by Nick Thacker
“The real location of the lost city of El Dorado,” he said, with a dramatic flourish of his hands.
23
BEN CHUCKLED, AND HE NOTICED Rhett and Reggie smiling as well.
“Yes,” Quinones said, “that is the reaction other people had as well.” Ben stopped smiling, but Quinones didn’t appear to be upset with him. “They are not wrong to be skeptical, either,” he continued. “The ‘lost city’ idea has long been proven false.”
Ben waited for the man to say ‘but…’
“But,” Quinones said, “this document supposedly predates anything I’ve found that references our fabled city. First of all, it was written by Gaspar de Carvajal, a Spanish dominican missionary who traveled with Francisco de Orellana during the first voyage of the Amazon river. Francisco Pizarro himself ordered the expedition, and Carvajal was one of the few surviving members. He captured his account and details of the journey, and much of what we later historians know of the early Amazonian tribes is found directly between the pages of his work, “Relacion del nuevo descubrimiento del famoso rio Grande que descubrio por muy gran ventura el capitan Francisco de Orellana,” or “Account of the recent discovery of the famous Grand river which was discovered by great good fortune by Captain Francisco de Orellana.” He paused, noticing the blank expressions of the group. “I agree,” Quinones said, “he should have hired a publicist to help with that title.
“Anyway, there was much in the document that historians have long believed to be fabricated, such as Carvajal’s mentions and detailed descriptions of large, inhabited cities with huge monumental structures, complete with agricultural areas and paved roads. It has been suggested that the rainforest basin’s soil cannot handle any sort of sustainable farming, and likewise we have yet to uncover any of these ‘monumental structures’ or ‘paved roads.’ Still, the accounts of the interactions the party had with the indigenous peoples has proven to be mostly accurate.
“But in the published work, there was no mention of a ‘lost city,’ a ‘golden man,’ or anything of that nature. It was only when I came across another book in the archives that I began developing a theory. This work in question was published by a Jesuit priest who captured firsthand accounts of explorers in the region and translated them. He recorded a story told to him by a Peruvian man who told the priest he knew Gaspar de Carvajal in Lima, just before he died in 1584. The story was told to the priest in Spanish for the priest to later translate it into Latin. Most of it is just an abbreviated account of what Relacion already covers, but there was one particular story that stood out. It is a story about a tribe with a great chief who would be decorated in gold dust, then jump into a lake.
“What’s amazing about this story is that it almost perfectly lines up with later accounts of the Zipa tribe of Muisca Confederation of present-day Columbia. The Zipa were known to offer gold to their goddess by covering their chief with gold dust, then throwing gold objects and jewelry into the water as the chief washed himself in it.”
“The ‘Golden Man,’” Reggie said.
“Or the ‘Golden One,’ in different legends,” Quinones said. “But not the ‘Golden City.’ Lake Guatavita has since been explored, to great disappointment. Other cities in the region covering Brazil, Columbia, and Peru, have been scoured for any of these ‘gold objects’ that might point explorers to the legendary city of gold, but nothing of the sort has ever been found.”
“So how is this story any different? And why are there so many surviving legends if the city doesn’t exist?” Amanda asked.
“Well, first of all,” Archie said, continuing his lecture, “there are numerous historical accounts that claim reference to a ‘lost city of gold.’ In 2001, actually, an Italian archaeologist discovered a missionary’s report in the Jesuit archives in Rome. The archeologist, in this report, describes ‘a large city rich in gold, silver and jewels, located in the middle of the tropical jungle, called Paititi by the natives.’ There are conspiracy theories now that suggest the Vatican is keeping the location of this ‘Paititi’ a secret, but I do not believe this. Which brings me to my point, and the question you asked.
“Due to what many others may dismiss as a translation error, I believe this story doesn’t reference a city at all. There was a specific line that caught my attention when I first read the account.”
The group waited for Quinones’ revelation.
“The priest wrote, ‘que estaba cerca de la gran pueblo antigua que vio por primera vez el oro…’”
Amanda spoke, translating the Spanish. “I only know a little Spanish, but I think that’s, ‘It was near the great old city that he first saw the gold…’”
Quinones smiled, a thin, sly line on his face. “Almost. In Spanish, the word ‘pueblo’ means town, or city. But the word’s roots come from the latin word ‘populus,’ which means ‘people.’”
Rhett had been listening quietly, but now nodded. “This guy told the priest that he’d been told a story by Carvajal himself, about a ‘great old people’ and something about gold as well.”
“Exactly. And everyone thereafter began searching for a city — a physical location — made of pure gold. But my hypothesis is simple: El Dorado refers to a lost tribe, not a lost city. That fully explains why such a secret can remain hidden for four centuries.”
“How so?” Rhett asked.
“Well, you can’t hide a city forever — they don’t move,” Quinones said. “But if you are the secret you’re trying to keep — if you are the city — all it takes is a strong desire to remain hidden.”
The group was nodding slowly, and Ben found himself being swayed into belief. It makes sense, he thought.
“A tribe? Then how do we find them?” he asked.
Quinones smiled his cryptic smile again. “Don’t you see, my friends? We do not need to — they have found us.”
ACT 2
“…But he grew old—
This knight so bold—
And o’er his heart a shadow—
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado…”
— Edgar Allan Poe
24
VALÈRE FELT THE NERVOUSNESS CREEPING up his spine. His old friend, the feeling of anxiety, was now omnipresent in his life, but it still shot up in pangs of crippling fear whenever he got too worked up. Where he should have been able to discern between excitement, an adrenaline rush, anger, and terror, he now only felt nervousness. More specifically, his heart began racing and he felt a wave of shakiness grip him. In turn, he gripped the edge of the desk and held on tightly, waiting for the worst of it to pass.
This particular wave was no doubt caused by the blinking light on his wall-mounted display, and what that signal represented. SARA, the Simulated Artificial Response Array semi-AI that controlled his office and communications, an internal project that was nearing the end of its alpha testing phase, also noticed the signal and immediately alerted Valère. Her voice was still metallic and somewhat hollow, as it had always been, but Valère had recently “upgraded” the computerized female voice by giving it a British accent. “She” tended to communicate in French, Valère’s native tongue, but was also fluent in British and American English.
“Monsieur Valère, there is an incoming connection. Mr. Emilio Vasquez, from his estate. Shall I connect?”
Valère nodded without looking up from the blinking light. SARA saw his reaction from one of the many cameras mounted inside the walls of the office and immediately authorized the connection. Emilio Vasquez’s rounded face appeared on the screen in front of him, in full HD resolution. It was too large, in Valère’s opinion, and showed his partners pockmarks, scars, and spotted skin in too much detail.
“Mr. Vasquez,” Valère began. He kept his grip on the edge of the desk and didn’t sit down.
“Valère, what’s this I hear about the Company bombing a hotel in Brazil?”
Valère swallowed, trying to not show his weakness. He sniffe
d, tilting his head back slightly. “It is not the Company’s actions to which you are referring, my dear friend, but my own. And it wasn’t a bombing, but an extraction.”
Vasquez’s eyebrows raised. “Oh? And what exactly did you extract?”
“That’s not of any importance at this stage. I —“
“‘Not of any importance?’” Vasquez said, his voice raising. “Listen to yourself, Valère! Who are you taking orders from? And what gives you the right to cut me out of —“
“I did no such thing,” Valère said. “And you know I have full authority to send Joshua’s team anywhere I please. This extraction was just such an act. While we didn’t attain custody of the —“
“Wait, you mean the extraction failed? Jesus, Valère, you were lucky they didn’t leave corpses everywhere! You must think you’re above —“
Valère held up a hand, interrupting Emilio. “It is not luck when they are the best-trained security force on the planet. They knew the hotel was nearly empty, and I told them to make an ‘audible entrance,’ but to be careful not to leave any collateral damage.”
“Then why did they fail?”
“The fault for that is mine,” Valère said. “I told Joshua he wouldn’t need more than a few men, as the target was unarmed, untrained, and traveling with a small group of civilians. However, there was an unknown variable during the extraction, and Joshua was taken by surprise. I told him to track the target, regroup, and be prepared for a full engagement. He will not be taken by surprise again, that I can assure you.”
“You don’t need to assure me,” Emilio said, “I didn’t even know about this ‘attack’ until ten minutes ago. I’d suggest you brief the Company, for both our —“
“The Company is fully aware of the situation, and has already provided Joshua with additional men and supplies for the trip.”
Again Emilio’s eyebrows raised, but he didn’t ask the question he was undoubtedly thinking.
“They are following the group into the Amazon rainforest, we believe. The Company has given me full authority over Joshua’s team, but they will expect results. I am confident that Joshua’s team will produce, but I have nevertheless taken additional precautions. I had to act quickly, so I did not alert you to my actions.”
“And Joshua — you’ve explained to him about his father?”
“I have been communicating with him as though I am his father.”
Even on the screen, Valère could see Emilio’s eyes bulging. “You — you what? How are you doing that? If Joshua learned that we —“
“Hacking an email account is not a miraculous endeavor, Emilio,” Valère said. “Especially when the Company owns the servers. Joshua is a professional — a few short emails directly from his own father, with my own email address in the cc field, and he was off to begin pursuing our target. He needn’t be burdened with any news of his father’s involvement with our research in Antarctica.”
Emilio nodded, thinking, and Valère waited for the inevitable question.
“Who is the target?”
“Her name is Dr. Amanda Meron, and she runs the research branch of NARATech.”
“NARATech? But she can’t —“
“She absolutely does not know what NARATech used to be, and she never will. We’ve grown out of the facility in Brazil so we’ve allowed her to claim its usefulness for her own interests. Her company’s research is focused on retrieving images from the mind using functional magnetic response imaging, and they have achieved great success.”
He paused a moment, finally feeling the nervousness subside.
“However, we have data that suggests their research has taken an interesting turn, one the Company was quite interested in pursuing. We need her to cooperate until we can verify her company’s claims, before they go public with the information. After that…”
“…You won’t need her any longer.”
“Precisely.”
Emilio smiled. “Valère, I wish you would keep me in the loop about these things. You know I can be a great help to you and the Company.”
“Yes, yes I do,” Valère said. “You shouldn’t worry yourself with these trivial matters. Your value to us is as an investor, consultant, and advisor. Please forgive my hastiness in moving forward without you.”
“Not a problem, Valère,” Emilio Vasquez said. “So, her company, NARATech — it’s different from what we established in Brazil a few years ago?”
“It is now. SARA coordinated the move of our subjects to a proper facility that will require far less logistical organization and security, but we had an empty facility left behind. NARATech was only ever an internal facility, so there was no need to change the name and rebrand. Dr. Meron’s research fit nicely with our long-term goals, so we offered to fully fund her company and remain silent partners. She owns the shares and the research outright, but the namesake belongs to us, as well as the right to first access to any of their findings.”
“I see.” Emilio Vasquez turned away from the screen, and Valère could see the man looking at something behind him. “Valère, I need to attend to other matters, but I appreciate your willingness to keep me abreast of changes and developments.”
“And I shall. Thank you, Emilio.” SARA didn’t wait for Mr. Vasquez’s response — she cut the connection, and the blinking light on the monitor went dark. Valère sat down at the desk, replaying the conversation in his mind. The next few days would prove quite taxing, and he needed to maintain a calm, collected preparedness if the Company was to accomplish this next phase of their goal.
He told SARA to schedule another appointment with his doctor.
25
“YOU CAN STAY HERE TONIGHT. You need the rest.” The older man, Archibald Quinones, guided the group to a bedroom at the end of the hallway. “The ladies may sleep in here, and you —“ he motioned to Rhett — “stay in my bedroom. There is a restroom attached; it will be best in case you need to dress your wounds. The rest of us can find room on the floor in the office, or in the living room.”
He paused at the outside of the door leading into the guest bedroom, where Amanda Meron and Juliette would be staying. “I apologize for my lack of accommodations. I usually do not host more than one or two at a time, and even then it is rare for someone to stay the night here.”
Amanda smiled at Archie and grabbed his arm. “Please, Archie, do not apologize. We are more than grateful for your help so far.”
Archie patted Amanda’s hand and turned to Paulinho, who had extended his hand toward the man in thanks. Archie grasped his hand, then looked down at his wrist. “Interesting design,” he said.
Paulinho frowned, then saw that the man was referring to the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. “Right, yes,” he said. “It is a design from a necklace my grandfather had. When he passed I had it imprinted on me as a reminder of his life.”
“He must have been a special man. Do you know what it means?”
“I don’t,” Paulinho said. He laughed. “I just always liked the necklace, and he always wore it underneath his shirt. I used to grab it when I was a boy and tug on it.” The memory seemed to warm Paulinho, and he took a moment of recollection. Archie respectfully waited, then turned to the rest of the group.
“Tomorrow I will find us a guide and a boat, though we will likely have to share it with tourists. I’ve only ventured into the jungle a handful of times, and admittedly I was a much younger soul then. But I do think there is something to your myth, and I would like to help.
Ben’s ears perked up at the man’s mention of ‘venturing into the jungle,’ but Paulinho spoke up before Ben could.
“You don’t intend to travel with us, do you?” he asked.
Quinones smiled. “It is a foolish venture, no? An old man traveling with a band of young, strapping explorers?”
Reggie looked from Paulinho to Quinones, then at Ben and back. “But seriously, Archie — you’re not…”
“I am going to go with you, provided your acceptance
of my desire. I believe I can be of help to you in the jungle, even if I am the slowest of the group.”
He winked at Ben. “But I do not think I would be the slowest.”
Ben wasn’t sure if he was insulting him or just making a point, but he didn’t care. He spoke up, arguing against the man’s wishes. “Archie, I — it’s a real pleasure to meet you and all, but… I don’t think…”
Archie lifted his chin and tilted his head back slightly. Somehow, it seemed to Ben not insulting and condescending but regal and endearing. “Please,” Quinones said, addressing Ben directly, “allow this old man one final indulgence. I will be an asset to your team, and I vow to not hold you up. Besides, I have some ideas about how to map the expedition, and I am no amateur when it comes to wilderness navigation.”
“Archie, this isn’t just an expedition. There are killers after us. This isn’t your fight,” Reggie said.
“Nor is it yours,” Quinones responded. “It seems to me they want something from Dr. Meron, and therefore I believe she needs all the help she can get. I know of many of the tribes we may encounter, and which we’d be wise to stay away from.” Quinones stopped pacing and walked to the center of the room, a physical statement of assertion. “I am going with you, and that’s that. I see you’ve brought packs. I know you’re more than capable of keeping one more person alive, Reggie, and we can leave as soon as you are all rested and ready. It will be early, so I suggest you all get some sleep.”
Reggie smiled at Ben. Ben hesitated, then grinned back. Their team had grown by one.
26
THE DOG WAS A LABRADOR retriever mix, dark gray with lighter specks to match his white front paws. It was young, its feet still oversized compared to its body. But, like any young dog, it was fast.
Joshua found himself exerting more effort than he’d intended trying to keep up with the animal, who was now leading him through alleyways, across streets, and up the large sloping side of the city. He’d raced off after the runaway pet immediately after its owner lost it, but he hadn’t anticipated running behind the dog for more than a block or two.
