grew louder. She had no idea what had triggered such a commotion but hoped it would help her escape. She knew she had to take the chance, or she’d be trapped down here when the soldiers returned.
That left only one hope, her best strength: her natural speed.
If I can bolt free and reach the woods . . .
But what stood in her way?
The booming voice of Professor Kanosh echoed down to her. “Back off!”
12:22 P.M.
Maggie stood only a couple of yards from the cave entrance. They hadn’t gotten very far before the circus found them.
Bright camera lights pointed at her, pinning them all down. A step away, she recognized the chiseled features, white hair, and ice-blue eyes of an investigative reporter from CNN. The governor of Utah accompanied him. No wonder the National Guard hadn’t stopped this news crew from coming down here. Nothing like a photo op to bolster the governor’s reelection campaign.
Of course, along with the news crew came the usual suspects, dancing for the national spotlight and playing for the cameras.
“You’re stealing our heritage!” came a shout from the mass of people.
She spotted the heckler, dressed in buckskin, his face painted. He had an iPhone raised and recorded the events. She expected she’d be on YouTube within the hour.
Maggie bit her tongue, knowing any response from her would only stoke the fires here.
Moments ago, as Maggie’s group stepped from the cave and was spotted, the crowd surged past the governor, who was conducting an on-air interview. Several people were knocked down. Fights broke out, and a miniriot threatened. Major Ryan rallied a cordon of Guard soldiers, instantly stemming the tide and restoring a semblance of order.
In the meantime, Hank and the other guardsmen formed a wall between her and the pack of cameras and protesters.
Hank held up a hand. “If you want to see the artifact,” he boomed out, “we’ll show you. But then Dr. Grantham will be heading straight to BYU with it, where it will be studied by historians from the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American Indians.”
Another angry shout cut him off. “So you’re going to do to this skull what they did to the body of Black Hawk!”
Maggie winced inside. It was a sore bit of Utah history. Black Hawk had been a Ute Indian leader who died during a conflict with settlers back in the mid-1800s. Afterward, his body had been put on display at various museums, then subsequently lost. It wasn’t until a Boy Scout, completing an Eagle project, found the skeleton in a storage facility at the Mormon Church’s historical department. The bones eventually were reburied.
Maggie had heard enough. Standing beside the green transport crate, she raised her arm. All eyes and camera lenses focused on her.
“We have nothing to hide!” she called out. “Clearly strong emotions surround this discovery. But let me assure everyone that all will be handled with the utmost respect.”
“Enough talking! If there’s nothing to hide, then show us the skull!”
This call was taken up by others and became a chant.
Maggie caught the gaze of the governor. He made a slight motion for her to obey. She suspected the golden totem had become a novelty for a majority of the crowd rather than an artifact of historical significance. So if this was a circus, she might as well be its ringmaster.
Turning her back, she bent down to the crate and struggled to undo the tight latches. Her arthritic fingers made it difficult. Plus, the mist in the valley had begun to turn into a thin drizzle. Droplets pattered against the plastic top of the crate. A hush fell over the crowd.
She finally freed the latches and hauled the top open. With the rain falling, she would not expose the artifact for longer than a minute. She stared down at the gold skull nestled in its foam cocoon. Even in the wan light down here, it shone brilliantly.
She stepped back to open the view to the cameras and the crowd, but she could not take her eyes
Learning to Kill: Stories