Despite a terrible connection marked by intermittent hisses and crackles, he confirmed Oliver had received the FedEx package and was working on the so-called Duplanchier journal, which he advised was likely not authentic.
"Don't give up yet. I'll keep translating and let you know my thoughts when you get home," Oliver continued. "What else is going on?"
Brian quickly ran through what had happened since he arrived. Every sixty seconds there was an annoying interruption as a Siri-like voice announced the remaining time - nueve minutos - nine minutes - was the first. Brian began to speak faster to make good use of his remaining minutes.
Oliver listened to the whole story without saying a word. He heard about the priest who said an evil black cross was hidden in a mountain; a girl who claimed to be eighty-three years old; her feeble grandfather whom she revealed was really her brother; her incantations in a strange tongue and the cross she'd held high above her head. Brian recounted what the participants had done and how he'd recorded everything only to smash his phone to smithereens when he tumbled down a cliff.
The first thing Oliver said was when he heard about Brian's fall. "My God, Brian. Are you okay?"
"'Okay' is a relative term," Brian responded with a halfhearted laugh. "The driver took me to a clinic and a doctor checked me out. I have a bruised left shoulder that I figured was broken, so that's a positive. I also hit my head pretty hard - I think he put in ten stitches - but I'm okay."
A voice interrupted. Cuatro minutos. Four minutes.
"Once I disconnect I'll call tomorrow from the States. It's too much hassle trying to do it here. I shot video of the ceremony so you could see it, but I think I busted my phone when I fell. You won't believe what I saw."
Oh, I believe it. I've seen the ritual - not one involving this girl, of course, but the very same ritual. It's a voodoo rite - a ceremony to slow the aging process. The elixir's the key ...
Yes, Oliver knew exactly what Brian was describing. He said, "What you've said gives me some ideas I need to check out before you come home. Tell me this – did the cross look like the copy I showed you?"
"I think so, but I'm not sure. I was at the back of the cave and it was dark." He told Oliver about stopping the girl and asking about the Black Cross. "Is it possible she has the original one?"
"Anything's possible, especially since the priest told you the cross was in a mountain cave. See what else you can find out about it. And you might try talking to one of the participants. I'd like to know how they found out about the girl and her seminar."
Un minuto. Time was almost up.
"I did speak with one of the men yesterday, but his wife shut him up before I learned much. I can try to find him again. Oh, one more thing. When the girl realized I was in the cave, she ordered the people to find me. They acted strangely after that. They looked like -"
"Like zombies?" Oliver asked, and Brian affirmed it. "They were under a spell. The girl was practicing voodoo, Brian. I know it sounds bizarre, but you must be careful -"
The line suddenly went dead - he'd burned through the ten minutes. He thought for a moment - every time they spoke about it, Brian became more impressed at Oliver's vast knowledge of the dark arts. He not only had an apparently unrivaled collection of ritual objects, it was obvious he'd devoted many hours of time to studying the ancient religion itself.
He walked across the lobby into the bar, glad to be wearing the cap that hid the patch of shaved hair and the stitches in his scalp. He climbed onto the same stool where he and Stanley had talked earlier, and he ordered a martini. He felt he deserved one, maybe two.
Back in New Orleans, Oliver struggled with the lies he'd told his friend. He already knew so much of what Brian thought were revelations. Most importantly, the Duplanchier journal was authentic, as he'd thought it might be. Pierre's secrets were safe with him. They had to be; his family was in the journal too.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Voodoo. As he thought back on Oliver's warning, Brian was surprised he hadn't thought of it as he watched the ritual. In the heat of the moment the significance of the girl's having the cross hadn't struck him, but now he recalled Oliver's saying it had been a voodoo object a long time ago. Was hers the actual cross, and was it in the hotel right now?
Just then he saw them coming through the lobby. As before, they were holding hands. When they walked past the bar, she paused and stared intently at him from twenty feet away. He tried to look away, but he couldn't force his eyes off hers. After what seemed like forever, she turned and moved on.
She knows.
Brian was unnerved and took a bigger swig of his drink than he had intended. She knows I'm the one who was in the cave. But that was ridiculous. She couldn't know. But then, how crazy was it that she claimed to be over eighty years old and that the withered old man was her brother?
Lost in a maze of conflicting thoughts, he became aware of someone taking the stool next to his. "Room for one more?" Stanley said. He appeared to be back to his old self.
"Sure. I'd welcome the company. I saw your bus leave this morning. Did you spend the day sightseeing?"
"Something like that. I'm not supposed to talk about it. I think I may have gotten a little food poisoning or something. Part of the afternoon was a little hazy, but I'm fine now. Ready for a beer, bartender!" He raised his hand, caught the man's attention, and in a moment they were clinking glasses.
Brian had nothing to lose by going for it. He had little time left here, and for the moment Stanley's wife was nowhere in sight.
"You told me yesterday that the girl and the old man were running the seminar. How's that possible? How old is she - maybe ten?"
"You wouldn't believe it if I told you. That old guy's her brother ..."
"Her brother?" Brian had just gotten the opening he was hoping for. "How could he be her brother?"
"He aged like normal, but she didn't because she took the stuff. Shit, I've said too much." His voice quivered. "I swore on my life ..." He stopped, knowing he was only making things worse. He turned away and took a drink.
His nervousness didn't surprise Brian; the entire afternoon had been one frightening scene after another. Trying to get more out of Stanley, he tried to be nonchalant. "How did you guys hear about this seminar, anyway? Was it advertised somewhere? You said it cost a lot of money, so hopefully you're going to have clear skin and no pimples tomorrow!" He laughed and Stanley gave a weak grin in return.
"I guess I can talk about that. This is the girl's second seminar. The wife heard about it from a couple we know who went to the first one. They recruited us ... no, it wasn't exactly like that. They told us it would recapture your youth somehow, and Sandra went for it. We're fortunate. When I sold my company, we ended up with more money than sense. At least Sandra did. I made the bucks, she spends them. You know? She got us into all this and now ... well, now here we are." The more he talked, the more despondent and gloomy he became.
"I don't know you," he continued, "but I don't have anyone else to talk to. I'm scared. I can't tell you why, but we're into something way different than I thought. That girl - she gives me cold chills."
"Are they Americans? What are their names?"
"Eve and Marcel. I never heard their last names. I guess they're Americans; Sandra said they're based out of New Orleans."
That was a surprise Oliver would be interested in knowing. " New Orleans? What's her story, anyway?"
"I'm kind of afraid to say anything ..." Suddenly Stanley's body stiffened. His eyes bugged out slightly and he mumbled, "I have to go." He got off the stool and walked away rigidly in the same zombielike shuffle Brian had observed in the cavern. Brian looked around and saw the girl standing across the room. He signaled for his check, paid it, walked through the bar and glanced her way, but she was gone.
Oliver had cautioned him to be careful and Stanley said the girl gave him cold chills. To tell the truth, she made him apprehensive too, especially because he didn't understand what he had seen. I
t was obviously mind control, but how could a girl take control of adult minds? He didn't believe in voodoo; he always thought of it as a kind of religion practiced in the Caribbean by people high on drugs. That was how their minds were "controlled" by others. It was as simple as that. But now that he had seen the ritual in the cavern - and he'd watched Stanley leave the bar under some type of spell - he didn't know what to believe.
That night around midnight Brian awoke to the sound of a siren, quiet at first but growing louder and louder. Once it stopped, he opened his door a crack. From the hallway on the second floor he could see downstairs into the lobby. There was a policeman with two EMTs carrying a stretcher. They began walking toward the staircase that led upstairs, so he closed his door. He peeked out again but saw nothing, so he went back to bed.
At eight the next morning the lobby was abuzz with activity. It seemed every guest in the hotel had congregated there. The bus tourists were huddled in twos and threes, talking animatedly. Other people stood in line at the front desk, waiting to check out. His flight wasn't until late afternoon, so he was in no rush. He looked for the Oblowskis, but they weren't there. Neither were the girl and her brother.
He stopped by the concierge desk and asked what had happened last night. He was told that a guest - an hombre - had suffered a heart attack. Brian asked if he had gone to the hospital and the man shook his head.
"Esta muerto." He is dead.
Brian quietly slipped the man a hundred-quetzal note - around thirteen dollars - and asked what the guest's name was.
The concierge picked up yesterday's printout of room assignments and pointed to one.
Stanley and Sandra Oblowski, Saddle Brook, New Jersey.
Brian went up to his room, shaken and stunned. This was no coincidence; the girl had made it happen. Stanley had participated in the ritual yesterday. He had sworn on his life not to reveal anything about it, but then he had talked to Brian in the bar. The girl had extrasensory powers - that much was a given - and she had observed Stanley's conversation with Brian. She had caused him to walk away like a possessed person and Brian was sure she was responsible for the so-called heart attack that had killed him.
What had begun as an intriguing discussion with Oliver Toussaint at Brian's wedding reception had now become something dark and sinister. Who were the girl and man? Why were they luring strangers in under the ruse of a "regain your youth" seminar? What was the purpose of all this?
He went downstairs to check out. If the lobby hadn't still been packed, he would have called Oliver again. The phone wasn't private - it was on a table in an alcove - and what he needed to say was so sensitive he couldn't risk someone overhearing. He could have sent an email, but he wanted to hear Oliver's reaction to all this crazy news. It would have to wait until tonight when he was back in Dallas.
The waiting area at the Guatemala City airport was packed with people. He checked and learned the flight was full. Today of all times he was thankful he'd booked a first-class seat. He was stressed enough; he didn't need the cramped seats of coach this time. He'd even checked his suitcase to avoid the hassle of carrying it on; that never happened and it was a sign that he wasn't feeling like his usual composed self.
Brian settled into his aisle seat next to a man about his age who had stowed a bulging backpack in the overhead bin. As the coach passengers filed through the cabin, Brian noticed that there were only two seats left in first class - the row directly in front of him. When the last of the passengers had passed through, Brian asked the flight attendant if he could move into one of the empty seats to give himself and his seatmate more room. She explained that there were two remaining passengers yet to board.
As the girl in the white pinafore and the old man in his dated suit came aboard, Brian wasn't that surprised. He half-expected them. If they lived in New Orleans, they would have to connect through one of the international airports, and Dallas-Fort Worth was a logical choice. She stood in the aisle as her brother put their carry-on luggage in the overhead bin and slid past her into the window seat. She stared at him for a second and said, "I hope you have a nice flight home to Dallas, Mr. Sadler. I'd like to know what you meant about the Black Cross. We'll talk soon." Her sweet little-girl smile belied the evil, stony look in her eyes.
As the plane backed from the gate, Brian struggled to control himself. How did she know his name and where he lived? When did she think they were going to talk? He had an eerie feeling she knew everything about him. His hands trembled as he fastened his seat belt.
"Beautiful child," the man next to him commented. "Friends of yours?"
"Not really. Someone I ran into on the trip," Brian mumbled. He couldn't stop the shaking and there was a bead of perspiration running down his temple. It seemed like forever before the plane took off and reached cruising altitude. At last the flight attendant brought his double vodka on the rocks and he downed it in two gulps, the alcohol burning like fire but calming his nerves. He requested another and forced himself to drink it more slowly. His seatmate couldn't miss Brian's anxiety, but he looked away since it was none of his business.
Confronting them at the hotel had been a mistake. Mentioning the Black Cross had made it worse. After witnessing the ceremony in the cavern yesterday, he knew this was something much bigger - much more sinister - than he'd thought, but he'd plowed ahead anyway. Now the girl had confronted him and he was scared.
He usually wore headphones on flights to avoid small talk with the person next to him, and today they were essential. He was in no mood for idle chitchat. Other passengers often recognized him since he was a regular guest on the major network news shows. His gallery's name had become a household word to armchair archaeologists who yearned for adventure in faraway places. His hour-long documentaries on the History and Discovery networks were coupled with auctions of some of the world's most fascinating objects - artifacts from Pompeii, ancient relics from the Roman invasion of Britain, and incredible treasures from the Mesoamerican temples of the Maya and Aztec peoples. Museums were his primary customers these days, although wealthy individuals were always interested in something unique.
As dangerous as things already were, Brian had one more goal if the opportunity presented itself. After a light meal was served, the flight attendant dimmed the cabin lights and Brian's seatmate went fast asleep. When Eve went up front to the toilet, he had his chance. He opened the overhead compartment, unzipped both his backpack and the one next to it, the one that belonged to the girl. He rummaged until his fingers closed around something hard.
I'll be damned. I have it!
The old man snored peacefully in his seat two feet away while Brian quickly transferred the cross from her pack to his. It weighed very little and he didn't think she'd miss it unless she opened the bag. At least that was the plan. He closed the bin and returned to his seat. The entire job had taken sixty seconds and his heart was beating so rapidly it was about to burst.
Eve returned to her seat without a glance in his direction. He was on edge now, struggling to decide what he'd do if she confronted him before they got through the arrivals area at DFW. He didn't think she'd create a scene, but one never knew. She was a child and people instinctively protected children. If she concocted some story about his doing something to her on the plane, there was no doubt he would be detained and questioned. He forced that thought out of his mind; if she realized the cross was missing, she'd know exactly who had it and all she would want is to get it back. There was at least a fifty-fifty chance she wouldn't realize it was gone until he was far away from her. That was the scenario he was hoping for.
Brian resisted the urge to use the bathroom for the rest of the flight. Walking to the front would have required face-to-face contact with her when he returned. He was terrified now that he had the cross. On the surface the two of them were harmless enough: one was very old and the other was a child. Although physically she was a pre-teenager, she possessed a Manson-like ability to mesmerize others. If all this was what Olive
r believed - if voodoo really was something tangible in the twenty-first century - then Eve was dangerous beyond belief and he'd just done something that would enrage her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Eve and Marcel were the first ones off the plane. Brian let several other passengers move past to put distance between him and the pair. Everyone wound through the labyrinthine halls and tunnels leading to customs and immigration at DFW Airport and he saw them standing in a long line for returning residents while he breezed through the fast-track Global Entry kiosk. His checked bag came off right away and he left the airport without running into them again. Sitting in the back of an Uber car, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Why's she affecting me like this? She's a child hypnotist - a two-bit huckster making a killing selling twenty-thousand-dollar seats at some mumbo-jumbo seminar to desperate people who are afraid of getting old. For God's sake, that's all she is. But deep inside he knew it was far more than that.
He had to get the cross to a safe place first thing. He had the driver wait at the curb while he went inside Bijan Rarities and locked the cross in his vault. Then he headed home, texting Nicole that he would be there in five minutes. The doorman at the Ritz-Carlton Residences welcomed him back and ushered him to the elevator. It stopped on his floor and the doors opened silently. Standing in front of him in the hallway was his wife holding a vodka martini in an icy glass.
"Good evening, sir. Did you order a cocktail?" she said, wearing a wicked, tempting smile and absolutely nothing else. Her long blond hair sparkled in the light and the sight of her standing in a public place stark naked immediately aroused him.
"That's only part of what I ordered," he stammered. She'd done some crazy things, but this time she'd really surprised him, and after several days away, he was ready for her. "Let's put that martini in the freezer and take care of business!"
The Black Cross (Brian Sadler Archaeological Thrillers Book 6) Page 12
