by John Sneeden
“Yes, I guess it’s possible,” Jorge said. “Though, again, all we can do at this point is speculate.”
“It might also explain all of the strange stories about this place,” Amanda said, leaning forward and pointing at the drawn circle. “Maybe that’s why so many who came here never made it back out.”
Katiya tapped her chin lightly with the stick. “Let’s take this a bit further. What are we here for? We’re here because we’re looking for an alien outpost.”
Zane frowned. “Are you trying to say these tribesmen are the aliens?”
“No, although we shouldn’t rule anything out at this point.” She drew a dot in the center of the small circle. “We’re trying to find some sort of mountain in the center of the crater, right? What better place for our alien friends to set up shop than right in the center of a place no one dares go? It’s like a built-in security system.”
Brett’s brow furrowed. “So you’re saying they might be working together?”
“No, more like some sort of symbiotic relationship. In other words, perhaps the aliens picked this place precisely because no one dared come here. They may have been visiting our planet for centuries, and if so, they likely know the remote areas better than we do.”
Zane nodded. There was a strong ring of truth to what she was saying. If you were going to visit Earth and stay hidden, why not here?
Katiya fixed her gaze on Jorge. “You obviously know more about this tribe than we do. How can we protect ourselves?”
The Brazilian was lighting a cigar as she spoke. After taking a few puffs, he put away his lighter and said, “Well, despite the stories of their spiritual powers, one thing we can be sure of is that they are still flesh and blood like you and me.”
“Which means they’ll go down if we fill them full of bullets.” Tocchet patted the M4A1 draped across his chest.
“So, we do the same things we’ve been doing in order to maintain our safety,” Jorge said. “But now we must do them even better.”
“Which reminds me,” Zane said. “We’re going to change things up. From this point forward, nobody, and I mean nobody, travels outside camp alone. I don’t care if it’s just to use the latrine or pick a flower, you will have someone next to you at all times. Everybody understand that?” After seeing nods, he continued. “As you can see, we’ve already reduced the perimeter so that we’re always within shouting distance of one another.”
Jorge let a raft of smoke spill out of his mouth. “And if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, please come to me immediately. I don’t care how small it is. Anything might be important.”
Zane surveyed the group. Most were still in shock, and yet there seemed to be a collective resolve to finish their job. “Okay, let’s try to get some rest. I’m going to lead a search party out at first light. Once we’ve done that, we’re going to march as fast as we can. Jorge believes we can be at the mountain by nightfall.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ZANE TOOK A long swig from his canteen, allowing the warm water to moisten his parched throat. They had been marching for most of the day, and even he was beginning to tire in the suffocating heat and humidity. For the last several miles he had simply willed his feet to keep moving, knowing that the quicker they got to the mountain, the quicker they’d all be able to rest.
They had spent several hours searching for Wilson that morning, but despite covering several square miles, they’d found nothing. No footprints, no piece of fabric, no sign that the corporal had ever been there. It was as if the soldier had been plucked out of the jungle by some mysterious hand, leaving no trace behind.
Zane bit his lower lip. He worried about the mental state of his team. There had been shock after Corporal Nash’s death, but that had been more sorrow than fear. The piranhas posed no ongoing threat to the group. Wilson’s disappearance had changed everything. Now the same eyes that had previously been filled with awe and wonder were flitting nervously from one side of the path to the other. Even the two remaining Green Berets behaved differently. They gripped their rifles a little tighter and turned quickly at the slightest movement in the jungle.
“Any updates on our sat phone?” Zane asked Brett as they walked at the front.
“I spent about an hour working on it this morning,” Brett said. “I don’t want to give anyone false hope, but I actually think there’s a chance I can get this thing up and running. The problem is that it’s going to take time, lots of time.”
“How much?”
“If I can sit down undisturbed… perhaps five or six hours.”
“Unfortunately we don’t even have an hour.” Zane took a swig from his canteen and held it up. “The water isn’t holding out as well as I thought. Nash was carrying about a third of our water supply when he went down. I made a brief survey of the group, and I think we have about a three-day supply left.”
Brett patted one of his pockets. “Remember we still have the water purification pills.”
“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to go there. All of the water down here looks like primordial ooze.”
Brett took a long draw from his bottle. “We’ll be fine. If we have a three-day supply, then that means we should be on our way back when we run low. We can always boil some river water and treat it with pills.”
“All the same, I’d prefer we get that phone up and running. I need to give the Oracle a report on Wilson. He’ll want to send in a search team, and we can get resupplied when that happens.”
“As I said, it’s going to take time. It’s not something I can fiddle around with while we’re walking.”
“I might be able to give you some time once we reach the mountain.” Zane squinted at the trail ahead. It seemed to rise a bit. He felt a surge of optimism. Perhaps it was an indication they weren’t far away. “But I can’t even consider stopping until we get there.”
“And what if we don’t find the mountain?”
“It’s there,” Zane said, his eyes still fixed on the trail ahead. “So far this place has lived up to its billing.”
Brett suddenly slowed his pace and crept toward something on the right side of the trail. As Zane followed with his eyes, he saw a large scaly tail sticking out of the foliage. It was a dull olive, sprinkled with black spots. “Green anaconda.”
Brett crouched. “Just from the size of the tail, I’d say it has to be over twenty feet.
“Easy, cowboy,” Zane said, pulling his Glock from its holster.
Brett whacked down with his stick. As soon as the stick made contact, the tail whipped sharply before disappearing into the bushes. Zane saw saplings bend back and forth as the massive reptile slowly made its retreat.
“You trying to get us killed?” Zane asked, putting the pistol away.
“Freaking garter snake, and you’re pulling a weapon.” Brett said as they began walking again.
“Garter, huh? I noticed you didn’t grab the tail.” Zane’s expression changed to a frown. “From what I’ve read, they’re almost always near water.”
Brett shrugged. “I don’t see anything. Perhaps all the rain enticed him away from home.”
“Maybe.”
About a minute later, Zane came to a halt. A shadowy figure was moving toward them with speed.
Zane instinctively unslung his rifle, but Brett grabbed his arm.
Seconds later, the figure came into view. Osak.
“I wonder where he’s been,” Zane said.
“It looks like he’s upset about something,” Brett said.
The boy stopped a few feet away. He spoke in an excited tone, pointing back in the direction he had come from.
“You want us to follow you?” Brett asked.
Osak pointed again.
“He must’ve found something,” Zane said as he turned around. He and Brett had set a fast pace, so the others were a good hundred yards back. He could see Tocchet walking alongside Katiya and Amanda.
Zane pulled out his radio. “Tocchet, do you read?”
>
He watched the soldier pull out his radio. “Yes, sir.”
“Osak is here. Apparently he’s found something ahead. We’re going to go check it out. Get everyone moving.”
“Roger that.”
Zane put his radio away. “Let’s go.”
As they followed Osak, Zane marveled at how effortlessly the boy ran, his feet always finding every solid patch of ground. And he never seemed to tire. It was as though they were trying to keep up with a deer.
A few minutes later, they entered a clearing, and Osak finally slowed to a walk. He turned toward them then pointed at something in the distance. At first all Zane could see was a broad stream snaking along the edge of the woods, but then he noticed that the ground sloped up sharply just beyond the stream. The mountain couldn’t be far away.
Osak led them in the direction of the stream. As they walked, he continued to speak. Something was clearly bothering him.
“Sorry, I don’t understand a word you’re saying, bud,” Zane said.
Brett pointed. “I think that’s what he’s talking about.”
Zane looked ahead, and his eyes widened. Just ahead, spanning the stream, was a large stone bridge.
“Talk about being out of place.” Zane crossed the remaining distance and stepped onto the bridge. He squatted and examined the individual stones, most of which were covered with pale-green lichen. “I’m no archaeologist, but these are some really old stones.”
Brett stood next to him. “Do you think it’s Mayan?”
“No, it’s not Mayan,” someone said from behind them.
Zane turned his head. Amanda was striding toward them, a look of shock written on her face. She approached one of the columns at the head of the bridge. “I can’t believe it. This shouldn’t be here.”
“You sure it’s not Mayan?” Brett asked.
“Positive.” She ran her hand across the surface of the lichen-covered stone. “I would know this architecture anywhere. Besides, they never lived here.”
There were little gasps of surprise as the others arrived and spread out across the bridge.
Brett looked over at Amanda. “I know the Mayans were in modern-day Mexico, but I thought they were also in South America.”
“No, never.” Amanda shook her head.
“She’s right,” Katiya said as she bent over to examine the stone. “Besides, this doesn’t look anything like Mayan construction.”
Zane frowned. “Then who built it?”
Amanda walked farther down and pointed at one of the pylons that wasn’t covered by quite as much lichen. “Look at the seam. Notice anything?”
Zane shook his head.
“There’s no mortar, as far as I can tell. The Mayans almost always used a special mortar they made from limestone.”
“So if this wasn’t built with mortar, how has it held up for so long?” Brett asked. “It looks like it’s been here for hundreds of years.”
Amanda ran her finger along one of the joints. “See how tightly the stones are fit together? They were cut and stacked so precisely that no mortar was necessary.”
Zane could see what she meant about the fit. It was so tight he doubted you could even slide a razor blade in there.
“Well, if not the Mayans, then who?” Brett asked.
“It’s possible this was built by the same people who built the ancient megaliths in Peru,” she said. “The construction looks eerily similar.”
“Where those the Incas?” Zane asked.
“That’s what most would say.”
“You don’t sound too convinced.”
“It’s possible the Incas built this bridge,” Amanda said. “But there is another possibility.” She patted one of the crowns at the top of one of the pylons. “This construction seems a lot like the citadel at Saksaywaman, as well as a number of other megaliths there.”
“What’s similar about it?” Brett asked.
“The large stones, the precise cuts, and the lack of mortar.”
Katiya raised a finger in the air. “That reminds me of something I read a while back. As you explore archaeological sites in Peru, you often find that the more technologically advanced construction is farther down in the strata. Normally, it’s the other way around. Normally, the farther down you dig, the more primitive the buildings.”
“She’s right,” Amanda said with a nod. “In fact, there’s a city in central Peru where you can see this for yourself. A number of buildings there were added to over time. One was built right on top of another. The older, lower parts have stones that are cut and fit so precisely that it would be difficult to reproduce, even with modern-day equipment. Then, above that, you see the newer construction that is actually more primitive. It’s almost like the stones were just mortared together haphazardly. There’s little or no evidence of precision.
“Mainstream archaeologists will tell you the entire building was constructed by the Incas, but anyone who looks at these structures can tell you that is preposterous. If that were true, you’d have to believe the Incas got less proficient at stone masonry as time went on.”
“So what are you trying to say?” Zane asked. “How is that possible?”
Amanda looked at him and said, “Take a guess.”
“I think I know where you’re going,” Brett said. “It’s the whole ancient-alien theory again. They came to earth many millennia ago and passed along their technology. But one thing still bothers me. Why didn’t the subsequent cultures keep using those same methods?”
“We don’t really know,” Katiya said. “Assuming it’s true, we can only guess that at some point the aliens left. And once they left, it’s also possible that the culture that received the technology died out. Then, when the Incas came along, it was as though they had to start all over again.”
Brett nodded. “I guess it’s the same theory that’s used to explain mysterious advances in other parts of the ancient world. Egypt, for example.”
“Speaking of Peru,” Amanda said, “I just remembered something I read in college. It was a footnote in one of my textbooks, and I found it so fascinating that I did some more reading on the Internet.” She looked at Katiya. “Aren’t there supposed to be some sort of alien airstrips in Peru?”
“Yes,” Katiya said. “The Nazca Lines. A series of geoglyphs located about two hundred miles southeast of Lima.”
“Geoglyphs?” Zane asked.
“Sorry.” Katiya smiled. “Think of geoglyphs as large works of art that are etched into the landscape. Most are so large that you can only tell what they are from a higher elevation, such as a nearby mountain or a plane. There are hundreds of them in southern Peru. Most are simple designs and shapes, but there are also some pretty detailed drawings of animals—spiders, monkeys, lizards.”
“I have heard of those,” Zane said. “But what does that have to do with an alien airstrip?”
“Good question. As I said, most of the designs are simple objects. Lines, triangles, squares, that kind of thing. Well, some of those lines look a lot like modern-day airstrips. I’m not a fan of this particular theory, but there is some resemblance.”
“Why aren’t you a fan of the theory?” Zane asked.
Katiya chuckled. “I just can’t get past the fact that the same alien ship that can travel across galaxies would also need to coast to a stop like an airplane. Seems nonsensical to me.”
“I think the animal drawings debunk the whole thing anyway,” Brett said. “Why draw something like—”
Before he could finish, a shout came from the far side of the stream. Osak was standing at a point where the trail disappeared into the jungle, speaking loudly and waving his arms.
Zane frowned. “Maybe it wasn’t the bridge he wanted to show us.”
“He wants us to follow him,” Max said.
“Is something wrong?” Brett asked.
“No,” Max said. “I think he’s found our mountain.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ARTUR STOOD QUIETLY on
the bridge and watched as the others gathered their belongings. Some were already making their way up the trail. Hoping to buy time, he bent down and fiddled with his pack.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up to see the red-haired American, Tocchet, coming toward him. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” Artur replied, his eyes moving nervously toward the rucksack. “I was just looking for something.” He patted the rifle slung over his shoulder. “I’ll watch the rear this time.”
“You sure I can’t carry something?”
Artur felt a little surge of frustration but pushed it aside and gave the soldier a smile. “Really, I’m fine. I appreciate it.”
Tocchet nodded slowly. “Just let me know if you change your mind.” The soldier turned and strode off the bridge. A few seconds later, he disappeared into the dense foliage on the hill.
Satisfied that everyone was gone, Artur reached into a pocket on the side of his pack and pulled out a plain flask. After taking one last glance toward the trees, he unscrewed the cap and took a long swig of Johnnie Walker. He let the whisky linger in his mouth for a moment before tilting his head back and allowing it to slide down his throat. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve as he debated how much he should have.
Normally the Brazilian drank only at night, long after Jorge had retired for the evening. But the events of the last twenty-four hours had shot his nerves. He had sensed the presence of evil the moment they’d descended into the crater. It was the same sensation he’d experienced when he and his grandmother had lived next to a witch doctor in Santarem. Thankfully, he’d been able to convince her to move after strange things had begun to happen around the house.
He looked at the flask. What the heck. He took another swig, this one even longer. He felt a little guilty but quickly swept the feeling away. The amber-colored liquor would help him get through the next few days.
Artur glanced up at the trail again. If he didn’t get started, the American soldier would likely come back to see what was wrong.
One more, and that’s it.
