The Inca Prophecy

by Preston William Child

  One of the crew went downstairs into the sleeping quarters. When he emerged, Vincent poured the wine into the glasses set out for them. “Now, let’s drink.”

  There was an extra glass for the shadow that bent on the interior of the cabin as he ascended the stairs. Hannah was terrified and she shifted closer to Peter, pretending to make space. When Purdue looked up, he dropped his glass.

  “My God! Sam!” he shrieked unashamedly and propelled toward Sam to embrace him.

  “Easy, easy!” Sam said too late. The billionaire had his good arm around Sam in a tight grip. He chuckled into Sam’s borrowed coat, “You certainly know how to make an entrance, old boy. My God, I can’t believe it! You’re alive!” Purdue ceased his raving abruptly. He pushed Sam away to have a good look at him. “How, in the name of all things holy, did you survive that impact?”

  The tall, dark journalist was as handsome as ever, apart from obvious bruising and a considerable gash across his brow above his left eye. His lip was split in two places and his right cheek swollen a bit, but for a helicopter crash these were very light injuries.

  “I could never have survived that impact. Are you daft?” Sam asked. “I had to hide. Hide! I climbed through to the back and hid in a small luggage compartment, hoping the fucking thing would not have a lock seal. Bad idea, but the best I had. I didn’t have to go to Davey Jones fucking Locker, Purdue. I had my own locker for the long stay at the bottom of the Mediterranean! Christ! Felt like the worst thing you can do in a falling chopper, bound for the water!”

  “Except to stay in your front seat and wait for the collision to kill you,” Hannah muttered to herself. But they all looked at her at once, while Sam pointed at her with a rigid finger to accentuate her valid argument. “Perceptive,” he told Purdue. “I had that same opinion at the time, but I tell you, it did not make the escape painless. I had to haul my ass out of the flooding, burning fuselage before it reached the compartment.”

  Purdue patted him on the back, looking greatly satisfied. “Well, I am beyond delighted that you managed to escape a most horrible death.” He gave Sam a long stare, while the skipper poured more wine. “So, what caused the crash, then?”

  Vincent’s blue eyes instantly shot up to the two men, and his hand slowed the pouring of the wine as he listened intently. Sam swallowed hard, searching for a way to formulate the lunacy that caused the crash. Feeling very self-conscious, he finally shrugged, “The pilot went insane.”

  “Ha!” Vincent scoffed, and promptly resumed his task of filling everyone’s glasses. Purdue and Sam both looked at Vincent, waiting for more, but he simply shifted the glasses to each in turn and gestured for them to sit down. “I believe you, Sam,” he said, almost smirking. “This area is worse than the bloody Bermuda Triangle, but nobody has ever made a public report of what happens here. You see, that is exactly why we are here.”

  Purdue leered at Vincent. He did not trust him or his word, but he kept that to himself for now. He wished to hear what the skipper was going to use as a front for whatever devilish reasons he had to be lurking around here. Once more Purdue cast a quick glance at the madly flapping flag of the boat, the ominous and all too familiar insignia of the sun he knew all too well. Granted, it was a variation of the symbol of the Order of the Black Sun, but it still did not justify its presence on a Spanish fishing trawler.

  Sam had to have noticed, he thought to himself as he watched the others lift their glasses. We don’t have a choice but to play along, but I hope Sam shares my suspicion, at least. I hope he is as wary of Vincent as I am.’

  “Why?” Sam asked sincerely. “Why are you here? Tell us, then.”

  “Alright,” Vincent agreed eagerly. “This region has a very sinister lore attached to it, but it’s a reputation only known by devoted mariners and scholars of arcane history.”

  Sam wondered if the term ‘arcane history’ had just given Purdue a boner, though he chose to hold in the urge to tease the billionaire about his passions. But he held his tongue and pondered if Purdue had noticed the symbol on the vessel’s flag.

  Vincent took a sip of wine and cleared his throat. His shaggy hair gave him a look of madness and eccentricity, the coiling raven tresses only accentuating the unnatural azure of his eyes. “Did you notice the symbol of the sun on the flag?”

  “Aye,” Sam answered, at the same time confirming what Purdue was pondering.

  “That is our pride,” Vincent said, to the repugnance of both Purdue and Sam. “It represents us and what we stand for, to the full.”

  Hannah did not move in her chair to partake of the wine offered to her, but she casually linked into the conversation, negating the opinions of the two Scots in one sentence.

  “The Children of the Sun.”

  13

  Road of Hell

  Nina was to be on the first flight to Madrid to find out what had happened to her two friends. She awoke in the hospital, and after being given a bit of aspirin for her hangover, she was discharged. Her heart was broken, no matter how positive she tried to be about the terrible news she’d received via the news channel. She packed two blouses, a pair of hiking boots and two pairs of jeans only. A pashmina and a fedora completed the contents of her suitcase and, after she booked her flight, she had a quick shower.

  Nina tried not to cry at the thought of the tragedy, but the sorrow kept her feeling sick. All she wanted to do was to find out what had happened and to confirm that Sam Cleave and Dave Purdue were indeed dead. If they were missing, she was going to look for them, even if she had no idea where to start. Because of the nature of her trip, she elected to leave her laptop and other usual items at home, bringing only her cell phone as technology.

  Her dissertation had to be put on hold, so she did the proper thing and sent a message to the academy to extend her due date. They would understand, given the circumstances. Without waiting for a response Nina left for the airport. Of all the options, she had to pick the quickest, even if she had to relinquish some comforts. Glasgow would be the best choice, and then to Madrid via Dublin. It would take her about a day, maybe more, to reach the airport of Málaga-Costa del Sol. From there she would have to navigate the coastline by charter to engage in her search.

  As she left the house her phone rang, but Nina ignored it. There was no time to waste and she was adamant not to be distracted by anything less important than Sam and Purdue. Once she hit the highway, driving south towards Glasgow, Nina started weeping uncontrollably. It wasn’t that her romantic relationships with both men had tenderized her feelings like a pregnant widow, but the fact that their deaths made her keenly aware of her solitary existence. For all the love she received from the townspeople who finally accepted her, for all the praise and accolades she had garnered from the academic establishment as a renowned historian and lecturer, in the end she was still alone.

  Purdue and Sam were her only close friends, the only people who have ever saved her life and checked up on her when she was silent for too long. Without them she would survive just fine, but without these two men Nina’s throne room would become nothing but a vast mausoleum to wander through. They were always there, even when the three of them had no contact for months on end—the fabric of true amity. Nina’s eyes rained tears just as the skies outside sent down a shower of water, the force of which challenged her windshield wipers while clattering like pelted rocks. All traffic had to move extra carefully along the A82 for the next few miles at least, perhaps for the entire two-hour drive.

  She could not help but wonder what had happened in Spain, why Purdue had needed Sam to come to him while at sea. It was a puzzle she was sure could be solved by some kind of wild chase for some relic somewhere, but it did not soothe her notions of the terrible death they must have suffered.

  The only hope Nina held fast to as she trudged through the frustration of having to drive slowly, was the fact that they had not been found yet. In a sense, them being lost at sea, or missing for God knows what reason, was better than the defin
ite knowledge that they had indeed perished. But just to be sure, Nina had her car radio on to keep up on any new developments concerning her friends. Most stations only covered local news, but both Purdue and Sam were celebrities in their fields, which would merit coverage, she thought.

  For over an hour Nina traversed the long, winding main road with tears still lingering in her eyes, hoping not to hear the newscast she dreaded. In her head her demons tormented her in the perfectly eloquent voices of reporters. ‘The bodies of two missing Edinburgh men had been found after a two-day rescue effort on the Alboran Sea just off the coast of Spain.’

  “No,” she frowned, protesting aloud.

  ‘David Purdue, noted explorer and billionaire businessman, and his associate, award-winning investigative journalist Sam Cleave, have been missing since Tuesday . . . .’

  “No!” she repeated, trying to drown her thoughts.

  ‘ . . . when the helicopter occupied by Cleave collided with Purdue’s yacht in a failed emergency landing. Divers recovered the remains of Cleave minutes after Purdue’s body had been discovered floating in the water near the wreckage.’

  “Nooo! NO! Jesus, no!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, dampening the clanking of the hard rain on her car. “Shut up! Shut up!”

  Motorists behind her saw her tantrum, as did those passing. Most laughed, but some just shook their heads. Violently, Nina reached down between the seats and fumbled madly in her purse. From the zipped up compartment she pulled her flash drive and shoved it hard into the input of her radio. There was no preference for a specific artist. It just had to be loud. Nina turned up the volume and unleashed some good old Fear Factory through her car speakers, the only aggression she had, loud enough to beat the devil.

  14

  Above and Beyond

  Police captain Pedro Sanchez carried out his daily duties without entering his new-found interest into any of the dossiers, not only because it would be laughable, but also to keep his personal investigation under wraps.

  “Another day without the air conditioners?” he asked the sergeant behind the charge office desk.

  “They said they’ll come out as soon as they are finished at IES Jaume I, sir,” the sergeant responded, trying to console the captain and two other officers who had already had to loosen their collars, all before 10 a.m. “It’s going to be a scorcher today, and they don’t want the high school kids to lose concentration in the classes.”

  “Oh!” Sanchez exclaimed sarcastically. “Here we have to concentrate on arresting drug dealers, pimps, and killers to protect the people of Sagunto, but hey, as long as those wayward teenage fuckwits can add two and two, who are we to complain, eh?”

  The officers agreed in a chorus of moaning and flopped down on their chairs, while others were leaving on a call. “Anything I should know of?” Captain Sanchez asked.

  “No, Captain, just a domestic violence complaint. We’ll sort this one out,” an officer answered as he exited the police precinct. Sanchez shrugged with a sigh, “Of course. Must be the heat driving everyone crazy.” He plodded into the long corridor to his office, at the end of which the polished floor ran into the badly painted wall. When he turned the corner, someone was sitting in his office. “Dios mío!”

  Dr. Sabian turned slowly, not at all bothered by the captain’s utterance. Calmly he replied, “Morning Capt. Sanchez. I am so sorry if I startled you.” He rose from his chair to shake the captain’s hand. “Also, sorry to barge into your office uninvited, but I just wanted to catch up with you regarding my patient, Madalina Mantara.”

  “Why?” Capt. Sanchez asked without thinking.

  “Oh, because I am very concerned about her, naturally,” the doctor explained with overdone benevolence. The police captain likened Dr. Sabian to a rotten clergyman being sanctimonious, and if what Javier had told him was true, it only made the psychologist’s tone more repulsive. However, Sanchez had no reason to assume readily that Dr. Sabian was the snake Javier had accused him of being, so he had to keep his reservations objective.

  “I told you I would contact you if we heard from her, doctor,” the captain said plainly. “You don’t have to worry. If we track her down, we will afford you a session with her.”

  Sabian’s face lightened up, “You will? That would be splendid.”

  “Provided her lawyer and myself are present during the session, of course,” Sanchez added nonchalantly, deliberately, to rattle Sabian’s cage. He just needed to prod a little, to ascertain the level of commitment the psychologist had to Madalina’s mental health and anything else he was conditioning her for.

  “Why?” Dr. Sabian snapped angrily. “Our sessions are confidential!”

  Captain Sanchez turned on his heel and glared at the upset shrink with a look of concern until the man calmed down and realized that he was acting out of sorts. “You do know, Dr. Sabian, that this condition is granted as a privilege to you, should we locate Miss Mantara before she does something . . . out of character.”

  Dr. Sabian was no fool. The manner in which the police captain delivered his ultimatum, the way in which he laid out his subliminal accusation, was too dramatic to have been purely a statement. Immediately he knew what the captain was insinuating and he did not like it one bit. His nose wrinkled as his face distorted in malice. “Have you been listening to Javier’s ramblings for too long, Captain Sanchez? You appear to have been buttered by his delusions.”

  “Now, why would you say such a thing?” Sanchez asked. “I have not seen that young man since I took his statement and warned him to disclose to the police all contact with his sister, otherwise he would face some serious charges. Is there something I should know about?”

  Captain Sanchez was playing his counter-threat perfectly, leaving just enough duality in his words to keep his pursuit secret. He aimed to play oblivious to what Sabian thought he was driving at—and succeeded—as not to reveal that his meaning was intended exactly as Sabian had initially gathered. Decades in the most hardcore crime fighting units, not to mention having to have aced a psychology module to attain his rank, had trained Pedro Sanchez in a bit of cerebral how’s your father too—and it worked.

  “Nothing, no,” Dr. Sabian answered. “I just feel that Javier is a loose canon who might be harboring feelings of jealousy towards any other men in his sister’s life. First Paulo, and now myself.”

  Captain Sanchez said nothing in retort. With his silence, he could claim any thought Dr. Sabian had about the matter without allowing an opinion. It was a technique often used during hostage negotiations he had been involved in before. He had planted the seed in Sabian’s mind that he, Sanchez, could possibly know more than what Sabian reckoned. However, at the same time, the police captain was keeping the psychologist in the dark as to his intentions, confusing him into an uncertainty regarding the captain’s level of comprehension. In other words, Sanchez played dumb.

  “Is there anything else, Dr. Sabian?” the captain asked. “If you don’t mind, I have some administrative work to get out of the way before some scheduled meetings.”

  The psychologist raised himself from the seat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Alright, then, captain. I thank you for your time,” he mumbled awkwardly, having been so unceremoniously ejected from the conversation. “Please, do not hesitate to call me should anything of interest arise.”

  “Likewise, doctor,” Sanchez replied. “We should do our best in assisting each other to help this lady. I am sure you agree that we do not want her to go on some sort of psychotic spree with that child in her care.”

  “Agreed, agreed,” Dr. Sabian concurred, back in his professional guise. He nodded and left promptly. It was a great relief to watch him disappear down the hall, finally leaving the station before the next meeting was due; it would have proved problematic to the police captain’s plan. Sweating profusely in the mid-morning heat, he checked his watch. Only a few minutes remained before he was due to see his next appointment.

  Sanche
z jumped up and took a small black box from his brief case. It looked like a pencil case, perhaps somewhat smaller, but it opened much like the packaging of fancy watches and bracelet’s. The bright sun refused to be deterred by the broken blinds of his window and sharp rays penetrated the shadows of the room to illuminate the objects in the box he was opening in his palm.

  “The air conditioning people are here, sir,” the sergeant said suddenly by the door, sending the captain into another jolt of fright. “I’m sorry, Captain! Just thought you should know.”

  “I have an appointment, Sergeant,” he grumped.

  “I know, sir, but I wanted to ask if I could sign off their work once they are done, or would you prefer to do it yourself?”

  “Oh, no, that would actually suit me,” Sanchez replied in a nicer tone, holding the box out of sight. “Gracias, Sergeant.”

  Once the sergeant had left the office, Sanchez hastened in his preparations. From the box he took a small device that looked like a square stamp, only thicker. The bugging apparatus was a potent new product Sanchez had invested in two months before while on a stake out to bust a human trafficking ring in Zaragoza. There was no distance limitation in its function, and it contained a SIM card that Sanchez had programmed to collaborate with his personal cell number. All he had to do was plant it on the target and for the next forty-eight hours of battery power he could simply call the bug from his cell phone to listen in.

  When he had it prepared, Sanchez called his front office from his desk phone. “Sergeant Martin, for the next two hours I want you to confiscate all personal effects of civilians coming in as a security measure.” Dismissing the officer’s enquiries as to the security breach concerned, Sanchez simply told him to obey orders. “All effects are to be returned to them once their visits or charges are completed. Do you understand?”