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contain plates of metal, blackened with age. She leaned closer and cocked her head from side to side.
    Strange . . .
    “Is that some kind of writing on it?” Hank asked, curiosity drawing him down beside her.
    “Could just be streaks of corrosion.”
    Maggie reached and carefully rubbed a thumb over a corner of the surface. The black oil smeared away, revealing a familiar yellowish hue beneath. She sat back.
    “Gold,” Hank whispered in hushed awe.
    She looked to him, then to the wall of stone boxes. She pictured similar plates packed away in the containers. Her heart pounded faster in her throat. How much gold is here?
    Maggie stood up, trying to fathom the extent of the treasure.
    “Major Ryan,” she warned, “I think you and your men will be spending a lot more time down here.”
    A groan escaped him. “So there’s even more gold.”
    Maggie turned to the granite pillar in the center of the room. Atop it rested the massive skull of a saber-toothed tiger. All by itself, the prehistoric artifact was a valuable discovery, a spiritual totem of the slaughtered tribe—so important that the tribesmen had melted gold and coated the entire surface of the giant cat’s skull.
    She stepped in a slow circle around the precious idol. A trickle of fear seeped into her. Something was wrong about all of this. She couldn’t put her finger on it but knew it to be true.
    Unfortunately, she had no time to contemplate the mystery.
    “Then at least get this skull out of here,” Ryan ordered. “We can deal with the boxes later. Do you want my men to help you?”
    Hank stood up rather sharply. “We’ll do it.”
    Maggie nodded, and the two positioned themselves on either side of the gold totem. She held out her hands, her fingers hovering over the long golden fangs.
    “I’ll grab it from the front,” she said. “You cup the back of the skull. On my count. We’ll lift it and place it into the crate.”
    “Gotcha.”
    They both reached for the artifact. Maggie gripped the base of the fangs where they joined the skull. She could barely get her fingers all the way around the teeth.
    “One, two . . . three .”
    Together they lifted the skull. Even covered in gold, it was far heavier than she had imagined. She felt something shift inside, sliding like loose sand. Curiosity sparked through her, but any further examination would have to wait. They sidestepped in a typical workmen’s waltz over to the foam-lined open trunk and lowered the skull into the carrier. It sank heavily into the padding.
    They both straightened, staring at each other. Hank rubbed his hands on his jeans and caught her eye. So he had felt it, too. Not just the shifting sands, but something even odder. As hot as it was in here, she had expected the skull to be warm. But despite the geothermal heat of the cavern, the surface had been cold.
    Damned cold . . .
    She read the unease in Hank’s eyes. It matched her own.
    Before either could speak, Ryan slammed the lid over the treasure and pointed toward the exit. “My men will carry the skull out of the cave. From there, it’s your problem.”
    12:12 P.M.
    Crouched low, Kai watched the parade cross the field of mummies. It was led by an older woman, her hair tucked under a wide-brimmed hat. A trio of National Guard soldiers followed. Two of them hauled a green plastic trunk between them.
    The gold skull, she thought.
    They were taking it out, just as she’d been instructed they would. Everything seemed to be going according to plan. With the skull gone, she’d have the cavern to herself. She’d plant the charges, wait for nightfall, then sneak off. Once the place was empty, they’d blow the cavern and rebury their ancestors. WAHYA would make its point. Native Americans were done asking for permission from the U.S. government, especially for such basic rights as burying their dead.
    She stared at the tall figure who trailed behind the others. Irritation flashed through her. She knew him, most Native