by Joanne Pence
Jake nodded. “We’ll go as far as we can. I expect we’ll be in for a long trek.”
“I got horses you can use,” Polly said, “but no trailers. You’d have to ride them from here.”
Michael turned to the others. “That might be faster in the long run. Once we’re in the area, we’re probably going to have to go around in circles before we find those pillars—if they even exist. It would be a lot easier on horseback than walking. We’d cover a wider area quicker. Can all of you ride?”
Jake and Quade answered affirmatively. Charlotte’s expression leaped from scared to worried to defiant. “I’ve ridden a camel in Egypt,” she said. “I don’t know if that counts, but tell me what to do, Michael. I’ll manage.”
Michael gave a half-smile. The city girl was clearly out of her league in this wilderness, and was frightened by it, but she had gumption he couldn’t help but admire. “I suspect Polly has at least one gentle gelding that’ll be good for a newcomer.”
“Be careful with my kids,” Polly said. “They’re like family to me. Still, I can’t help but think none of you should go out there. When people say there’s something evil, they aren’t joking around. You hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Michael said with a smile.
“Humph,” was Polly’s only comment as she led them toward the stables.
Michael stood a moment, breathing deeply and trying to shake an oppressive dread. He agreed with everything Polly had said. He could feel the evil out there, thick, heavy, smothering.
And it waited for them.
Chapter 13
FRUSTRATED BY HER scientists’ lack of progress, Jennifer Vandenburg decided to look at some alchemical documents herself. How difficult could they be?
She quickly found out. Nicolas Flamel had couched everything he said in religious terms. To the medieval mind, his comments may have meant something, but not in modern times. How should one interpret:
...let him ask of himself, why the figure of St. Paul is on the right hand, in the place where the custom is to paint St. Peter? And on the other side that of St. Peter, in the place of the figure of St. Paul? Why the figure of St. Paul is clothed in colours white and yellow, and that of Peter in yellow and red?
Who the hell knew? Or cared? Flamel’s writings were useless! She didn’t have the background to understand. And anyway, to put alchemy into practice she needed the text Flamel had used—The Book of Abraham the Jew. Only with it could the secret of alchemy be revealed. And it was in Idaho.
She got up and paced as she pondered all she'd learned over the past few months about alchemy. The reason her attention turned toward such a bizarre subject was nearly as remarkable as the subject itself.
She came upon it through reading some of the personal papers, faxes, and emails of the founder of Phaylor-Laine Pharmaceuticals, Calvin Phaylor. After she replaced him upon his "retirement" by the board of trustees, she became curious about what had led to, essentially, a firing. Whispered rumors said Phaylor had lost his mind. She decided to see if his papers reflected that or if the board had, in fact, staged a coup. If so, she needed to be wary about them doing it again...to her.
Calvin Phaylor’s interest in alchemy shocked her. No wonder the board thought him mad! She went through Phaylor’s notes, emails, travel vouchers, and all other material she could find, surprised at how Phaylor saw PLP as his personal money machine, and at the amount of personal information stored on the company servers. She doubted he realized the company’s computers backed up everything, including private materials.
The more Jennifer learned about the history of alchemy, however, the more convinced she became that there really might be something to it. All the men initiated into its arcana weren't gullible fools, and throughout history many people believed in its power, including most of the outstanding minds of their time—men such as Roger Bacon, Sir Isaac Newton, Carl Jung, and Leonardo da Vinci. To be fair, she ought to include the bad with the good—Adolf Hitler.
If they believed in alchemy, why couldn't she?
The alchemist would create a philosopher's stone and somehow end up with gold. The common man perceived alchemy as a sort of ATM for Krugerrands.
But the master alchemist, the true believer, did not stop there.
From pure gold, the alchemist produced the "pill of transformation," a means for man to achieve his ultimate self, his perfect self—a man who would not die but live forever in immortal splendor.
That was the alchemist's ultimate goal.
The ultimate goal of Calvin Phaylor.
And now, the ultimate goal of Jennifer Vandenburg. Stopping a person from aging would allow her daughter to live. She could not, would not, fail.
Chapter 14
IT TOOK ALL THE Hammer’s willpower not to speed up, not to wrap his hands around Charlotte Reed’s scrawny neck and demand she tell him exactly where she was going. Tempting as it was, he knew that the sheriff, and possibly the other two with her, would put up a fight. The pretty boy he recognized as Michael Rempart, but he was puzzled by the one who looked like a walking corpse. He looked like the type who’d pull the wings off flies and then eat their flightless bodies. Hammill didn’t like going up against guys like that. Their reactions were never normal.
He decided to see where Charlotte Reed and the others, “the searchers” he called them, led him. That should be the fastest way to end this mission, then clean-up any collateral damage such as witnesses, and finally to leave this god-forsaken part of the country and get his fill of booze, broads, and a soft bed.
He watched through binoculars as Reed and her friends left the sheriff’s truck at Polly Higgins’ ranch and took off on horseback. “Hell and damnation!” He pounded the steering wheel of the Suburban before turning to Fish. “Looks like we get to play cavalry. We’ll head over to the stables and see what’s in it.”
o0o
After the sheriff and his friends left, Polly Higgins went back to the house to cook biscuits and gravy. She wondered if she'd done the right thing telling Jake and the others about the Indian legends. Pillars that created thunder sounded so frightening that no one in his or her right mind should want to go there. But then, the sheriff’s companions seemed to be scholarly types, and from what little Polly had seen of that kind, they were never in their right minds anyway. Besides that, anyone with half a brain could see the sheriff was a might smitten with that Charlotte Reed, much as he tried to hide it. More than likely, she could lead him straight to the fires of hell if she wanted. Polly snorted, glad romance was no longer on her agenda.
Shadow erupted in barks, followed by Gretchen and Lolo. They raced to the window to see what was outside. The scruffs of their necks stood on end, their barking loud and hysterical.
Polly grabbed her Mossberg double-barrel shotgun, chambered some buckshot, and went outside, shocked to see men in black running around her stables. She ordered the dogs to stay with her.
The obvious leader was blond and muscular, wearing sunglasses, a heavy black jacket with lots of gear dangling from a wide belt, black baggy pants tucked into heavy boots, and a black baseball-style cap. What in the world was he made up for, she wondered. Had war games come to Idaho? No wonder her dogs barked. She would, too, if she could.
He saw her and approached.
“Who are you?” she called.
“Major Derek Hammill, retired,” the leader said, removing the glasses. A cold dread filled her at his flat, hard blue eyes. He stopped a few feet away. “We're investigating the whereabouts of Sheriff Jake Sullivan and some visitors. We understand you may know where he went.”
She raised her chin. “Jake can go wherever he wants. This is U.S. Forest Service land, not military.”
“Yes, ma'am,” The Hammer said. “But he went off without saying where. Now his deputy needs him. It’s serious, so we were called in.”
She looked over Hammill and the others. There were a lot of them—six or seven, all moving around. All held rifles and looked like they ha
d enough fire power on them to conduct a full scale war.
She had no choice and proceeded to explain, giving little detail, where the sheriff was headed.
“I take it we’ll need horses,” Hammill said. “Do you have more?”
“Nope.”
The Hammer thanked her for the information, then turned to walk away. He glanced at a nearby man and nodded.
Instead of following Hammill, Bates drew his .44 magnum, turned toward Polly and aimed. She was too stunned to react, but Shadow did. The dog flung herself at Bates' throat, clamped down on his Adam's apple and tore.
He made a gurgling sound, his blood spraying into the air as he fell with the shepherd mix on top of him.
The Hammer spun around and fired at the dog, then moved closer for a shot at the old woman.
Polly raised her shotgun and aimed at Hammill as Gretchen and Lolo attacked. But she and her two dogs weren't a match for the mercenaries’ deadly firepower. Bullets slammed into the old woman, jerking her body, her shotgun firing ineffectually into the air. Polly fell dead as her dying dogs whimpered beside her.
The massacre had taken only seconds.
The Hammer never left one of his men behind. He ordered the others to carry Bates with them. They would give him a warrior's burial.
He sent two of his men back to Salmon City to rent, buy, or steal three double-seat ATVs, and a rig to carry them out here. He’d leave the Suburban behind. Even though this meant a delay, four horses would be child’s play to track, and the ATVs would easily make up the time lost.
Chapter 15
THE STUDENTS STARED in silence. That morning, they had crawled down the mountainside to the secluded valley, and marched closer to the pillars.
A perfectly shaped symmetrical mound of reddish-tan dirt, shaped like a pyramid with the top lopped off, stood over twenty feet tall and forty feet across. At the top, two granite pillars, charcoal gray in color, soared high into the sky. The pillars were stark, overwhelming, and frightening.
“We did it!” Rempart’s voice was both hushed and jubilant. “It's not exactly Ankor Wat, but as close as we'll get in Idaho.”
Melisse shook her head, her expression unreadable.
“It’s impossible,” Rachel murmured, her brow lined with worry.
“No way,” Devlin declared.
Something eerie and surreal hovered over the area, making the small hairs on their arms stand on end.
“Could this be how Schliemann felt when he found Troy?” Vince wondered, his voice hushed, nervous.
“Or Bandyopadhyay at Mohenjo-Daro,” Rachel added.
“Or what’s his name who found King Tut,” Ted said.
At the last, all went silent as they remembered “the curse of the pharaohs,” that anyone who opened or desecrated a sacred site would die.
A cold wind whipped through the valley, chilling them.
“You can see the pillars for some distance around here,” Rempart pronounced cheerfully, magnanimous now in victory, as the group walked toward the pillars, slower now. Merely waving the possibility of money and prestige had turned the students his way.
He intended to continue to use that tactic, and through it to put Melisse back in her place. She was far too bossy, strutting around with her hard muscles and outdoor know-how. He couldn't stand her. “We'll make camp right beside them, and you'll always easily find your way back if you're tempted to wander off. Frankly, I wouldn't recommend going anywhere alone. Aside from the mountain lions and black bears you know about, wolf sightings are not unheard of in this area, and rattlesnakes...”
“Just watch where you step and you'll be fine.” Melisse snapped. She could no longer hide her irritation at Rempart. In turn, he shot daggers at her.
No one spoke as they continued forward. Their earlier fatigue had vanished with the possibility of fame and fortune, but it returned now, four-fold. The air turned increasingly cold. “A storm's coming.” Devlin shivered, folding his arms tight against his chest for warmth, and peering at the darkening sky. “That's all we need! We'll have to work to keep a fire lit.”
“At least rain water will be drinkable.” Ted licked his pudgy, parched lips. They hadn't been near a stream or pond all day, and shared the couple of waters bottles that hadn't been stolen.
“How do we capture it? Stand around with our mouths open?” Vince's normally wiry, jumpy demeanor grew more frenzied with each step.
“I'm ready,” Ted replied.
A loud boom caused the group to freeze. The air felt still, yet the monoliths seemed to quiver before their eyes the way the desert seemed to ripple when heat rose off the ground.
“What was that?” Brandi whispered, her voice hushed and trembling.
“Thunder?” Rachel asked hopefully, although it didn't quite sound like thunder.
“Just the wind,” Rempart said. “Keep going.”
“We should go back to civilization and get equipment, supplies, and more people so we can do a proper study of the pillars and a search of the area,” Melisse suggested. “There must be a deserted settlement nearby, a place where the pillars were made. I can’t imagine anyone creating them elsewhere and then carrying them here in the middle of nowhere.”
Vince tapped the face of his watch. The second hand had stopped moving. He shook his wrist and checked his watch again.
Devlin saw him, and checked his own watch. “My second hand isn’t moving,” he said softly.
“Mine’s the same,” Melisse said, wriggling her wrist. Then she looked at the sky. “I wonder if the pillars are emitting some sort of electro-magnetic charge.”
“Electro-magnetic?” Rempart whispered. “That isn’t good. Not good at all.” He started toward the mound, then stopped, staring at the ground. Out of nowhere, lightning flashed above them, and then a sound like the rolling of thunder.
“That was no wind,” Ted said nervously. “What was it?”
“I don’t know,” Rempart said, backing away.
“Not only is there the question of how those pillars got here,” Rachel said, “but what do they mean? Nothing like them exists in the native populations. Who would have built them?”
Nervous excitement caused more speculation. Stonehenge. The giant heads of Easter Island. The Nazca Lines of Peru.
“We need to go up there,” Devlin said. He shivered, arms tight against his chest. “Inspect them. Take samples. Soil, scrapings, air. Plus whatever it is that made our batteries stop.”
No one answered. Rempart took a step toward the pillars and stopped again. “The ground…it flickered!” he called out. At the students' startled, confused expression, he asked, “Didn't you see it?”
The students shook their heads.
“Must have been an optical illusion, a glint from the sun,” he said as he walked to the mound. “I think there’s some kind of carving at the top of each pillar! I can’t make it out from this distance. I’ve got to get closer. This is miraculous!”
Another bolt of lightning lit the sky and thunder clapped, longer and louder this time as Rempart began to climb.
“Professor,” Melisse called. “Do you want us to join you?”
He seemed not to hear.
“What’s wrong with him?” Ted asked nervously. He sat on the ground, exhausted, his feet and legs aching from the long trek.
“I want to see what’s up there,” Melisse said.
All except Ted followed, ignoring another flash of light and boom of thunder. The students had to use their hands to make their way up the tightly packed, slippery earth. They quickly caught up to the slow moving professor.
Dark clouds gathered overhead, but it didn’t rain. Only lightning and the raucous, near continuous claps of thunder.
When the group reached the top of the mound, oddly, irrationally, the thunder and lightning stopped.
“Be careful, guys!” Ted called, his voice sharp and edged with fear. “Hurry back down!”
The group moved toward the pillars, which were over thi
rty feet tall and stood about fifteen feet apart. No one said a word.
“Guys!” Ted yelled as loud as he could, trying to get their attention. Something was very wrong. He got up and hobbled closer to the mound. “Guys, what're you doing? Do you see anything up there? Why aren’t any of you talking about it? Hey...GUYS!!”
Then, as he watched, the most incredible thing happened. They walked between the pillars.
And vanished.
Chapter 16
Washington D.C.
JIANJUN SAT WITH his back resting against multiple plush pillows on a king-size bed in a luxurious room at the St. Regis Hotel north of Lafayette Square and two blocks from the White House. He couldn’t believe the time. He had slept sixteen hours straight. Although past noon, he ordered eggs Benedict from room service, ate breakfast in bed, and now settled in to work in bed. After roughing it in a ger in Mongolia, and then traveling non-stop half-way around the world to get here, he owed it to himself. Ah, the good life, he thought as he patted the comfortable, lump-free, luxurious Egyptian sheet-covered mattress.
His gaze turned to the thumb drive holding files from Lionel Rempart’s computer. Maybe “the good life” wasn’t exactly the right term for this. He poured some tea from room service into the cup on the nightstand, set the laptop on his thighs and plugged in the drive.
The night before, he thought he was in big trouble when he heard a key in the door of Rempart’s town house. It turned out to be a management service Rempart had hired to keep an eye on the place. He showed the guy his student body card and a copy of the e-mail from Rempart’s server giving him authority to find some documents Rempart needed in Idaho. The property manager bought it, to Jianjun’s surprise. Taking his thumb drive, and telling the manager that someone had failed to lock the deadbolt or to arm the alarm system, Jianjun quickly escaped.
After a buying a burrito and chalupas from Taco Bell, which he’d learned to love while living in Seattle, he’d returned to his hotel room and crashed.
