“I would have known if a Spanish colonial artifact of this quality was stolen in recent times. But I’ve never seen it before. So I’d say probably not.”

“What is it worth? The FBI wanted to know that, too.”

“It’s exceptionally fine work for its age. Historically it’s of great value. I would say on the open market you could get at least a hundred thousand dollars for an artifact like this.”

Nora whistled. “What else can you tell me about its history?”

Chavez smoothed his hair back with a knotted hand. “You probably noticed the cross is heavily worn.”

“I did.”

“Most mission artifacts aren’t, you know. This was carried around a great deal. Maybe it belonged to a traveling friar as a personal holy relic. Or it traveled a lot for some other reason.”

“And the gemstones? What can you tell me about them?”

He looked back into the stereo zoom. “The stones are beautiful but crudely finished. That’s one reason why I say it’s pre-Revolt. It looks to me like there’s an emerald, some turquoises, a gorgeous jade, jasper, and a pigeon blood garnet of amazing quality. I would guess they are all of New World origin.”

“Where did our man get it?”

Chavez shook his head. “It might have belonged to an old Spanish family. A Christian Indian might have hidden it during the Pueblo Revolt and it passed down secretly through his family—that’s been documented. Quite a few Indians continued to practice in secret as Christians after the Revolt. In fact, many pre-Revolt religious items survive today in the Pueblos, closely guarded in the kivas.”

At that moment, Nora felt a presence behind them and turned to see Connor Digby enter the lab. He greeted them and came over. “I heard about the amazing find. Mind if I take a look?”

“Of course not,” said Nora, getting up from the chair so he could sit down. Digby had gotten rid of the blue blazer and repp tie pretty quickly, and now wore a casual jacket and open-necked shirt. Since his hire he’d been quiet and unobtrusive, getting his office in order, moving in his books and journals, and in general keeping a low profile. He had been friendly and quite deferential to Nora. He struck her as a genuinely nice guy who wanted to fit in and get along with everyone.

Digby peered through the eyepieces and gave a low whistle. “That is something. How old is it?”

“Pre-Revolt,” said Chavez. “I would guess at least four hundred years old.”

“Amazing.” Digby got up. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just had to see what all the fuss was about. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“No worries,” said Nora, taking the seat again as Digby left.

She turned to Chavez. “Anything else I should tell the FBI in my report?”

Chavez pursed his lips. “Can you get them to donate it to the Institute after they’re done with it?”

Nora frowned. The question of ownership of the cross hadn’t occurred to her before. “Unless it’s stolen,” she said, “I imagine it belongs to the man’s descendants.”

“Ah, right, of course. Well, there’s one other thing I wanted to show you. Turn it over again, might you?”

Nora complied.

“You see those stamps?”

Nora looked. There were indeed two sort of rounded stamp marks in the soft gold, symbols of some kind, almost worn away.

“Those are probably assay or fineness marks—if you could get a clear picture for me, blown up, I’ll look into them. That should be most helpful in determining its date and provenance.”

And he emphasized this observation with a furrowing of his bushy eyebrows.

16

CORRIE WATCHED AS Huckey dumped a pack loaded with rappelling gear at the edge of the mesa. He unzipped it and started pulling stuff out—two harnesses, rope, carabiners, belay and jumar devices. It was good equipment, most of it brand-new. A precipitous road had once descended from the rimrock to the canyon, but it was long gone in a series of landslides, leaving no way down except by rope. She could see, about seventy feet below, a huge pile of tailings forming a flat landing area, where the mine entrance was.

She stepped into the harness, clipped on the carabiners and descender, put on gloves and helmet. She watched as Huckey anchored the line to a massive juniper at the edge of the cliff and made sure he fixed the rope correctly. She didn’t trust him at all and was determined to double-check everything he did.

The descent was a vertical face of hard igneous rock. They would land on top of the tailings pile, next to a rickety shaft house and cart tracks going out to the tip at the end of the platform.

“We’re going to rappel down,” said Huckey, “and jumar back up. You sure you know how to do that?”

“Yes,” said Corrie. She had learned the basics in an elective course at Quantico and taken a couple of climbing courses in Albuquerque since, figuring it would be a useful skill. Now she was glad she had—although she wasn’t exactly thrilled about having to partner with Huckey.

Morwood’s words about getting along with everyone rang in her mind. Working with this jackass was a test she was determined to pass.

Huckey went first, and she saw, to her relief, that he did indeed know exactly what he was doing. In fact, he was so expert at it that she figured he must be ex-military. He certainly had the build. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.