Inca Gold - Cussler Clive (читать онлайн полную книгу .TXT) 📗

    As they moved closer, the sound of the moving water increased and reverberated within the confined space. The air had cooled considerably and smelled pure and less stifling. They rushed forward, anxiously hoping each bend in the passage was the last. And then the walls abruptly spread into the darkness and they rushed headlong into what seemed like a vast cathedral that revealed the mountain as incredibly hollow.

    Shannon screamed a full-fledged shriek that echoed through the chamber as if intensified by huge rock concert amplifiers. She clutched the first body that was handy, in this case, Pitt's.

    Giordino, not one to scare easily, looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

    Rodgers stood petrified, his outstretched arm frozen like an iron support, holding the Coleman lantern. "Oh, good God," he finally gasped, hypnotized by the ghostly apparition that rose in front of them and glistened under the bright light. "What is it?"

    Pitt's heart pumped a good five liters (a gallon) of adrenaline through his system, but he remained calm and clinically surveyed the towering figure that looked like a monstrosity out of a science fiction horror movie.

    The huge specter was a ghastly sight. Standing straight, the apparition towered above them, its grisly features displaying grinning teeth, its eye sockets wide open. Pitt judged the horror to be a good head taller than him. High above one shoulder, as though poised in the act of bashing out an intruder's brains, a bony hand held an ornate battle club with a notched edge. The Coleman's light gleamed off the gruesome figure that looked as if it were encased in yellowish amber or fiberglass resin. Then Pitt determined what it was.

    The last guardian of Huascar's treasure had been frozen for all time into a stalagmite.

    "How did he get like that?" Rodgers asked in awe.

    Pitt pointed to the roof of the cavern. "Ground water dripping from the limestone ceiling released carbon dioxide that splattered on the guardian and eventually covered him with a thick coating of calcite crystals. In time, he was encased like a scorpion inside a cheap gift shop acrylic resin paperweight."

    "But how in the world could he die and remain in an upright position?" queried Shannon, coming out of her initial fright.

    Pitt ran his hand lightly over the crystallized mantle. "We'll never know unless we chisel him out of his transparent tomb. It seems incredible, but knowing he was dying he must have constructed a support to prop him in a standing position with his arm raised, and then he took his life, probably by poison."

    "These guys took their jobs seriously," muttered Giordino.

    As if drawn by some mysterious force, Shannon moved within a few centimeters of the hideous wonder and stared up into the distorted face beneath the crystals. "The height, the blond hair. He was Chachapoya, one of the Cloud People."

    "He's a long way from home," said Pitt. He held up his wrist and checked the time. "Two and a half hours to go before the Coleman runs out of gas. We'd better keep moving."

    Though it didn't seem possible, the immense grotto spread into the distance until their light beams barely revealed the great arched ceiling, far larger than any conceived or built by man. Giant stalactites that came down from the roof met and joined stalagmites rising from the floor, merging and becoming gigantic columns. Some of the stalagmites had formed in the shapes of strange beasts that seemed frozen in an alien landscape. Crystals gleamed from the walls like glittering teeth. The overpowering beauty and grandeur that sparkled and glittered under the rays of their lights made it seem they were in the center of a laser light show.

    Then the formations stopped abruptly, as the floor of the cavern ended on the bank of a river over 30 meters wide (100 feet). Under their lights, the black, forbidding water turned a dark emerald green. Pitt calculated the speed of the current at a rapid nine knots. The babbling brook sound they had heard further back in the passageway they now saw was the rush of water around the rockbound banks of along, low island that protruded from the middle of the river.

    But it was not the discovery of an extraordinary unknown river flowing far beneath the floor of the desert that captivated and enthralled them. It was a dazzling sight no ordinary imagination could ever conceive. There, stacked neatly on the level top of the island, rose a mountain of golden artifacts.

    The effect of the two flashlights and the Coleman lantern on the golden hoard left the explorers speechless. Overcome, they could only stand immobile and absorb the magnificent spectacle.

    Here was Huascar's golden chain coiled in a great spiral 10 meters (33 feet) in height. Here also was the great gold disk from the Temple of the Sun, beautifully crafted and set with hundreds of precious stones. There were golden plants, water lilies and corn, and solid gold sculptures of kings and gods, women, llamas, and dozens upon dozens of ceremonial objects, beautifully formed and inlaid with huge emeralds. Here also, stacked as if inside a moving van, were tons of golden statues, furniture, tables, chairs, and beds, all handsomely engraved. The centerpiece was a huge throne made from solid gold inlaid with silver flowers.

    Nor was this all. Arranged row after row, standing like phantoms, their mummies encased in golden shells, were twelve generations of Inca royalty. Beside each one lay his armor and headdresses and exquisitely woven clothing.

    "In my wildest dreams," Shannon murmured softly, "I never envisioned a collection this vast."

    Giordino and Rodgers were both paralyzed with astonishment. No words came from either one of them. They could only gape.

    "Remarkable they could transport half the wealth of the Americas thousands of kilometers across an ocean on balsa and reed rafts," said Pitt in admiration.

    Shannon slowly shook her head, the awed look in her eyes turning to sadness. "Try to imagine, if you can. What we see here is only a tiny part of the riches belonging to the last of the magnificent pre-Columbian civilizations. We can only make a rough assessment of the enormous number of objects the Spanish took and melted down into bullion."

    Giordino's face beamed almost as brightly as all the gold. "Warms the cockles of your heart, knowing the gluttonous Spaniards missed the cream of the crop."

    "Any chance we can get over to the island so I can study the artifacts?" asked Shannon.

    "And I'll need to get close-ups," added Rodgers.

    "Not unless you can walk across thirty meters of rushing water," said Giordino.

    Pitt scanned the cavern by sweeping his light along the barren floor. "Looks like the Chachapoyas and the Incas took their bridge with them. You'll have to do your study and shoot your pictures of the treasure from here."

    "I'll use my telephoto and pray my flash carries that far," said Rodgers hopefully.

    "What do you suppose all this is worth?" asked Giordino.

    "You'd have to weigh it," said Pitt, "figure in the current market price of gold, and then triple your total for the value as rare artifacts."

    "I'm certain the treasure is worth double what the experts estimated," said Shannon.

    Giordino looked at her. "That would be as high as three hundred million dollars?"

    Shannon nodded. "Maybe even more."

    "It isn't worth a good baseball card," remarked Pitt, "until it's brought to the surface. Not an easy job to barge the larger pieces, including the chain, off an island surrounded by a rushing flow of water, and then haul them up a narrow passageway to the top of the mountain. From there, you'll need a heavy transport helicopter just to carry the golden chain."