world must agree with you.”

“Yeah, college has been a long stretch, but I think it was all worth it . . . I mean, Calpetro . . . can you believe it?”

“Yeah, man,” Paul said with a wide grin. “I really can.”  

Spencer gazed out over the Bay. “God, it’s beautiful here. Have you ever seen so many sailboats at one time?” He turned to Paul. “Do they have rules of the road out there?”

Paul shrugged. “I’m not a sailor, I just appreciate the view.” He gave Spencer’s shoulder a double slap, “Welcome to California, man, it’s great to have you here.”

Spencer gave his friend a quick embrace. “You, too,” he said. “You know, I’ve heard this city saves Calpetro millions in salary and benefits. Once prospective employees see this view, they’re hooked for life.”

Paul nodded and smiled. “Probably true. I know I’m hooked.”

Spencer and Paul chatted over cappuccinos at the Ghirardelli Cafe and then strolled the city streets heading nowhere but taking in all the sites and sounds. Even the smell of the city, a combination of the pervasive salty fog and humanity, seemed to carry with it an exotic quality. When they parted ways, Spencer walked to the Calpetro building to meet the man who he was sure would be his new boss.

Like the main lobby, the thirty-fifth floor of Calpetro headquarters was all marble and deep-colored wood. A steady flow of people walked back and forth along the long carpeted hallway that led to the various executive offices. Within minutes a cheerful secretary guided him to the office of the man in charge of worldwide drilling explorations. His monstrous office was covered with mahogany paneling and decorated with colorful geological maps from all over the globe.

William McPearson was a legend at Calpetro. Spencer had read an article in Time about how McPearson had headed up the discovery of the largest oil deposit in South Africa. The fact that this powerful man would now be guiding his career gave him a chill.  Would he measure up to McPearson’s expectations? 

McPearson came into the room and smiled at Spencer. He wasn’t what Spencer had expected. The man’s large belly hung over his belt and his movement across the room was closer to a waddle than a walk. He had a jolly countenance and well-lined eyes that sparkled when he smiled. Put him in a red suit and beard, and he’d have made a great Santa Claus.

McPearson picked up a file with Spencer’s name on it. “John was impressed with you, Mr. Spencer, and I can see why.  Let’s see . . . dual doctoral from Harvard, undergrad at Cornell . . . geology and Archeology.”

Spencer’s face warmed and he ran his finger under the collar of his shirt. “I think the two sciences go hand in hand,” he said.

“Indeed they do.” McPearson gave the file another glance then threw it on the desk. He dropped his large frame into the executive chair behind his cluttered desk and motioned for Spencer to sit. “We know you have the desire to head a drilling operation someday,” he said. “We here at Calpetro pride ourselves on taking worthwhile risks. We believe that you, Mr. Spencer, are a worthwhile risk. I’m authorized to offer you a position here in my department as a lead geologist.”

McPearson slid a piece of paper across the desk. Spencer all but gasped when his eyes landed on the dollar figure at the bottom of the page. The salary being offered was nearly double what he’d hoped for and far more than he’d been willing to accept. McPearson handed him a second sheet of paper that outlined an extensive bonus package. His head began to swim. It was all happening so fast and the offer was beyond his wildest dreams.

“We would like you to report here for work July first.  Is this an acceptable arrangement?” McPearson asked.

“Yes, sir,” he said as a warmth of excitement and relief washed over him.

 After spending a good part of the afternoon with his new boss answering dozens of questions about himself, his family, and his background, McPearson stood up and shook his hand. “I like to get to know my people,” McPearson said. “Let me show you around and introduce you to some of the other department heads.”

Spencer stood up and smiled. He had made it. He was now a part of the inner circle of one of the world’s most prestigious oil companies.

McPearson smiled his infectious smile and clapped Spencer on the back. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Spencer. I’ll have my secretary put everything in writing.  It’ll be ready for you by the end of the day. Enjoy California and we’ll see you on July first.”

 

            Spencer admired the Napa Valley countryside out of the winery’s huge picture window. Paul had insisted on showing him some of his favorite sites in the Bay Area. The winery was already on his favorites list. He tipped his half-full wine glass toward Paul. “This is my last glass,” he said with a chuckle.  “I came to enjoy the scenery, not get sloshed.”  He let his gaze fall on the golden hillside in the distance. “This countryside is more beautiful than I imagined.”

Paul stretched his legs and interlaced his hands behind his head. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh, “we’re pretty damn lucky to live here.”

Spencer took a sip of the ruby liquid in his glass and savored its rich, smooth flavor. “By the way, can I get you to help me find an apartment near my office.  I want a short commute and you know the area a helluva lot better than I do.”

“Sure. I know of a great complex near Fisherman’s Wharf. It’d be perfect for you. I think it’s a five-minute walk to Calpetro.”

 

Spencer settled into the California lifestyle with ease. He reported for his first day of work with a golden tan and a smile.  He was assigned an office at the far end of the long hallway with a center window overlooking the bay.  The office had apparently belonged to George Bellici, one of Calpetro’s senior partners.  Bellici had died suddenly of a heart attack. Spencer heard the story from virtually everyone at the firm within his first week. Apparently, he had some big shoes to fill. 

McPearson’s Research and Development department consisted of twelve geologists, half dozen assistants, seventeen soil engineers, and forty-two reconnaissance technicians, not to mention the secretarial staff. 

“You got lucky, Mr. Spencer. This is the only office available. I hope you can live with it.” McPearson chuckled at his own joke and shuffled over to the window.

Live with it?  He’d never even dreamed of such a luxurious office.

“You’ll be taking over some of Bellici’s work,” McPearson added. “This used to be his office until he died last month. It was a real loss to the firm.” 

 “I was sorry to hear about Bellici’s passing. Thank you for this opportunity. I’ll do my best.”

McPearson gazed at him, his brow furrowed. “I believe you will, Mr. Spencer, I believe you will.” He walked to the doorway and turned back. “The gang here calls me Bill, I hope you’ll do the same. We’ll get together later, once you’ve had a chance to settle in.”

“Sounds good,” Spencer said, “And everyone calls me Spencer. You can drop the mister.”

McPearson nodded and smiled.

            A moment later a petite young brunette wearing a pale yellow dress and high-heeled white sandals walked through the door. She held a steno pad in one hand and a pen in the other. “Hi, I’m Sarah Nugent, your secretary,” she said with a slight southern twang.

“I take it you’re not from around here.” Spencer shook her hand and smiled.

“Alabama,” she said. “Moved here six years ago with my husband. He’s a computer engineer, but we’re divorced now . . . I’ve been trying to lose the accent since I got here. Guess I haven’t been too successful, huh?” She said with a shrug. “Anyway, I’m assigned to three geologists here and I can help you with whatever you need. Today I’ll be helping you get set up, answer any questions you might have regarding office procedures…stuff like that.”

“Well, Sarah, I’m Ralph Spencer, the new geologist.”

“I know who you are.” She smiled. “Great office by the way. Lucky you.”

Spencer smiled and followed her gaze out the window. The Bay glistened in the late morning sunshine and small puffs of fog floated above the water. “Yeah, pretty lucky,” he said, turning back to Sarah.

            “Bill is a stickler when it comes to procedure.” she warned.  “He says documentation is the backbone to a successful division. We have to justify all our expenditures carefully since Accounting is convinced that our only purpose is to waste company money.” 

Apparently even at a progressive company like Calpetro, divisions not producing revenue were looked down upon. 

“Who do they think is responsible for the oil finds anyway?” Sarah added.  “After all, without R and D there would be no Calpetro.”

After a week with Sarah at his side, Spencer was grateful to have her on his team.  She was organized, witty, and quick on her feet. Sarah’s high energy was contagious, and she had a knack for keeping the department ticking.  Her workstation was centrally located, easily accessible, and well organized. A picture of her two young boys was prominently displayed on the corner of her desk for all to see. Being a single mom in the high-priced Bay Area was tough, but that was Sarah, strong and proud. Her knowing gaze often gave Spencer a secure feeling.  He wasn’t sure why, but she sometimes reminded him of his mother.

Spencer’s assignment included the analysis of aerial maps taken by a reconnaissance plane.  The aerial data on his first big assignment was taken over North Africa near the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. The photo quality was astounding. The pictures were taken the previous November over a period of three weeks when the weather had been exceptionally clear.  The reconnaissance material also included several infrared photos taken by the space shuttle.  Calpetro had paid handsomely for them, but the cutting-edge technology could make the difference between millions of dollars in profit and thousands of miles of useless sand. 

Spencer scanned the infrared mapping. The images made using heat detection would require Spencer’s well-trained eye to be deciphered. He would analyze the topographical heat intensity map and chart all the heat sources.

Sarah dropped a large box on his desk. “We have two more boxes of photographs coming.”

“Nothing like diving in head first.” Spencer laughed. He had a long, tedious job ahead of him. “It’s a good thing I love my work.”

For the next several weeks Spencer buried himself in his new job.  He wanted to make a great impression and spent most of his time at the office.  He had neglected to return several calls from Paul.  He was too busy to eat, let alone spend long evenings in bars drinking and chasing women. Besides, his work excited him. He didn’t need any distractions right now.  The touch of mystery, the feeling that he was a detective trying to solve a case, enticed him into the office at all hours.  The photographs were like a crime scene; they contained all the answers . . . but where?

Aided by one of the largest databases in the world, Spencer reviewed old photos from other successful sites and compared them to his pictures. Calpetro had an extensive computer system. All previous site pictures were digitized and stored in the computer’s memory banks. Spencer spent each day comparing photos until his eyes could no longer focus. Bill McPearson made regular visits to his office. They chatted and compared ideas over multiple cups of coffee and piles of aerial photographs. 

            “I’m telling you, Spencer, I worry about our profession sometimes,” McPearson said, shaking his head and scowling.  “Some people believe the oil’s going to run out soon . . . practically any day now.” 

            “I wouldn’t worry about that.  This country relies on oil reserves.  I doubt there’s any chance it will run out in our lifetime.  Of course,” he added, “that’s no excuse for not staying up with alternative energy technology.” 

McPearson stood up, stretched, and yawned. “I suppose you’re right.”

 “Hey, Bill.” Spencer typed a security code into his computer. “Before you go, do you have a minute to look at something?”

“Sure, what’s up?” McPearson ambled around to Spencer’s side of the desk. 

The last big oil find for Calpetro was George Bellici’s dig three years earlier. McPearson needed a break soon or he’d have the suits breathing down his neck. Spencer had held off on showing him the Egyptian photos until he was sure about what he was looking at. But why not get his boss’s point of view now? It was too exciting for him to keep to himself any longer. Besides, McPearson was known for handing out extra large bonuses for the whole floor after a find. Spencer clicked on a large aerial photo of the Sahara Desert. He then dragged an infrared image of the same region and superimposed it over the map.

“How did you do that?” Bill asked, his brow furrowed.

“I had this infrared photo taken by the space shuttle back in July and then loaded it into this new imaging software.” He pointed at the thirty-two inch monitor on his desk. “I remapped all of the shading on it and superimposed it over the latest aerial map . . .” Spencer’s heart was thudding against his ribcage. “Take a good look at the composite of the two maps,” he said to McPearson. “Tell me what you see.”

Spencer chewed on a hangnail and his knee bobbed at a rapid pace. McPearson ran his finger over the screen as he zeroed in on areas of interest.  When superimposed, the two maps created a three dimensional view of the terrain and the ground below.

“I’ve never seen such detail,” McPearson said finally. “Is this for real?”

“Absolutely. It’s the latest in GPS. This map is accurate to within an inch. It came from three different sources.” Spencer brushed a tiny speck of dust from the screen. “Aerial photos, space shuttle infrared, and satellite positioning ensures the congruence of the two maps.”

“If this is accurate, then there’s something . . . unusual . . . here.”  Bill pointed to a large shaded area that appeared to be far below the surface.

“Glad you concur with my findings,” Spencer said, a quiver of excitement in his voice, “I’ve been looking at that spot for days. The infrared shows a large heat source, yet the aerial map has no evidence of it.  When superimposed, we get the results seen here.” He circled the shaded area with his finger. “Something’s troubling me, though. The shaded area appears to be void. See there?”  Spencer ran his finger along barely visible lines in the map. “These contours are too far apart to establish evidence of an oil mass.”

McPearson stared at the map, several deep lines furrowing his brow. He scanned the image a second time. “If that’s a void . . .” He looked at Spencer with wide eyes. “Why, it must be the largest cave ever discovered at that depth. Christ, it’s massive.” He ran a finger along the darker image. “It must be at least two hundred miles long by twenty miles wide. Any idea how deep it is?”

            “Not yet, I just sent the latest data up to the computer lab for depth analysis. I should have an answer tomorrow.”

            “I don’t know what we’re looking at just yet, but there’s got to be oil down there, and if there is, we’re looking at the largest African deposit ever.”

 

Spencer arrived at his Calpetro office before dawn the next day. It was a Friday and he had promised Paul he would spend the weekend Christmas shopping in Palo Alto.

That afternoon he got the answer he was waiting for. The average depth of the oil mass, if that’s what it was, was about two and a half miles.  He spent the rest of the day preparing his final report for Bill McPearson, and with Sarah’s help, was able to finish before the end of the day.

On his way out of the office that night, he requested a full staff meeting for Monday at nine sharp. By that morning, the word was out that Spencer had called a staff meeting and that he was on the verge of discovering a large oil deposit. The department crackled with excitement when he arrived. The secretaries, assistants, and even the mail clerks were whispering. The news had attracted half dozen execs from operations, along with John Fortica, and McPearson offered them the best seats. The conference room was equipped with the most sophisticated multimedia equipment available, and large computer monitors, strategically placed, allowed for teleconferencing anywhere in the world. 

Calpetro demanded the tightest security, especially for the R&D division. If there was a leak about a possible discovery, the result could be disastrous. Competition for oil was fierce and an information breach could break even a well established company like Calpetro.  McPearson had requested that only invited parties attend the presentation and anyone without clearance was turned away. Spencer and Sarah arrived with a laptop fully loaded with the aerial maps. He started with a PowerPoint presentation that explained the procedure he had undertaken with the infrared map. He then superimposed the map over the aerial photograph. “As you see here, when the infrared mapping is superimposed precisely over the aerial data, the computer program that I developed shows a three dimensional resolution below grade.”

There were a few gasps and murmurs in the room. Clearly his procedure had impressed those who understood its significance. McPearson wore a pleased, if slightly smug, expression. Spencer’s face warmed. In less than a year he had impressed some of the top execs at Calpetro. What more could he ask for? “On Friday our computer lab used sound waves to confirm the depth of this possible deposit at about two and a half miles from the surface.”  Spencer paused. “I’m optimistic about this discovery, but I still have a number of questions. I’d like to take a closer look.”

“What kind of questions, Mr. Spencer?”  McPearson asked.  He was obviously impressed with Spencer’s presentation and struggling to hide his enthusiasm.  And why not, this could be one of the company’s biggest oil finds.

“Sir, I’d like your permission to go to Africa to see the site for myself. I’m concerned that the infrared shaded area might be a large void and not actual fossil remains.  If that were the case, the two hundred-mile long, twenty-mile wide void would be the largest cave ever discovered at that depth. There’s no telling what might be down there.” 

Spencer sat down and McPearson walked to the front of the room. “This discovery must be treated very carefully. I’ll implement extra security immediately.” McPearson glanced at his superiors and then walked over to where Spencer sat. “I’m impressed with what Mr. Spencer has been able to do since joining this firm, and—”

“Way to go, Spencer,” someone called from the back of the room. His team members broke into a round of applause. The back of Spencer’s neck warmed. He had never been publicly praised before. He turned around and waved at his peers. Spencer stole a quick glance at the executives in the front row. They were all clapping politely.

McPearson raised his hands. “And, I’m going to give Mr. Spencer my one hundred percent support.” He looked at Spencer and smiled. “You’ll be on a plane to Africa as soon as possible.”

Spencer’s heart pounded. He ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t contain his happy grin, but then again, why should he? His career was moving forward faster than he’d ever dreamed possible. Two junior geologists patted his back. “Congrats, Spencer,” said one.

“I’ll need to fly over the area with the local reconnaissance crew that took the original shots,” Spencer said to McPearson. 

McPearson turned off the projector. “No problem.  We’ll meet at three today to finalize the details.”

The Calpetro executives stood up  and walked over to Spencer. The first, an Asian man in a navy suit, put out his hand. “Good job, Mr. Spencer, glad to have you on the Calpetro team.”

“Thank you, sir.” He shook hands with each executive in turn.

John Fortica stood back a moment and gave Spencer his sharp, assessing look. The silver-haired man could be a formidable presence when he wanted to be. He stepped forward and offered his hand, a twitch of a smile playing on his lips. “Looks like I made the right decision in hiring you,” Fortica said, laying his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “You know that Calpetro’s counting on you?” He shook Spencer’s hand. “Keep up the good work.”

Spencer frowned as he watched Fortica walk out the door. The man’s last statement had sounded more like a warning than a compliment. But why?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3

 

 

The enormous jet touched down at the Cairo airport. McPearson glanced over at Spencer, who was looking out the window, his green eyes wide like those of a schoolboy. He’d taken an unexpected liking to the tall young man whose earnest optimism had captivated his entire department, he was proud of what Spencer had accomplished in such a short time. He hadn’t intended on tagging along to Egypt, but he’d gotten caught up in Spencer’s enthusiasm.  McPearson, like Spencer, was a workaholic, not because he loved to work, but because he loved the work he did. Even when he wasn’t working, he was planning projects or researching future opportunities. He took his first look out the window at Cairo. Waves of heat rose off the tarmac and everything was covered in red sand. Two dark-skinned men waved the jet into the gate. This was Egypt, the cradle of modern civilization, the keeper of mankind’s greatest mysteries; it was the ultimate dream for archeologists like Spencer.

A droplet of sweat trickled from McPearson’s forehead and slid down his nose. He swatted it away. His enthusiasm for the region was already waning. Desolate, godforsaken, and damn hot, that was his take on Egypt.

Jeff Miller, the young pilot assigned to the aerial reconnaissance of the North African region, greeted McPearson and Spencer as they exited Customs. McPearson had interviewed Jeff a year earlier. He liked the man. He read over Miller’s file on the flight over and then shared it with Spencer. Jeff Miller was employed by Calpetro, but had not been in the States for over eight months. His assignment had been exclusively in the Egyptian region. He’d been flying practically every day since his arrival. Jeff was twenty-nine, rugged, intelligent, and careful. He once navigated an emergency landing that had saved the lives of a dozen crewmembers and had since become known as “Steady Miller” among his fellow aviators.

“The reconnaissance plane is at a small airport just outside the city,” Jeff said. “We’ll go there by car and then I’ll take you to the site.”

By the time they boarded the small reconnaissance plane, McPearson was drenched in sweat. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. How could Spencer and Miller both look so damned comfortable?  He heaved his weight up the steps, fell into the too-small seat, and then strapped the seatbelt around his waist. Maybe when he got home he’d start that diet the doc had given him.

Jeff handed him and Spencer each a headset. “We’ll be able to talk through these,” he said.

Jeff climbed into the cockpit. A few minutes later his voice came through the headset. “We are ready for take off, gentleman.” The plane raced down the runway and within minutes was soaring above the desert,  “Here’s your chance to see Egypt from a great vantage point,” Jeff said.

Spencer had given Jeff exact coordinates for the dark void on the infrared overlay.

“Can you land there?” Spencer asked, pointing at a long stretch of sand.

“No problem.  Here in the desert the only hazards are sand pockets and the wind,” Jeff answered.

“Circle over a couple of times first.” Spencer said. “I want to take some more aerial photos in this specific zone.”

“Are the plane’s cameras ready?” McPearson asked.

“Always,” Jeff replied.

“Okay, set the elevation at six-thousand feet for the first pass, and then let’s take it at four-thousand feet and a final at two-thousand.”

“Will do, Mr. Spencer.”

“Hey, forget the mister. Everyone call’s me Spencer, all right?”

“Sure, Spencer, here we go.” 

Ten minutes later they were on the ground.  Jeff’s desert experience had helped him choose a flat area where he could land with relative ease.

McPearson stepped out of the plane. “Hell . . . that’s where we’ve landed. This sun will cook me alive. I mean, stick a fork in me, I’m done.”

Spencer and Jeff looked at each other and laughed.

Jeff put his hands on his hips and looked around. There was nothing but sand in every direction. “What the hell do you expect to find here anyway?”

Spencer glanced at McPearson.

Should they tell Jeff the truth? The man did work for Calpetro and, if they decided to dig, he’d be putting in long hours on the project. He nodded to Spencer.

Spencer grinned and turned to Jeff. “We are standing on what we all hope is a very large oil deposit,” he said, his face flushed and eyes gleaming. “It might be more than two miles underground, but we know something’s there. I’m looking for abnormalities on the surface. If we find them, we’ve got additional evidence to corroborate our map data. Sometimes pressure builds in the underground location and the only way to release it is for the oil to slowly find its way up and above the surface.  I know it’s unlikely, considering that, at this point at least, we’re estimating the find at two miles, but we have to check.”

The breathless words had tumbled out of Spencer’s mouth. Damn, the man was wound up about this project. Maybe wound a little too tight?

“I’m also looking for ground movements,” Spencer said.  “You see, over the centuries, with such a large mass of liquid below, ground motions such as earthquakes can produce surface displacements that are characteristic of a hidden wealth of underground oil.”

“Well, Spencer,” Jeff replied, with a smile and a clap on the back. “That was way more than I needed to know, but good luck.” 

Spencer laughed. “Thanks, luck is something we just may need.”

McPearson sat down in a folding chair under the plane’s wing, the only shade to be found for at least twenty miles. He alternated between sipping water from a canteen and dabbing sweat from his brow. “Godforsaken place,” he muttered.

Spencer held a small video cam. Using the satellite positioning system, he scanned the surface over a three-hundred-sixty degree circle. He also took still photos using the same technique.  He then used a magnetometer to record the variations in geomagnetic intensity.

“I’m glad you’re up to speed on all this new-fangled technology,” McPearson said. “I can’t keep up. Must be getting close to retirement time.”

“Come on, Bill, you’d be bored in a day,” Spencer said.

“I think I could manage to find—” A blast of wind slammed into his face and sucked the breath out of his lungs. A thunderous thump, thump, thump pounded at his ears. He dropped his forehead to his knees and held his head in his hands. A moment later the protective warmth of Spencer’s body enveloped him.

“What the hell’s going on?” McPearson yelled.

“I don’t know, but it should be over soon . . . Just don’t try to look. Protect your eyes.”

McPearson struggled to breathe. His every inhale was laden with dust and sand. How much more of this could he take?

The tumult seemed to last for an hour, but was probably only a few minutes. By the time it ended and he was able to look up, the craft that had stirred the desert into a wild frenzy was vanishing in the distance. Spencer had brushed himself off and gone off to investigate. McPearson didn’t expect him to find much. They were in the middle of the most desolate desert on earth. What could be out there? But then again, what were those idiots in the jumbo helicopter trying to prove? All he could do was sit tight, hack up sand, and try to catch his breath. Every attempt to brush the grit from his damp body was futile. He stuffed his handkerchief in his pocket and gave up.

A moment later Spencer walked back toward the aircraft. He seemed shaken and he had the oddest look on his face.

“How are you doing?” Spencer asked.

“I’m fine . . .” McPearson answered. But there was something very not fine about Spencer. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“What do you mean?”

“They look strange . . . Your pupils, they’re enormous.”

Spencer mumbled something about the sand and irritation. But no, it was something more.

 Jeff poked his head out of the airplane and apologized for not getting them inside in time. “Egyptian Department of Antiquity,” Jeff said, “local patrol . . . they’re checking up on us to make sure we’re not digging without permits.”

Spencer stood just a few feet from them, but by the eerie look in his eyes he was clearly a million miles away. Something had happened to him out in the desert, but what?

“The Egyptian government is super protective when it comes to archeology,” Jeff said. “They’re always patrolling this region to discourage unauthorized digs.”

 “I’m finished with the photos anyway. Let’s get out of here.” Spencer said.

McPearson peeled his damp shirt away from his skin. He’d get to the bottom of what had happened to Spencer later, when they were in a nice air-conditioned lounge.  “Best news I’ve heard all day,” he said. “Let’s go.”

 

Spencer stepped out of the shower and toweled his hair. A hailstorm of fine sand fell to the tiled floor. He dropped the towel and stepped back in the shower, this time washing his hair twice. That damned helicopter had coated him with sand. It had somehow gotten into every conceivable part of his body. The discomfort was worth it, though, to stand on what would possibly be the biggest oil find in decades. He glanced at the glistening object sitting on the bathroom counter. And to find such an unusual artifact was beyond his imagination. He should really turn it over to the Egyptians, but that would put an end to the dig before it ever started. Plus, he wanted to find just what the artifact was for himself.    

Later that evening he relaxed at the hotel bar and was joined by Jeff. McPearson had chosen to nap in his air-conditioned room. A group of loud Americans wandered in and straddled the stools at the bar. Jeff gestured to a table on the patio beside the pool. Spencer nodded and picked up his beer. The two men walked out into the night air. It was still warm, but a light breeze stirred the palm fronds above them. Jeff slid into a chair and looked at Spencer with bright eyes and a crooked smile. “So, Spencer, how do you like Egypt?”

“Godawful hot. But I love it. I’m here doing geological work, but my first love is archeology. What better place than Egypt for an archeologist?” He leaned forward and took a sip of his beer. “Jeff, I’ll tell you in confidence, I think the zone we surveyed today will qualify for a drilling project . . . a big one.”

“Wow, really?”  Jeff ran his hand through his hair and desert granules showered onto his lap. “I’ve given up fighting the sand months ago,” he said with a boyish grin.

“I gotcha.” Spencer brushed his fingers through his air and sand fell to the table. “And that’s after three showers,” he laughed, brushing the particles to the floor.

  “Have you told McPearson about your findings?” Jeff asked.

“I need to fully analyze today’s data, of course, but I’m optimistic that something is down there. I have to be sure before I discuss it with McPearson.”

 “I’ll keep my fingers crossed.  There’d be a bonus in it for me, and I could sure use it.”

The two men chatted for about an hour. A full moon had risen and was reflected off the still pool water. The bar patio wasn’t crowded, but a few people wandered outside trying to cool off in the night air.

A tall, dark-haired woman in a long white shirt approached the deep end of the pool.  She kicked off her sandals and tucked them under a chaise lounge. She shrugged the shirt off of her tan shoulders and threw it across the chair. She wore a black one-piece bathing suit that showed off her long, sexy legs.  She hesitated at the edge of the pool and then took a graceful dive forward, leaving rings of rippling water in her wake. Jeff was rambling on about some late-night television show that featured naked Egyptian women. Spencer ignored him. He watched for the woman to reappear. The water grew still. Where was she? He waited a few more seconds, fighting off the instinct that was telling him something was wrong. She’d been under for at least thirty seconds. He stood up and rushed to the pool’s edge, knocking his beer over on the way.  The woman was floating face down in the pool.  A thin trickle of blood meandered through the water.  She must have hit her head on the bottom.  He dove in and turned her over, pulling her to the pool’s edge. He touched her neck, feeling for a pulse. A tremor, like an electric shock, ran through his body and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He pulled his hand away.

What the hell?

“Call an ambulance!” he yelled out. “Medical emergency!  Is there a doctor here?”

A tall thin man in a cotton shirt and tailored pants rushed to Spencer’s side. “I’m a doctor,” he said.

He was one of the Americans who had been sitting at the bar for hours. The man stunk of stale liquor. He could only hope he wasn’t too smashed to help her.

 The doctor began resuscitation and soon the woman was coughing up pool water.  Spencer retreated to his table, his eyes full of concern for the strange, beautiful woman.  He tried not to stare as the doctor led her past his table toward the emergency vehicle that had pulled up in front of the bar.  As they passed, the woman leaned over and managed to lay her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered in a strained voice.

Her fingers were like ice, but there was no shock or tremor and the hair on his neck stayed in place. She looked into his eyes and smiled. Her eyes were black, like deep, dark pools. If he let himself fall into those eyes, he too, might be at risk of drowning. 

 

Early the next morning Spencer was awakened to loud knocking.

“Get up. I have a surprise for you.”

Still half asleep, Spencer opened the hotel room door. He looked at McPearson through squinted eyes. “Is something the matter?”

“No, Mr. Archeologist. I’ve got something to show you. So don’t just stand there, get dressed. Come on, this is my treat.”

After a quick breakfast at the hotel, the pair approached the first taxi from the lineup outside the hotel. “Do you have air conditioning?” McPearson asked the driver.

“Yes, yes, get in,” the man answered in a heavy accent.

To the pyramids,” McPearson said.

Spencer’s jaw fell slack.

“C’mon, don’t look so surprised. I think we both deserve a break after yesterday, and we’ve got the whole day free.”

Five minutes into the drive, the air in the car became stifling. McPearson looked as if he’d just come out of a swimming pool. “What about the air conditioning?” Spencer asked the driver.

The man shrugged his shoulders, mumbled something in Egyptian and drove on. “Do you want to go back?” he asked McPearson.

“No, no, let’s just roll down the windows.” McPearson said with a forced smile.

 Spencer preferred the open air anyway. For the first time, he was able to take notice of the Egyptian charm.  He even waved to some of the locals as they rode by on camels. McPearson pointed to the great pyramid of Caofes, but signaled for the driver to keep going. 

“This is why I studied archeology.” Spencer shouted as they bounced over the pot-holed road. “All my life I dreamed of this day. Here stands one of the greatest mysteries of our world, still unsolved.  Many theories have been put forth, but even today with our technology, we are not able to duplicate this magnificent feat.”

McPearson nodded with a stiff smile and patted a limp handkerchief to his wet face.

The man looked miserable. “Sure you don’t want to turn back?”

“Not for anything,” McPearson said.

When they finally stopped, Spencer approached the pyramid and touched it solemnly. He looked at every detail and admired the accomplishments of the ancient Egyptians. McPearson followed him around, but said little.

 Particularly impressive was the size of the pyramid and of the individual stones. What logical explanation could there be for how such large granite stones got placed the way they did. Face to face with the actual structure, he was at a complete loss. “Bill, do you see this fit here?” He pointed to the space between two large stones.  The joint here is less than one millimeter.  It’s an engineering feat that has yet to be duplicated.”

“Sure is a marvel. I would love to know how those darned Egyptians did it.”  McPearson said. “And I’d really like to know what happened to you in the desert yesterday.” He stared at Spencer with piercing eyes.

“You mean besides getting pelted by a billion grains of sand?” Spencer laughed.

McPearson said nothing, but the concern reflected in his eyes said it all.

 “C’mon, Bill, I’m fine. I was just experiencing a little shock, that’s all.” He turned back to the pyramid. “What’s most remarkable to me,” he said, changing the subject, “is how the older pyramids are better crafted than the newer ones. Egypt’s past is still one of the great unsolved mysteries.  I think it holds the key to who we are today.”

“I’m going to ask you one more time, and then I’ll let it rest . . . Did something happen to you in the desert yesterday?”

How could he lie to the man who had given him this amazing opportunity? But then, what would he say when he didn’t even know what had happened? It all seemed like a dream now . . . and he’d touched the object dozens of times since then and nothing has happened. “No, Bill, nothing happened. I was just a little shook up, that’s all.”

McPearson clapped his shoulder. “Okay, then . . . I’m glad you’re okay.”

They rode back to the hotel in silence. A deep frown had settled onto McPearson’s face. Rivulets of sweat streamed down his cheeks and neck and into his collar. He seemed to have given up on wiping his brow. Why the grim look? Was he still suspicious of what had happened in the desert?  Or was he envious of Spencer’s hunger for the truth? Did the passion that was surely reflected in Spencer’s own eyes make him jealous? Or make him long for the days when he was twenty years younger and fifty pounds lighter and the world was still his to conquer?

Spencer gazed out the window at the desolate landscape and sighed. As it was, McPearson was an important man doing an important job. His schedule and priorities could hardly include a long romp through the mysteries of Egypt.