The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel

by Robert Rapoza

  They continued forward. With a suddenness that caught them both off guard, a door down the hall and to the left opened inward. Quickly, Randall pushed Samantha through the door to her former cell. Closing the door behind them, the two huddled against the wall to the left of the now closed doorway. Hearts racing, they waited anxiously to see if Ackers’s men had noticed them. With each passing second, it appeared that they had narrowly escaped being seen.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Randall whispered, “That was close. Let’s see if the coast is clear.” He moved to the far side of the door, grasped the handle, and opened it very slowly, peering out through the crack. As before, there was no sign of life in the hallway. They had not been detected. Randall motioned for his daughter to follow him, and the two resumed their search for the medallion.

  After passing an additional room, the two discovered a promising sign. Peering through the window, Randall viewed what appeared to be a study. Books and maps were strewn about tables, and a computer sat idly on a desk. He pushed the door open, slowly. In a moment, they were both inside the room. It became quickly apparent that this was Dumond’s command and research center. Maps of the jungle area were pinned to the wall with colorful directional arrows drawn in careful arcs, representing the movement of people. After a quick study, Sam realized that the different colors represented different groups. Upon closer examination, Sam noticed date and time stamps on the arcs. Clearly, Dumond had been aware of their comings and goings, knowing where and when she and her father’s groups were approaching the ruins.

  “Sam!”

  Samantha glanced over and saw her father motioning her to his side. When she reached him, Sam’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. On the wall in front of her father was an aerial photo of a complex the size of a small city. The photo was dated March 11, 2016, and from the look of the facility, it was nearly complete. At the center of the complex was an elaborate containment facility with a web of concrete-reinforced conduit emanating from the center. The conduit fed into an elaborate complex of buildings. Sam immediately recognized that this was an energy generating facility of a size and scale that she had never seen. At the bottom of the image was a simple text line and date that read, “Construction Complete, November 30, 2016.”

  Even more troubling than this were the images that surrounded the energy facility. There, on the edge of the aerial photo of the energy plant, were pictures and names arranged in a pinwheel fashion, encircling the facility. The individuals appeared to be professional business people, dressed in suits and ties. Sam did not recognize any of them, except for one, Johan Kristoph. Under his name was written, “Accidental cave-in on April 16, 2016,” and his name was crossed out. Sam scanned the other pictures and realized that each had another short description and date attached to it. Each date was in the future; yet, they were all before the scheduled completion of the power plant. The descriptions were curious: “Industrial Accident, Diving Tank Failure, and Skiing Accident.”

  “Oh my God, he’s going to kill them all and make it look like accidents.” There was only one woman in the group, Margaret Seivers. Sam pulled her cell phone from her backpack and took several pictures with the camera, then immediately sent them to a personal email account.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know what this Dumond character is up to, but I want to have some way of documenting what we’ve seen.”

  “Good idea, but I think we need to get going.”

  “Okay, just one minute.”

  Sam took a close-up photo of Margaret Seivers, whose planned demise would occur on August 21, 2016 from a “Gasoline Leak aboard Yacht.”

  “Let’s get going, Sam.”

  “We need to find the medallion first.”

  Smiling, Randall held out a small box containing the medallion and its chain, holding the open container in front of Sam. “Found it in the safe in the corner,” Randall said, pointing to a wall safe across the room.

  “How did you know the combination?”

  “I tried various combinations of eleven, sixteen, twenty and thirty until I found the right one.”

  Sam looked puzzled, and Randall realized that she had not seen the connection.

  “The date the power plan will be complete.” Randall grinned at his daughter’s expression when she realized how her father had solved the riddle. “The old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve, kiddo.”

  Sam gave her father a sideways glance with a fake stern look and then broke into a quiet chuckle. “Let’s blow this pop stand.”

  The two quietly made their way back to the door and resumed their skulking positions pressed against the wall. Randall slowly moved his head upward, peering through the small window and checking both ends of the hallway. He looked at Sam and nodded. Slowly, he turned the handle of the door and opened it, slightly.

  Just as Randall began opening the door, another door down the hall, and to the left, opened outward, and he could see a uniformed arm on the door handle. In a quick, jerking motion, Randall pulled his own door closed and scooted quickly back into the room, nearly knocking his daughter over in the process. Sam stumbled backward, but caught herself before falling to the floor. Randall turned in one motion, grabbed her arm, and pulled both of them against the wall and out of the line of sight of the window.

  From the hallway, they could hear boot steps marching in their direction. Each step grew louder as the soldier approached their room. Sam’s heart was racing, and she searched the room for a possible hiding spot, in case the soldier’s next stop was their room. Her panic peaked when she realized that there was nowhere to hide. Grabbing her father’s hand, she could feel his heartbeat as the two pressed themselves into the wall, willing the soldier to walk by their hiding spot.

  The boot steps stopped right outside their door. Sam’s breathing became heavy, as she tried her best to calm herself. The door handle began to turn slowly. They were trapped. As the door opened, it seemed that all of the air in the room had been sucked outside, and Sam felt like a large weight had been placed upon her chest. She could hear a conversation taking place in the hallway.

  “Sergeant, the Colonel wants a word with you.”

  “Just a moment, I need to get a map of the temple area for our recon plans.”

  “Immediately, Sergeant!”

  The door closed and Sam heard the sound of boot steps once again, but this time they were walking away. Slowly, her breathing returned to a semblance of normalcy. Sam blinked and looked at her father. His face was ashen. She could see him breathing heavily, a look of panic in his eyes. She moved to him. “Are you okay?”

  “He saw me.”

  “What do you mean? If he saw you, they would have hauled us both back in.”

  “Just for a second, I could swear he saw my face looking back at him.”

  “We need to get out of here now.”

  Randall nodded, his color returning. He once again assumed his position near the small window and, seeing that the hallway was clear, quickly opened the door and headed out as Sam followed close behind. In a matter of minutes, they were out of the building and checking for the guards watching the perimeter. Seeing none, they wasted little time making it back to the safety of the jungle.

  Chapter twenty-five

  The ancestors had spoken to Chief Yupanqui in his sleep, again, last night. Their visits were becoming more frequent, and their communication with him more specific. The main message from the ancestors was that time was quickly running out for the chief and his people.

  Yupanqui gripped his staff tightly as he surveyed his peoples’ land. This valley had been their home for generations and had provided for them for so long. He felt an attachment to this land that words could not describe. He remembered playing in the nearby forests and fishing in the river with his friends as a young boy. He recalled the ceremony and challenges he’d had to endure in his quest to be recognized as a warrior by his people. This ground was much more than ju
st his home; it was a part of him.

  The visions had started shortly after the whited haired scientist named Randall first visited Yupanqui and his people. Initially, the Chief had thought they were nothing more than dreams, but he soon realized there was much more to his nocturnal visits than random visions of past and current events. The ancestors had foretold of a prophecy in which a beautiful young woman would help Yupanqui’s people reunite with their brethren in Vilcabamba. They had also instructed Yupanqui to accept Randall and his helpers and to allow them to learn about the tribe’s history. At the time the Chief hadn’t understood why his forefathers would want outsiders to learn about the tribe’s secret, but now their guidance was clearly understood.

  Through his dream conversations, Yupanqui had determined that Samantha Randall was the young woman from the prophecy. Although the ancestors had not specifically told him so, he had sensed a strong feeling in his dream that she was the one. The ancestors had also warned that forces were at work, seeking to prevent the reunification. When Amaro, the guide Yupanqui had sent to help Randall, returned to the tribe and told the Chief about the attack on Randall and his people outside of the sacred temple, the Chief knew the ancestors were speaking of these attackers.

  This angered the chief on many levels. First, for these so-called warriors to attack unarmed, peaceful people who posed no threat to them was unthinkable. Second, their utter disregard for the most sacred place of his people told the chief all he needed to know about these men. They were his enemies and needed to be stopped.

  The Chief was thankful that Amaro had evaded their enemies’ detection and had returned to his tribe to warn them. Now Yupanqui would have to rely on him, again, to lead his people against the attackers to help Randall and his daughter.

  Yupanqui decided that it was time for his tribe to return to the sacred underground city and help Randall face these savages, even though entering the mountain was forbidden. He prayed for the forgiveness of his ancestors for breaking the most sacred of rules and in his defense, he uttered the words spoken to him by Randall years ago. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Surely these were desperate times for his people.

  Chapter twenty-six

  Randall and Samantha finally stopped sprinting as they made their way back into the safety of the jungle. Sam felt a great sense of relief, but when she looked at her father, she could see that he was hesitant.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need to go back to the compound.”

  “Are you serious? You thought someone saw you when we were there. We were lucky to get out alive.”

  “Mike might be there, Sam. I can’t just leave him.”

  Sam cocked her head to one side and looked into her father’s eyes. They were filled with a sad, but resolved resignation. In the midst of the excitement of getting the medallion back, she had forgotten about Mike. Her father, true to form, had not.

  With a twinge of selfish guilt, Sam said, “There’s nothing I can say to convince you not to go is there?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  Randall pursed his lips, and a thin smile returned to his face for a moment. Then the serious look returned. “I have to go alone, Sam. One of us needs to return that medallion to Yupanqui and his people. If I don’t make it back, I want you to high-tail it out of here and get back to Paititi and give it to the chief. He’ll know what to do with it. Did you save the coordinates so you can get back to the village?”

  Sam knew it was futile to argue the point with her father—he was a stubborn man, and in this case, he was probably right. “Yes, but by now my phone might be dead. I haven’t charged it for several days. I turned it off after I took the pictures in the compound. How will I know if you make it out of the compound, again?”

  “Wait here for 60 minutes. If you don’t see me by then, I’ve probably been caught. If that’s the case, I want you to find the chief and give him the medallion. Then, head back to the University and let Francisco know what happened. I’m sure the chief can help you get there. Maybe if we let the world know what’s going on, we can still stop Dumond.”

  “That’s a pretty thin plan.”

  “We don’t have much to work with, kiddo.”

  Sam grabbed her father and gave him a big hug. He hugged her back and chuckled, remembering that this was how she had hugged him when she was a child.

  “Good luck, Dad.”

  With a final parting smile, Randall turned and headed back toward the compound. Once again, the thick underbrush provided shelter from potential peering eyes, but also made his progress slow. After a few minutes of trudging through the heavy growth, he once again found himself at the edge of the clearing, staring at the compound. As before, there was no sign of activity, and once again Randall sat patiently waiting for the guard to make his rounds. He was shortly rewarded as the guard came into view and then disappeared to the far side of the compound. Not wasting time, Randall made the, now familiar, run from the safe cover of the jungle to the central building of the complex, stopping outside the external door and pressing his body up against the wall. Slowly he peered through the small glass window, and not seeing any signs of movement, entered the building for a second time.

  Randall knew that he was pushing his luck by trying to sneak into the building again, but his conscience wouldn’t let him leave without at least checking to see if Mike was alive. Even though Phil and Mike were technically his graduate assistants, Randall thought of them as his sons—a fact picked up on by his biological son, John.

  Randall slinked down the long corridor, staying close to the far right wall, prepared to move quickly if someone exited from one of the rooms. Having made this excursion once already, Randall had the advantage of knowing that Mike wouldn’t be in the rooms he had visited earlier. This helped to narrow his focus and, statistically, made the task of finding Mike easier. This line of reasoning made the professor grin in spite of himself. Once analytical, always analytical, even when your life was in grave danger. He approached the first new door and slowly peered through the open window. Again he was astonished to find that the room appeared to be empty. From all appearances, it seemed to be a storage room.

  Randall continued his stealthy glide down the corridor to the next room. This was the fifth room of six in the building and, aside from the one room that the soldiers had exited from earlier, the other four rooms had been empty. Unlike the other rooms, this door was solid metal, with a cylindrical lock on the outside. “Crap, no window,” Randall muttered under his breath. Grasping the door handle, Randall felt his heart begin to beat more quickly, his hand becoming cold and clammy. He slowly turned the knob, trying with all his might to be quiet and inconspicuous. The door was locked and would not open. Sighing heavily, Randall rotated the deadbolt, which made a sickeningly loud click when it disengaged from the doorframe. He was sure that everyone in the building had heard him unlocking the door, and he winced at the sound. His heart now in his throat, Randall stood at the metal door, unsure what he would find on the other side. Once again he rotated the knob and pulled, but this time the door opened, and he peered into the room.

  Inside, he saw what appeared to be a living quarter with a couch and table. As he craned his neck to get a better look, the door across the hall and to his right, began to open, causing him to jump. He pulled the door of the living quarters open and scrambled inside, hoping no one had seen him. He was hyperventilating now, trying to calm himself as best he could, his hand glued to the inside door handle. Even though he was inside the room now, he couldn’t release the death grip he had on the doorknob, and his head throbbed with pain.

  “Dr. Randall?”

  Randall jumped with surprise at the sound of the voice. Spinning on his heel, the Professor caught sight of a familiar face.

  “It is you! Thank God!” Mike blurted out.

  Randall quickly brought a finger to his lips, signaling for Mike to be quiet. His hand still on the door
knob, he heard boot steps stop outside the door. Next came the unmistakable, sickening sound of someone cocking a weapon. His mind racing, Randall searched the room for a hiding place. There was a closet about six feet behind Mike. Not enough time to get there. Seeing no other options, he moved for the only item nearby that offered cover: Mike’s bed. Quickly, he dove under the hospital bed. As if on cue, the door to the room burst open, and a black-clad soldier stepped in, assault rifle drawn. He made a visual sweep of the room, his weapon pointed outward like a dragon ready to spit fire. Randall recoiled under the bed, pressing his body as far back from the edge of the bed as possible. Slowly the soldier moved forward, making his way around the room, gun at the ready.

  “Where is he,” the soldier growled.

  “What are you talking about? By the way, when am I getting some lunch? The room service here is terrible,” Mike joked. The guard wasn’t amused.

  From his spot under the bed, Randall could only see the black combat boots and lower ankles of the mercenary. Slowly, they made their way closer to the hospital bed. Randall forced himself to focus on the boots, to stay alert for a chance. In one swooping motion, the soldier lowered his head and weapon under the bed, pointing the barrel directly at the Professor’s legs. Without hesitation, Randall let loose a brutal kick directly into the gun barrel, which recoiled back into the unsuspecting mercenary, hitting him in nose. The suddenness of the blow sent the soldier sprawling onto his backside, the weapon flopping uselessly to the floor.

  Randall scrambled from under the bed and lunged for the assault weapon. Just inches from grasping it, he felt a sudden jerk backward, as the mercenary grabbed hold of his boot. The next sensation Randall felt was a jabbing pain in his back, the soldier dealing him repeated blows with an elbow to his spine. The pain was excruciating.

  Randall rolled, his own elbow catching the soldier on the cheek, once again knocking him off balance. Randall scrambled to his feet, finding the mercenary had done so as well. The two men faced each other, the mercenary producing a large serrated knife.