Michael looked toward the eastern sun. As he reached for the dark glasses in the pocket of his sheepskin vest, he smiled at the segment of rainbow spreading across the morning sky.
The Weasel did deserve his nickname, short and skinny with sparse, light-brown hair. The nose looked too long for the face while beady eyes constantly moved, as if searching for a clue or a minute detail that would give him an edge. The man's smile, however, only touched the lips. The gaze remained worried and scheming while the Weasel talked to Dave with exaggerated deference. Michael decided that the little man could not be trusted.
Dave negotiated efficiently. Everything worked as he said it would. On such short notice, he had pulled the right strings and obtained results. Michael felt paternal pride for his younger brother, mainly when he excelled in areas where Michael himself did not feel very comfortable, like diplomacy.
While the four-seater Beechcraft Bonanza finished refueling, Michael thanked Dave in a bear hug.
"You sure you don't want me to go with you?"
Michael shook his head. "You did all you could, Brother. The rest is up to me. I’ll see you soon." Michael's voice carried more confidence than he felt, his throat constricting at the thought that he may never see Dave again."
Half an hour later, Michael rode the blue skies on his way to Nevada in the company of the Weasel. With sixty-knot head winds, they flew steadily over lush forests and great, wide rivers. The map unfolding underneath did not bear names, but Michael thought he could tell the Red River by its slightly rusty color. They crossed Oklahoma, a vast expanse of dry Texas lands, and the Indian reservations of New Mexico.
Glad for his aborted flight training, Michael knew how to read instruments and maps and, therefore, understood their position. The plane ride took longer than it would have on a jet. It would take nine hours to reach the destination. Plenty of time for Michael to think about Jennifer... He couldn’t wait to see her safe and didn’t want to think about what would become of her if he lost the fight.
The odd pair landed to refuel twice, once in Lubbock and once in Albuquerque. Michael welcomed the chance to exercise his long legs and eat a quick meal. Conversations with the Weasel, easier on the ground, away from the ever-present vibration, remained strained since Michael did not volunteer any information about the object of the trip. The distrust seemed reciprocated.
Gradually, the scenery turned from the green hills of northern Arizona to ocher valleys and deep canyons. In late afternoon, they reached the Nevada desert. As soon as they approached the Nevada test site area from the east, the Beechcraft dropped altitude. The Weasel flew as close to the ground as possible to avoid radar detection. It would not do to be chased by a squadron from Indian Springs Air Force Base. Since a parachute would not have enough altitude to deploy, the plan was to come as close to the ground as possible without landing, allowing Michael to free fall at his own risk.
The little man had received half the price before takeoff. The rest of the agreed-upon money made a slight bulge in the breast pocket of Michael's shirt. He took the money out and handed it to the Weasel who flashed a smile of pure delight.
Down below, the rocky desert unfolded its dun-colored ravines. According to the coordinates, they were now inside the restricted zone, although no sign in the landscape differentiated it from the surrounding wilderness.
"Here is Yucca Lake, straight ahead!" the Weasel yelled above the roar of the engine. He sounded relieved to see the end of their partnership.
"I see it." Michael looked at the misshapen shadows lengthening on the ground below. The white sands of the dry lake basin contrasted with the rocky slopes of the nearby mountains.
"I can't land on this terrain," the Weasel said bluntly.
"Just get as low as you can, okay?" Now was the time to jump. Michael hoped his levitating skill would not fail him. He would need all his assets to get out of this situation unscathed. Before anything else, he secured his equipment bag to the thick leather belt at his waist.
The plane slowed down and dropped to twenty feet. Michael opened the small side door and stepped onto the wing, holding fast to the doorframe. He had to concentrate on breathing. The ground below sped by at sixty miles an hour, but he had to do it. Still hanging to the bottom of the doorframe, Michael crouched to the edge of the wing, then hung down from it, held his breath and let go, closing the distance to the ground.
In a short burst of power, he slowed his fall a little, landing hard on his toes, knees bent, rolling forward with all the grace of a martial artist. As he rose, Michael waved a hand in the direction of the retreating Beechcraft, which gained altitude and disappeared in a purring sound over the Sierra Nevada.
The sun dipped fast behind the high peaks to the west. Michael scanned the area through enhanced vision for any terrain particularity that could give him an advantage in tomorrow's duel. Some unusual pull attracted his attention in the rocky incline, in a Northwestern direction. Michael smiled, unfastened his black leather bag, checked the contents for damage, then headed northwest on foot.
What he, at first, thought might be a cave came into focus now and revealed itself as an abandoned mine. The last of the daylight showed the entrance, a small hole in the rock. The main beam, supported by wooden shafts on each side, looked at least a century old, preserved by the dry, hot winds.
Michael felt the temperature dropping and shivered at the sight of a white, desiccated bovine carcass staring at him from empty sockets. The call of a coyote in the distance reminded him that the desert supported life. He also noticed sagebrush and tumbleweeds.
The mine must have brought riches once, silver, or gold maybe. Michael wondered where the people of yesterday had found wood for the supports. It was a long way on horseback from the nearest big trees.
Michael ventured inside, lowering his head to get in. Immediately darkness enveloped him. Taking a flashlight out of the bag, he started exploring. If not for the fact that the old tunnels had remained intact for at least a hundred years, Michael would have hesitated. Dirt fell at unexpected times and places. Some corridors ran short and stopped. Others had collapsed, obstructed by rock and sand. In this maze, strange loud noises echoed through the empty shafts. Once, Michael thought he heard water running deep underground.
Around a bend, he came upon old sticks of dynamite, left against the rock wall in a small recess at an intersection. Quite volatile after so many years, he thought. Soon, Michael reached a well too deep for the flashlight to show him the bottom. Throwing a rock inside, he counted the seconds to impact. Surprised as no sound came back, Michael then closed his eyes to scan the depth using his paranormal training.
What he saw through the mind's eye surprised him. A huge deep-seated cave permeated with moisture. An underground lake lay deep under the desert. Further down, however, something else lurked... A soft humming that almost reminded him of... Could it be what Amrah suggested? It would be so perfect. Michael had to make absolutely sure. Pushing the mental probing, he explored further. Yes, victory could favor him tomorrow.
Michael let his disembodied mind float down inside a cylindrical chamber of smooth stone. As he had done many times before, he willed his body into the mind picture and found himself standing at the bottom of an underground silo, in front of a black capsule...a fully operative nuclear bomb, the weapon Amrah hinted at.
It seemed perfect, but at what price... Mentally reviewing scientific data, Michael tried to weigh the goal against the means. The explosion would not release any radioactivity in the atmosphere. The silo was too deep, and under a body of water. It would create a tremor that would be felt a hundred miles away. It could melt the deeper crust and possibly create a weak spot in a tectonic plate. It could also pollute deep underground streams.
Not daring to make that choice alone, Michael decided to ask the prime party concerned. Sinking to the ground in lotus position, eyes closed, Michael felt a breeze ruffling his hair. He became the mountains, the oceans, the valleys, the rain clouds
, and the volcanoes. He felt Her come into him.
"Earth, Gaia, Pele, Mother Nature by any other name, I am Thy Crusader. I come in love and in anguish. I beg Thee, for the sake of your many children, for the destruction of a great evil."
From deep and away came an answer, a whisper on the breeze, a breath of life and infinite love. "I am Gaia, Pele, Earth, Mother Nature by any other name... My beloved Crusader, I understand your distress. Know that I have made greater sacrifices before. Pain is a familiar friend. I will bear it for you and support your fight. I will seal the contaminated waters and contain the disease. May you save my children and lead them back to me in love, harmony and togetherness."
"I am grateful, Gaia, Pele, Earth, Mother Nature by any other name... I will do my best to win, for my race and for Thee."
"I know, Crusader. I know you will."
The breeze abated. Cold and stillness attested that the presence had gone.
Michael opened his eyes. The black capsule still sat on its narrow pedestal. Tapping into the universal knowledge, Michael powered the control panel and surprised himself by deftly overriding the security codes. A few more minutes allowed him to set up the mechanism for telepathic detonation. Standing in front of his handiwork, he grinned. "Krastinios, I'm ready now." Then he willed himself back to the surface.
Now, under the full moon, looking at the benign entrance of the century-old mine, Michael understood what had caught his attention earlier. Not the cave but the weapon. He concealed his discovery behind a mental shield. In order to win, Michael needed the element of surprise. He’d take any advantage he could get.
*****
"Tori, look!" Jennifer pointed excitedly at a picture in the French newspaper lying on the black leather couch of Mr. K's library. "It's Dad, it's Dad. Dad is in the paper. What does it say?"
"Are you sure? God, he looks so mature, but yes, I recognize him." Tori sat, holding the newspaper upright.
"Hurry, what does it say?" Jennifer crowded next to Tori.
"Let's see... 'The mysterious Crusader who recently stirred waves of peace, love, and ecology awareness in Washington, D.C., and seemingly performed miracles, has disappeared without a trace. Contradicting rumors allude to a shady past as well as a holy mission. Some concerned citizens suspect a cult and asked for an investigation. Direct witnesses think he is a saint while official religious sources denounce him as a fraud. The FBI refused to comment on his identity or his legal or illegal status.' Michael? Michael is the Crusader? I know he always liked to shine and impress people, but this is unbelievable."
"Dad is not a fake. He really has powers. I've seen them."
"What do you mean powers?"
"It's true. He can read minds, he can make things move without touching them. He can make the fish come to the shore. I swear, I've seen it."
"You don't need to swear Jennifer. What did Michael tell you he was going to do after you left?"
"He was going to help Uncle Dave build his house, but he said I would be safer in Paris with you. He said he would get the bad guy who killed Veronica."
"This sounds more like the Michael I used to know."
"Look, Tori, there is a picture of Mr. K also. What does it say?"
"It says, 'Prince Krastinios attended the opening of the special Aztec art exhibit in the newly opened rooms of the Louvre yesterday. More than a hundred of the priceless pieces shown come from his personal collection.' I knew he was rich, but a prince?"
"You said Krastinios?" Jennifer could hardly speak.
"Yes, what a strange name! That's what they call him also right under the picture. He's very photogenic." Tori held the paper farther to get a better look.
"Mr. K is Krastinios?" Jennifer repeated in a daze, suddenly cold, feeling the blood drain from her extremities. "But he is so nice!"
"What do you mean?" Tori looked at her daughter. "Jennifer! Are you all right?" She dropped the newspaper to support Jennifer who was ready to faint.
"Krastinios is the bad guy who killed Veronica," Jennifer said weakly. "He tried to kill Dad too, and he said he would. When Dad sent me here, he said I would be safe. I'm scared." She buried her head in her mother's shoulder, crying softly.
"What are you saying?" Tori suddenly paled. "What do you know about this man?"
"Krastinios has powers like Dad, but he is mean," Jennifer said, unable to control her sobbing.
"My God, no wonder there was something strange about him. That would explain why we do whatever he suggests and can't remember what we did yesterday."
"What are we going to do?" Jennifer asked, not daring to hope.
"I'm not sure." Tori frowned. "I think he would have hurt us a long time ago if he had wanted to. Let's play the game until we find a way to get out of here."
"You know what? I felt him in my mind when I fell from the horse. Just like Dad used to do."
"He behaved in a very bizarre way that day. I didn't like it, even though he brought you back. It bothered me. I've read about supernatural things many times, but actually seeing it gives me the creeps."
Jennifer turned cold at the sound of a suave voice behind them.
"Such a pity that you had to find out just now!"
At the sight of Krastinios emerging from behind a drapery, the woman and the girl recoiled in horror, speechless. Tori stepped in front of Jennifer protectively.
"I would have much preferred to take you with me on this trip of your own free will." The gentleness in Krastinios’ voice did not ring true anymore. "Then again, a little terror might add spice to this expedition." The charming smile raised goose bumps on the back of Jennifer's neck.
"Why did you kill Veronica?" she challenged. "She didn't do anything. I hate you!" Jennifer launched herself at Krastinios who stopped smiling and swiftly stepped aside.
"I'm afraid you will have to be restrained," he declared seriously. “Let's hurry, my craft is waiting."
Chapter Eighteen
Michael walked toward the light as she came to meet him in the cave where he was meditating. He could not see the face in the shadows, just the shape of the lithe body through soft, streaming silk. He could smell her perfume and knew who she was even before he heard her voice.
"I welcome you, my love, but it isn't time yet. You still have much to do before we can rejoice."
"Veronica... Is it really you? I missed you something fierce... Why did you have to die?"
"It was necessary, Michael, or you wouldn't be here."
"I'll pulverize the bastard who killed you, I swear."
"Set aside your hatred, my love, or he will feed upon it. Forget your fear. Forget your doubts. Your victory can come only from selflessness." She looked so strong...
"Veronica... I want you to know that I love you. I never could express my feelings well enough to make you know it, but I did care very much, even in the short time we had together. I wish we could have another chance."
"There will be other times, my love. That, I can promise." Her image vacillated slightly.
"Other times? How?"
But she had turned around and floated deliberately toward the light, an invisible current moving the veils about the slim silhouette.
When all went black, Michael found himself staring at the complete darkness of the cave. Against his bare back, the rock felt cold. The soft breeze on his face told him of subterranean air currents carrying a strong odor of sulfur. Bubbling water sounds reverberated, covering the ominous presence underneath.
Easing out of the lotus position, Michael flicked the flashlight on, setting it on the ground to illuminate the ceiling. The light lost itself in shadows. The roof stood so high that only the near wall and rocky floor to the edge of the underground lake could be seen in the beam.
Michael went to the dark brink and knelt to splash his face with chilly water. He tasted it before drinking freely. A little sulfur couldn't hurt him. Splashing noises echoed, bouncing off the towering walls like a din of whispers resembling voices. Michael stopped to l
isten. Funny how the imagination could trick us sometimes...
A stubby beard made him feel uncouth. He wished he had thought of bringing a razor. Remembering the warmth and the dust on the surface, Michael stripped and waded into the shallow pool. Enjoying the refreshing feeling, he lowered himself into ink-black coolness.
In other circumstances, he would have felt scared and vulnerable, naked in the dark waters, but today this communion with the secret side of nature elated him. He willed his eyes and ears to scan the darkness. Now, Michael could make out the outlines of the huge cavern. It seemed that several rivulets fed the wide central lake. Floating on his back, he guessed at the height of the vaulted ceiling, and at the small shaft communicating with the mine above.
Something on the cave’s roof moved, making faint noises. Adjusting his mind vision, Michael discerned a multitude of small creatures hanging head down. Bats. Surprised to find them here, he recorded the information for further use.
Now totally refreshed, Michael stepped out of the water. He shook the dust from his clothes before putting them on, mentally readying himself for the task ahead, then willed his body back to the tunnels. Before leaving the mine, he inspected the dynamite he had carefully prepared the night before. Age had liquefied it into an extremely volatile explosive, nitroglycerine.
The mental shield he’d placed on the silo would hold. Michael also cloaked his own thoughts, remembering how Krastinios had read him on their last encounter. A shift in vibrations told him the enemy was near. Michael checked the knife in his boot, took the Uzi out of the bag, loaded it in two short motions, placed it on a rock outside the entrance of the mine then walked purposefully out into the noon sun.
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