Javier said nothing, but the soldier on his side was adamant that he should get some rest.
“Please don’t drive in this condition,” he told Javier in a mix of both languages. “You look terrible, if I may be so blunt. I honestly don’t want you to make an accident.”
“I’ll be okay. Just a bit under the weather,” Javier replied. “Been driving all night.”
The soldier waved them through. Javier wished that he could jump out and ask them for help. But he was transporting a fugitive, and it soon dawned on him that Dr. Sabian was so crafty that he would have no claims to lodge if he could. Sabian had not harmed anyone physically—which was apparently the only punishable offence—and he could not be accused or faulted by any judicial system while he was, in fact, kidnapping three people.
“Drive faster, Javier,” Dr. Sabian instructed smoothly. “Stalling will only use up your own time sooner.”
Helplessness and hopelessness overwhelmed Javier as they raced along the A6 past Borba. Madalina sat confounded, trying to figure out how the border guards had not bothered to inspect their papers, if they’d had any. The weird words of the psychologist reverberated in her recollection. Could Javier be onto something? It was outlandish. Still, she saw the effect of his words with her own two eyes. Was he really responsible for her actions that night? The initial impossibility had now become the probable fact and it scared her to death. How would she ever persuade any court of law that she’d been brainwashed into committing terrible crimes?
Her brother was looking grim. In the past few hours the heat seemed to have affected him negatively, even while he drank an entire bottle of water and was well into his second already, without relief.
Javier started to cough as they passed through the predominantly arid landscape outside Évora, where the heat wave was especially brutal to the ground surface and the atmosphere directly over it.
“I have to stop,” he told Dr. Sabian.
“No,” Dr. Sabian protested. “If you stop things will not fare well.” He gave Javier a look of warning, but the young man slammed on the brakes nonetheless and drove the car off the tarmac into the sandy brushes growing by the side of the road. Madalina gasped, holding Raul tightly to her bosom, as Javier flung the door open and fell out of the car.
It sounded as if he was vomiting, but there was nothing his body could purge. Clutching his chest, he cried out in pain through what was left of his throat. Only dry rattles came from him as he writhed in the hot sand, his hands and feet contracting into horrific spasms. Madalina rushed to her brother’s side, hysterical, and grabbed hold of him to get him off the scorching soil. His lips had turned to papery peels over protruding teeth and his tongue was nothing but a fleshy finger of bacteria.
“Sweet Jesus, Javier! No, no! What is happening? What can I do?” she screamed. “Water!” she said suddenly, almost calm. Mumbling to herself as she stumbled to the car, she grabbed the energy drink little Raul held out to her while Sabian just watched his work pay off. “You just . . . you just need more . . . more water,” she stammered as she took the bottle from Raul. “Gracias, darling.”
“Madalina, let him go,” Dr. Sabian said gravely. “He is suffering with every minute he draws breath. Do not let him carry on any further.”
She ignored her former therapist and held Javier’s convulsing body in her arms.
“He is having a heart attack,” Sabian said. “Fluids will not help him anymore, my dear.”
“Shut up!” she shrieked at him, her eyes wild with panic and abhorrence. “Just for once, shut your goddamn mouth, you fucking freak!”
She poured the energy drink all over her brother’s face as she attempted to fill his mouth with liquids, but his mouth was now nothing more than a stagnant well, suspended in a ghastly gasp. Madalina knew that her brother was dead, but she refused to accept it. In silence and reverence, she took off her necklace and placed it around his neck. Her tears fell like rain onto the dried out skin that was stretched over his cheeks. Madalina removed his watch and strapped it to her wrist. Then she took up a jagged rock in her hand.
“There was nothing wrong with him, you son of a whore!” she screeched in rage, lunging at Dr. Sabian with the stone aimed at his skull. “You said it! You told him he would not make it to Lisbon, you swine! I heard you! I was awake! I heard what you told my brother!” she screamed, but Sabian stopped her in her tracks.
With a word, he switched off her brain and she fell to the ground in a tuft of dust, lying motionless at his feet. He looked up at the child who was standing in astonishment. “You knew this had to happen,” he told Raul. “It is part of the prophecy Mara told you about, remember?”
“I know,” Raul replied, his little voice shivering in sorrow. “When the sun closes its eye, I must die too.”
27
The Black Disc
The ghastly grin of Purdue and Sam’s captor disappeared as he got to business. He ordered Isabella to pour the two gentlemen some Scotch as a final gesture of courtesy. Truth be told, no matter how Sam and Purdue wanted to play hardball, they both knew they direly needed a few tots of Scotch.
“I will make this quick,” the suave man said after clearing his throat. His hands came together in a spire as he spoke. “My name is Basil Barnard. This is not some James Bond movie, so I shall refrain dragging on the obligatory speech of why this is happening, who I am, and why I hate you. All you have to know is that I am not a patriot, and my grandfather was a great man who had a stake in the very reserve you have been prying into. And that makes it mine.”
“You could always just have secured the find by law, you know,” Purdue informed him. “Then it is yours by law and nobody would be allowed to interfere. Rather ungentlemanly to mow down scores of people who don’t even know who the bloody hell you are, just because you refuse to fork out permit costs and a bit of patience on turnaround.” Purdue paused before insulting the man properly. “Or, can we assume you cannot afford the finances involved for permits?”
Sam added salt to the wound after surveying the two women sitting opposite them at the table. “By the looks of his help, I would say he is not a wealthy man at all.”
Another backhand ripped through Sam’s face as Maria slapped him for it.
“Holy shee-it!” Sam exclaimed. “Are you hiding a cock under that coat, love?”
Maria was known for her powerful assaults in hand-to-hand combat, even if it was only a love tap like this. Stephen had learned that lesson in the airport elevator, and now Sam Cleave knew too. She smiled and lifted her hand.
“Maria!” Barnard cried. “Be a dear and get the ropes ready, will you?”
She nodded and went out to summon the men to prepare for the execution of the two Scottish intruders.
“Mr. Barnard, would your grandfather be the Allied traitor who helped the SS obtain stolen artifacts from Catholic thieves who stole it from the true owners in 1533?” Purdue asked with spiteful civility. But Barnard was cool and unprovoked. In fact, he did not even react with enough passion to make the insult worthwhile.
“Probably him, Purdue,” Sam said. “The Black Sun is not taking care of its legacy, I see. The Nazi afterbirth have to fight for their own treasures. Not like in the old days when the High Command took care of their own. Or do they perhaps only support members worth supporting?”
“You might have a point there,” Purdue answered Sam. “I know the organization to fund all pursuits for ancient relics and give grants for nuclear research, biological agent testing, and other high profile ventures. And I should know. I was once the Renatus of the Black Sun’s organization.”
“One of the best reasons to kill you,” Barnard blandly stated.
Sam quickly intervened. “It means one of two things, Purdue. Either the esteemed Mr. Barnard is not high enough on the food chain for the Black Sun to endorse his endeavors,” Sam turned to address Barnard, “or he is pursuing this hunt without their knowledge.”
Barnard smiled, and those big i
ncisors filled the bottom half of his face in a monstrous way that could have gotten him into a circus if he’d dared to audition. He grinned, but it looked more like a feral primate baring its teeth for battle. “You’ll never know. And you’ll never be able to tell on me, either.” He meant to sound as juvenile as he did, but it was time to stop talking and accompany Sam and Purdue out onto the main deck.
Aptly, the sun was setting on the horizon in line with the distant Iberian landmass when the two doomed men were pushed forward into the hands of their executioners. Maria and Isabelle stood aside for once, allowing the strength of men to seal the fate of men. Two large mariners from Barnard’s gang stripped the two Scots down to nothing but their haircuts and started tying their hands to one another.
“It is probably cold, from what I see,” Maria teased, laughing. “Hell, it’s the Mediterranean, boys, not the North Sea.”
A bout of laughter erupted, but Sam was having none of this. He used the rope between his left wrist and Purdue’s right to strangle one of the mariners, but he came second in the match. The large man punched Sam so hard that he collapsed.
“Ow! Right in the bollocks,” Barnard cringed. “Hurry up, lads. We only have a few hours to get back to Málaga.”
“Just two questions,” Purdue requested.
“Alright,” Barnard answered cordially.
“How did you know we were still alive? And how did you know which vessel was hosting us?” Purdue asked as the cool night wind played with his white hair. He was trying to buy time, for what reason he did not rightly know. They were alone and doomed.
Barnard sneered as he approached Purdue with both Maria and Isabelle by his side for good measure. “You should do better background checks on your hired crew, Renatus.”
Purdue lost the color in his face. “Peter.”
“No,” a woman said from above him. “Hannah.”
Purdue looked up in disbelief at where the skinny stewardess leered down at him with a cheerful wave. “Isn’t she lovely?” Barnard asked Purdue. “My triad of beautiful slayers is complete. Come down, Hannah-love. It is time to say goodbye to Mr. Purdue and his pet photographer.”
In his periphery Purdue could see Sam coming to, and in the distance by the entrance to the lower deck stood Vincent’s beloved golden lady. They had tied his feet to a heavy chain, as was Sam’s, and they had tied one of their hands to the other’s, while the free wrists were tied to a long, loose rope on both sides.
“Ladies,” Barnard announced, kissing the hand of each, “and seamen!” A sporadic succession of chuckles followed as he continued. “Tonight you will all be witness to the demise of two of the biggest festering cancers on the face of the mighty Black Sun society!”
A mighty cheer ensued from the small group of mercenaries, who shot their guns up into the night sky. Spain’s habit of spontaneous fireworks for the smallest celebration made it so that the noise on the Cóncord went unchecked. Sam looked pissed when he got to his feet, but that was of little solace to Purdue. They were both being restrained by skilled seafaring men who knew a sailor’s knot when they tied one. There was little chance of escape.
“Purdue,” Sam wheezed, “I think this time we might be fucked, mate.”
Purdue could not buy his way out, and it was too late for charm. “I believe so, old boy.”
“Good thing we had some single malt for old time’s sake,” Sam responded, trying to lighten the mood. “God I hope I die before the fish start chewing on my knob.”
“Without further ado,” Barnard proclaimed, “the execution of David Purdue and Sam Cleave . . . by keelhauling!”
“Oh Christ no!” Sam exclaimed. “I don’t want to drown!”
“Me neither,” Purdue snapped. “I had a more adventurous death in mind than this!”
The men tossed the long rope from Purdue’s wrist around the left yardarm and snaked it over a few times with a solid knot to secure it.
“Purdue, I ju . . . ,” Sam was going to say goodbye, but they were promptly picked up by the two enormous mariners and flung harshly into the pitch black void. Purdue was thrown too far out for the rope’s reach and subsequently the recoil dislocated his shoulder as he crashed into the cold water. His screams were drowned out by the heaving waves of the powerful current that swept under the boat.
A similar fate befell Sam. His forearm broke as one of the men was holding the end of his rope in order to bring it to the stern. Both men were wailing in pain as they sank in under the side, swallowing mouthfuls of water and suffering the pounding of the hull against their tender bodies. Sam, a smoker, had less lung capacity than Purdue. Under the water, he could see nothing and the strong pull of the water along the moving trawler prevented him from reaching Purdue.
But both men saw the same thing as they opened their eyes under water. A frightful vision greeted them from the bottom, an image that took no more than three seconds to register, yet it felt like a slow motion film. Almost out of sight was the wreck where Vincent had died.
Catching meager breath between ebbing spaces, they barely had time to gasp before going under again. Beneath them a circle formed, a large radius that appeared to be an entire territory. It kept stretching as the inside of the circle fell away and left the center pitch black. Before Sam’s lungs filled with water, he saw the big black circle with edges like lightning. Purdue beheld the same vision, but he lasted a second more to see the edges light up like magma.
Their bodies went limp as the clanking of metal on water echoed into the darkness that smothered them together. In the darkness of the moonless night, Sam Cleave and David Purdue would become the subjects of future legends bound to the cursed history of the Alboran Sea.
28
Revelation
Solar Eclipse Imminent: 88%
When Madalina opened her eyes, she felt like death warmed up. In fact, she felt way too warm; it was the reason for her premature waking. The humidity made it difficult for her to breathe, but she kept her breathing slow and controlled just as she’d been taught by a yoga instructor she’d met at college in 2014. Everything was vague about her, but she could discern the sun shining through lush branches and foliage. The hiss of sun beetles paced with her heart as she sat up on what felt like a stretcher.
At once, the sunshine reminded her of her late brother, and inadvertently she began to sob uncontrollably. There was no such thing as a good death, she thought, but the death he had suffered was atrocious. Guilt overwhelmed her all over again as she contemplated her actions, the very actions that had dragged Javier into the circumstances that had cost him his life. Had she not acted on saving the little boy, her brother would still be alive and healthy.
In the aching emotion of her loss, Madalina tried to determine her location. It did not feel like Portugal or Spain, though it was certainly as hot. The climate was moist and the birds sounded different. “I can’t see,” she whined, rubbing her eyes. Her surroundings remained blurry, no matter how hard she blinked.
“Oh my God!” she gasped in terror. “My eyes! My eyes! He did the same thing to me that he did to Javier!” Her heart raced madly at the horrific notion of joining in her brother’s fate, and she found herself crying like a child. But all the tears she shed did not correct her vision and she imagined those final moments with Javier when he had gone completely blind. The white film over his eyes as he groped around to find her hand haunted her. She could still feel the weak pressure of his fingers over hers.
Madalina was crying shamelessly, stretching her eyes to try and focus. Soon she realized that nothing she did would better her sight. Miserable, she lay down in a fetal position on the stretcher. “He did the same to me. I’ll never see again! I’ll never . . . .”
“Oh be quiet,” she heard Dr. Sabian’s voice. A jolt of hate-fueled panic shot through her whole body. “It’s just the tranquilizer. You’ll get your vision back in a few hours. We kept you heavily sedated for the whole trip.”
“Why?” she asked. “Where am I?�
��
“We are just outside Pucallpa, a town in the Amazonian rainforest. Do you really want me to explain the obvious?” he asked, sounding less tolerant than before.
“Okay, but you did not have to bring me along on your . . . trip . . . where is Raul?” she said, vocalizing several thoughts at once.
“Raul is none of your business anymore, but we had to bring you along. You are the Last Mother,” he informed her. She could see his phantom shape through her defective eyes, moving around in what appeared to be a tent or a gazebo.
“What is the Last Mother, for God’s sake?” she groaned. “More of your mumble jumbo bullshit?”
He paused in place, leering at her. “I see antagonism runs in the family.”
“Only when dealing with mental fuckwits like you,” she bit back. “And I doubted Javier when he blamed you! Now I know what you are.”
“What I am is too much for your simple mind to comprehend, my dear,” he replied nonchalantly. “What you are part of is bigger than people like you can understand. But you play a role, regrettably, and I have to tolerate you until you’ve done your part.”
“Oh, geezuss,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m going to be mummified alive too?”
He crouched next to her, his white clothing looking like a shapeless haze. “Your brother endured an exquisite death once considered an honor, a condition only saints could boast of. Some enlightened Buddhist monks practiced the ritual of self-mummification, called Sokushinbutsu,” he said, his voice gaining a sense of fascination. “Imagine what it took; imagine the discipline and devotion these men had for the sake of attaining enlightenment!”
Madalina glared at him with contempt, even though she could only hate him with the percentage of what she could see of him. “You are insane. Why don’t you practice that ritual on yourself, become enlightened, and bless the world with your absence?”
The Inca Prophecy Page 16
