The red-headed agent behind the desk took out another graphic document and handed it to the professor. "This is a listing of the toxins found inside the victims and their traceable sources as used by the assailants."

"They're all from snakes," the Asian agent clarified.

"But carefully chosen snakes," supplied the other. "It's one of the most phenomenal clues we've found so far."

The professor reached over and took the document. It was a profile sheet of four specific snakes-their photos, their origin and location of natural habitat. It also detailed information about the biochemical composition of their venom and its effects upon its prey.

"You see Dr. Simons, the snake venom used in the tip of those arrows was chosen very intelligently. Either to kill, or to specifically cause injury and suffering to certain men. In either of these cases, it was as a result of the man's prior assault upon a female or females."

"Yes," interjected the other, "These crossbow attacks we've been plotting internationally are carried out as obvious vendettas to match the death or suffering of females. In every case there is evidence of that."

The Asian-American agent spoke up quickly, leaning over the snake profiles as the professor perused them. "A most remarkable thing came up about this toxicological research through our plotting of autopsies and medical reports on the male victims."

"What was that," the professor asked, still mystified by what he was being shown. He looked briefly into the eyes of the agent next to him.

"It's that these four snakes you see here . . . while some of the most poisonous known to science . . . they all come from extremely distant origins of the world. Their venom could only have been collected, stored, and transported thousand of miles as the chosen toxin to be used for its desired result. Either suffering or death."

"That's right," added the blond agent, "and we've determined through our work with the State Department that these vendettas correspond in kind to the man's relative brutality or act of murder he himself committed upon a woman or women victims. This has been consistent in all these cases recorded internationally. Injury and suffering . . . for injury and suffering. Murder . . . for murder."

A disturbing photo of a nude male victim was suddenly handed to the professor by the CIA officer. It was immediately difficult for the professor look upon.

"This guy in Afghanistan is a prime example," stated the red-faced man. "Seems he had cut off his wife's hand with a meat cleaver after beating and blindfolding her. He apparently did this for her refusal to stop taking classes at a local school."

"My God."

"Four days later," the blond agent added, "he was shot in the stomach with one of our familiar little shafts there." He pointed to the arrow the professor was still holding.

"It injected the venom of snake number four you see on the toxin profile. It's numbered accordingly on this map you see."

"It corresponds to one of those little blue dots in Afghanistan," said the other.

"I see. Yes." The professor handed back the photo. The man's swollen wound and discolored area of his body was enough evidence for him.

"Now . . . that venom number four comes from the Diamondback Rattlesnake of the Southwestern United States."

"That's a long way to travel for a snake," joked the older, red-headed agent."

The two other men chuckled, irreverently but cautiously..

"As you saw in the photo of the victim, Doctor, venom number four deteriorates the outer tissue near the entry point. It causes a blackening and swelling of the face, accompanied by extreme pain. It also affects the nervous system. But in a small dose is not immediately lethal."

The agent behind the desk continued. "The victim of this toxin can have a very bad time of it and usually some neurological or muscle impairment for life . . . as this model citizen now apparently has back in Afghanistan."

Only the fair-haired agent smiled at this display of irony.

"And in the case of all these crossbow injections, professor, the toxins are released fairly deep into the male victim's mid-section, preventing immediate first aide and further activating the poisoning process."

The Asian agent once again entered the discourse. "Often these men spend considerable time in the hospital. They end up with long-lasting medical consequences, much like the original victim of their assault."

The professor was fairly repulsed by the whole story and the photo. He was at a loss of words.

The bureau chief handed another photo to the professor, who unwittingly took it. It was, unfortunately for the professor, another grotesque image of a male victim's body. It appeared to be in a morgue awaiting an autopsy. The face was distorted and frozen into a horrible grimace of pain. The man's rib cage was grossly distended on the right side where the crossbow shaft had entered his body. His whole upper torso was blackened and his fists were tightly clenched in anguish at his moment of death.

"This guy gets a red dot professor," said the Asian. "Died within twenty minutes. His venom was number two. You see it there on the venom profile?"

The professor looked back at the profile map.

"As a victim, you can see his dot right here on the chart in North America. Flint, Michigan to be precise."

Dr. Simons raised his eyebrows. "Michigan?"

"His toxin was from the venom of the Sand Crate, possibly the second most deadly snake in the world." The blue-eyed man was pointing over the professor's shoulder again.

"One drop of its poison has the capacity to kill hundreds of people. Instantly. These snakes are found only in India and Eastern Asia. That's a far cry from Michigan, professor."

"Yet," the bespectacled agent chimed in, "this unlucky recipient of the crossbow shaft died near a land fill in the United States."

"Seems the guy was a repeat offender of kidnap, rape and torture. All the girls were under the age of fifteen," said the suited agent. "Oh. . . and did I forget to tell you? He eventually killed all his victims and buried them . . . only one was still alive."

"He was on a furlough from prison with homicide authorities to locate where he had buried one more of his earlier victims," said the blond.

"Yeah," the bureau chief added. "He never made it back to the safety of his prison cell. He was shot with a shaft while standing in the wooded area with the homicide detectives."

"And right next to his guards."

"The cross bow position was measured to be a distance of twenty yards. A clean shot. And accurate. He didn't even know what hit him. Died within minutes."

"We've turned that case over to the FBI and Home Land Security. That's always their beat when this stuff happens on our soil."

The professor was stunned. He handed back the second photo slowly.

"As usual the authorities in this case were unsuccessful in finding the shooter, though footprints in the mud from the trigger location indicated it was clearly . . . the prints of a female."

The professor handed back the map and snake profiles.

"OK, I've seen enough to understand, gentlemen. You're looking for a very intelligent and lethal group at work here."

"Yeah. And so finally. . . what about this tomb, professor? This . . . tholos you've been investigating? What do you make of it?"

The professor opened his satchel on the floor next to him and took out some large photos and a schematic of the Bixby find.

"What significance does the structure have to our group, do you suppose?" Asked the blond agent.

"Well, I can say it's a model or replica of a Mycenaean, Greek designed burial chamber," he told them. "A pretty distinctive construction to recognize, though on a much smaller scale than the originals. These were common among the warrior kings throughout Greece around 1600 BCE. A central sarcophagus was found inside the tholos, which had been robbed previously."

He handed the men a close up photo of the marble box.

"As near as we can determine this break-in may have happened as late as only a decade or so prior to our current investigation of the structure."

"Interesting," remarked the red-haired man.

"The floor debris of this construction yielded evidence that it was probably assembled by a party of Spanish explorers . . . sometime around 1600 CE. That's pre-Spanish Colonial time here in California."

The professor looked at the men, who seemed a bit vacuous.

"As you know, gentlemen, there were no European settlements in Alta California at that time, just tribes of indigenous peoples on those cliffs down there."

"Indians?"

"The Esselen culture."

"OK . . . so how. . ."

"There were several explorers who had sailed near that coastal point around this time. We're fairly convinced it was one of these expeditions which stopped, transported the stones up to the cliff site and assembled the stone structure in its place."

The men looked at the photos with renewed interest.

"Just who exactly was behind this . . . dangerous . . . and probably costly undertaking is a major point of our investigation," the professor went on. "It will probably be found to have been sponsored by some private benefactor or organization back in Spain, Portugal or England. Someone . . . or a group that had influence over these enterprises in the New World."

"That is pretty damn fascinating!" exclaimed the blue-eyed agent in a surprisingly candid voice." The bureau chief's eyes widened as he expressed this.

"Yes . . . it is, actually," replied Dr. Simons. "The distant location of the tomb resting on the Big Sur coast was probably seen as some idealistic location. Possibly for the sacred resting place of someone much revered by its organizer or party of organizers . . . in this case perhaps a society in its more rudimentary or original form."

"Very interesting," the red-headed agent murmured under his breath.

"Incredible," the athletic man next to him added.

"So this reconstruction of an ancient burial chamber was assembled of pre-cut marble stones it turns out only found in a quarry on an island in the Aegean. Tinos, to be exact. The probable delivery time and assembly of those stones into their construction is assumed to be around sixteen-hundred, give or take as much as thirty years before or after."

"Amazing. So . . . any leads on that, professor? The suited agent seemed eager to press on. "I mean . . . which explorer could have been involved in this?

"Only fragmentary. And just speculative things so far. It's still open to conjecture."

"Alright, professor." He held the documents up. "May I keep these images and drawings for our records?"

Dr. Simons did not answer. He felt his heart sink. The academic value of those pictures and measurements, even as facsimiles were now most sacred to him and Nicasio's original inquiry. They also were valuable primary sources for further study, which would no doubt be conducted in subsequent detail by other researchers. The professor clearly did not want to part with them before the find was properly published.

"Actually gentlemen . . . I would rather not have you take them . . . at least not at this point in our study."

The bureau chief was surprisingly sensitive to his request.

"Alright, professor." He handed them back. "For now we'll not enter these into our document base. But I'm afraid in the future you could be subpoenaed to hand them over ."

"I understand," the professor said, noticeably relieved.

"We've also detected that these women as part of their earlier work . . . have spent considerable time and money with a genetics lab facility south of the city here. It's in San DiegoCounty. Do you know anything about that enterprise, professor?"

"No. Nothing."

"You know of any reason why they would be involved with genetic research and specifically . . . cloning technology?

"No. I certainly don't. But it's frightening to contemplate."

"Indeed, professor. Now just one more thing." The suited man stood and handed back the photos and drawings to the professor across his desk.

"Yes?"

"We're getting a lot of leads that this organization has been heavily involved with women who have considerable wealth and influence. Both in the United States and abroad."

"From where, exactly?" the professor asked, placing his documents safely back into his satchel.

"Numerous sources. Industrial heiresses . . . the entertainment world . . . some old money . . . and new. Even a number of 'Fortune 500' business entities are involved. And they're some pretty reputable ones, it turns out. Basically just big and solid money, professor."

"And they're well organized and active with it," said the Asian agent. "Are you aware of a non-profit entity known as Antiope's Daughters?"

"I haven't heard of it."

"Seems it has some direct links to our old female friends here. Thousands of women have been contributing into its operations as a charitable organization for years, but suddenly now fast and furiously."

"What does it do?"

"It sponsors schools for girls in the Middle East and Africa and orphanages in some of those war-torn areas. It's been active in supporting rape intervention in India and refugee relief on the borders of Syria."

"Yeah and during the entire Arab Spring it funded women centers for human rights advocacy. They've even put investigative teams on the ground in Darfor, Sudan and East Timor. They sent in observers to the Congo to record cases of the systematic rape that goes on there."

"Turns out they were the rallying force behind the passage here in the States of the Violence Against Women Act. The bill to protect women from domestic violence, sexual assault, or stalking."

"We've also traced the money from this organization to a world-wide network which rescues and counsels female victims of sex-slavery."

"Well most of those activities sound very useful," the professor argued.

"Yes, but we're learning that women all over the world are now pledging five percent of their income to this NGO. We're keeping our eyes on it for possible tax evasion."

"Christ. I see."

The bureau chief behind the desk came around it and reached out for the professor's hand.

"Dr. Simons. Thank you for your time and input today."

The other two men also stood, handing the professor their agency cards with a handshake. They allowing him to gather his satchel and negotiate an exit from the office.

"We've appreciated your involvement so far in this investigation," the Asian-looking agent said. "We also anticipate any new details you can supply to us"

"You have our cell phone. Don't hesitate to call."

"My pleasure," the professor responded, holding his warn satchel with both hands. He nodded once more at the agent who stayed behind the desk. The door was opened for him and he exited the office, preceding to the ground the floor of the building. He soon left the entire complex and stepped into the bright midmorning sun. The familiar, cool smell of the bay accompanied him to a taxi stand where he waited to be ferried back to his own office at Cal. He would need time and solitude to digest all he had learned that morning.

* * *