As he sat in the darkened room of the basement of the Society for American Archeology, Sam Freese could only wonder what his friends where doing on a Friday night. He was at the top of his graduating class at Harvard but, as the rookie, he was forced to work odd hours and night shifts. The years of study, research, and accolade for his field research and the only work he could find was monitoring the satellite feed from the Global Heritage Fund, a multi-million dollar organization for the preservation of endangers cultural sites. His explosive article on archeological looting of major dig sites was a scandal around the world. The scathing report, which named some of the world’s top archeologists, accused them of improprieties such as destroying ancient structures and looting sites for personal collections. This article blacklisted him from any major operations which resulted in him losing the funding for his research. This is also how he ended up in the basement of the Society in Memphis, Tennessee.
Since the article was published in the March issue of National Geographic, his once burgeoning career as a protector of history had now waned into that of a security guard. He knew what he had written was the truth and he was willing to anything to get his reputation back. As he watched the screens for any kind of unusual activity, he couldn't help but wonder how this would do the world any good. This "armchair archeology" wasn't what he had in mind when he was working on his masters at Oxford.
The 12 screens flickered as they scrolled through the 600 sites worldwide. He stared at the screens and wished he could be at one of these exotic places, imagining he was walking through the jungle or charting a course through the desert. He could almost see himself walking through the Mayan ruins of Quirigua, when suddenly he realized he wasn't imagining things. He could see that there was someone there, someone who isn't supposed to be there at 2 AM. He could see the flickering of the flashlight….then another….and another. He zoomed in on the site and began to stare in amazement to see the small group of men converging on the site and he knew he had to do something.
He immediately sent an alert through the Global Heritage Network and picked up the phone to contact the authorities in Quirigua. The phone line rang as he waited for someone to answer. It felt like an eternity as the phone continued to ring unanswered. He tried again and again but no one was there. He had to do something. He grabbed his bag and ran through the door. As he drove down the highway toward the airport he knew he would never get there in time, but he had to try. The plane trip would only take two hours, and it would take another hour to get to the site. Racing now, at over 90 miles per hour, he soon made it to the airport and booked the first flight to Guatemala City.
As soon as the airplane doors opened he bolted through the terminal. He knew he didn't have time for a cab or to rent a car so he took the first car he could get. He didn't know what he would find at the site, if the men would still be there, or if he did all of this for nothing. He went with his instinct and was no going on the adrenaline running through his body. The old car wasn't as fast as he had hoped but it was getting him closer and closer to his goal. He had been here many times before, so he knew his way through the narrow roads of the covered jungle. It was a shortcut he had taken to avoid the tourist riddled main highway. Now, he's taking it to see what was done to his beloved Mayan stale. These massive stone carvings were said to be monument to their kings as gods and used as calendars to map world events. The 84' Datsun cut through the jungle as fast as it could go and, as the sun came up, he finally made it to the city of Quirigua.
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