Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One)

by Nathan Hystad

  The wind picked up, and water sprayed my face as I made my way beside the ex-SEAL. “You can sound really creepy, you know that?”

  “Keep it together, Rex. Tonight is important. It’s not like barreling into the stone forest or smashing an icicle. This is covert business, and you can’t break character for a moment.” Tripp was tense about something, but I didn’t know what.

  “Why are you suddenly so invested in this trip?” I glanced at the living room to find Francois gazing at me. He closed the blinds with a snap, but not before I saw the doctor at Hunter’s side.

  “I was hired to watch over the team and protect Hunter Madison. But the longer I’m around all this, the more I’m believing what he’s spouting.” Tripp took a seat beside the pool, between Marcus and Veronica.

  “You think the Objects are coming to destroy us?” Marcus asked him.

  “I don’t know about that, but it’s possible the Believers do, and they’re fanatical. Deadly. I’ve seen proof. From what Hunter has compiled, they’re so deeply rooted across the world that we could be in some serious trouble when they decide to flip the switch.” Tripp’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t shaved since the beginning of the journey, and he was starting to appear feral.

  “Flip what switch?” Veronica sat up, rubbing her bare arms as the clouds rolled in, obscuring the warmth of the sun.

  “Hunter suggested they have members in high places. Once the Objects arrive, he’s positive they’ll enact a protocol. Self-serving, of course. If the cult is here to welcome our destruction, that means chaos for the human race.” Tripp nervously tapped his foot as he watched the pool.

  “Damn. If Hunter’s right, what control do we have over any of that? The Tokens will offer no power against zealous government officials,” Marcus advised.

  “No, but if there is a Bridge, maybe our answers lie within it,” I whispered, peeking toward the living room again.

  “No one’s really explained what that means. What does Hunter expect to unearth across this Bridge?” Veronica slipped a hoodie on and began pacing the poolside.

  “I think he expects help.” They all looked at me as I said it.

  She continued the inquiry. “Help? From whom?”

  I shrugged. “Damned if I know. There was a reason my father was so invested. We’ve been trying to determine what Hardy was referring to in his journal, but it’s a bunch of scribbled madness.”

  “You have Brian Hardy’s journal?” Veronica asked.

  Had I even told her who Hardy was? I tried to scan our interactions but failed to recall. “Sure we do. Marcus is trying to decipher it, but so far, nothing.”

  “Have you shown Hunter?” Tripp was back on his feet. Everyone was exhibiting far too much pent-up energy.

  “No, we haven’t. We were keeping it to ourselves,” Marcus told them.

  “Why?” Veronica barked. “Aren’t we on the same team?”

  I walked over to her, grabbing her by the hands. “He has a lot of secrets, and he’s been candid about his associations with the cult. If we want to see this through, we need each other, but he’ll cut our throats as soon as he gets what he wants.”

  Tripp was there, shoving me. “If you have a journal he should see, show him.”

  I stood my ground. “Tripp, back off.”

  “Enough, boys.” Veronica came between us. “I do agree with Tripp, though.”

  “About what? Showing Hunter the book?”

  “Rex, they may be right,” Marcus said. “There’s a reason this language is getting zero hits on the server. Because it doesn’t exist online.”

  At first, we’d assumed it was a cipher, created by Hardy to keep the book a secret, but now, after listening to them, it was possible it was something else. “It’s written in the alien tongue.” I remembered hearing Across This Great Nation with Bill McReary while he interviewed the woman claiming to have been in the Believers cult.

  Tripp grimaced, but Veronica appeared excited. I looked at Marcus and nodded. “Bring the book.”

  ____________

  By the time Hunter emerged from his bedroom, it had been dark for two hours. Despite our insistence that we had something the man needed to see, Francois wouldn’t permit his disturbance, so we ordered in dinner and waited, not so patiently.

  Veronica wore a slim dress, her heels strewn beside the door. I wore a custom-tailored suit Hunter ordered, which had only involved taking measurements with Marcus’ help. It had arrived hours later, fitting like a glove. The midnight-blue material felt too flashy for my usual tastes, but that was what Cal Harken expected from his guest list.

  Veronica was a knockout with her blonde hair pinned up. She’d spent an hour in the master bathroom, using an assortment of blow dryers and curling irons. I hardly recognized our team member as she came downstairs, but she could probably say the same about me.

  “What is it you need to discuss?” Hunter asked as he walked out of his room and down the hall.

  “We have to leave soon, but Marcus and I wanted to… there’s a bit of information we didn’t disclose earlier,” I admitted to him.

  After his rest, Hunter seemed renewed, but he was frowning, likely upset about his meeting with the doctor. We were in the living room, with Francois disappearing down the hall.

  Hunter rapped his knuckles on the wall. “Get on with it, Rexford!”

  Marcus held the journal we’d discovered at Hardy’s condo and jumped up, handing it to Hunter.

  “What’s this?” The old man’s question didn’t need answering as he turned the pages. His knees buckled, and he caught himself on the back of Tripp’s chair. The military man hopped up, guiding Hunter into the seat. “How did you—”

  I walked closer, my palms rubbing together nervously. “Is that what we think it is?”

  “This is his theory on the Bridge. Or better so, the Sovereign’s theory. Written in the Unknowns’ language.”

  “The Unknowns?” The word sounded sharp on Veronica’s tongue.

  “That’s what the Believers call their saviors. The race they believed once lived here. Settle in, everyone,” Hunter said.

  I glanced at my watch. It didn’t match my suit, but there was no way I was parting with it. I never did. “We’re going to be late.”

  “Rex, no one arrives at these shindigs on schedule. You’ll be fine,” he told me.

  I sat on the couch beside Veronica, and Hunter snapped his fingers twice. Francois appeared, crossing behind us to retrieve a bottle from the bar. “Are you sure you should be drinking?”

  “Rex, you’ll need one to hear what I have to say.” Hunter accepted the outstretched glass from his serving man, and Francois set the bottle and other glasses on the table, indicating that we could pour our own. Tripp did the honors, distributing the drinks.

  “We’ve been moving so fast, and I haven’t been as clear-minded as I’d like. But it’s time to spill the proverbial beans, as it were.” Hunter sipped his drink, and I did the same. My hand trembled slightly as I lowered the glass. “These are the facts as I know them. The Believers suggest a race was here long before humans. They aren’t certain whether we originated from their stock, but many treat this like gospel. There are sub-segments of their cult, with a multi-faceted ranking system.”

  “They all agree that the Unknowns arrived ages ago, when the face of the planet was far different than it is today. It’s suggested they created the spark of life and left us to develop, with plans to return one day.”

  “Why leave and return? What do they want to accomplish?” Marcus asked him.

  “I’ll tell you it is not philanthropic. They say the Unknowns want slaves, beings to control, and that is why they exist. The Believers want to be the middlemen in the transaction. They think their group will act as an intermediary, and while the Unknowns pillage our planet, they’ll be rewarded for the ease with which the matter occurs.”

  I finished the drink, setting my glass down. It slipped off the table and landed on the hardwood, nearly
shattering. “Sorry.”

  Hunter just kept talking. “There was no indication of how they would come back to Earth, or when, but it was obvious they were anticipating it over the last few decades. It began with this…” He tapped the book. “Hardy knows their language, but I’m rusty. It was never something I considered factual. To me, they were making it up, a design to sound advanced to the newer acolytes. It’ll take me some time to determine what the journal says, but I will. And we’ll be steps ahead.”

  I picked up the glass, refilling it. “And you think it all points to the Bridge?”

  “Hardy learned about it from somewhere, and it wasn’t the Believers. He picked up a trail, probably left by various truth-seekers in the generations leading up to your father’s discovery of the ancient Tokens.” Hunter was flushed, and he leaned into the couch, cheeks puffing out.

  “There were other people searching for the Tokens?” Veronica had been quiet, but it was evident the wheels were spinning. Her gaze danced between me and Hunter.

  “Dirk claims there were clues about their locations, dating back as far as ancient Egypt. He thinks the first appearance of a Token was in Karnak among artifacts on a shrine to the god Amun. They would have been unaware of its function, but the mere fact that it was there indicated that someone from long before had kept it as a prize.

  “It’s likely the Tokens would have passed hands countless times across the ages. Wars, vanishing civilizations, advancing technologies pushing out old beliefs. Dirk and Clayton had a knack for following leads, so once their noses were on the trail, they hunted each of the Tokens down like bloodhounds looking for a possum on their farm.” Hunter stared at his glass, rotating it in his fingers.

  “They thought it would work?” Veronica asked him. “Clayton, and Rex’s dad. They trusted the Bridge was real?”

  “I had many discussions with Dirk about it. Clayton was more reserved. He preferred to stay in Dirk’s shadow, and that seemed to suit them both fine.”

  “Did my dad believe he was going to use the Bridge?” The breath caught in my throat while I waited for a response.

  “No, not at first. But he saw it as an opportunity to do what he loved and make money in the process. He was a treasure hunter, a real-life adventurer. He was initially going to do as our contract stipulated: locate the Case and Tokens, and hand them over. But Dirk changed in those years. He had a family and, from what I gathered, had an altercation with someone in the cult. He cut me off shortly after, despite my demands that what he held was my property. I thought he’d come to his senses, and before he departed on that last trip to Portugal, he assured me that I could join them. He thanked me for my patience and funding, and apologized for his actions.” Hunter smiled as he recalled the conversation.

  “But something happened,” I whispered.

  “I suppose so. Dirk and Clayton fled, and from what we can gather, they had hired this porter of theirs to disperse the Tokens in some very difficult locations,” Hunter said.

  “And what’s your theory for this?” Tripp hadn’t touched his drink; he swirled it in the glass.

  “Dirk was caught up in it. He needed to see the Bridge for himself. And if it was real, he wanted to hide it from the world so no one could find out what the other side held. If he’d left the Case as-is, I predict he could have returned to Earth.”

  I was thrumming with energy and glanced at the time. We were already thirty minutes late for the party.

  Tripp finally drained his bourbon and frowned. “I’ve heard some wacky stories this month, but there’s something you seem to be discounting.”

  “What’s that, Tripp?” Hunter asked.

  “These Believers… I think they tracked Dirk and this other guy’s movements to Portugal. They found them with the Case and shot them, burying the bodies where no one ever located them.”

  I pictured my dad standing in a cavern with the starlight pouring through the open-air porthole to the sky. I closed my eyes, imagining two men dressed in black, entering with guns raised: before any discussion erupts, they fire, killing Clayton and my father. The Case clinks to the stone floor.

  “That can’t be. Why do we hold the Case? How did Luis have the Tokens?” I stood abruptly and headed for the door.

  “Maybe Luis was in on it. One of the Believers?” Tripp suggested.

  “No way,” Marcus interjected. “We were down there in Venezuela. If the Believers knew about him and the Case, don’t you think they’d have a better hiding spot than a pond inside a mine shaft?”

  Hunter slapped the arm of the couch and grinned at me. “We’re not finding our answers tonight, but with any luck, you’ll locate the fourth Token. You two know what is needed, and don’t forget to cover your tracks.”

  Veronica was at the door in seconds, with her shoulders bare, and she grabbed a shawl from a hook near the exit. Francois abruptly entered from the front of the house, surprising both of us.

  “This way.” He’d put on a tuxedo, and he indicated we were to join him in the black Mercedes idling near the doors.

  “At least we can ride in style,” Veronica said, striding elegantly for the parked car.

  ____________

  Cal Harken’s house was subtle from the driveway. Lush landscaping hid most of its front, and it was only when we entered the doors that we saw the expert craftmanship. This was the house of a young movie executive trying to break through in the competitive and nepotistic film industry.

  Francois drove away in the car, leaving us stranded. He’d assured us he’d be close, and to text him the moment we needed to flee. We’d scouted three rendezvous points, varying from the front drive to the street behind the house to the gas station down the hillside, in case we were caught and had to make a dubious escape.

  A young man in a tuxedo asked if we wanted to check any coats, and we turned him down, entering the foyer, which led to a large group of guests mingling. Many of them seemed to know each other, talking confidently and casually about politics or some movie they were trying to break ground on.

  These houses were older, with low ceilings and compartmentalized rooms, making the place feel crowded. “Remind me why Hunter didn’t just call Cal and propose to buy the thing?”

  It was a good question, and Hunter had his reasons. “How was he going to start that conversation? I was stalking the internet when I saw the hexagonal shape in the background of your shirtless photo?”

  “You’re kind of sassy, aren’t you?” Veronica slid her arm through mine and kissed my cheek lightly. “Just play nice, hubby, and we’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Most of the people were talking in the living room, which opened up to unfolded patio dividers. Christmas music played in the backyard, and red and green lights were draped around the entire deck. The view was astonishing, with the classic hill views you could only manage in California. Most of the guests were middle-aged or older, with a few younger ones spread out, talking loudly with one another. I spotted a man eagerly discussing his newest film project with a clearly disinterested man. His companion was knocking them back, with four empty martini glasses piled up on the patio table.

  “Do you see him?” I whispered.

  “Not yet. Wait, that’s his wife.”

  I followed her gaze to where Mrs. Sarah Harken was smiling at the couple in front of her. She was probably only thirty, with curled dark hair dusting her shoulders. She seemed to catch us staring and excused herself, coming to greet us. We’d descended the deck steps onto a wonderful courtyard. A wood-burning fireplace sat in a stone wall, and guests milled about, some choosing to sit by the warmth.

  “Have you decided on a drink yet? Henry makes the best Old-Fashioneds,” she said amiably. She walked us to the bar and kept talking. “I’m Sarah, Cal’s wife. I assume you know Cal?”

  “Not yet, but that’s the purpose of the invitation, I think. My company has interest in working with Cal on a top-secret project, and we’re all very excited about it,” I said, mimicking the ton
es I’d heard on the pass through the house. Everyone had unbridled enthusiasm for the craft, their voices hitting octaves usually reserved for the theater.

  Sarah perked up at this, and I had a feeling this house, the affluent neighborhood, and the fancy cars were something they’d stretched their budget to afford. “I didn’t catch your names.”

  “Frank Winkle, and my better half, Chantelle,” I said, putting Veronica on display. She gave a brief curtsy motion, which wasn’t fully possible with the tight dress she adorned.

  “Nice to meet you. What’ll you have?” she asked.

  The bar was built into the courtyard, and the man behind it waited for our orders. Veronica asked for red wine for both of us, and he nodded, pouring from a dark bottle.

  “Is Cal close by? I’d love to put a face to the name.” I peered around the yard, searching for him.

  “He’s here. You never know with him. He’s always talking business with someone.” Sarah seemed to catch herself oversharing and smiled again. “I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.” She waved at two newcomers and grinned apologetically. “I have to go, but hopefully, we can connect later.”

  “Thank you for coming to say hi. And you have a lovely home,” Veronica told her.

  “Thanks, Chantelle.” And she was off.

  “Nice work,” I mumbled. “Let’s get inside and see where his study is.”

  Her heels clipped across the square and we returned up the stairs, me ducking to avoid the hanging lights near the top. I said hello to a few people, chatting with an older man about the beautiful out-of-season weather like I belonged, and finally returned into the house. Most had ventured outside, and I heard Sarah’s voice trying to gather everyone’s attention.

  “I think the hosts are trying to move us to the courtyard,” I told the few people in the living room, and they grabbed their finger-food plates and glasses, almost leaving us alone in the house.

  “Nice work,” Veronica said, kicking off her shoes. “I hate these things.” She left them at the end of the hallway and padded for the bedrooms. It was a ranch house, and I stopped near the bathroom, hearing the toilet flush. The door sprang open, and instead of looking like snoops, I pretended not to see the woman as I kissed Veronica. She pressed against a bedroom door and let out a groan as we made out.