Free CRO-MAGNON by Robert Stimson Page B

lake. A trail of packed snow led between bare granite walls up the narrow canyon the helicopter had traversed. Blaine, wearing her backpack-style smaller suitcase with rolled sleeping mat and bag while Ayni carried the regular suitcase, trudged single file behind the ranger and ahead of Calder. Together with Fitrat and Teague, the three had eaten a freeze-dried but satisfying supper in Zinchenko’s cramped trailer. Although Blaine knew that the shared meal was intended to cement the participants’ diverse relationships, for her it had served to emphasize their differences. It reminded her of da Vinci’s painting of the Last Supper, which showed daylight outside the window and numerous other inconsistencies. Something was out of kilter; she just hoped it wouldn’t throw the expedition off course, because there was no way she was going to miss out on this opportunity to study diverse prehistoric genes.
    On the plus side, she was glad that Ayni had offered to accommodate her and Calder, although she wondered how long she would have to hump her luggage over precipitous terrain at better than twelve thousand feet. The path was so narrow that she had to place one insulated boot ahead of the other.
    Gathering a lungful of oxygen-poor air, she turned and spoke to Calder: “I gather there are only two bedrooms in Zinchenko’s trailer.”
    “ So?” She could tell by the explosive grunt that, Olympic athlete or not, he was also short of breath.
    “ Teague has appropriated one of them. He must have displaced Fitrat.”
    “ Your point being?”
    “ She’ll have to bunk in with Zinchenko unless she sleeps on that sprung couch, which looks too short even for her, or on the floor. Maybe we should have offered the work trailer.”
    “ As director of antiquities, she must do field work. And Zinchenko is a professional camp master. They probably know each other.”
    “ That well?” She glanced back in time to see Calder shrug.
    “ She didn’t seem shy. If she’s dissatisfied, I’m sure she’ll say so. And if she wants the work trailer, she’ll probably just take it.”
    That sounded right, Blaine thought. Anyway, it was none of their business.
    She was glad to see the grade slacken as they moved into a small side canyon, its steep sides dotted with small cedars. She began to breathe more easily.
    Laszlo Salomon’s failure to issue a warning about the unstable underwater tunnel disturbed her more than she had let on. The industrialist’s determination and ruthlessness were legendary throughout his companies. She wondered just how much her own and Calder’s lives counted, against the discovery of the cave and its contents. And also against Salomon’s ultimate purpose, whatever that might be. She’d heard rumors of people who had crossed the man and lost more than their jobs.
    And what about the Tajiks? Walking behind the tall figure of Ayni, she wondered again about the ranger’s connection, if any, to her and Calder’s mission.
    “ Mr. Ayni?”
    “ Address me as Murzo, please.” He spoke in the easy manner of one accustomed to thin air and steep terrain.
    “ If you’ll call me Caitlin. And Dr. Calder, Ian.” She glanced behind her. “Right?”

“ Absolutely,” Calder said. “And that should go for you and me, too.”
    Blaine had the impression that the conditions didn’t bother him quite as much as they did her. She noted he had used the situation to put them on a first-name basis in a way that she couldn’t refuse. Not that she would have, anyway. She had sensed in the airliner that he was attracted to her but that he also felt conflicted over their professional differences.
    She shrugged. She intended to continue avoiding personal relationships and stick to science, which bitter experience had shown was safer.
    Hunching the pack higher, she took a few deep breaths so as not to appear winded in front of the two outdoor types. “Just what is your job Murzo?”
    “ I patrol the Zapodevnik.”
    “ What