“There is a traitor among us, Sam,” Purdue said, wincing as he carefully secured Vincent’s body to be hoisted up to the Cóncord.
“Should we stay down here?” Sam asked. “We don’t know where the killer is. For all we know they could be waiting just outside the wreck so that they can ambush us like they did with Vincent.”
“I honestly cannot decide. We can’t stay down here forever. But on the other hand, it will conserve oxygen while we are not using our cylinders. Better not to go up yet, not before we can think of a way to survey the situation,” Purdue suggested.
“Aye, I’m with you. I’d rather wait here for nothing than to get my fucking throat cut. It’s par for the course when you get involved in treasure hunting, but I really thought this time was going to be different,” Sam admitted.
“Oh Sam, it’s always the same. Haven’t you learned by now? No matter how amicable the parties are, where gold is involved men become mad,” Purdue said. He sat back and sighed. Against their better judgment, the three men had removed their units and breathing apparatuses to better maneuver the prizes they had come to package for the hoist. Purdue kept his eye on the heavy gear they still had to reassemble and put on. “We should get that on in case the killer, or killers, come in here, Sam.”
They stood in the solitude of the old boiler room, both looking at the frightful corpse of the late Captain Vincent Nazquez. The robust and charismatic leader was a great loss, but what made it profoundly sad was the fact that he never got to see the fulfillment of the Inca Prophecy he so deeply believed in. Purdue thought of his last words and at once he knew what they could do while waiting for the attackers they expected.
“Sam, he said we must melt her,” Purdue cried. “Do you realize what that means?”
The bewildered journalist ran his fingers through his dark hair and shrugged, “That he assumed we have a furnace on hand?”
Purdue lunged forward with a glimmer of enthusiasm in his eyes. “It means that there is something of worth inside the statue, something that can withstand temperatures higher than 1000 °C. Gold typically melts at about 1064 °C, so if we melt her down we should find the true relic matching the prayer stick inside.”
“I get that, and it makes sense,” Sam argued, “but how the hell do we get her hoisted so that we can melt her down somewhere on land while there is a fucking assassin in the water right outside waiting for us?”
“Look, we go up first. We have to take our chances. If Vincent’s divers come down here to look for all of us, they will find you and me in the company of their slaughtered captain. And what do you think they will think at that moment?” Purdue asked.
Sam sighed, “So we arm up and whoever tries to kill us on our way up gets a Scottish welcome.”
“No need for that,” a woman said from the mouth of the hatch in the galley where she had just surfaced. “We’ll just come to you.”
“Christ!” Sam yelled, jumping up. He grabbed his diver’s knife and stood at the ready to confront the diver who had a firearm aimed at him. He realized his knife was a worthless defense against her weapon, but Purdue was prepared. From his belt he unclipped a pouch next to the flashlight strap and slowly pulled out the laser device used for cutting steel under water.
“Give it up, David,” she sneered, her red tresses peeking from under her hood. From behind her, another woman surfaced while she completed her threat. “Your lasers will not save you down here.”
“Are you sure?” he teased sarcastically. “They are quite a bit faster than bullets, and have a hell of a lot better target penetration.”
The brunette diver removed her mouthpiece and giggled like a hyena. “Speaking of penetration,” she gawked at Sam, “there’s that dark handsome passenger Stephen failed to kill. He is mine, got it?”
Sam scoffed and looked at Purdue. “Can you believe this shite? Bitch to the second power.”
“Get your gear on, boys. You’re going back up,” the redhead said. “Isabella will lead the way and I will cover the back to make sure you don’t attack her.”
“And what do you think will happen once we get to the boat, ladies?” Purdue asked as he clipped in the buckle of his diving apparatus over his wetsuit. “There is a crew of . . . .”
“Save it!” she shouted. “They’re all shark bait now. We have commandeered the vessel, and once you surface, we will deliver you to our employer so that he can finally finish the job that poor Stephen was unable to complete.”
“Which is?” Sam asked, sounding really thick after what he’d barely survived.
“What do you think?” Isabella snapped. “To dispatch both of you in one unfortunate accident.”
“He worked for you?” Sam asked, furious.
“No sweetheart,” Isabella smiled, “Maria here gave him a prick of Mesmer Piss, some Stuka-Tablets to move him, and within minutes his brain was ours!”
“Whether he liked it or not,” Maria grinned.
Purdue could not believe how candid and nonchalant they were. With a sneer he told Sam, “Bitch infinity, actually.”
“Aye,” Sam agreed.
“Enough with the calculus, boys,” Maria growled. “Time to go. We’ll have our men bring up the golden girl over there.”
“What about Vincent’s body?” Sam asked them.
“Fuck him,” Maria replied and gestured for the two men to get back in the water.
Purdue and Sam had no choice. They accompanied the devious women into the powerful tow of the mid-afternoon tide, hoping that they could find a way to survive the harpies’ second attempt at killing them.
When they broke the surface of the swells, the trawler was a lot more quiet than it had been when they’d departed earlier. A sickening stench, hot and sweet, lingered in the air as the warm Spanish wind swept over the strewn carcasses of gunned down men. Purdue and Sam exchanged wary glances. Isabelle held onto Sam with her barrel snugly in his back, pointing upwards for maximum damage should he or his friend attempt an attack.
It would be dark soon. Another boat bobbed idly behind the Cóncord. It was a large powerboat, a red and black cruiser. By the looks of it, it was vacant. There were no other vessels within eyesight, which is why the attackers struck with automatic weapons in the middle of the day. But they’d neglected to take note of the patrol flights overhead that masqueraded as charter tourist trips. Either that, or the killers simply did not care about being discovered. The latter was a frightful notion in Purdue’s mind, but he tried to set this concern aside long enough to think up a plan for escape.
“I know what you’re thinking, but it won’t work, David,” Maria said, as she wormed out of her wetsuit, revealing a curvaceous figure the likes of screen goddesses like Sophia Loren or Jayne Mansfield. Purdue gulped at the glorious sight. Sam soon joined in when Maria shook loose her wet red locks.
“Why do they always have to be bad guys?” he sighed.
Purdue just shook his head and replied, “I don’t know.”
“Well, at least we’ll die with a feast for the eye,” Sam shrugged.
Purdue scoffed, “Ach, we won’t. We’ve killed prettier women than her.”
“You won’t be killing anyone, sweetie,” Isabella said from behind them, grinning like a shark. She was a lot skinnier than the older Maria, but she was equally enticing. She eyed Sam. “But don’t worry, Mr. Cleave. I will make sure you die a very delicious death. You are fortunate that I favor you.”
“Gee, thanks,” Purdue murmured.
“You, I leave to Maria,” Isabella told Purdue. “She gets turned on by money. I get turned on by dark eyes.”
“Why?” Sam mocked her. “Does it remind you of the farm animals you usually sleep with?”
She dealt him a hefty clout that left him reeling. Then she grabbed him by the nuts and squeezed while Maria alleviated Purdue of his laser device. Sam squealed in agony.
“Get out of your wetsuits,” Maria ordered them. “Isabella take their wetsuits and shred ‘em. We don’t w
ant these two to go into the water again . . . not safely anyway.”
“You heard her,” Isabella hissed. “Take off your suits. And make yourselves presentable. You are meeting the boss.”
“I don’t have a boss,” Purdue informed her snidely.
“Maybe so, but he holds more than your balls in his hands, boys. Clean up and get dry. You are meeting him in ten minutes,” Isabella commanded, suddenly a lot more unfriendly than she’d been thus far. Her girly appearance and disposition had evaporated, and they soon realized why she was part of the villainous team who’d killed an entire trawler crew and its captain.
When Sam removed his wetsuit, he took note to remove the camera collar and passed it to Purdue who swiftly slipped it into one of the steel folds of the support post next to them. The women did not notice the slight of hand, and neither did the four mercenaries who stood watch with M16s to make sure that any visitors would be eradicated on sight. When Purdue and Sam were dressed again they were made to sit in the same nook where they’d last had cheerful conversations with Vincent Nazquez. They stared through the salt-riddled window while the men hoisted up the golden statue and Purdue’s precious body caskets. All but the captain’s body were brought up.
“Remind me to give them a burial at sea once we get our own back,” Purdue whispered to Sam, who nodded with conviction. The boat’s steadiness was beginning to exhibit more turbulence on the waves as the night drew on and the wind speed increased. With it, the temperature dropped as well, which diminished the awful smell of the drying blood everywhere.
The men in charge of the recovery also helped dispose of the bodies of the Cóncord crew, unceremoniously tossing the bodies into the Alboran Sea for the monsters and tricks of science to feed on. Sam shook his head in disbelief and anger, pursing his lips. He knew he had to keep his cool, but their blunt desecration and disrespect for the fallen men was appalling.
A posh looking man entered the cabin, dressed in cargo pants and a button-down shirt. He was no taller than Sam, but his eyes were as cold as Purdue’s. Slicked back hair made his brow more prominent, and although he had dimples in his cheeks, he by no means looked sweet. When he spoke, he revealed abnormally large teeth that gave him a ghoulish flavor.
“Mr. Purdue. Mr. Cleave,” he said affably, “how nice it is to get to kill you myself.”
The two Scots gave each other a look of surprise, mocking the abilities of the stranger with smirks. He ignored their derision, playing with his golden rings as he sat down across the table where Vincent used to sit. “I have been following your skullduggery for a few years now,” he told them, “even read your books, Mr. Cleave. But I must confess that I harbor no admiration for either of you. I always thought you would meet your fate at the hands of someone you fucked with one too many a time.” He chuckled. “But never in my wildest dreams would I have thought you would encroach upon my turf in your little expeditions!” He grinned, sending chills down their spines with his distorted countenance.
26
Sunset in Portugal
Solar Eclipse Imminent: 84%
Madalina and Raul sat in the back of the speeding car, traveling towards the border. She held the boy’s hand, staring into the rear view mirror at her physically regressing brother. The diner was the perfect shelter for Dr. Sabian to relay his plans to the Mantara siblings in the security of a public place.
Javier’s attempts at antagonizing the psychologist were futile, even though his sister was convinced that her brother’s condition was the result of some form of witchery. She was not a superstitious fool. Madalina was an atheist, yet she could fathom the implications of a skilled psychologist manipulating the brain to believe that the body was malnourished in a heartbeat. What would be seen in the old world as witchcraft could be explained as proficient mental control over the body. But with all her knowledge, and her concurrence on her brother’s unfortunate blight, there was as yet nothing to make her doubt Dr. Sabian. Nothing he did or said made evident an evil ploy to harm any of them. He simply explained that he wished to help her escape the country and that was why he had to use Javier to get to her.
Raul, on the other hand, knew what the psychologist was aiming at, at least in the short term. Something about the frumpy old man with the cheap suit told him that he had no good intentions for them, but he was not in a position to help.
Every time they stopped at a town to refill the tank or get something to eat, Madalina watched her brother wolf down liters of water with his burgers and fries, yet he never pissed. Nothing came of his feasts, especially not what it was meant for. Javier gradually became exhausted, yet Dr. Sabian insisted he drive.
“I can’t,” he told Sabian at the fuel pump while Madalina and the boy chatted in the back seat. “My eyes are sore from the light, and they are so dry I can hardly blink anymore!”
“Keep your voice down, son,” Dr. Sabian warned.
“You drive, for Christ’s sake!” Javier rasped with his faltering vocal chords.
“So that you and your sister can attack me while I’m driving? I don’t think so,” Dr. Sabian countered.
“I can’t see! Do you understand that?” Javier seethed.
“You can still see the road edges and you can see the directions. You’ll do fine. Javier,” he whispered, stepping closer to the waning young man. “If you don’t do what I say, I will shoot your sister in the face as soon as we leave city limits. Do not test me.”
Javier wished he could throw a punch, but his muscles and ligaments were taut and weak. He wished he could weep in frustration and rage, but his eyelids were like papyrus, impairing his vision even more than the milky cataracts that plagued his vision.
The extreme heat, topping the usual 31 degrees Celsius by about five points, exacerbated its toll on the suffering Javier. In the past few days his hair had been falling out, but not significantly. Today, however, the ailing young man found that his hair came out in clumps, leaving the base of his skull bald on the right-hand side.
Eventually they headed to Badajoz, from where they would cross the border into Portugal. Once in Lisbon, Dr. Sabian and his associates in the Order of the Black Sun had chartered a private jet to South America. His companions, however, had no idea this was the plan. From what they were told, they were simply fleeing Spain to elude the authorities. Dr. Sabian kept the Taser device ready during the entire trip.
Madalina and Raul played games in the back of the car, occasionally sleeping, since the heat in the car could knock out the devil that afternoon. Javier was not afforded the luxury of sleep, and to his dismay, his captor had more abilities than just manipulating the psyche. Dr. Sabian seemed to have the ability to stay awake for unnatural stretches of time, without the aid of drugs. Javier reckoned that it was yet another trick of mind-over-matter exhibited by the wicked shaman.
“What’s going to happen once we are in Portugal?” Javier asked. “I’m not stupid, you know. I know I’m expendable. There is no way you’re going to organize a new life for my sister in Portugal with or without this child. Even less will you leave me alive to stay with her, because of all the people in the world, I know your sick fucking secret.”
Dr. Sabian glanced back to the backseat passengers to make sure that they were fast asleep before he answered. “You know, it’s a pity you are going to die, Javier. You really are an asset to the world with your sharp intellect and your strong will. We could have used you well in our service, but you are correct. There is no way that you will see Lisbon and there is nothing you can do about it, because your own mind is working against you, you poor sod.”
“I’m going to kill you the moment you fall asleep, Sabian,” Javier promised. In order not to wake the two in the back, Sabian held back his would-be cackle, reducing it to contorting his face in amusement.
“Good luck, my friend,” he told Javier. “I have been trained like the super soldiers of the SS. We don’t sleep unless we get our brains removed, know what I mean?” He dared to snicker a little, dr
iving Javier into a fury he could not let out.
When they arrived at the border just past Badajoz, Madalina was frantic. Surely by now her picture had been sent across the countries that bordered hers. Raul held her hand as if he knew what she feared, and perhaps he did. He knew so many things beyond that which children learned, she would not have been surprised if he knew exactly what was happening. After all, he knew that she had killed Mara and that she had felt the urge to take him.
“You should maybe put on some sunglasses, Javier,” Dr. Sabian advised as they neared the border post. Ahead of them, two soldiers halted the vehicle and slowly sauntered over to their car, rifles in hand.
“Oh Jesus,” Madalina muttered, perspiring profusely. “They’re going to arrest me.”
“Just be quiet, my dear,” Dr. Sabian soothed. “They will not even see you back there.”
“What do you mean? I am in plain sight!” she moaned, but he gestured for her to be quiet with his index finger on his lips. Javier was wearing Madalina’s shades against the glaring daylight hounding his weak eyes. “Oh my God, I am done for. I am done for!” she whispered, looking down at her lap to avoid eye contact with the guards.
“Passaporte, por favor,” the soldier demanded when he came to Javier’s window. The other guard walked over to where Dr. Sabian had his passenger side window open. Dr. Sabian, for his part, was remarking on the excessive heat this year, throwing in some incomprehensible dribble within earshot of both guards. Madalina knew a bit of Portuguese, being so close to her native tongue, but what she heard Sabian say after the weather remark made no sense.
The guard nodded, not to be distracted by small talk while doing his check of the occupants. Dark spots on his uniform were proof that his body, too, was drenched from the heat. He bent forward to look into the back of the car, looking right into Madalina’s eyes for a long pause. Like a small animal sized up by a predator, she did not move a muscle. Even her lungs bade her heart to wait as she held her breath.
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