Blue Descent

by David Wood

  “Hands behind your heads. Slowly.”

  Bones was never one to back down from a fight, and he rarely paid attention to the odds. But he also had a wealth of experience in the realms of violence and he knew that the unseen speaker behind them was fully prepared to kill both of them. He could read it in the man’s tone, and the fact that this person had taken them unaware meant he had skill. Also, he and Willis could not be in a more vulnerable state right now. The boulder where they’d sat afforded little cover, and neither of them carried a weapon other than a knife. He gave Willis a quick nod, and they followed the unseen man’s directions.

  “You with the long hair,” the voice said. “Listen carefully.”

  “I guess he doesn’t mean you, skinhead,” Bones said to Willis.

  “Never call a black man a skinhead,” Willis said.

  The hidden speaker did not take the bait. “I want you to slowly take the amulet off and hold it up where I can see it.”

  “What? This thing? It’s not valuable.”

  “Don’t make me ask again.”

  Suppressing a grin, Bones complied with the man’s instructions. He slowly removed the cheap knockoff amulet and held it up.

  “Here it is.” He poured as much anger and resentment into his voice as he could.

  “Good. Now, toss it toward the sound of my voice. And make sure your aim is true. If you throw it out into the forest, I’ll kill you out of sheer annoyance. I’m very jetlagged.”

  “Look man,” Willis said, “ain’t nobody going to do nothing. We found this thing in a shipwreck. We cleaned it up, but we don’t know what it is, and everybody we asked says it ain’t worth nothing. We were hoping we could sell it to the voodoo woman, but even she says it is junk.”

  With that, Bones tossed the amulet back over his shoulder. He heard a clink as the man caught it. A few seconds of silence and then a scornful laugh.

  “Echard. What an idiot.”

  “On that we agree,” Bones said. “The guy is an assclown.”

  The man laughed again, a cold, angry thing. “Bunch of amateur treasure hunters find a piece of crap trinket, which causes that idiot Echard to start killing people, and I’m the one who has to fly to the middle of nowhere to get it all sorted out. I’m not going to kill you, but neither am I going to tell Echard what I’ve learned. Let him keep trying to kill you. You morons deserve each other.”

  Bones and Willis knelt there in silence. Bones found himself gritting his teeth, waiting for the sound of a gunshot, the pain of a bullet striking his flesh. Somehow he didn’t really believe it would come. The man they’d encountered was clearly a professional, and professionals didn’t kill unless they felt it was necessary.

  He waited until the count of ten and looked around. No one was there.

  “I think he’s gone.”

  “I didn’t hear him come or go,” Willis said. “That man is good.”

  “Please,” Bones said as he stood and brushed the dirt off his clothing. “Good? That dude just got outsmarted by Dane freaking Maddock.”

  29

  The Hermitage stood at the top of Mount Alverna, the highest point in the Bahamas. From its lofty point overlooking Cat Island and the sparkling waters of the Caribbean, the abandoned monastery gleamed in the sunlight. As Rae and Maddock made the climb to the top, she filled him in on the background of this historic place.

  Monsignor John Hawes, known to locals as Father Jerome, built the monastery in the late 1930s. An architect and sculptor, Father Jerome built the Hermitage in Medieval style using local stone. He intended the place to be his personal retreat. He also built many other cathedrals and convents in the Bahamas.

  “This place is actually called Como Hill,” Rae explained. “But Hawes renamed it Mount Alvernia because it reminded him of La Verna, a hill in Tuscany where St. Francis of Assisi is supposed to have received the wounds of the cross.”

  “Do you believe in that sort of thing?” Maddock asked. “Stigmata and the like?”

  Rae shrugged. “I don’t know. As a scientist, I’m naturally a skeptic, but who’s to say what’s possible and impossible? How about you?”

  “The supernatural is Bones’ department, and I include religion in that.” Maddock hadn’t always felt that way, but some of the twists and turns his life had taken had left him in doubt. “My gut says, there’s always a scientific explanation for the weird things we encounter.”

  “That’s how I see it for the most part, but I like to think maybe there’s a little bit of the universe we’ll never be able to explain. That’s one of the things I envy about Kyle. He has a sense of wonder about everything. It’s so refreshing.”

  A sense of wonder was frequently the byproduct of a serious lack of information, but Maddock held his tongue. Rae’s attachment to her foster brother was deeper than any siblings he had ever met. Her attitude toward him wasn’t going to change.

  To their left, a sign warned that this place was the private property of the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Nassau, Bahamas, and that the church was not responsible for injury or damage sustained by persons who enter the property at their own risk. Behind it, an old stone gateway surmounted by a cross welcomed them to Mount Alvernia.

  “Is it that dangerous?” Maddock asked.

  “Just covering their asses,” Rae said. “Insurance company probably required it for liability reasons.”

  “Why do they need insurance when they’ve got thoughts and prayers?” Maddock deadpanned.

  “You’re thinking of Protestants,” Rae deadpanned.

  As they continued their ascent up the long, winding path, they passed relief carvings of the stations of the cross. According to Rae, these were also the work of Father Jerome.

  When they reached the top of the hill, Maddock was surprised to see that the gray stone structure with its gleaming whitewashed roof, which had seemed so imposing from a distance, was actually modest, though not without its charms. The site offered a three hundred-sixty-degree view of Cat Island’s lush greenery and the sparkling waters of the Caribbean.

  “They call islands like this one the Out Islands,” Rae explained. “The tourist industry hasn’t ruined them yet.”

  Rae explained that the island was dotted with abandoned buildings, which made it a choice flyover site for amateur pilots. Just to the south lay the ruins of Armbrister Plantation. From there, Armbrister Creek flowed into Boiling Hole. The area to the southwest was called Old Bight.

  “But I’ve heard it said that it was once called the Old Blight. I don’t know where the name comes from, though.” She shrugged as if to say, It’s Cat Island. What else would you expect?

  The Hermitage consisted of an abbey, a chapel, a bell tower, and living quarters. Maddock looked them over, thinking.

  “Now that we’re here, what’s the plan?” Rae asked.

  “I don’t really have one,” Maddock admitted. “With its proximity to Boiling Hole, I’m wondering if there’s a connection to the chamber we found.”

  “I don’t see how. The Hermitage wasn’t built until 1939.”

  “Maybe there was something here before? Or maybe he chose this site for a reason?”

  “Oh, come on. Father Jerome was a humanitarian. Are you seriously suggesting he could have had a connection to a torture chamber that’s probably four hundred years old?”

  “If I had a nickel for every ‘good guy’ who turned out to be a dirtbag...” Maddock said.

  “I get that, believe me,” Rae said. “I have no illusions about a priest or anyone else who holds a lot of sway over other people. But I’ve found that even the good people outnumber the bad by far, and I’ve found that even growing up in the foster system, the good people outnumber the bad by far. And I’ve never heard a single bad story about Father Jerome. Even the people who hated outsiders had at least a grudging respect for him.”

  “I’m not saying he had a connection to the torture chamber. But what if Father Jerome learned about the torture chamber? He was a trus
ted priest, so maybe someone revealed it in confession, or simply confided it to him. Or perhaps, as a priest serving in the islands, he was privy to stories of what went on here in the past, some of which were unsavory or even shameful. Maybe he left some kind of record.”

  “So, we’re looking for what?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone kept journals and written records back then. Maybe he left a clue, something that would only mean something to a person who knew about the torture chamber. Maybe even an artifact of some kind. Just look for hiding places that might have escaped notice all these years.”

  Rae cocked her head and frowned. “You do know that Indiana Jones is a fictional character?”

  Maddock laughed. “Crazy as it sounds, I know from firsthand experience that things like that are not as farfetched as they might seem. Especially when it comes to a powerful organization like the church, which has lots of secrets to hide.”

  Rae nodded. “All right, Doctor Jones. I’ll play along.”

  30

  Echard crouched inside the old monastery and listened as Maddock and Raeána talked. He wondered what they would think if they knew just how close Maddock had come to the truth. He himself had only put the final pieces together after finding notes from Brother Jerome’s writings among Alexei’s possessions. That had sealed it for him.

  They needed only the amulet to master the great Leviathan.

  That sentence was burned into his mind. And there, on the photocopied page, had been a rough sketch of an ouroboros in the shape of a Lusca. That had sealed it. He had long believed that the Lusca and the great beast from the Bible were one and the same. And if he could only find the amulet, he would be its master.

  He’d spent years searching, collecting story fragments, anything that would bring him closer to his goal. For years that was all he had—fragments of legends, with just enough savory bits to prevent him from giving up entirely. One of those stories had been that of a hero of Ancient Greece who had come to the islands and encountered a great sea serpent. Details were sparse, but the hero had survived by stealing something from the Lusca’s master and had encased it in earth to prevent the serpent or its master from finding it. But the ship went down in a storm somewhere in the islands, taking with it the item that had been stolen. But, try as he might, Echard could learn no more about the lost key to Leviathan.

  And then Kyle had shown up to return the borrowed sailboat, and he had told Echard about the strange artifact brought up from the bottom by a man named Dane Maddock and his crew. As soon as Kyle had described the clay egg and the shipwreck that seemed to be from the ancient world, Echard had known that this was the breakthrough he’d been waiting for. The clay egg was obviously the earthen vessel that kept the artifact hidden from the great beast. And now he was so close to having it in his possession.

  But he was also in danger.

  He rested his hand on the pistol tucked into his waistband. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

  Issachar had been correct when he guessed that Maddock would show up either at Mermaid Hole or at the Hermitage and had been wise to set traps at both places. Right now, Echard’s backups should be closing in. Not that his recruits were known for their reliability, but they loved money and would do almost anything for it.

  He couldn’t stop staring at the amulet that dangled from Raeána’s neck. Echard had never seen it up close, but he’d seen the scans, and they resembled the drawing Alexei had photocopied. He wondered if the Russian had come here searching for answers. If so, he hadn’t found them.

  As he watched, the pair split up. Maddock headed back down the hill, while Raeána approached the Hermitage. Echard’s heart leapt. This couldn’t have played out any more perfectly! Now, he only needed Maddock to stay away long enough for him to take the amulet and get out of here. Raeána paused to inspect the bell tower, then entered the monastery.

  Echard tensed. The moment was almost at hand. Shooting her would be quicker but it would certainly draw Maddock’s attention. The knife would be quieter. He watched her, admiring her grace and her beauty. He’d been infatuated with the young woman since the day they’d met, even though her feelings for him were a bit murkier. Hell, he only put up with her idiot brother in the hope that she would see him in a better light. For such a smart, intelligent woman, she sure was stupid in all matters relating to Kyle.

  Raeána came to a halt directly in front of his hiding place. She looked around, brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, and let out a little sigh. The delicate sound sent shivers down Echard’s spine. He really didn’t know if he could bring himself to kill her.

  But he had to have the amulet.

  He drew his knife and waited.

  Finally she turned her back on him and he sprang into action. In a flash, he covered her mouth with his free hand and pressed the blade of his knife to her throat. He felt her tense up to fight, but then freeze the moment the cold steel touched her flesh. He couldn’t help himself. He held her close, pressed his body against hers, buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. Her skin was so soft and she smelled so good. He had dreamed of this. A shame to slaughter such a perfect specimen.

  “Don’t cry out or you die. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and he removed his hand from her mouth.

  “My friend will be here any second, you sick freak.” Her voice was strong despite the fact that she stood at death’s doorstep.

  “All I want is the amulet,” he growled, trying to disguise his voice. Even now he didn’t want her to think badly of him. “Cooperate and you might live.”

  Down a short flight of stone steps lay the replica of Christ’s tomb on Maddock’s right, and to the left was another space carved into the bedrock upon which the Hermitage stood. Some sort of cellar, Maddock guessed. He made a quick inspection of the faux tomb, which was little more than an alcove dug into the rock, and the huge stone disc that was rolled to the side.

  He saw nothing promising, so he moved to the cellar. A barred door blocked his way, but the lock was cheap and not intended to keep out a determined person. There didn’t appear to be anything of interest here, or was there?

  The space behind the door proved to be a small, empty room carved directly into the bedrock. There was nothing here. No trapdoors, no cryptic symbols carved into the walls, not even a brick or flagstone to pry up. Still, he took the time to inspect the space before dismissing it.

  “I wonder if Rae is having better luck, or did I just take us on a wild goose chase?” he said to himself. He hoped this hadn’t been a giant waste of time.

  He only had a moment’s warning, a dimming of the light inside the room as someone or something blocked the doorway.

  Acting on instinct, he dove to his left. A shot rang out, the boom ear-splitting in the confined space. He tucked his shoulder, rolled, and came up with his weapon at the ready—the pistol he’d taken from one of Echard’s hired thugs two days earlier. The high pitched whine of a ricocheting bullet filled the air. He felt more than heard something buzz past his ear and then he heard a grunt.

  The man standing in the doorway was a big, greasy-looking fellow with mutton chops and a shaved head. His right hand hung by his side, weapon dangling from limp fingers. He looked at Maddock in disbelief, then his gaze drifted down to his t-shirt soaked with blood from the bullet wound in the center of his chest. He tried to stanch the flow with his left hand, but the effort was futile.

  “I’ve got to hand it to you. That’s the weirdest way I’ve ever seen a man kill himself,” Maddock said.

  “I didn’t mean to,” the man said. Then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

  Maddock wasted no time. This fellow must be working for Echard, and if he wasn’t alone, that gunshot would have alerted anyone else in the area of Maddock’s position. Hopefully it would also draw them away from Rae.

  He relieved the fallen man of his pistol, a cheap Saturday Night Special, then paused to peer out the doorway.

  He caught a
flash of movement just down the hill. A figure ducked behind one of the stations of the cross. And then a fusillade of gunfire erupted. Maddock ducked back inside as bullets slammed into the door facing, spattering him with fragments of rock.

  Another bullet whizzed through the doorway and began pinging around the small cellar like an angry yellowjacket trapped in a mason jar.

  “I can’t stay here.”

  Mentally calculating the attacker’s position, Maddock readied himself, then reached out and opened fire with the revolver, aiming for the spot where the shooter had been moments before. Then he rolled out the door and ducked down behind a pile of rock.

  As he rose up, the shooter fired again. As Maddock had expected, the man had remained hunkered down behind the engraving rather than change his position. Which meant if Maddock could get a better angle, he could get off a clean shot.

  Maddock fired again, then scrambled down the steep hill as two more shots rang out in reply. He skidded down the slope, hitting every boulder along the way, then landed on his feet in a thin copse of pine. He dropped to one knee and looked for his assailant. The man still hadn’t moved.

  Now Maddock could see him better. He might have been the dead fellow’s brother. He was a bulky white guy with more tats than hair.

  As Maddock watched, the man rose up from his hiding place behind one of the stations of the cross, and peered out. He was still looking up the hill for Maddock and had no idea the tables had been turned.

  Hugging the ground, Maddock began to crawl toward his target. He closed the gap quickly, until he was ten meters away. The man still had no idea Maddock had left his position outside the cellar.

  Amateur, Maddock thought.

  Ordinarily, he’d creep right up on the man and take him alive for questioning, but there was no time. He didn’t know where Rae was or if she was in danger. He had to end this quickly.

  Carefully, he took aim.

  The man must have spotted Maddock from the corner of his eye because he suddenly spun to his right and opened fire.