p&c.thunderhead-第3部分

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d。　
　She　sat　in　the　truck；　breathing　hard；　dust　smoking　up　around　her　lights。　She　dropped　into　reverse　and　gunned　the　engine；　feeling　panic　as　the　wheels　dug　into　the　deep　sand。　She　rocked　twice　before　the　truck　stalled。　
　In　the　glow　of　the　headlights；　she　could　see　the　damage。　The　row　of　ranch　mailboxes　had　been　a　rickety　affair　to　begin　with；　and　they　had　recently　been　supplanted　by　a　shiny　new　set　of　post　office　boxes　that　stood　nearby。　But　she　could　not　back　up：　there　was　no　choice　but　to　go　forward。　
　She　jumped　out　and；　glancing　around　for　any　sign　of　the　figure；　moved　around　to　the　front　of　the　truck；　picked　up　the　rotten；　abandoned　mailboxes；　and　dragged　them　aside　into　the　brush。　An　envelope　lay　in　the　dirt；　and　she　grabbed　it。　As　she　turned　to　step　back　into　the　truck；　the　headlights　caught　the　front　of　the　envelope。　Nora　froze　for　a　moment；　gasping　in　surprise。　
　Then　she　shoved　it　in　her　shirt　pocket；　jumped　into　the　truck；　and　peeled　back　onto　the　road；　careening　toward　the　distant；　weling　lights　of　town。　
　
　
2
　
　THE　SANTA　FE　ARCHAEOLOGICAL　INSTITUTE　stood　on　a　low　mesa　between　the　Sangre　de　Cristo　foothills　and　the　town　of　Santa　Fe　itself。　No　affiliated　museum　opened　its　doors　to　the　public；　and　classes　were　limited　to　invitation…only　graduate　seminars　and　faculty　colloquiums。　Visiting　scholars　and　resident　professors　outnumbered　students。　The　campus　sprawled　across　thirty　acres；　its　low　adobe　buildings　almost　invisible　among　the　walled　gardens；　apricot　trees；　tulip　beds；　and　rows　of　ancient；　blossom…heavy　lilacs。　
　The　Institute　was　devoted　almost　exclusively　to　research；　excavation；　and　preservation；　and　it　housed　one　of　the　finest　prehistoric　southwestern　Indian　collections　in　the　world。　Wealthy；　reserved；　and　much　wedded　to　its　traditions；　it　was　looked　on　with　both　awe　and　envy　by　professional　archaeologists　across　the　country。　
　Nora　watched　the　last　of　her　students　leave　the　low…ceilinged　adobe　classroom；　then　gathered　her　notes　and　slotted　them　into　an　oversized　leather　portfolio。　It　was　the　final　class　of　her　seminar；　〃The　Chaco　Abandonment：　Causes　and　Conditions。〃　Once　again；　she　was　struck　by　the　unusual　attitude　of　students　at　the　Institute：　quiet；　respectful；　as　if　unable　to　believe　their　good　fortune　in　being　granted　a　ten…week　resident　scholarship。　
　Stepping　out　of　the　cool　darkness　into　the　sunlight；　she　walked　slowly　along　the　graveled　path。　The　Pueblo　Revival　buildings　of　the　campus；　with　their　organic　sloping　walls　and　projecting　vigas；　were　painted　a　warm　rust　color　by　the　morning　light。　A　thunderhead　was　developing　over　the　mountains；　dark　beneath　but　topped　with　a　spreading　crown　of　brilliant　white。　As　she　glanced　up　to　look　at　it；　a　sharp　pain　lanced　one　side　of　her　bruised　neck。　She　reached　to　massage　it　as　a　dark　shadow　seemed　to　e　across　the　sun。　
　Passing　the　parking　lot；　she　traced　a　circuitous　route　toward　the　rear　of　the　campus；　turning　at　last　down　a　flagstone　walk　columned　with　lombardy　poplars　and　old　Chinese　elms。　The　walkway　ended　at　a　nondescript　building　whose　small　wooden　sign　read　simply　RECORDS。　
　Nora　showed　her　badge　to　the　guard；　signed　in；　and　went　down　the　hall　to　a　low　doorway；　stopping　at　the　cement　steps　that　led　down　into　the　gloom。　Down　to　the　Map　Vault。　
　She　tensed　for　a　moment；　the　darkness　of　the　stairs　bringing　back　another　unwanted　memory　of　the　evening　before。　Again；　she　felt　the　broken　glass　stabbing　into　her　skin；　the　tightening　claws；　the　sickly　sweet　smell　。　。　。　
　She　shook　the　memory　away　and　started　down　the　narrow　steps。　
　The　Institute's　collections　contained　innumerable　priceless　artifacts。　Yet　nothing　on　campus；　or　in　its　extensive　collections；　was　as　valuable；　or　as　guarded；　as　the　contents　of　the　Map　Vault。　Although　the　vault　contained　no　treasure；　it　housed　something　far　more　valuable：　the　location　of　every　known　archaeological　site　in　the　Southwest。　There　were　more　than　three　hundred　thousand　such　sites；　from　the　most　insignificant　lithic　scatter　to　huge　ruins　containing　hundreds　of　rooms；　all　carefully　marked　on　the　Institute's　U。S。G。S。　topographical　map　collection。　Nora　knew　that　only　the　tiniest　fraction　of　these　sites　had　ever　been　excavated；　the　rest　lay　slumbering　under　the　sand　or　hidden　in　caves。　Each　site　number　corresponded　to　an　entry　in　the　Institute's　secure　database；　containing　everything　from　detailed　inventories　to　surveys　to　digitized　sketches　and　letters…electronic　treasure　maps　leading　to　millions　of　dollars　worth　of　prehistoric　artifacts。　
　How　strange；　Nora　had　always　thought；　that　such　a　place　would　be　guarded　by　Owen　Smalls。　Resplendent　in　beat…up　leathers；　heavily　muscled；　Smalls　always　looked　like　he　had　just　returned　from　a　harrowing　expedition　to　the　farthest　corners　of　the　earth。　Very　few　who　met　the　man　realized　he　was　an　Eastern　boy　from　a　wealthy　family；　a　summa　cum　laude　graduate　of　Brown　University；　who　if　placed　out　in　the　desert　would　be　dead　or　lost…or　both…within　the　hour。　
　The　steps　ended　at　a　metal　door　with　a　small　casement　window；　a　red　light　glowing　above　it。　Nora　dug　into　her　bag；　extracted　her　security　card；　and　inserted　it　into　the　slot。　When　the　light　turned　green；　she　heaved　the　door　open　and　stepped　inside。　
　Smalls　occupied　a　fanatically　neat　little　office　outside　the　vault　itself；　overlooking　the　reading　area。　He　rose　as　he　saw　her　enter；　placing　a　book　carefully　on　his　desk。　
　〃Dr。　Kelly；〃　he　said。　〃Nora；　right？〃　
　〃Morning；〃　Nora　said　as　casually　as　possible。　
　〃Haven't　seen　you　around　for　a　while；〃　Smalls　replied。　〃Too　bad。　Hey；　what'd　you　do　to　your　arm？〃　
　Nora　glanced　briefly　at　the　bandage。　〃Just　a　scratch。　Owen；　I　need　to　look　at　a　couple　of　maps。〃　
　Smalls　squinted　back。　〃Yeah？〃　
　〃In　the　C…3　and　C…4　quadrants　of　Utah。　Kaiparowits　Plateau。〃　
　Smalls　continued　scrutinizing　her；　shifting　his　weight；　sending　a　creak　of　leather　echoing　through　the　room。　〃Project　number？〃　
　〃We　don't　have　a　project　number　yet。　It's　just　a　preliminary　survey。〃　
　Smalls　placed　two　giant；　hairy　hands　on　the　desk　and　leaned　over　them；　looking　at　her　more　intently。　〃Sorry；　Dr。　Kelly。　You　need　an　approved　project　number　to　look　at　anything。〃　
　〃But　it's　just　a　preliminary　survey。〃　
　〃You　know　the　rules；〃　Smalls　replied；　with　a　disparaging　grin。　
　Nora　thought　fast。　There　was　no　way　that　Blakewood；　the　Institute's　president　and　her　boss；　would　assign　a　project　number　based　on　the　meager　information　she　could　give　him。　But　she　remembered　working　on　a　project　in　a　different　part　of　Utah；　two　years　before。　The　project　was　still　current；　if　a　bit　moribund…she　had　a　bad　habit　of　not　finishing　things　up。　What　was　the　damn　project　number？　
　〃It's　J…40012；〃　she　said。　
　Small's　bushy　eyebrows　raised。　
　〃Sorry；　I　forgot　it　was　just　assigned。　Look；　if　you　don't　believe　me；　call　Professor　Blakewood。〃　She　knew　her　boss　was　at　a　conference　in　Window　Rock。　
　Smalls　turned　to　the　puter　on　his　desk　and　rapped　at　the　keys。　After　a　moment；　he　looked　up　at　Nora。　〃Seems　to　be　approved。　C…3　and　C…4；　you　said？〃　He　resumed　his　typing；　the　keys　ludicrously　small　in　his　hands。　Then　he　cleared　the　screen　and　stepped　away　from　the　desk。　
　Nora　followed　as　he　stepped　up　to　the　vault　and　swung　the　door　open。　〃Wait　here；〃　he　said。　
　〃I　know　the　routine。〃　Nora　watched　as　he　stepped　into　the　vault。　Inside；　bathed　in　pitiless　fluorescent　light；　lay　two　rows　of　metal　safes；　locked　doors　across　their　tops。　Smalls　approached　one；　punched　in　a　code；　and　lifted　its　door。　Hanging　within　the　safe　were　countless　maps；　sandwiched　in　layers　of　protective　plastic。　
　〃There　are　sixteen　maps　in　those　quadrants；〃　Smalls　called　out。　〃Which　ones　do　you　want　to　see？〃　
　〃All　of　them；　please。〃　
　Smalls　paused。　〃All　sixteen？　That's　eight　hundred　eighty　square　miles。〃　
　〃As　I　said；　it's　a　survey。　You　can　always　call　Professor…〃　
　〃Okay；　okay。〃　Holding　the　maps　by　the　edges　of　their　metal　rails；　Smalls　stepped　out　of　the　vault；　nodding　Nora　toward　the　reading　area。　He　waited　until　she　sat　down；　then　gently　placed　the　maps　on　the　scarred　surface　of　the　Formica　table。　〃Use　those；〃　he　said；　indicating　a　box　of　disposable　cotton　gloves。　〃You've　got　two　hours　to　plete　your　study。　When　you're　done；　let　me　know　and　I'll　replace　the　maps　and　let　you　out。〃　He　waited　while　she　donned　a　pair　of　gloves；　then　grinned　and　returned　to　the　vault。　
　Nora　sat　at　the　table　as　he　shut　first　the　safe；　then　the　vault；　and　returned　to　his　office。　You'll　know　when　I'm　done；　she　thought　to　herself。　The　〃reading　area〃　consisted　of　a　large　table　with　a　single　chair；　placed　in　clear　view　of　Smalls's　glass…windowed　office。　It　was　a　cramped；　exposed　space。　Not　at　all　suitable　for　what　she　had　in　mind。　
　She　took　a　deep　breath；　flexed　her　white…gloved　fingers。　Then；　carefully；　she　spread　the　maps　out　on　the　table；　the　plastic　crackling　as　she　aligned　them　along　their　edges。　The　sequence　of　7。5…minute　maps…the　most　detailed　U。S。　Geological　Survey　maps　made…covered　an　exceedingly　remote　area　of　southern　Utah；　framed　by　Lake　Powell　to　the　south　and　east　and　Bryce　Canyon　to　the　west。　It　was　almost　entirely　Bureau　of　Land　Management　country：　federal　land　that；　in　effect；　nobody　had　any　use　for。　Nora　had　a　good　idea　of　what