Free Zero Point by Tim Fairchild

parchments have been forged in the past by antiquities bootleggers with great accuracy, and these so called Holy Grail stories have been popping up for as long as there have been people around to listen.”
    “We received the carbon dating reports from samples of the parchment we sent to the university this morning, Josh. They have been dated to the first century A.D. The extreme dry climate of the western flank of Teide, along with it being sealed for so long in the lava tube, has preserved it quite nicely and with little contamination. I hope that we’ll find more inside the sealed tomb when we enter it tomorrow.”
    “Dad, I know you are the best in your field,” Turner said with concern in his voice, “but I want you to be careful, okay? We may have opened a hornet’s nest. I saw on the news that this guy named Burr was—”
    “Yeah, I know all about Mr. Alton Burr,” Eli interrupted. “That clown had the audacity to telegraph me demanding he be present during our work. Of course, I told him to go to hell, since that’s where he and his gang of wackos desire to be anyway,” Eli said with a chuckle. “Alright Son, I have to go. I have a ton of work to do. I’ll look for you and Samuel tomorrow after sunset.”
    “Okay, Dad. Be careful. Bye.”
    He hung up the phone just as Samuel entered the room. He was balancing two sealed containers in one hand.
    “Your favorite, amigo,” he said, setting the plastic containers down on the table, “stewed goat meat.”
    Turner just looked at him and said, “Samuel, I just got off the phone with my dad. We’ve got to get back to Tenerife. Something isn’t right.”
    ***
    Late afternoon on the following day, the sun, now descending behind the towering heights of Mt. Teide, cast finger-like shadows on the archeology camp situated on the lower plateau below. The site was set up directly in front the newly exposed opening to the ancient volcanic lava tube containing the Guanche tomb found by Maria and Samuel.
    The cool afternoon breeze was a welcome relief to Eli Turner as he watched the last bus slowly making its way down the hastily constructed access road toward Guimar and connecting to Rt. 82, the main highway toward Santa Cruz.
    “I’m glad that is over with,” Eli said as he tugged the brim of his outback hat. He began making his way back up the loose, rock-laden path toward a large twelve-by-nine foot A-framed canvas tent.
    The tent, fifteen feet from the tunnel entrance, had served as a holding station for artifacts prior to them being shipped off to the university. A smattering of smaller A-frame tents had been erected about the perimeter, serving as sleeping quarters for workers and students assigned to the team.
    One khaki tent Eli Turner was relieved to see stood off near the edge of the path leading down the slope. It served as the quarters for a team of four men from the Guardia Civil , or the National Guard of Tenerife. They were assigned to the team at the request of Carlos Santiago to protect the site and keep the throng of spectators, including the media, at bay. Eli saw two of the guardsmen, wearing their faded, green battle dress uniforms sitting in front of their tent smoking as they tended to their campfire.
    As he had planned, the bus that was now leaving carried the remnants of workers and archeology students from San Fernando University back to Santa Cruz, along with the final cache of Guanche artifacts. It was there that they would be cataloged and secured at the anthropology lab.
    In the past four days, the crowds of curious onlookers and scores of media crews had slowly diminished as Eli hoped for. Now, with the site free of the media and observers, the work on the sealed tomb where the parchment was discovered could commence. His purposefully concocted, boring sci-tech babble had driven off most of the television crews by the third day, and with the forecast of light rain imminent tonight, it was the perfect time for them to begin work at