The Portal (A Delphi Group Thriller Book 2)

by John Sneeden

  “That rings a distant bell,” Amanda said.

  “It’s not the kind of place you’d want to take your family on vacation. There are regular reports of shadow figures, spirit faces, and a subterranean world in which reptilian humanoids are said to reside. Sure, a lot of it is hocus and myth, but if there is that much smoke, then there has to be at least a small flame.”

  Katiya pointed to another place on the map. “Just north of the Superstition Mountains is Sedona, home of the alleged Sedona Vortex. It’s another hot zone for all things paranormal—haunted ranches, unusual animal activity, strange lights, beams, and orbs.”

  “Is there a punch line in here somewhere?” Amanda smiled.

  “Stay with me, I’m about to tie all of this together. At many of these sites, including the ones I just described, we hear reports of objects just appearing in the sky, seemingly out of nowhere.” She toggled to another screen and turned the tablet toward Amanda. “Here, I want you to take a look at this. It’s a short video that was filmed from the top of one of the Superstition Mountains.”

  Katiya hit play, and a grainy video began. At first, the camera seemed to be aimed at some short trees and bushes in the foreground, but the person filming soon focused on a dark object in the distance. Amanda thought it looked like a mountain.

  Katiya pointed at a place in the middle of the screen. “Look right here, between the two mountains.”

  Amanda saw what appeared to be a cloud. It was moving and spinning so fast that it looked like a time-lapse video. After a few seconds, it began to morph into a ring. She could hear one of the people filming the video gasp.

  Amanda’s eyes widened as a disc-shaped object began to come out of the ring. It moved slowly toward the camera before banking into a ninety-degree turn. The camera followed the craft to the left until it finally disappeared behind a row of trees.

  Amanda could hear the person shooting the video mumble a few expletives. Then he turned the camera back toward the cloud ring, but it was gone.

  Katiya closed the browser and looked at Amanda. “What I believe you just witnessed was the opening of a portal. I could show you a few other videos demonstrating the same thing, but that’s the clearest one ever filmed.” She set the tablet on the ground. “So, in answer to your question, we believe all of these hot zones are associated with portals.”

  Amanda sat in silence, trying to digest everything she’d seen and heard. “So, you’re telling me this is like a wormhole?”

  Katiya nodded. “And lest you think this is some sort of crazy idea, ask any degreed astronomer if he believes in wormholes. They’re a scientific reality, Amanda. No one denies their existence.” She tossed another limb on the fire. “I believe it’s possible that some advanced alien cultures have learned how to either manipulate or create their own portals. Can I prove it? No. But at least the theory can be rooted in science.”

  “I guess this means you ascribe to the extraterrestrial explanation for the activity in these hot zones?”

  “I do lean that way, although I’m still open to other explanations. Those who study the paranormal also believe in portals. They believe spirit beings use portals to pass back and forth between dimensions.”

  Amanda remembered this theory from studying ancient cultures in college. Many myths and legends supposed spirits came through some opening that connected our world with others.

  Suddenly her eyes lit with understanding. “I think I see now how this relates to the events at CERN. You believe that Moronov and Marrese opened up some sort of portal, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Katiya said without hesitation. “I think the evidence is pretty clear that’s what happened. They were somehow able to open up a wormhole.”

  “You really think a subatomic particle collider can do that?”

  “I’m no physicist, so I can’t give you the mechanics of it, but how else can you explain what happened?” She looked Amanda in the eye. “Think about what your friends saw in the tunnel that night. How can someone explain that away? Two different men, both imagining the same thing? It defies logic to believe that.”

  “Well, if all of this is true, then what does it have to do with the crater? What do you think we’re going to find there?”

  “I believe it’s some kind of outpost. And if it’s still there, then we may be on the verge of one of the greatest discoveries in the history of mankind.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ZANE AWAKENED SLOWLY, the pressure on his bladder pulling him rudely out of his dreams. He rubbed his eyes and rolled onto his side, allowing his pupils to adjust to the darkness inside the tent.

  He could kick himself for drinking so much water, although the intake had been more inadvertent than intentional. He and Jorge had talked for several hours that evening, and sipping water had merely been a way to occupy his hands.

  He sat up and ran his fingers through his long hair. Time to get it over with. Waiting wasn’t going to make the trek out into the woods any easier. Rising to his knees, he looked toward the other side of the tent to make sure he hadn’t disturbed Jorge. He frowned. The Brazilian wasn’t there. Was it his turn to be on patrol? Zane looked at his watch. No, it should be Bennett and Wilson. Jorge must have gone out for a smoke.

  Zane slipped on his boots and tucked his Glock into his waistband. He pushed aside the mosquito netting and stepped outside. The camp was eerily quiet. Some of his team were sleeping in tents, and some hung in hammocks. The fire was still lit, although it had burned down to a pile of glowing embers. Strange, he thought. He and Jorge had given explicit instructions that it be kept alive all night. He’d worry about that later. Right now, his bladder felt as though it was going to explode.

  Zane strode past the tents to the edge of the woods. After a brief search, he found the two trees that marked the sole opening in their motion-sensor system. After slipping through, he continued down the path until he found the marker for the latrine. As he turned off the trail, Zane realized he hadn’t seen Bennett or Wilson, although that wasn’t necessarily a concern. They’d set up a large boundary, which meant those two were probably just somewhere else along the perimeter.

  Zane skirted the freshly dug hole, preferring instead to use the tree just beyond. He circled to the other side then unzipped his pants and relieved himself against the trunk. The easing of the pressure felt good.

  As nature ran its course, he listened to the nighttime symphony cascading down from the canopy. There was the ever-present din of insects as well as the occasional screech of an owl. He even heard a strange cough in the distance, which Katiya had told him was a hunting jaguar.

  His bladder empty, Zane zipped up his pants and circled to the other side of the tree. When he arrived at the hole, he stopped as a faint noise reached his ears. Someone was walking down the trail, undoubtedly coming to use the latrine.

  He was about to warn them that he was coming out, but something stopped him.

  As the steps grew louder, Zane backed up and crouched down. Seconds later, he saw the shadow of a man pass along the trail. But instead of stopping, he continued out into the jungle.

  Who was it? It was too dark to tell. The man had seemed about six feet tall, which wasn’t helpful. That pretty much described every male on the team except for Jorge.

  Zane bit his lower lip as he pondered what to do next. He thought about going back to his tent, but his instincts told him to find out where this person was going. At the very least, the whole thing seemed bizarre. After waiting a few more seconds, Zane rose and returned to the trail. Once there, he paused and listened. He could still hear footsteps, but they were fading quickly. Whoever it was, they were in a hurry.

  Suddenly, the beam of a flashlight appeared in the distance. Zane’s pulse quickened. There could be only one reason the man had waited to turn on his flashlight. Clearly he didn’t want to be seen by the others back at camp.

  Zane picked up his speed, his senses on high alert. He could see the man better now. Something abo
ut him seemed familiar. Perhaps it was his gait. Perhaps it was the way he held his shoulders.

  After rounding a bend in the trail, Zane’s foot came down squarely on a stick, snapping it loudly. He cringed and looked up. The man stopped and pivoted, swinging his flashlight around in the process. Zane stepped quickly behind a tree, placing his back against the trunk. The flashlight’s beam illuminated the section of the trail where Zane had just been standing. If he had waited a second longer, he would’ve been seen.

  Moments later, the sound of footsteps reached his ears. The man was coming back. Zane pressed against the tree and placed a hand on his Glock. Finally, the footsteps came to a halt. The man was so close now that Zane could hear the movement of his arms as he waved the flashlight around. The beam soon shone on both sides of the tree where Zane was hidden. He squeezed his arms in as tightly as possible, fearful that some of his clothes might be showing.

  A moment later, the beam swept away and the area was plunged into darkness. Zane counted off thirty seconds then stepped back onto the trail. To his relief, the light was already fading into the distance.

  Zane began following the man once again, this time keeping more distance between them. He wouldn’t be able to identify him this far back, but the additional space would provide some measure of safety.

  “Who are you?” Zane whispered.

  Eventually the path began to descend sharply into a ravine. The man slowed his pace, and Zane followed suit. Not only did he want to stay at a distance, but the path was also more slippery here. One bad step might send him hurtling down the slope.

  Upon reaching the bottom, the man extinguished his light. Had he reached his destination? Or did he realize he was being followed? Not willing to take any chances, Zane hunched down and crept into a cluster of bushes on the right side of the trail. The thought of stepping on a coiled bushmaster sent a cold chill down his spine, but at this point, he had no choice. He couldn’t risk exposing himself if the man doubled back.

  Once he was safely hidden, he looked down into the ravine. A loud chorus of croaks and barks greeted him. Frogs. There must be a body of water close by. Zane stared intently toward the bottom of the ravine and was eventually able to make out the surface of a small pond.

  Suddenly, a light flashed three times on the far shore. It seemed like some sort of signal. Seconds later, another light flashed three times from where the man had been standing. The hairs on Zane’s neck stood on end. He could no longer deny the hypothesis that had already formed in his mind minutes earlier: he was witnessing a clandestine rendezvous, and it likely involved someone from his team.

  About a minute later, the sound of muffled voices carried up the hill. Despite trying, Zane couldn’t make out any individual words. The chorus of frogs was too loud and the distance too great. But what if he were able to get closer? He rose a bit and examined the area below him. Just beyond the cluster of bushes, the ground seemed to be relatively clear. If he could just get down there, he might be able to pick up a few snippets of the conversation.

  Slowly, Zane stepped out of the bushes and crept down the slope. He was walking through leaf litter, but the steady drone of noise from the pond cloaked the sound. About ten yards out, he stepped on a thin layer of leaves strewn across a patch of mud. His feet went out from under him, and he tumbled several times before finally coming to a stop.

  There could be no doubt the sound had carried to the men below. That was confirmed seconds later when four flashlight beams panned back and forth across the hill. Zane slithered over to some bushes and lay flat against the ground. Several of the beams passed directly overhead but didn’t stop. About a minute later, the ravine went dark again.

  Zane lay there for a moment to make sure the light didn’t return then rose up on one knee. Now that he was clear of the ground, he could hear the men talking again. Their conversation was a bit clearer now, but he still couldn’t figure out what they were saying.

  At this point, he didn’t dare try to get any closer. More noise would undoubtedly bring the men over for a thorough search. He might be able to slip away, but it wasn’t worth the risk. He would be outnumbered and outgunned. All he could do now was wait.

  After some time had passed, Zane noticed the men had grown silent. The only sound in the ravine came from the raft of frogs sitting along the pond’s edge. Apparently the meeting had ended.

  Zane rose up on the balls of his feet. It was imperative that he get back to camp and hide somewhere along the path. Once there, it would be easy to identify the mystery man when he returned. The only question would be whether or not to confront him immediately. That would likely depend on who it was.

  As Zane stood to leave, he heard footsteps coming up the hill. He’d waited too long. Seconds later, a distant shadow passed by and continued up the hill. When the man neared the top, he turned on his flashlight and disappeared over the crest.

  If I can’t wait for you, at least I’ll follow you back.

  Zane had only taken one step when he grunted in pain. Somehow he’d twisted his ankle in the fall. It wasn’t a bad sprain, but it was enough to prevent him from moving with speed.

  He bent over and grabbed his knees, letting out a long sigh of frustration.

  After remaining still for a full minute, he slowly rose and hobbled back toward the path.

  As he turned and made his way up the hill, two things weighed heavily on his mind: The group had a mole. And he might never know who it was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  JORGE PULLED THE cigar out of his mouth. “You’re sure it was someone from our team, amigo?”

  The group had been marching again since dawn, and Zane had just spent the last few minutes describing everything that had taken place the night before, including his theory that there was a mole in their midst.

  “I have zero doubt that it was one of ours,” Zane replied.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “For starters, he came out through the opening in our motion-sensor perimeter.”

  Jorge nodded, then his eyes narrowed. “Unless they watched your men setting it up.”

  “You’d have to get awfully close to know that.”

  The two men began walking again.

  “You said that you couldn’t tell who the person was,” Jorge said. “Could you tell anything about them?”

  “Nothing other than it was a man who was about six feet tall,” Zane said.

  “Which is obviously why you were comfortable coming to me,” Jorge said with a laugh.

  “You said that, not me.” Zane slapped the Brazilian on the back.

  “If a certain soldado wasn’t already dead, I might have already made a guess,” Jorge said.

  “Agreed.”

  As Jorge paused to relight his cigar, Zane looked ahead. Katiya and Max disappeared around a bend in the trail. Zane had kept his eye on the linguist ever since departing Manaus. He was about six feet tall, give or take a couple of inches, so he certainly fit the size and build of the man in the woods. But why on earth would he be meeting with someone in the middle of the jungle? For that matter, why would anyone?

  “You said you couldn’t hear the conversation that took place?” Jorge asked.

  “Nothing. Too far and too much background noise.”

  “Did the people he was meeting have an accent?”

  In the aftermath of the events, Zane thought he’d remembered something about the voices. But no matter how hard he tried to retrieve the little nugget of information, it always seemed just out of reach. Was it a Chinese accent? He couldn’t say. “There was something unusual about their voices, but I can’t put my finger on what it was. I’m hoping that something will jar my memory over the next day or so.”

  “How many were there?” The Brazilian’s questions were coming quickly now.

  “I counted four flashlight beams all together. I’m assuming one of those was from the person I followed.”

  “So three?”

  “At least.�
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  Jorge puffed a few times, obscuring his head in a cloud of smoke. “Do you think they knew they were being watched?”

  “Probably not. If they suspected something, I think they would’ve searched the area where I was hidden.”

  There was a long pause. Jorge used the opportunity to take another long draw, allowing the smoke to drift slowly out of his mouth. Finally, he asked, “So if you had to guess, who do you think it was?”

  “For one of the few times in my life, I don’t even have a guess.” He sighed loudly. “I certainly can’t bring myself to think it was one of the soldiers.”

  “You shouldn’t eliminate anyone until you have more information.”

  Zane knew the Brazilian was right. He was no detective, but he did know you followed the evidence, regardless of where it led. Finally, he nodded and said, “I haven’t scratched them off my list. It’s just hard for me to believe that any of those men would be working against us somehow.”

  “All I’m saying is to keep your eyes wide open, amigo.”

  “If you eliminate the women, that really only leaves four other suspects.”

  “Not so fast.” Jorge used his cigar to point at the two walking on the trail ahead. “The professor could’ve had her hair pulled up. She’s not close to six feet, but she’s not short either. Remember it was dark—”

  Zane’s head turned quickly toward him. “Surely you’re not saying it was Dr. Mills I followed last night?

  Jorge shrugged. “Why not? I hold her in high regard. She seems trustworthy. But I also know that our eyes can play tricks on us out here in the jungle.”