'You're right, of course,' said Fallon shortly. 'I'll arrange it. And we must let the Mexican authorities know the extent of our discoveries here.'
VI
The season was coming to an end. The rains would soon be breaking and work on the site would be impossible. I daresay it wouldn't have made any difference to my own work in the cenote -- you can't get wetter than wet -- but we could see that the site would inevitably become a churned-up sea of mud if any excavations were attempted in the wet season, so Fallon reluctantly decided to pack it in.
This meant a mass evacuation back to Camp One. Rudetsky looked worriedly at all the equipment that had to be transported, but Fallon was oddly casual about it. 'Leave it here,' he said carelessly. 'We'll need it next season.'
Rudetsky fumed about it to me. There won't be a goddamn thing left next season,' he said passionately. 'Those chiclero vultures will clean the lot out.'
'I wouldn't worry,' I said. Fallon can afford to replace it.'
But it offended Rudetsky's frugal soul and he went to great lengths to cocoon the generators and pumps against the weather in the hopes that perhaps the chicleros would not loot the camp. 'I'm wasting my time,' he said gloomily as he ordered the windows of the huts to be boarded up. 'But, goddamn it, I gotta go through the motions!'
So we evacuated Uaxuanoc. The big helicopter came and went, taking with it the men who had uncovered the city. The four young archeologists went after taking their leave of Fallon. They were bubbling over with enthusiasm and promised fervently to return the following season when the real work of digging into the buildings was to begin. Fallon, the father figure, smiled upon them paternally and waved them goodbye, then went back to his work with a curiously grave expression on his face.
He was not taking any part in the work of the evacuation and refused to make decisions about anything, so Rudetsky tended to come to me for answers. I did what I thought was right, and wondered what was the matter with Fallon. He had withdrawn into the hut where the finds were lined up on the shelves and spent his time painstakingly cleaning them and making copious notes. He refused to be disturbed and neither would he allow the precious objects to be parted from him. They'll go when I go,' he said. 'Carry on with the rest of it and leave me alone.'
Finally the time came for us all to go. The camp was closed down but for three or four huts and all that was left would just make a nice load for the two helicopters. I was walking to Fallen's hut to announce the fact when Rudetsky came up at a dead run. 'Come to the radio shack,' he said breathlessly. There's something funny going on at Camp One.'
I went with him and listened to the tale of woe. They'd had a fire and the big helicopter was burned up -- completely destroyed. 'Anyone hurt?' barked Rudetsky.
According to the tinny voice issuing waveringly from the loudspeaker no one had been seriously injured; a couple of minor burns was all. But the helicopter was a write-off.
Rudetsky snorted. 'How in hell did it happen?'
The voice wavered into nothingness and came back again, hardly more strongly. ', . . don't know . . . just happened . . .'
'It just happened,' said Rudetsky in disgust.
I said, 'What's the matter with that transmitter? It doesn't seem to have any power.'
'What's the matter with your transmitter?' said Rudetsky into the microphone. Turn up the juice.'
'I receive you loud and clear,' said the voice weakly. 'Can't you hear me?'
'You're damned right we can't,' said Rudetsky. 'Do something about it,'
The transmission came up a little more strongly. 'We've got everyone out of here and back to Mexico City. There are only three of us left here -- but Mr. Harris says there's something wrong with the jet.'
I felt a little prickling feeling at the nape of my neck, and leaned forward over Rudetsky's shoulder to say into the microphone, 'What's wrong with it?'
'. . . doesn't know . . . grounded . . . wrong registration . . . can't come until . , .' The transmission was again becoming weaker and hardly made sense. Suddenly it cut off altogether and there was not even the hiss of a carrier wave. Rudetsky riddled with the receiver but could not raise Camp One again.
He turned to me and said, 'They're off the air completely.'
Try to raise Mexico City,' I said.
He grimaced. 'I'll try, but I don't think there's a hope in hell. This little box don't have the power.'
He twiddled his knobs and I thought about what had happened. The big transport helicopter was destroyed, the jet was grounded in Mexico City for some mysterious reason and Camp One had gone off the air. It added up to one thing -- isolation -- and I didn't like it one little bit. I looked speculatively across the clearing towards the hangar where Rider was 'polishing up his chopper as usual. At least we had the other helicopter.
