As the day wore on and the sun climbed higher, they reached the junction of the two rivers. A large tree-covered island had been formed where the waters met, but no signs of human habitation were evident there or along the banks, so they trekked on. To avoid over-exertion they made frequent stops to allow their muscles to relax and recover. The practice was standard training for field agents at Apache Point, and no one understood the technique better than Williams. He made sure the rule was strictly enforced, but not for himself. Had it been necessary, the tall Marine could easily have outdistanced all of them without stopping to rest. Since the L-suits did not permit a significant change in body temperature, they were immune to the energy-draining bite of heat. And because they were following the river, they carried very little water. When they needed to drink they simply retrieved some river water and rendered it drinkable with the purification tablets contained in their utility belts. Not having to carry the weight of extra water produced a significant increase in speed.
It was shortly after one of the breaks that Williams suddenly halted and held up his hand, signaling for them to stop. He dropped to one knee and crouched over. The others followed suit. He remained still for several minutes, staring at the riverbank ahead. At last he eased to his feet and began edging forward in a low crouch. The others remained still, waiting for instructions. After a few yards he halted again and froze. A couple of minutes passed while he studied whatever he was looking at, then he stood and motioned for them to move up. When they reached him they understood the reason for his caution: A boat was pulled up on the riverbank.
“I think it’s abandoned,” Williams said. “There’s a clear view for several hundred yards in every direction and no cover to hide anyone. And as far as I can see, there are no tracks leading away from it."
Matt agreed. "I think you're right. Let's have a closer look."
They moved cautiously until they reached the boat. It lay over at a slight angle, and the current had built up a ridge of mud against the hull on the upriver side. It was about twenty-five feet long and eight feet wide. Several oars, a slender mast, and a crumpled sail lay inside.
"Wonder who it belongs to," Williams mused.
Taylor lifted a three-foot length of broken rope that hung from the bow. "It must have broken loose from its mooring and drifted off in a storm. Maybe from as far away as Babylon.”
"Well, it may have once belonged to the King of Babylon, but it's ours now," Summerhour said. "We can cut our trip time in half if it floats. Give me a hand and let's get it into the water."
It turned out to be a bigger job than they thought. The keel was stuck tight in the mud and it took their combined efforts to break it loose. They rocked it back and forth, pulled and twisted, shoved, grunted, and dug at the mud until it finally floated free of the shore. While the others waded into the water and held it by the bowline, Williams jumped inside and made an inspection of the seams. "We're in luck," he reported. "No leaks!"
"All right, everybody in," Summerhour ordered.
Matt had a fleeting thought of lifting Taylor over the side then laughed at himself as she vaulted over the gunwale with ease. He shook his head, climbed inside, and gave her a crooked grin. "Is there anything you can't do?"
She laughed at him. "You mean you don't know by now?"
He nodded. "I'll check on that in more detail later on," he promised. "But right now, let's man those oars and get moving."
"How do we steer this thing," Williams asked.
"I'll show you," Matt answered. He was a sailor at heart, and had owned several small sailboats. He picked up the slender mast, fitted it through a hole in one of the thwarts and twisted it into a socket in the bottom of the boat. Then he tied the sail to each end of the boom and attached it to a swivel near the bottom of the mast. He made a few more adjustments with some other lines, connected the main halyard to the top of the sail, and it was ready for raising and tacking.
"Mike, put one of the oars through that fitting on the stern,” he said, pointing to a metal loop fitted into the wood. “We’ll use it as a rudder. Chuck, you get on the oars and pull when I tell you to. Taylor, you handle the sheets," Matt directed.
"Sheets?" she inquired.
"The lines that pull the sail from side to side. I'll tell you when to pull them and tie them off."
She gave him a look of amazement. "Is there anything you can't do?" she mocked him. They all laughed. Even Summerhour broke with personal tradition and joined them. Within a few minutes they had guided the little craft into the current and raised the sail. With the combination of current and wind it moved swiftly downstream, much faster than they could walk. It also eliminated the need for rest periods.
They kept a sharp lookout for Edward, but saw only occasional tracks in the mud along the riverbank where he had apparently come down for water. As they cruised along they spotted a few animals and birds foraging in the brush, but the land appeared to be completely devoid of human life. When night came they took turns steering and sleeping. Just before noon of the next day they noticed that the current was becoming stronger. For safety, Matt directed Summerhour to steer the boat closer to shore.
"We must be getting close to the delta," he observed. "The water's getting brackish. It might be a good idea to go ashore and take a look around."
Summerhour put the tiller over and grounded the bow in the soft mud along the bank. They disembarked and took stock of the land. A few miles to the south a high, pointed hill rose from the desert. Between them and the hill was an expanse of marshland broken by numerous streams with tall date palms growing in profusion along their banks. Williams took out his mini-binoculars and scanned the area.
"The hill looks to be about two thousand feet high," he reported. "There's a big marsh off to the left, and the river splits into a half-dozen channels just before it reaches the hill. You were right, Matt. This must be the delta. I expect the sea's not far beyond that promontory."
"Do you see any sign of Edward," Matt asked.
"Nothing. There are too many palms to see clearly." He handed the glasses to Matt.
He took them and looked for a long time at the hill and surrounding land. At last he shook his head and handed them back to Williams.
Summerhour, who had been scouting a few hundred yards ahead, returned and reported. "The trail leads into the palms. We might as well abandon the boat and go the rest of the way on foot. The hill can’t be much over three miles away."
“He’s right,” Williams interjected. “Walking will be faster than having to pole through the shallow water in those channels. I have a feeling we’re getting close. Let’s get our gear and move out."
As they were getting their things from the boat Matt leaned close to Taylor and whispered, "Unless I miss my guess we'll be playing our cards very soon. Stay close to me from here on."
"Don't worry, I will," she responded with certainty.
They started out toward the hill, Williams assuming the point as before. Even at the brisk pace he set it took almost two hours to reach its base. The slope was steep, but not so sharp as to prevent climbing. Edward's tracks led up the side and disappeared into the rocky terrain a few hundred feet up. Williams squatted and examined the trail. "He can't be more than a few hours ahead of us," he said.
"Let's go," Summerhour ordered. "Maybe we can overtake him before he makes it to the sea and we lose his trail."
Just as they started to move Matt stiffened and held up his hand for silence. They all froze. A barely perceptible rumbling sound rose and fell somewhere in the distance. They listened intently, but could not determine the direction from which it came.
"What is that?" Taylor asked in a low voice.
Matt shook his head. The noise faded away then came again, but no louder than before. They listened to it for almost a minute before it vanished entirely.
Taylor looked at Matt. "Sounded like some kind of machine. Almost like a helicopter in the far distance." They both glanced at Summerhour but said
nothing.
"We’d better get started," Matt advised.
As they climbed, loose shale and rock continually shifted beneath their feet and tumbled down the slope. It seemed as though they were losing almost as much ground as they were gaining. The sun was constantly in their eyes, and as it ascended into the cloudless sky they could feel its burning heat on their faces. Most of the time they climbed bent over, using their hands as much as their legs. A few scraggly bushes sprouted from the soil along the way, but offered little in the way of support. Those they managed to grab pulled loose and sent small avalanches downhill.
At one point Matt looked over his shoulder and was gratified to see that in spite of the rigorous conditions, they had climbed a considerable distance. From their current position the river and desert were visible for miles behind them. He glanced at Taylor and saw that she appeared to be holding up as well as the men. Williams, further up the slope, had now outdistanced them by at least a hundred yards.
Summerhour stopped and looked upward. "Does that guy have mountain goat blood or something?"
Matt didn't bother to answer. Instead both he and Taylor redoubled their efforts to cut the distance. Summerhour followed close behind. After a half-hour the angle of slope gradually decreased and became more manageable. They were able to climb without having to bend over at the waist, and the ground became less rocky. Williams still managed to stay ahead of them, but the gap had decreased. Matt estimated the summit to be about five hundred feet further. Some huge boulders dotted the crest, and Williams soon disappeared among them.
Matt looked back and saw Taylor right on his heels. They dug into their energy reserves and managed to put on a burst of speed. Summerhour was less than fifty feet to their rear and coming on hard. Ten minutes later they went through the same rocky passage into which Williams had vanished. It was shady between the huge rocks and they felt their faces begin to cool. The ground was flattening out and becoming almost level. There were dozens of boulders, all leaning against each other at every possible angle. It was as though some giant hand had arranged them so as to form a maze of passageways. Williams's footprints were visible in the soft dirt and they followed them to a large open area on the summit.
As they emerged into the sunlight they saw Williams standing about thirty feet away, staring at something in the boulders. He was so still and breathless that he looked like a stone statue. Prickles ran down Matt's spine and his scalp tingled. He reached back instinctively and pulled Taylor up close behind him. They began edging their way to where they could see whatever it was that held Williams enthralled. His eyes were riveted on a narrow crevice between two boulders about eight feet away. Matt saw a trickle of sweat run down his cheek. It was like looking at someone frozen by a poisonous snake that was ready to strike. At that moment it felt like the heat had sucked up all the air, leaving nothing to breathe.
They eased up behind Williams and peered into the fissure. Something was standing there, but the brightness outside made it hard to see into the gloom. Then simultaneous recognition dawned on both of them. Taylor gave a little gasp and squeezed Matt's arm. Williams began to shift very slowly off to one side. As he moved, the form inside the crevice stepped into the light to challenge him. It was Edward Leahy, but he looked more beast than man. His hair was long and matted with dirt. A patchy beard crusted with something that resembled dried blood sprouted from his face, and his lips were pulled back in an insane grin. One front tooth was missing; the others were yellow from so long without care. Saliva dripped from his mouth, and the bright eyes of a maniac glared at them from dark sockets. His fingernails were long and broken, and he held his fingers curved like claws. But worst of all was the bloody four-inch gash that ran along the left side of his skull. Flies swarmed around it looking for flesh to bite, but he took no notice of them. His attention was focused on Williams, who had managed to increase the distance between them by a few feet. He had drawn his pistol and was holding it down by his side, not threatening, but ready. Edward began to move toward him, fingers flexing. He emitted a hiss that sounded like air escaping from a punctured tire. Matt was thankful to see that his utility belt was missing and that he had no weapon.
Just then Summerhour came bursting out of the boulders behind them. He slid to a stop at the sight of the apparition. Edward whirled to meet the new threat, and for the first time saw Matt and Taylor. He crouched and remained motionless for a long moment, glaring at them. His lips twitched and his eyes narrowed as though trying to see through darkness. Then his eyes opened wide and he extended an arm toward them. As he straightened, the snarl that had been on his lips fell away. His features began to change into a more human appearance.
"Mah...Mah...," he muttered, but could not form the word.
"Rocks," Matt said to him, his voice gentle. He took a step toward his brother.
Edward's head began to rock from side to side, and his mouth began to work as though he was attempting to speak. Reaching out with his arms, he began staggering toward them. Then from out of nowhere, Williams came flying through the air feet first and slammed into Edward's side. The impact sent him reeling and he sprawled on his back. His skull hit the ground with a sickening thud. He screamed in pain and grabbed his head with both hands. Blood from the reopened wound trickled through the fingers of his left hand.
Taylor ran to him and dropped to her knees beside him. She put her arm beneath his head and cradled him against her breast. His eyes opened and he looked up at her. "Telr," he gasped in a pitiful whisper.
Matt had been shocked into immobility by what Williams had done. Now he whirled on the Marine. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he screamed.
Williams was looking at Edward, his face expressionless. He glanced at Matt and shrugged. "I thought he was going to attack you. I didn't know what else to do. Sorry.”
If looks could have killed, Williams would have died at that moment. Matt blew out a breath and went to his brother.
Summerhour came up and stooped beside them. "My God," he muttered when he saw the head wound. "No wonder he's out of his mind. What do you think, Taylor? How bad is it?"
"Bad." She shucked off her pack and rummaged through it. She took out a first aid kit and removed a compression bandage. "Give me yours, too," she told Summerhour. "It'll take more than one to cover this."
"Sure," he responded. He took off the pack and gave her the kit. Then he saw Williams walking toward the crevice where Edward had been concealed. "Where's he going?" he asked no one in particular.
Matt glanced up and saw where Williams was headed. He looked back down at his brother. "You're going to be okay, Rocks,” he said in a soothing voice. “We won't let anything else happen to you, I promise."
Edward's eyes were closed, and he made no sound as Taylor cleaned the wound and applied the bandages. "This should stop the bleeding, but he needs more help than we can give him here," she said.
Matt saw Summerhour following Williams. "Watch yourself," he said to Taylor. "I'll be back."
She saw the other men heading for the rocks. Her eyes met Matt’s for a second and she nodded.
Matt got to his feet and went after them. The other men had reached the rocks and were peering into the dark passageway. As he walked up behind them, Williams stepped aside so he could see. Lying on the ground a few feet inside, emitting a cool green glow, was a chunk of stellarite the size of a soccer ball. He felt his heart quicken. The element he had seen in the lab at Apache Point had been pitted and darkened by what everyone believed was sabotage, but this magnificent sphere was unblemished and radiated throbbing light like the beating of an emerald heart.
"Holy Mother of God," he heard Summerhour say under his breath. "Look at that!" He edged inside the crack and knelt beside it. His face took on a greenish hue as he bent over the star-stone. "No wonder Ramses thought it was the eye of a god." A filthy piece of white cloth lay on the ground nearby. He reached over and picked it up. "Edward must have had it wrapped in this," he specula
ted. He draped it over the Eye of Amen and bundled it tightly, but the glow was visible even through the cloth.
Matt glanced over his shoulder to speak to Williams, but the Marine had walked off and was standing a hundred feet away on the crest of the hill. He was staring at something down the opposite slope.
Matt went over and stood beside him. He looked out at the water and his mouth fell open.
Five U.S. Navy ships rode at anchor on the sapphire sea. Four huge transports were anchored side-by-side near the eastern shore where one of the river branches spilled into the ocean. On the western side, near the bottom of the hill, a sleek destroyer rode the gentle swells at the end of her anchor line. A hundred yards beyond her, the black coning tower and upper decks of a submarine jutted out of the water. A number of prefab buildings dotted the shore, along with trucks, bulldozers, and stacks of miscellaneous pipes and equipment. People that looked as small as ants moved about the shore carrying out various tasks.
"Surprised?" Williams asked.
"No," he shook his head, “not really. Just more than I expected."
"When did you figure it out?"
"Before we left Apache Point. Edward left me a message, so to speak."