Sunken Treasure Lost Worlds

by Hep Aldridge

  When we asked who the hell Uncle Harold was, he said, “Never mind, just call the second number in the phone once we were in place.” It was our turn to relent and agreed. That seemed to satisfy him and added a worry to our list. The site of our base of operations we decided should be Cuenca, south and west of the Tayos region. It was a fairly large city with a colonial atmosphere. It seemed to be the starting point for most of the previous expeditions and a repository for information pertaining to the legend of the library and those that had searched and currently searched for it.

  Joe had been sequestered in the small electronics workshop he had set up in the loading bay of the Lair and was putting the finishing touches on what he said would be some very cool personal locating devices for the team members to carry. Very unobtrusive, they would pass for portable GPS units, which they also were but with more functionality and extended range due to his modifications. It had been almost two weeks since we left Fitz’s land of magical wonders when a Vid call came in from Doc. His face, voice, and arm-waving were a dead giveaway that he had found something.

  When he finally regained some semblance of control, he said we needed to get over there as soon as possible. When I asked what was going on, he said, “Get your asses over here, NOW!"

  O’Reilly said, "We can be there in less than 15 minutes. I’ll get the chopper ready," and left the conference room at a run. We relayed the news to Doc, signed off, and headed for the back parking lot where the chopper sat, hearing the turbine spinning up as we left the building. Twelve minutes later, we were touching down at the Helo pad at Fitz’s facility where a golf cart was waiting to take us to the main building. When we got to the conference room in the lab area Doc was pacing like an expectant father.

  "Oh, good, you’re here,” he said.

  “What’s going on?" I asked.

  He said, "Sit down, and I’ll explain, and then we’ll go to the lab." As we sat around the conference table, where Fitz was already seated, Doc began his explanation. "Okay, I’ve been working on the translation of the journal, as you know, and Fitz’s team has continued their work on the cube with little success."

  Joe said, "Yeah, we know that, Doc.”

  “Well as I’ve been translating the journal, I have been finding many references to Incan culture. Things the friar was told by his tribesmen as well as others he came into contact with later. Now, the Shuar language and ancient Incan are not the same at all, but some references that were made in the journal were straight from the Inca language, and that got me to thinking. What if I had read something and had translated it in the context of the Shuar language without considering the reference, statement, or word as possibly being from the Inca language, not Shuar!"

  "I don’t follow, Doc; you said his journal was all in Spanish."

  “It is; it is, but some of what he is saying is right out of the language of the Inca. This is tough because the Inca didn’t have a written language; it was a technologically sophisticated culture, and it was a huge empire. The largest in the Western Hemisphere and it’s the only Bronze Age civilization that didn’t develop a written language! It’s called the Inca paradox. So, everything in the journal is a translation from what the Shuar are saying in their language to the friar with Inca words and phrases they have learned thrown in and written in Spanish. Once I understood that, that’s when I figured it out."

  "Hold on, Doc,” Dimitri said, “now I’m completely lost; what the hell are you talking about."

  Doc, still wound tighter than an over-wound clock spring, was pacing around the room like a caged tiger. He stopped at the end of the conference table that had the table top keyboard and touched it a couple of times. A portion of the journal came up with the original Spanish, underscored by the English translation. I immediately recognized the section as the one we had discussed when he first began translating the document as being the section about the friar and the chief’s visit to the ruins that were being repaired in the jungle.

  He went to the screen, “Here, see where the friar asks him how the two natives are moving the giant stone?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “And the chief says they’re not, it’s the gods moving it… with the Sweat of the Sun!” He was looking at us with a huge grin on his face our blank looks must have driven home the point that we still didn’t get it. He said, “It’s not Sweat of the Sun, it’s tears of the sun; that’s not a Shuar phrase, it’s an Inca one… it’s what they called gold.”

  The light bulb in my head went on, and I said, “So, that could mean the natives added something gold to the silver object he saw on the stone and that’s what activated it?"

  Doc was already headed for the door as he said, “We have a winner; follow me to the labs,” and was out the door. We catapulted from our seats, except for Fitz, who just sat there smiling. We got to the lab, and all the geniuses were standing around a work-table, grinning from ear to ear. On the floor was a group of six concrete blocks neatly stacked in a pyramid, three, two, then one on top. On top of them sat the silver cube. Once we gathered around, Doc picked up one of four small pieces of gold that were on the table next to the blocks, about the dimensions of half a credit card and about as thick. Like a magician about to perform a trick, he held the metal up for us to see, and then placed it on top of the silver cube and stepped back.

  For a few seconds, nothing seemed to happen, and then we detected a faint hum and the slightest bluish glow emanated from the cube. As that happened, Doc took one hand and pushed the top three blocks off the bottom three. We were awestruck as the three concrete blocks on top slid effortlessly off the stack and slowly floated in the direction Doc had pushed them and hung suspended in space about 7 inches off the floor.

  He was obviously very pleased with himself as he pushed them back on top of the remaining three blocks, then removed the piece of gold. We heard the blocks settle back on top of the others with a slight scrape. He now picked up two pieces of gold and laid them on top of the silver cube. Once again, a few seconds passed, and the slight hum returned; this time, Doc pushed the entire stack of six blocks with one hand and we watched as they hung suspend in space a couple of inches off the floor all still touching one another, and moved a couple of feet away from the table. Doc then walked up to them and pushed one end, and they slowly rotated 360 degrees in thin air.

  No one had uttered a word till Joe said, “Son of a bitch; it’s an antigravity device activated by gold!”

  Doc exclaimed, “Precisely, and the more gold you add the more it will suspend, as long as what you want suspended is somehow in physical contact with the silver block when the gold is applied. Multiple pieces, such as these blocks, have to be touching each other to lift as a group. With the right amount of gold placed on the block, I believe it can suspend anything!”

  “I’ll be damned,” I said, “Tears of the Sun!”

  Chapter Twenty

  An hour later, we were all sitting around the conference table, listening to Doc give us a full explanation of his discovery in the journal. As we slowly digested the information, the excitement continued building.

  Dimitri said, “So, if these guys had a bunch of these things, they could move hundreds of huge blocks of stone and place them wherever they wanted?”

  “That’s right,” Doc replied, “and we haven’t even determined the maximum limits of their lifting capabilities yet. For all we know, with a few of these devices, or maybe just one and the right amount of gold, lifting a 100-ton block of stone could be as easy as lifting a loaf of bread. Hell, we don't know if there are height limits to their lifting capabilities! For all we know, this could be the basis for some kind of propulsion system.” We sat and stared; he went on, “We haven’t even scratched the surface on this. The possibilities are mind-boggling; I mean if these people had contact with other civilizations, it could explain the structures in Peru, Mexico, Honduras, Sumer, Guatemala, Egypt, and God knows where else. Hell, if they have been on earth long enough, it could go ba
ck to Stonehenge or even earlier. We’re potentially talking tens of thousands of years… if not more.”

  Stunned silence accurately described the environment in the room at that moment. I mean, we had already discovered and seen enough evidence to make us all question our version of ancient history, but this…

  I looked around the room at the faces at the table and slowly said, “I guess we’re really onto something here.”

  Fitz just snorted and said, “Colten, you are the master of understatements!”

  That broke the stunned mood of the room, and multiple discussions erupted around the table as Doc just sat there and grinned.

  “But what powers these things?” I asked.

  “Colt” Doc said, “that’s the 64-thousand dollar question!”

  We had made these discoveries from what was on the ship, so who knows what awaits us in the mountains and jungles of Ecuador. A few hours later, we left the continuing research into the block in the hands of Fitz’s people and, still stunned by our discovery moved forward with our plans for our trip to South America.

  The next few weeks were filled with furious activity, not only on the part of the Ecuadorian group, but Nils and Lawrence along with Gus and his crew were making real headway on launching our search for the Black Galleon. Tony would provide tech support and use his satellite hacks to provide overwatch of the search area in our absence. Lawrence had been assured all permits were approved for the search and would be in their hands in the next three to five days. Gus had added his new crew member, Petty Officer Wilson LeMasters, another crew member that had served with Gus’s team in Nam.

  A demolitions expert, excellent diver, and a mountain of a man, at 6’6” and 330lbs., he was no one to mess with. Gus assured me that his size was deceiving; he was as quick as a cobra and as deadly on land and as agile as a ballerina in the water. I had no reason to question his decision and let him get on with his preparations. By the end of the third week, we were wrapping things up and getting ready for our departure.

  We held our final meeting as a full group and set up our communications protocols between ourselves and Fitz reviewed our individual operational plans, planned for every contingency we could think of, and set up our funding streams. This was so the Galleon Group and the Library Group, as we called ourselves, could access funds in any amount as necessary. An international letter of credit had been sent to the largest bank in Cuenca, so we could easily access money while anywhere in South America. We would travel as a privately funded group of “Adventurers” looking for the Golden Library. There was an extensive back story about us and history of other expeditions on the internet and in certain electronic periodicals, thanks to Tony’s computer expertise. We were pretty sure we had covered our bases as best we could, considering the unknown circumstances that both groups were about to face. We agreed to take the next three days off from direct involvement in preparations and let the things we had put in motion move forward on their own. We all needed to step away from the monumental task before us and take a deep breath, try to relax as much as we could, and mentally regroup before putting on our game faces and hitting the field, metaphorically speaking. It was decided we would meet in three days, but till then, we were on our own. We could contact one another if the need arose, but only if it were vitally important. With that decision made, we left the Lair and went our separate ways for the next 72 hours.

  I drove back to my place hit the opener for the center door of the three car garage, pulled in, and listened as it closed behind me. I entered the house and disarmed the security system and poured myself a hefty glass of 12-year-old Scotch before flopping down on the leather couch in my living room. I kicked off my shoes, picked up the remote for my sound system, and started one of my favorite playlists, a combination of classical and relaxing new age electronic music, took a long swallow from the glass, laid my head back, and tried to let the music and alcohol relieve some of the tension that had every muscle in my body quivering uncontrollably.

  My mind was racing, and I felt like I was about to go over the edge of a bottomless waterfall… another swallow and then another. Did I get the relief I was looking for? No, but there was a slight ease in the knot in my stomach, just not much. After 30 minutes, I got up and went to the bedroom got out of my clothes and stepped into my shower, turned on every jet in it, and let the hot water bombard my body from all directions. After 15 minutes of this hydro therapy, I shut it down stepped out, toweled off, and fell onto my bed. I set the A/C on stun, so between the hot shower and the cold breeze on my body, I finally felt some relief. It was three o’clock in the afternoon when I drifted off into a fitful sleep.

  I awoke with a start. The dream I had been having, while foggy and unclear, was filled with conflict and danger. As my head cleared, I realized I was safe at home, and my breathing and heart rate started returning to normal. I looked at the digital clock on my headboard, 12:15 a.m. I had slept for around nine hours and still felt tense and tired. I slid out of bed and put on a pair of old sweatpants, a T-shirt, and my old deck shoes, and headed to the kitchen. I wasn’t starving; God knows why not… I hadn’t eaten in 18 hours. I grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and started pacing, my mind whirling. How had this all happened, and more importantly, what had happened and what would happen, to me, my friends, my crew, hell, the world?

  I was knowingly putting us all in harm’s way in one way or another. Sure, we were getting rich; hell, we were already rich. Why not stop now…? After a moments pause, that little voice in my head said...Well, that would be just stupid. We are on the verge of who knows what; the discoveries we have made are beyond belief, the stuff of science fiction, and yet all the evidence seemed to be pointing to discoveries far greater lying ahead. Discoveries literally out of this world, I thought with a wry smile, pun intended!

  I realized I had made over 20 circuits of my living room and was holding a crushed empty drink container in my hand. I am wound way too tight, I thought as I tossed the plastic bottle toward the sink in the kitchen, heading for the garage door. I took the set of keys off their hangar next to the door before entering the garage. I didn’t turn on any light as I hit the door opener, and its dim safety bulb illuminated. I walked past the other two vehicles parked there, Tessa’s Jeep and my SUV, to the other side of the garage. I stood before the gray-car covered vehicle, reached down, and slowly pulled off the cover. The glistening metallic deep burnt orange paint shone even in this dim light. I stood for a moment, admiring her sleek lines for the thousandth time, a classic in her own right.

  Not a Ferrari, or Porsche, nothing so mundane. Her mildly flared front fenders and slightly wider ones at the rear, like the hips of a beautiful woman, seemed like a siren’s call to a lost sailor; the low-profile tires and wheels beckoned with the promise of precise handling and traction and kept her only six inches off the ground. I slid my hand across the smooth surface of her roof as I reached down for the door handle, the glistening circular emblem with the Z in the middle shown on the slope of her fastback like jewelry on a beautiful lady. I was immediately bombarded by the scent of rich leather as I opened the door, a scent headier than a fine perfume. I slid into the leather-covered Recaro seat and closed the door. This is what I needed, an escape from the craziness I had been subjected to these last months.

  I could feel the tension slowly melting away as I inserted the key and brought this beautiful beast to life. The red glow from the fully digital engine gauges and the sound of the custom Borla exhaust system dispelled any idea she was “just another pretty face.” Beneath her glistening exterior lurked a beast just waiting to be unleashed. I blipped the throttle a couple of times and heard the three dual-throated Weber’s intake of air feed the 390 + horsepower under her hood. As the operating temperature came up, I eased the vehicle into reverse and slowly backed out of the garage into the dark moonless night. I strapped myself in with the five-point harness and felt the vehicle’s warm embrace as I pulled them tight. I eased out of the driveway
slowly watched the tach climb two thousand, three thousand RPM’s, then a solid shift to second gear and the numbers continued their climb. I slowed my acceleration when the speedometer hit 70 mph. No sense in rushing things. I scanned the gauges in front of me, all digital but with the look of analog, pointing indicators and all; a piece of modern magic, I thought, a nice addition to a 48-year-old vehicle. The gauges showed everything was as it should be, and I settled in, windows down, air rushing in, no music other than the soothing growl of the exhaust. I had spent years working on her, keeping her mostly stock appearance but adding the newer technology where it was necessary, but not obtrusive. Six-piston disc brakes with carbon fiber rotors front and rear, a balanced and blueprinted engine with an updated camshaft that allowed the engine to breathe properly. Her exhaust was a six into two header, capped off with the custom Borla exhaust system. The four- speed gear box and rear end had been rebuilt with ratios that gave this lady very long legs, meaning first gear was a quick trip to 65mph second 110, third 145, and fourth, well, let’s just say fourth was the “holy shit” gear!

  By now I had reached the on ramp to I-95 North; down shifting from third to second, I watched the revs come up. With no headlights behind and no taillights in front, I held the speed at 70 as I merged onto the interstate, only 25 mph over the posted ramp speed limit. With nothing but darkness in front of me, I said, “Okay girl, let’s see what you’ve got,” and pushed the loud pedal to the floor. Like a thoroughbred leaving the gate, she leaped forward and quickly passed the century mark on the speedo, still 2,500 rpm’s below her redline of 8,700. Third gear followed quickly, and as the wind in the cabin and exhaust note increased, I could feel it tearing away my tension and replacing it with elation. I felt the ground effects I had installed on the body coming into play as we reached 135 mph; she was hugging the highway like she was on rails. With only a moment’s hesitation, I decided what the hell, clicked the gearshift back into fourth, and kept the accelerator firmly slammed against the floor. My tiredness had evaporated, replaced by adrenaline. I could think of nothing but the highway ahead of me and handling the beast I had unleashed. My mind had cleared, and I was living only in this moment, this place, reveling in the joy of that experience!