The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel

by Robert Rapoza

  Making matters worse, El Misti was dangerously close to Arequipa, the second most populous city in Peru, with over 844,000 inhabitants. Given that El Misti was a stratovolcano that had last erupted sometime in the late 1400s, Tom’s concern was well justified. Stratovolcanoes are sometimes called "composite volcanoes" because of their layered structure built up from sequential outpourings of eruptive materials. The creation of these hard layers of rock lends itself to the deadly nature of the eruptions of such volcanoes as the layers create a hardened shell allowing the build-up of tremendous pressure. As a result, when stratovolcanoes have erupted in the past, they have historically resulted in thousands of deaths. Two famous examples were the eruptions of Krakatoa and Vesuvius. Krakatoa was best known for its catastrophic eruption in 1883, which resulted in over thirty-six thousand deaths, and the near destruction of its namesake island. In comparison, Vesuvius, of course, was famous for its destruction of the towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum in 79 A.D. In the case of Vesuvius, an estimated sixteen thousand people died due to hydrothermal pyroclastic flows. If El Misti were to erupt, it would make the destruction caused by these two volcanos pale in comparison.

  Worst of all, there were many different ways the deaths would occur. When most people think of volcanic eruptions, they think of hot lava spilling down the side of a mountain, engulfing anything in its path. They also think of large chunks of heated rock falling from the sky, crushing anything nearby. While these horrifying outcomes are in fact accurate, they are only part of the picture. While lava flows are certainly devastating to any structures in their path, they are typically too slow to overtake people or animals. The true danger to the unfortunate souls near an eruption site would be from pyroclastic flows. These hellish mixtures of hot gas and ash can travel very quickly down the slopes of volcanoes. They are so hot and choking that being caught in one means certain death. Traveling at speeds of 100 to 200 kilometers per hour, out-running a pyroclastic flow is not an option. If a volcano that is known for producing them is looking like it may erupt soon, the only option is to leave before it does.

  Tom realized that there were other dangers posed by El Misti. He knew that atmospheric conditions might carry ash or lahars, a type of debris flow, directly to a nearby city. Under these conditions, the death and destruction could be even more severe. Entire cities could be covered under ash and rock, causing the residents to choke, burn or smother in the deadly cocktail of debris. After checking the latest weather reports, Tom confirmed that the worst case scenario conditions were developing.

  Making matters worse, Tom also realized that ash from El Misti could also wreak havoc on aircraft anywhere in the vicinity. With modern aircraft engines operating at temperatures that are high enough to melt any ash that is ingested, essentially tiny blobs of lava would be created inside the engine. These blobs would then be forced back into other parts of the engine where the temperatures are lower. At that time, the molten lava would solidify on the turbine blades, blocking airflow and causing the engine to stall. This likelihood, along with the probability that pyroclastic and lava flows could render roads unusable, would further complicate rescue efforts.

  As all of these scenarios swirled around in Tom’s head, part of him wished that someone else could be the responsible party on this rodeo. Of course, this wasn’t the kind of information Tom would make public, as it wouldn’t exactly inspire confidence in the troops. Years of experience successfully monitoring other volcanos and coordinating evacuation plans meant he was clearly the best-suited person to lead the VDAP team, hence his appointment to the position.

  Tom was called back to reality at the voice of his assistant Keith Peterson.

  “Tom, the satellite imagery is in.”

  “Thanks, Keith. Call the team together and let’s have a look in the conference room in ten minutes.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll get the crew together.”

  Tom walked to the conference room, running down the list of actions they would take, based on the data they had received regarding El Misti. If the signs were right, his team would make emergency plan recommendations to protect the citizens in and around Arequipa.

  His team would be responsible for the various elements of the plan, including evacuations. It would be a huge undertaking to develop and implement the strategy, but of course a great deal of the responsibility would fall upon local emergency response personnel and local elected leaders.

  Tom walked into the conference room and was happy to find his team assembled and ready.

  “All right, bring up the feed, Keith.”

  Keith Peterson brought up the satellite imagery on the monitor and began to switch between the various images.

  “The first image was taken a week ago, and you can see the deformation beginning to take place in the lower quadrant of the frame. The next image was taken yesterday, and you can see that the deformation has increased substantially, which would correspond to magma build-up in, and around, El Misti.”

  “Theresa, what are the gas monitors telling us?” Tom asked Theresa Gonsalves, a local engineer with the IGP.

  “The sensors are showing that the volume of gas is increasing, which corresponds with the other data we’re receiving. It looks like the indicators are all there.”

  “Unfortunately, I agree,” Tom said. “Unless this magma build-up suddenly finds a place to dissipate, it looks like we have a dangerous situation developing here. Theresa, we need you make the arrangements for us to meet with local civil defense authorities, so we can start the emergency planning process. Keith, contact the regional office to get our logistics staff out here as soon as we can. I want a rough outline of a plan put together in the next seventy-two hours. Let’s get moving people, we have a lot of work to do.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Humvee sped along the dusty road, kicking rocks into the air as it raced towards a destination unknown to Sam who sat wedged between armed mercenaries. As disturbing as it had been seeing her colleagues gunned down in front of her, Sam was equally dismayed at being forced into a military vehicle with weapon toting thugs. None the less, Sam wouldn’t allow her captors to see the faintest sign of distress. Her eyes were alert, as she scanned back and forth between the soldiers seated in the Humvee—her mind working on a solution. She glanced over at Monica who wasn’t faring as well. She seemed catatonic, clutching Sam’s arm as her only lifeline to sanity. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that the lead abductor, Captain Middleton, couldn’t suppress a sickeningly evil grin, as he contemplated their fates.

  The Humvee pulled into a compound, which more resembled a resort than a forward operating base. Although the buildings were only temporary structures, to the untrained eye they seemed as solidly built and as permanent as concrete and steel reinforced buildings that might be found at any commercial park. The complex was laid out in a semi-circular pattern with the administrative building in the center and the other facets of the compound emanating outward. To the east was the small dock and shipping area with a container ship awaiting its cargo. Near it, was a small loading crane and container truck of the variety found at commercial ports. A small warehouse sat at the western end of the shipping area. To the west of the administration building was a small landing pad with a shiny new Eurocopter EC 135 sitting at its center. The beautiful, luxury copter looked like a large, looming bird sitting with its nose facing the Humvee, rotors sagging under their own weight. To the north of the administration building, were the luxury living quarters, complete with dining facility, staff quarters and command center. Sam mused that it was amazing what could be accomplished when money wasn’t an object.

  The mercenaries led the academics into the main administration area where their host was waiting. Dumond stood in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back, a wry smile upon his face. “Welcome to my compound.”

  “Who are you, what do you want with us, and what have you done with my father?” Sam seethed, her eyes narrowing as she looked into Dumond
’s.

  “Dr. Randall, I’m offended. Is this the way to treat the man who sponsored your father’s research?” Dumond replied.

  “What do you mean?” Sam asked

  “Dr. Randall, Dr. Randall, Dr. Randall,” Dumond said, shaking his head. “I’m your father’s biggest fan. Why, when he was just a young graduate student giving his lectures and being shouted down by his peers, I’m the one who helped save his job.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I heard about your father through some colleagues of mine and decided to pay him a visit. I heard him speak about Dr. Drake’s equation for predicting the amount of intelligent life in the universe and found his theories fascinating. In fact, when I paid a visit to Dr. Andrade, it sounded like your father was on his way out of academia. Of course, not by his own choice.”

  “You know Francisco?” Sam asked.

  “Indeed, Dr. Randall. In fact, I made quite a generous donation to the University to keep your father around. You could say that my associates and I are very interested in seeing him complete his research here,” Dumond said.

  “Your associates?”

  “That’s right. There’s a group of us who feel that your father has discovered something very important here. So you can see, I haven’t done anything with you father. In fact, we can’t seem to locate him. We were hoping you might help us find him.”

  Samantha laughed. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  Dumond’s expression turned to one of a father addressing a disrespectful child. “Because you really don’t have a choice now do you? As I have explained, Dr. Randall, I have a great deal of resources invested in finding what your father is looking for, and I’m willing to do anything to protect my investment. Even if that means killing you and your friend, here.”

  Dumond stepped closer to Sam, grasping her throat between his thumb and index finger. Sam’s eyes widened.

  “I see you’ve met Captain Middleton. If you don’t do exactly as I say, he will be the one to carry out my orders to dispose of you and your friend, and I promise you, the Captain won’t be gentle.” With that comment, from the periphery of her vision, Sam detected a disturbing grin from Middleton.

  “What exactly is my father looking for?” Samantha asked, as Dumond released his grip.

  “A power source unlike any other, one that could change the face of energy on this planet. Do you realize what the right person could do with such a device?”

  Samantha could see that Dumond was excited about the prospect, but she was also sure that he was about as far from being the right person to find this device as she could imagine. “In the hands of the right person, this device could change the political structure of the world as we know it. All other energy sources would immediately become obsolete, and the man who owned the technology would become a king.” Dumond emphasized the last words with a nod of his head. Once again, he moved to within inches of Samantha, his faced virtually pressed against hers.

  “So you’re going to help me find it. Captain Middleton, escort our guests to their quarters,” Dumond said.

  Middleton gestured for his guests to move toward the villas, his finger resting on the trigger guard of his assault rifle. Samantha and Monica walked slowly, surveying the compound. The living quarters were quite lavish with polished stone floors and artwork adorning the walls. The room had two overstuffed couches, which looked very cozy to Samantha, especially in her exhausted condition. As nice as it was, it was still a cell, and they were prisoners. Samantha was reminded of this fact as she tried to open the door, only to find it bolted from the outside. Without doubt, guards armed to the teeth, and aching for a reason to use their weapons, were stationed just outside the door, for good measure. Middleton had explained that they were waiting for someone else to join their group before they returned to the jungle.

  Sam wasted no time searching the room for anything that might help them escape. There were no windows, or electronics for that matter, other than the lights and a small cooler with water. Sam plopped herself on the couch, tired and frustrated. She closed her eyes and rubbed her head, trying to think, but it was no use, they were stuck until someone opened the door. “If I’m stuck here, I might as well make good use of my time,” Sam said absentmindedly as she reached for her backpack. Odd that no one had thought to check it or take it from her. She removed the medallion first and then her father’s notebook.

  “What’s that?” They were the first words Monica had uttered since the jungle.

  “My father’s notebook and an artifact he found. I think there’s some significance to this medallion, but I haven’t had a chance to think about it yet.” Sam looked at the medallion and felt the weight of it in her hand. It was heavy and still had the same odd glow in the middle of it.

  “It’s beautiful.” Monica’s eyes were fixed on the medallion as she inched closer to Samantha. “Where did he find it?”

  “I’m not sure.” Samantha handed the medallion to Monica, who handled it carefully, turning it over as she examined it, closely.

  “Do you know what this writing means?”

  Sam noted Monica’s interest in the medallion. There was something different in Monica’s tone when she asked, a confidence that hadn’t been there before. Maybe she was coming out of her shell.

  “I’m not sure, but I think there are clues about it in my dad’s journal. He’s a very meticulous person when it comes to research, and if he felt this medallion was important, I’m sure it is.” Sam began flipping through the pages of the journal. There had to be something in there to help explain why the medallion was so important. She was missing something, and if she could just find it, everything would be clearer.

  “The detail on this is incredible,” Monica said. “Whoever made it was an amazing craftsman.” She set the medallion on the table and walked to the other side of the room.

  Sam was engrossed in her father’s journal. His notes were thorough, and Sam was impressed by the tenacity of his research. A strange sense of warmth flooded through her as she read the journal, and memories began to return to her. Her dad had started keeping these notes when she was young. The pages were dated, corresponding to different research trips he had taken over the years. Sam remembered accompanying him on a couple of trips that had turned into “family vacations.” Only an archaeologist’s family would consider a trip to the Peruvian jungle a vacation. This thought made her smile and shake her head, understanding how small threads of her life wove the tapestry that had become the very essence of who she was today.

  At that moment, Samantha Randall realized why she loved archaeology so much. Her job wasn’t just a means of employment: it was a part of who she was. A part of her family’s basic foundation. They were a family formed by her father’s love for the past and finding the truth. The realization doubled her desire to unravel this mystery and find her father.

  There had to be something in the journal, something she had missed when she read it in the temple a couple of days ago. Sam read the journal from cover to cover, but could find no mention of the medallion. She threw the journal onto the table in front of her, in frustration. It had to be there somewhere, but her sleep-deprived mind was missing it. She pushed herself up from the couch and walked across the room to Monica, who seemed startled by Sam’s sudden appearance.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to surprise you,” Sam said, sensing Monica’s unease. The poor thing was a very nervous person.

  “Dr. Randall, what do you think they’re going to do with us?”

  “I’m not sure, Monica, but as long as they can’t find my dad, or this power source they’re looking for, we’ll be okay. They need us, and as long as they need us, we’ll be fine,” Sam said, with some trepidation in her voice.

  Suddenly, the ground shook beneath them, and the two women were knocked to the ground. “Quick Monica, under the table!”

  Sam crawled under the heavy metal table near the wall just in time to see a picture fall from the wall and
crash to the ground where she had stood just moments before—the edge of the frame gouging the floor. Sam scanned the room, looking for Monica, who was lying on the floor, exposed. Having been caught off guard by the violent shaking, she had fallen and smashed her head against the stone floor. Sam called to her, but to no avail; Monica had been knocked unconscious.

  Sam scrambled from beneath her safe spot and stumbled over to her friend. As she reached Monica, she could see a large, black and blue lump forming on the right side of her forehead. Grabbing her by the arm, Sam dragged her under the desk to safety, just as more debris fell crashing to the floor. She was breathing heavily, now, partially from the physical exhaustion, partially from the trauma of the earthquake. Sam’s hands began to shake as she tried to catch her breath and calm her nerves. As quickly as it had begun, the shaking subsided, leaving her trembling under the old metal desk.

  Finally able to relax, Sam checked on Monica, who was still breathing and had a pulse. Sam called her name softly, holding her head on her lap. Slowly, Monica regained consciousness, groaning and moving her head. As she awoke, she frowned and her hand went to her forehead, finding the lump. Monica let out a quiet, “Ouch,” and tried to focus on Sam.

  “What happened?”

  “We had another earthquake. You must have fallen and hit your head pretty badly. How are you feeling?”

  “Not so great. No offense, Dr. Randall, but this has not been a good trip for me.”

  “You can call me Sam.”

  Sam gently eased Monica to the floor and got her a pillow from the couch, placing it under her head. The room was a mess, broken glass and dust littered the ground and furniture. She cleaned the debris and dust from the couch as best as she could and walked back to Monica.

  “Can you get up? I think you would be more comfortable on the couch.”