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of the mountains. The discovery of this city died with them.”
    â€œSo maybe they didn’t get a chance to loot this tomb,” Maggie insisted.
    â€œPerhaps…”
    Maggie knew her words did little to convince anyone. She, too, knew that if the conquistadors had the time to etch the bands, then they had more than enough time to raid the temple. She didn’t know what else to say, so she simply slumped in her seat.
    Sam spoke up. “Okay. This is the best I’m able to pickout of this mess. Domine sospitate something something hoc sepulcrum caelo relinquemeus . Then a few lines I couldn’t make out at all, followed by ne peturbetur at the end. That’s it.”
    â€œAnd what does that mean?” Maggie asked.
    Sam shrugged and gave her one of his wise-ass smiles. “Do I look like a Roman?”
    â€œOh my God!” Philip exclaimed, drawing Maggie and Sam’s attention. He bolted upright. The rag dropped from his face to his lap.
    â€œWhat?” Sam lowered his magnifying lens.
    â€œThe last part translates, We leave this tomb to Heaven. May it never be disturbed .”
    Ralph suddenly pushed through into the tent, his hands full with four mugs. “Who wants coffee?” He paused when he saw them all frozen with eyes wide. “What happened?”
    Sam was the first one able to speak. “How about we break out the champagne instead? Toast a few ol’ conquistadors for protecting our investment here.”
    â€œWhat?” Ralph asked, his face scrunched with confusion.
    Philip spoke next, his voice edged with reserved excitement. “Mr. Isaacson, our tomb may still be intact!”
    â€œHow do you—?”
    Maggie picked up one of the onionskin tracing sheets. She held it toward him. “By Jesus, you gotta love Latin.”
    Â 
    Sam could barely contain his excitement as he waited for his computer to connect to the university’s internet site via the satellite hookup. He sat in the communication tent with the other students gathered around behind him. The tent was weathertight and insulated against the elements, protecting the delicate equipment from the eternal mists of the jungle heights.
    Sam checked his watch for the hundredth time. Two minutes shy of ten o’clock, the time each evening when Sam or Philip updated the professor on their progress on the dig. That night, though, was the first time the team had excitingnews for his uncle. Sam jabbed hurriedly at the keys as the connection was made. He initiated the video feed. The small camera fixed to the top of the monitor blinked on its red eye. The video satellite link had been a gift from the National Geographic Society. “Smile everyone,” Sam muttered as he finished calling up his uncle’s internet address.
    The computer whirred through its connections and a small flittering picture of Henry appeared in the upper right hand corner. Sam tapped a few keys and the picture filled the entire screen. The video feed was jittery. When his uncle waved a hand in greeting, his fingers stuttered across his face.
    Sam pulled the microphone closer. “Hi, Doc.”
    His uncle smiled. “I see everyone is with you tonight. You must have something for me.”
    Sam’s face ached from the wide grin still plastered to his lips, but he wasn’t going to give up the team’s prize that easily. “First give us the lowdown about the mummy. You said yesterday that the CT was scheduled for this morning. How’d it go?” Sam regretted his question as soon as he saw his uncle’s face cloud over. Even from three thousand miles away, Sam could tell the old man didn’t have good news. Sam’s smile faded away. “What happened?” he asked more soberly.
    Henry shook his head, again it was a jittering movement, but the words flowed smoothly through the receiver. “We were correct in judging the mummy as non-Inca,” he began, “but