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"The nearest naval facility is at Trujillo. I'll alert the base commander and go from there."

"Keep me informed of any new developments."

"It's still early." Chaco sighed. "So what's the problem?"

"We can't afford government meddling. Certainly not now. Can you arrange to have a dive rescue team rushed to the sinkhole?"

Chaco caught his breath, closed his eyes for a second. "Doesn't sound good, my friend. This is not what we planned."

Chaco caught his breath, closed his eyes for a second. "Doesn't sound good, my friend. This is not what we planned."

"They'll come through," offered Chaco in a hollow tone. "Rodgers is a master diver. He doesn't make mistakes."

"We've seen no sign of their air bubbles for the last ten minutes."

Miller checked his watch again. "Twenty-seven minutes ago."

"When did they enter the water?"

Then with shaking hands he gripped the radio transmitter and began sending out an urgent call for help.

"How long did they plan to stay down?"

"Can you send the dive team ahead by helicopter?" asked Miller.

"We've seen no sign of their air bubbles for the last ten minutes."

The tops of the surrounding trees were whipped into a frenzy as the helicopter began its descent into a small clearing beside the sinkhole. The landing skids were still in the air when the fuselage door opened and a tall man with wavy black hair made an agile leap to the ground. He was dressed in a thin, shorty wet suit for diving in warm waters. Ignoring the younger people, he walked directly up to the anthropologist.

"They'll come through," offered Chaco in a hollow tone. "Rodgers is a master diver. He doesn't make mistakes."

In an expectant hush everyone around the rim of the pool listened. The faint thumping sound of a rotor blade beating the air came toward them, growing louder with each passing moment. A minute later a turquoise helicopter with the letters NUMA painted on its sides swept into view.

"Can you send the dive team ahead by helicopter?" asked Miller.

Where had it come from? Miller wondered, his spirits rising. It obviously didn't have the markings of the Peruvian navy. It had to be a civilian craft.

The tops of the surrounding trees were whipped into a frenzy as the helicopter began its descent into a small clearing beside the sinkhole. The landing skids were still in the air when the fuselage door opened and a tall man with wavy black hair made an agile leap to the ground. He was dressed in a thin, shorty wet suit for diving in warm waters. Ignoring the younger people, he walked directly up to the anthropologist.

"We can't afford government meddling. Certainly not now. Can you arrange to have a dive rescue team rushed to the sinkhole?"

"Not possible," Chaco replied helplessly. "They're still in transit from Miami. Their plane isn't scheduled to land in Lima for another four hours."

"When did they enter the water?"

"When did they enter the water?"

"It's still early." Chaco sighed. "So what's the problem?"

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