June 1, 5:05 A.M.
Yellowstone National Park
Half an hour after getting word from NASA, Painter stood within the landscape pictured on the canopic jar. While he was being airlifted here, dawn had broken across Yellowstone, though the sun had yet to fully rise. The soft glow of a new day cast a magical quality on the small valley.
According to the ranger they'd spoken with, this was one of the most remote areas of the park. Fewer than twenty-five people had ever set foot in this small geothermal basin. To use the ranger's words, "More people have been to the summit of Everest than have made it to Fairyland Basin . "
Despite the whimsical name, the reason for the lack of visitors was plain to see. The basin lay seventeen miles away from the nearest trailhead, and treacherous cliffs rose fifteen hundred feet all around. Only the most foolhardy dared risk coming here.
Luckily they had helicopters.
The chopper lifted off behind him after the search party had been unloaded.
Ducking against the beat of the rotor wash, Painter yelled to be heard. "We have a little over one hour, people! We need to find that lost city!"
Other helicopters circled overhead, carrying insulated blast boxes that were normally used to explode suspicious packages. The plan was to find the cache of unstable compound. If they couldn't neutralize it here, the nano-material would be transported hot, out of the valley, and dumped clear of the caldera. That was the primary goal, to protect the supervolcano.
After that, they would address whatever destructive and denaturing force was released by that blast. Kat had the Japanese physicist working up various scenarios, not ruling out a nuclear option if necessary.
But this was a bridge they'd cross later.
First, they had to find the tomb of the Tawtsee'untsaw Pootseev- and it would not be easy. Painter gaped at the towering cliffs, the dark stands of dark lodgepole pines, and the green meadows that rolled outward from the confluence of two silver creeks.
It was a beautiful spot, but it might not be the right spot. That ancient artist may have etched this valley in gold for no other reason than that it appealed to him. It might have had nothing to do with that lost city.
Someone disagreed with him.
"This is the place!" Professor Kanosh stood several yards away, holding a hand to his forehead. "Why didn't I remember this before?"
Painter headed over to him. Hank stood amid the geothermal structures that gave this valley its fanciful name. Fairyland came from the chalk-gray geothermal structures rising up between the shores of those two streams. They were geyserite cones, according to Chin, formed by the aggregation of mineral deposits left by small geysers. There had to be over forty of them spread over an area half a football field in size. Some were as squat as knee-high toadstools; others towered ten feet tall, reminding Painter of giant African termite hills. Most had long gone dormant, but a handful continued to puff with steam or run with boiling water. According to the ranger, many of the larger cones had specific names: Magic Mushroom, Phallic Cone, Pitcher's Mound...
It was the last of these before which Hank was standing. Steam rose from the top of the largest cone, a minivolcano amid its more stalklike neighbors. Water ran down its sides and flowed in rivulets across the chalk-stone ground.
Painter headed toward the professor as Kawtch splashed in the shallows of the neighboring creek. Jordan stood at Hank's side, though his gaze shifted often to Kai. Rafael's party gathered in a clutch on the far side of the geothermal field's expanse.
Sweeping his cane high, Rafael ordered Bern and his men to begin a systematic search, concentrating on the cliffs. Smart . If there were an entrance to a subterranean city, it would most likely be found there.
"Major Ryan," Painter called out. "Take your men and check the cliffs on this side of the valley. Chin, you're with me. I want your assessment about this steaming hot spot here."
Kowalski followed them, eyeballing the French team across the way with suspicion. "I trust that guy as much as I trust a snake in a boot."
Painter thought this was a fair assessment, but for now, they had to work together.
"Hank, what did you find?" he asked as he reached the professor's side.
The professor pointed to the rippled sides of the Pitcher's Mound cone. Its name clearly derived from the fat fingerlike projections along the rim, making it look like an open pitcher's mitt.
"Look at this," Hank said, crouching down and pointing. "Over the centuries, the slow aggregation of minerals must have remodeled this cone somewhat, but the resemblance is still uncanny. Study the silhouette."
"Resemblance to what?"
"To one of the most revered Jewish landmarks, from out of the Book of Exodus, the mountain Moses came down bearing the Ten Commandments."
"Are you talking about Mount Sinai?" Painter asked. He bent at the waist and stared at the hill, trying to picture it as a miniature model of that famous mountain.
I guess so, he thought, but he remained unsure. It was like staring at clouds and seeing what you wanted to see. To Painter, the big cone appeared as much like Mount Sinai as those other bent-backed gray towers looked like gnomes.
Kowalski shook his head, plainly not buying it either. He searched around at the field of stalklike gray rocks. "They all look like penises to me."
"What difference does it make," Painter asked, "whether it looks like Mount Sinai or not?"
"Because if the Tawtsee'untsaw Pootseev were descendants of a lost tribe of Israel, then the discovery of a cone shaped like Sinai would be a providential sign to them. This valley would be important, sacred enough to make it their secret home."
"I hope you're right," Painter said.
Chin had another opinion. He knelt atop the thick field of dried minerals and rocks called sinter, from which most of the cones arose. "Well, from a geologist's standpoint, this is the worst place for them to choose."
"Why is that?" Painter asked. "Besides the fact we're standing on top of a supervolcano?"
"That's deeper underground." The geologist patted the surface of sinter. "Feel this."
Painter reached down and pressed his palm against the chalky stone.
"What are you doing?" Rafael asked, joining them, along with Ashanda and Kai.
"It's vibrating," Painter said.
Chin explained. "This geothermal zone sits atop a plugged-up hydrothermal vent, known as a hydrothermal boil, a hot teapot that continually cycles the water seeping through the porous rock, then back up again as steam. The vibration is from the pressure underground, the pulse of the steam engine beneath us."
Before anyone could comment on this, Hank's phone rang. He checked the number and lifted his face. "It's my colleague from BYU, the one helping us decipher the lost language."
"Answer it," Painter urged, hoping the man had some good news.
Hank stepped away, pressed the phone to one ear, and placed a palm over the other. As the professor conversed, Painter watched his face go from hope to dismay to confusion. He finally snapped his phone closed and returned to them. He seemed momentarily unable to speak.
"Professor?" Painter urged.
"My colleague deciphered some bits of the writing on the wolf-totem jar. He found a smattering of words and phrases that spoke of death and destruction. Nothing more."
"So basically a warning label," Painter said.
Kowalski frowned. "Why didn't they just slap it with a skull and crossbones to begin with? It would've saved everyone a bunch of trouble."
"I think maybe they did," Hank said. "The early Tawtsee'untsaw Pootseev stored their elixir in containers that were meant to hold the organs of the dead. Egyptian canopic jars, modified for their purpose. But once they integrated here, they chose another totem of my early ancestors, the bones of animals long extinct. Perhaps it was to caution against tampering with this compound lest it destroy the human race, a symbolic warning against our own extinction."
Painter read some hesitancy in the professor's eyes, as if he wanted to say more. He noted the slightest glance in Rafael's direction. But the Frenchman had survived long in an organization that did not reward a lack of attention to detail.
"What aren't you telling us, monsieur le professeur ?" Rafael asked.
Painter gave Hank a small nod. They were all long past secrets, at least most secrets. "Tell him."
Hank looked dismayed. "My friend was also able to translate the passage your colleague sent to you. The writing found on the margins of the gold map."
Rafael turned to Painter. "Why is this the first I've heard of this? You explained how the mark on the map revealed Yellowstone, but not this clue?"
"Because it was meaningless information until now."
"It may still be," Hank added. "My colleague could translate only a small section. It reads 'where the wolf and eagle stare . ' "
"What does that mean?" Rafael asked.
Hank shrugged and shook his head.
Another dead end.
Painter checked his watch and stared across the valley. Gray had sent them this clue. According to Kat, he was searching for another, something to do with a buffalo hide. Hopefully they'd all have more luck with that one.
But with the way their luck was running...