by David Wood
She let go of his head and grabbed the back of his shirt collar instead, dragging him along as she began kicking back toward the mouth of the tunnel. His dead weight slowed her down and before she could reach that intermediate goal, the primal urge to breathe seized her once more, tearing at her lungs like a desperate animal caught in a snare. She fought back, using every trick she knew to fool her nervous system, blundered through the mass of kelp blocking the tunnel and clawed her way back to the surface.
As soon as she broke through, she exhaled another rescue breath into Rafi’s mouth, then rolled him over and commenced a one-handed backstroke toward shore. The incoming tide which had nearly killed her in the tunnel now worked in her favor, supplying added impetus to her efforts. Lazy swells propelled her ever closer, but in the sheltered bay on the eastern shore of the peninsula there were no breakers to carry them into shore. She kept swimming until, at long last, she felt the coarse sand bumping against her knees.
Her arrival went unnoticed by the crowd gathered in front of the museum more than five hundred yards away. She tried to call for help but her croaked supplication was barely loud enough for her to hear it over the low murmur of the sea, so she abandoned the effort and turned her full attention to Rafi, dragging him up above the tide line. As soon as there was relatively solid ground beneath her, she started chest compressions.
The next few minutes were a blur. Over the years, she had taken more first-aid and lifeguard classes than she could count but this was the first time she had ever put what she had been taught to use in a real world situation. She had no idea if she was doing it right. What was the ratio of rescue breaths to compressions? Was his airway clear?
She readjusted his head, tilting his chin up, and tried another breath. She felt it go in and then suddenly Rafi convulsed, vomiting a geyser of lukewarm water into her face. She flinched back in surprise and then sagged in relief as Rafi began coughing and retching, and most importantly, breathing again.
Exhaustion crashed over her but she knew her task was not yet finished. She knelt beside him and rolled him onto his side. “I’m going for help. You’re going to be okay.”
Though still coughing violently, Rafi nodded and she saw the gratitude in his eyes. She stood, fought through the momentary dizziness and lurched toward the museum, waving her arms and shouting as she ran.
Her efforts finally yielded the desired results. Someone noticed her, and then one by one, heads began to turn and the bubble burst. She recognized many of the faces rushing toward her, support crew for the dig, the production crew brandishing their cameras and equipment, but Professor was not among them.
Of course not. He’s up on the ridge trying to save me. Nevertheless, his absence left her feeling hollow inside. She desperately wanted him with her.
She froze in mid-step as she recognized another face, not someone from the dig, but someone from the past, someone she had hoped never to see again.
Running toward her, or more accurately waddling, red-faced and panting from the exertion, was the corpulent form of Gerald Roche.
Her mind immediately flashed back to her first and only encounter with the rotund British conspiracy theorist and occult enthusiast. Eight months earlier, when she had been tracking down a lead involving the famed Elizabethan era astrologer John Dee. She had thought to consult with Roche, a Dee expert and collector, but the situation had spiraled out of control, with Roche accusing Jade of trying to steal an object from his collection—Dee’s Shew Stone, a crystal ball used for divination—and subsequently trying to kill her. The fact that she actually had ended up stealing the Shew Stone probably didn’t help matters.
Damn it! How did he find me?
All thoughts of helping Rafi or seeing Professor slipped from her mind. She turned on her heel, looking for an escape route. Surely he wouldn’t try anything in front of a crowd, with cameras rolling.
But why else would he come here?
She was still debating the best escape route—seek refuge in the crowd or make a run for it—when Roche summoned up the breath to call out to her.
“Dr. Ihara! Please. It’s urgent that I speak with you!”
THREE
Several hours would pass before Roche got the opportunity to further elaborate. Jade’s first priority was ensuring that Rafi received medical attention which involved an ambulance ride to the nearby city of Pisco where the doctor credited her for saving the young man’s life and indicated that he would make a full recovery with no attendant brain damage. The news was welcome though not completely unexpected since Rafi had been completely lucid by the time she returned to him on the beach. The only reason she had insisted on taking him to the hospital was to put a little space between herself and her unexpected visitor.
In all the confusion, she almost completely forgot about the strange crypt under the Cerro Colorado and what she had seen and felt there.
Had any of it been real?
Aside from declaring the dig site a hazard area, due to the possibility of further collapse, she had revealed nothing about what had transpired in the spherical chamber. It definitely was not something she wanted the camera crew or Jeremiah Stillman to know about, but she had hoped to get Professor’s level-headed perspective on what had happened. Unfortunately, Roche’s unexpected arrival had him preoccupied as well.
It was for the best. Professor would just laugh at her and dismiss it as a hallucination, and that was probably all it was.
“I don’t think he’s here looking for trouble,” Professor announced as he joined her in the waiting room outside the hospital ward. He had spent the better part an hour working the phones, trying to trace Roche’s movements and divine his intentions.
“Well, what does he want?” The question came out more harshly than she had intended.
Professor shrugged and spread his hands. “I think the only way you’re going to figure that out is by talking to him.”
“Should I?”
He stared at her for a long time before answering. “Regardless of whether or not you should, I think you probably will. You’re too curious to just walk away.”
“Am I that predictable?”
“‘Predictable’ isn’t a word I would normally associate with you,” he replied with a grin. “But in this case, yes.”
“I really hate you sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” The grin slipped away. “He’ll only meet with you at the Paracas Museum. He says it’s the only place he feels safe.”
“He feels safe?” She rolled her eyes.
“You don’t need me to tell you that he’s paranoid. There’s no record of him arriving in the country, which means he either bribed someone or used a forged passport. Probably both. He’s definitely trying to move under the radar.”
“It didn’t look to me like he was trying to be inconspicuous at the museum. There were cameras everywhere.”
Professor shrugged. “He’ll be long gone before any of the footage shot today airs. He might be paranoid, but he’s still a celebrity. He thrives on attention.”
Prior to the matter of the Shew Stone, Jade had never heard of Gerald Roche, but she had no difficulty learning all there was to know about the man. A former Minister of Parliament, Roche had achieved notoriety with his astonishing claim that all of reality was a holographic computer simulation, and that world leaders and celebrities were in fact inhuman creatures—he called them “Changelings”—manipulating global events and enslaving humanity. But for his already well-established wealth and influence, Roche would almost certainly have been institutionalized, but instead, he parlayed his bizarre worldview into a multi-media empire—with a radio talk-show and a series of books that delved deep into the changeling conspiracy.
In spite of the sheer lunacy of his ideas, he enjoyed widespread support from a cross-section of British society, even from some intellectuals who claimed that the Changelings were not meant to be taken literally, but were symbolic of the pervasive influence of banks and multi-nation
al corporations in a climate of globalism. Some of his supporters cited recent discoveries in the field of physics as proof that Roche was not far off the mark in asserting that reality was deterministic in nature, playing out like an extraordinarily complex but utterly mathematical computer program.
Among people like Jeremiah Stillman and fans of the Alien Explorers television series, Gerald Roche was a true prophet—maybe even a god—so it was no surprise that he felt right at home surrounded by his acolytes at the museum. He was not, as far as Jade knew, an alien astronaut theorist—in his world, there were no aliens, just renegade computer programs—but the true believers tended to draw inspiration from all across the spectrum of possibilities, turning contradictions into connections with reckless abandon. The only constant in their world was the pervasive conspiracy to hide the truth and silence those who would reveal it.
“What about my safety?” she said, with more than a little sarcasm. Although Roche had surprised her by showing up without warning, she was not scared of him in the least.
“Like I said, I don’t think he wants trouble. He obviously knew where to find you. If he wanted to hurt you, he could have hired someone.”
“That’s not his style.” Jade recalled her first meeting with Roche, which had taken place in Roche’s London flat. He had invited her in like a spider welcoming a fly into its web. “He likes to play games.”
“You can always tell him to get lost.”
She sighed. “No. You’re right. I am curious. Besides, I beat him once. I can do it again.”
“Like I said. Predictable.”
There were no cameras waiting for them at the museum. In fact, there was only one car in the parking lot when they pulled up—a black Land Rover almost identical to the rented vehicle Jade and Professor were riding in—and no sign of the production company or anyone else outside the squat little concrete structure, save for a single burly man guarding the museum door. He wore a black suit, cut loose to accommodate his bulging biceps. Jade did not recognize the man, but it was safe to assume that he was Roche’s bodyguard.
“Guy looks like Randy Couture,” Professor observed as they strolled toward the entrance.
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
The man took a step forward as if to block their passage. “Just her.”
“Looks like Couture,” Professor amended, “but sounds like Statham. You’re like the whole cast of the Expendables all rolled into one.”
Jade flashed him a quizzical look then turned to the bodyguard. “I’m not going in there without him.”
The big man shook his head. “Mr. Roche’s orders.”
Jade stared up at him for a moment then shrugged and started to turn away, but Roche’s voice issued from beyond the door. “Let them in, Jonathan.”
“That’s right, Jonathan,” Professor taunted. “Let us in.”
The surly bodyguard moved out of the way without comment. As Jade stepped toward the door, she leaned close to Professor. “What the hell was that about? You channeling Bones or something?”
“Bones”—Uriah Bonebrake—was one of Professor’s former SEAL swim buddies, and had a terminal case of “no filter” syndrome. A hulking six-feet five-inches, Bones could say whatever he pleased—and frequently did. Professor may not have been as physically imposing as Bones, but he was no pushover. Generally speaking though, he kept a low profile. Testosterone-fueled posturing was definitely not his style.
“Just testing a hypothesis,” Professor whispered, throwing a faint nod in the direction of the bodyguard. “I pushed and he didn’t push back. The guy’s a pro.”
“Why does that matter?”
“I’m not sure yet, but if he’s hiring former military for protection, maybe your old pal Roche isn’t just paranoid after all.”
Roche was waiting for them inside.
“Where’d everyone go?” Jade asked him.
“I sent them away,” Roche said
“You sent them away? What, you just asked nicely?”
“I have a great deal of influence, both with the museum and the producers of Alien Explorers.”
Roche sounded almost apologetic. Jade searched his face for some hint of treachery but saw none of the arrogance she recalled from their first meeting. Roche looked truly frightened. He stared at Professor warily for a moment before turning to Jade. “Do you trust him?”
It was an odd question, but then Roche was nothing if not odd. “Of course,” she replied.
“How long have you known him?”
“A few years. Why?”
Roche scrutinized Professor’s face again. “Ask him a question, something about your first meeting that no one else would know.”
“Seriously?” Jade put her hands on her hips. “I don’t have time for this. Get to the point or I’m out of here.”
Roche made no effort to hide his irritation. “This is the point, Dr. Ihara. You have no idea what they are capable of. I need an assurance.”
“They?”
“The Changelings. They’re here. They’re everywhere. Do you think what happened to you this morning was a coincidence?”
“No. I think it was an accident.”
Roche laughed harshly. “There are no accidents, Dr. Ihara. No coincidences.”
“It’s okay, Jade” Professor said. “Now I’m curious. Ask me something.”
Jade shook her head. She was done playing Roche’s game. “I said, I trust him. Now, what do you want?”
Roche’s nostrils flared but then he made a dismissive gesture. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. They already know what I’m about to tell you.”
Instead of answering her question however, Roche turned and headed further into the museum, the tacit implication that she should follow. He made his way to a private office and settled wearily into the chair behind a desk cluttered with papers and a scattering of Paracas artifacts. An elongated skull rested on one corner, looking more like a cheap paperweight than the remains of a once-living human being. Roche drummed his fingers on the desktop as if trying to organize his thoughts, then looked up at Jade. “You found something today, didn’t you?”
“If you call a sinkhole and an underground tidal cave ‘something,’ then yes.”
“That’s all you found?”
Jade managed, with an effort, to keep her face a neutral mask.
He knows about the ghosts. Somehow, he knows.
She glanced over at Professor, wondering how much to reveal. “Pretty much. I haven’t had time to conduct a survey. There’s no evidence that the Paracas used the sinkhole or even knew about it.” She thought about the smooth walls of the chamber and the precision of the tunnel leading out into the bay, and knew that was not strictly true. “But even if they did, I would imagine that two thousand years of immersion in salt water would have destroyed anything they might have left.” She paused a beat. “What’s your interest? This doesn’t seem like your usual thing.”
“Everything is connected, Dr. Ihara. The Changelings have been among us longer than all of recorded history. However, I will confess to a particular interest in the Paracas and Nazca cultures.”
“Ah. Let me guess. The skulls aren’t aliens, they’re Changelings.”
Roche gave a patient smile. “I took the name ‘Changeling’ from faerie mythology. Are you familiar with it? According to the legend, the faeries would sometimes steal human infants from their cradle and leave a fae shape-shifter child behind in its place, like a sort of supernatural sleeper agent. How would you know if your child had been taken?”
He reached out and let his hand caress the oblong skull resting on the desk. “I believe the Paracas—and many other civilizations that practice extreme body modification techniques—did so as a way of ensuring the humanity of their children. The Changelings might be able to alter their appearance, but bone structure would be more of a challenge.”
He raised his eyes to Jade. “That’s my hypothesis in any case, but I’m no expert on America
n cultures. That’s why I hired you.”
“You hired me?”
“My foundation is sponsoring your work here.”
Jade shot Professor an accusing glance. “Is that true?” It had been his job to vet any potential employers to ensure that a job offer was not some kind of trap to lure her into the open. “How did you miss that?”
“My involvement in the foundation is a closely guarded secret,” Roche went on before Professor could respond. “For my own safety. If they knew…” He shook his head and left the ominous statement hanging. “I wanted you here, Dr. Ihara, because despite the unpleasantness of our previous encounter, I knew that you were the one person I could trust.”
“You’re not making any sense, though I suppose that’s par for the course with you. Oh, by the way, I quit.”
“Dr. Ihara, please hear me out.” The fear she had noticed earlier in his eyes was back. “The noose is tightening. I may not…” He took a deep breath. “I may not survive this. I have to tell someone.”
Professor laid a hand on her arm. “Jade, let’s hear what he has to say. What could it hurt?”
A dozen rejoinders popped into her head but she knew Professor was right. The curiosity that had brought her to this meeting remained unsatisfied. “Fine.” She stabbed an emphatic finger at Roche. “But I don’t trust you.”
Roche gave her a relieved smile as if distrust was her most compelling personality trait. He sat up straighter. “Have you ever heard of Phantom Time?”
Jade almost groaned aloud. “Phantom time?”
“Actually,” Professor said, almost before Jade had finished. “I have.”
She threw him a sidelong glance. “Why am I not surprised?”
Long before finishing his first PhD, Professor had earned his nickname with his almost encyclopedic knowledge of trivia.
But still…phantom time?
“Is it as bad as it sounds?” she asked. “Because it sounds like the name of a really bad science fiction movie.”
