Anlon lowered his hands and tapped the map. “If I’m right about the Giza meridian and Munuoria was between twenty-five and thirty degrees north of the equator pre-flip, then Devlin’s interest in Isabela and Ometepe as possible sites of their homeland makes sense. The Giza orientation of Dominica implies the planet flipped about a hundred and fifty-six degrees counterclockwise. That means Isabela would have been about twenty-three degrees north pre-flip, and Ometepe about thirteen degrees north.
“I doubt Devlin knew about Cassiopeia, but somehow he figured it out. If you ask me, I think Isabela is the more logical choice.”
Pebbles’ eyes widened. “You think Isabela was their homeland?”
“Not necessarily Isabela itself, but the Galápagos Islands as a whole. Lots of volcanos, the islands sit on a large undersea plateau that’s relatively shallow, implying part of it might have sunk below sea level as a result of Munirvo…and the wildlife there is packed with cryptochromes. Everybody knows the Galápagos are unique ala Darwin’s study of the islands’ wildlife, but I’ll bet neither of you know that Darwin was also the first to discover the connection between cryptochromes and magnetism in plants. Not saying there’s a direct connection, but it’s a tantalizing possibility,” said Anlon.
There was a pause as both Pebbles and Antonio waited for Anlon to continue. When he folded his hands across his lap and grinned, Pebbles raised a foot close to the zebrafish bowl and threatened, “Explain crypto-whatever or so help me…”
Anlon said, “Okay, okay, back off.”
Edging the bowl away from her foot’s reach, Anlon described cryptochromes again, this time for Pebbles’ benefit. When he finished, he said, “Anyhow, the link with my ‘bilge collection’ is just a hunch. If the Munuorians had high cryptochrome levels, I assumed their diet must have comprised cryptochrome-rich foods. Not necessarily algae and lichens, but wildlife that feeds on them. But who knows, maybe they had a really tasty lichen stew?”
To this, Pebbles gestured a finger down her throat.
“If they were very sensitive to the magnetic field,” Anlon continued, “it seems reasonable to assume they lived in or near a highly magnetic area. How else would they be aware of the sensitivity?
“We know they were mariners, so they obviously had easy access to oceans. They may not have lived on islands, but they at least lived near coastlines. Either way, given their special relationship with magnetism, I think it’s almost certain they lived in proximity to one or more active volcanos.”
Antonio interrupted. “Hold up. I follow you so far, but why ‘active’ volcanos?”
“Again, just a hunch,” said Anlon. “It’s possible they invented some other way to shape magnetic rock into the Lifintyls, but there are only two ways to do it today. You can touch a metallic object to an existing magnet, just like the pin-lodestone combination we talked about on the boat. However, like we also discussed, once separated from the source magnet, new magnets created this way degrade over time and eventually lose their magnetic properties.
“Or, you can superheat a magnetic rock or precious metal and turn it into a magnet. A permanent magnet. By superheat, I don’t mean stick it in an oven. I mean the kind of heat that you’d find in a smelter…or better yet, an active volcano.”
Pebbles looked down at the basalt chunk in her hand and then lifted her head to spy the zebrafish. “So, you think their gensae came from living near volcanos and eating foods with cryptochromes?”
“Their what?” Antonio asked.
“Gensae. Their magnetic sixth-sense. Malinyah described it as their ability to read the planet’s mind,” Pebbles said.
Anlon said, “Short answer is yes, I think both contributed. There is a parallel in animals that suggests elevated cryptochrome levels may play a role in sensing the Earth’s rhythms — storms, earthquakes, tsunamis, those sorts of things.
“Take the tsunami caused by the Sumatra earthquake in 2004, for example. There were bunches of stories about animals and birds that hightailed away from the coasts of India and Sri Lanka an hour before the tsunami hit. Most scientists say the animals and birds felt the early vibrations of the tremblor, but I wonder if instead they could see ominous ripples in the magnetic field — many of the animals and birds who took off are known to possess high cryptochrome levels in their eyes.”
Anlon glanced at the zebrafish and added, “Cryptochromes have one last attribute that’s compelling. They are essential in circadian rhythms. Why is that significant? Circadian rhythms in humans are controlled by the hypothalamus. Ring a bell, Pebbles?”
“Emotional memories,” Pebbles said, nodding.
“Exactly. See, to me, it all ties together. Cryptochromes are magnetic particles. They circulate in the eyes and brain. They’re essential in animals to detect the Earth’s magnetic field, and they play a role in how the hypothalamus operates. The hypothalamus works closely with the hippocampus and amygdala to regulate memories.
“I think the Munuorians’ brains were drenched with cryptochromes,” Anlon said, “and it gave them astonishing powers. And they got those powers from cryptochrome-rich foods like lichens, algae and zebrafish.”
“Oh, my,” deadpanned Pebbles.
CHAPTER 15
HEATING UP
Logan International Airport
Boston, Massachusetts
August 16
Peering into the lounge, Jennifer noticed an empty table wedged in the corner. With her roller-bag trailing behind, she scooted through an obstacle course of backpacks, briefcases and other rollers and snagged the table. A flustered businessman arrived next to her just as Jennifer flopped her tote bag on the table’s lone chair to stake a claim, and he briefly stared her down. When Jennifer smiled and slid into the seat, the man shook his head, loosened his tie and lumbered away.
“Whew, that was a close one!” she mumbled.
Standing her tote bag on the table’s crooked surface, Jennifer nestled the roller under the table and then scanned a laminated bar menu she found wedged between a napkin dispenser and a ketchup bottle. The choices were limited, but at this point she didn’t care. Lunch was a distant memory, and she doubted the redeye would offer a better choice.
A tiny woman with a platinum-blond bouffant hustled through the throng with pen in one hand and scratch pad in the other. Jennifer watched the woman take a flurry of orders on her way to Jennifer’s table. Each time the woman nodded to acknowledge an order, the massive hairdo waved back and forth, reminding Jennifer of Captain Gambelli’s collection of New England Patriots bobbleheads.
Thinking of the bobblehead image brought back pleasant memories of her visit earlier in the day with Gambelli and the rest of the detective squad. Jennifer hadn’t been sure what to expect when she popped by the office to meet up with Dan Nickerson for lunch. She had worried they might escort her from the premises with a scolding: “You’re still on suspension. Don’t come back until mid-October!” But it hadn't gone that way at all. The squad had welcomed her back as if the suspension had never happened. Gambelli himself had come out of his office and given her a big hug. Later he invited her into his office and they engaged in a wide-ranging, relaxed conversation. Each time he laughed, Gambelli slapped the desk, sending his bobbleheads into a frenzied chorus of nods.
At one point during the conversation, Jennifer’s cell phone had buzzed with a call from George Grant. When she excused herself to answer it, Gambelli had graciously surrendered his office so she could take the call in private. The subsequent discussion with Grant proved disappointing. Although Jennifer found him cordial and forthcoming, Grant said he was certain Devlin never mentioned where he acquired the Sinethal.
After the call, Gambelli had invited Jennifer to join an impromptu detective’s meeting about a baffling murder case. It had been therapeutic to get back in the mix of things. In fact, the whole visit had been good therapy. When Jennifer was forced to hand in her badge and weapon, she had felt ashamed. Walking through the detective unit on her way out
the door that day, she was unable to bring herself to look at any of her comrades. They had told her to hang in there, that the suspension would zip by, and then teased her to come back with a tan. Yet, despite their fraternal encouragement, Jennifer left feeling as if she’d been kicked out of a family.
She was still reminiscing the “long walk” when Dixie, the living bobblehead, arrived at her table. Caught by surprise, Jennifer quickly scanned the placard and opted for a draft Mexican beer and nachos. As Dixie jotted down the order, Jennifer said, “Might as well get a head start!”
Dixie’s pen stopped in midstroke. “What’s that, honey?”
“Sorry,” Jennifer said with a smile. “Just blabbering to myself.”
The middle-aged waitress patted her on the shoulder and walked back to the kitchen. Meanwhile, Jennifer noticed a bank of arrival/departure monitors hanging over the bar. Unwilling to risk losing her table, she leaned forward and squinted at the screen to check the status of her flight to Mexico City. She was relieved to see her redeye flight was still scheduled to depart at eleven-thirty. Jennifer wasn’t thrilled about the two-hour layover thereafter, but it was the only option to reach Villahermosa. She was glad now that Anlon had insisted she book first-class tickets for the round-trip. It had been a more exhausting day than Jennifer expected, and she looked forward to the more comfortable seating for the six-hour overnight flight.
While she waited for her order, Jennifer pulled out her notebook and reviewed the key findings from the last few days.
The museum records provided by the pompous Charles Goodwin turned out to provide little insight. The two green Aromaeghs had been discovered during the excavation of a Chorotega site in a place called Zapatera some thirty years prior, while the gray one was donated by the estate of a then museum benefactor. Jennifer planned to follow up with the deceased benefactor’s family, but since the donation was made in 2000, she expected it would take some digging to find living family members.
The trip to meet Anabel had been equally unsatisfying. Although it had been a pleasant visit, Jennifer was still puzzled by a few of Anabel’s comments. When the first slip happened, Jennifer thought it might have been a misinterpretation on her part. But, later in the conversation, Jennifer had intentionally returned to the subject and Anabel made the same mistake. Either Anlon’s memory was indeed affected by Pacal’s beating, or Anabel had lied to him.
The question was, why? What did Anabel have to lose by telling Anlon she knew of Devlin’s “prized stone” prior to his death? Why had Anabel told Anlon she’d never seen the map before she and Anlon viewed it together? Were they honest mistakes or something else?
If it hadn’t been for two other odd reactions on Anabel’s part, Jennifer might have written the slips off as simple misunderstandings between Anlon and Anabel. But combined with the other missteps, she was starting to feel ill at ease.
One concern was Anabel’s strange response, or lack of response, when Jennifer mentioned Malinyah. Anabel had questioned Jennifer’s use of the words “Sinethal” and “Munuorians.” In fact, Anabel went out of her way to say Devlin hadn’t used the names. Yet when Jennifer said the name Malinyah, Anabel just nodded. At first Jennifer thought Anabel might have been so absorbed in her review of the dragon-head statue photo, she missed the name and nodded to be polite. But the nod didn’t strike Jennifer as a vacant gesture. It came across as an act of recognition, as if Anabel recognized Malinyah’s name.
The other unusual reaction reminded Jennifer of something that occurred way back in May at Stillwater Quarry. After Jennifer shot and killed Pacal Flores, Anabel had picked up the Naetir that Anlon had tried to use to fend off the Breylofte’s sound waves. She picked it up and put it in her pocket. Had Jennifer not noticed her take it, Anabel might have left the quarry with the hockey-puck-shaped Stone. Jennifer still remembered the bashful look on Anabel’s face when Jennifer demanded the Naetir’s return. In the craziness of the shooting’s aftermath, with EMTs furiously working to save Anlon’s life, Jennifer didn’t stop to question Anabel and soon forgot about the incident.
However, the memory resurfaced at the end of the Bennington visit, when Jennifer realized she had left her pictures inside the house. The embarrassed look on Anabel’s face was the same as it had been that awful day in May when Jennifer asked her to hand over the Naetir. It seemed clear Anabel knew more about Devlin’s research than she wanted to admit. Jennifer would need to circle back to find out why.
As Jennifer made a note to that effect, Dixie bobbed by and delivered her beer. Before she could take a sip from the pint glass, her cell phone buzzed. The screen showed a picture of the dapper junior detective Dan Nickerson.
“Hi, Dan, miss me already?” she said.
“Hey, Jen. You know it! Everybody loved seeing you today. Can’t wait ’til you get back.”
“Aw, thanks. It was great! Especially hearing about your promotion, Detective Lieutenant.”
“Oh, yeah! My new cube’s a full square foot bigger and I scored a parking space. Living large!” Nickerson said with a laugh. After a brief pause, his voice took on a serious tone. “Hey, the reason for my call — I thought you’d like to know, we got a hit on Margaret Corchran right after you left.”
“Oh? That’s great!”
There was an extended pause before Nickerson said, “Well, yes and no. Sometime yesterday she was admitted to a Brazilian hospital as a Jane Doe. She was hurt pretty bad. Given the nature of her injuries, they ran her fingerprints through Interpol and got a match. Interpol let us know this afternoon.”
“I don’t understand. That’s good, right?”
“Um, it would be except she vanished before the positive ID came back.”
“What?”
“Crazy, right? Not the hospital’s fault or the local police. She knocked a nurse unconscious, took her uniform and disappeared. They have video of her leaving the hospital. I’ll email it to you.”
“Okay, that’s great. Thanks.” Jennifer looked up to see Dixie approaching with her nachos. She smiled her thanks when Dixie handed her the plate and then returned to the conversation. “You said she was hurt. What happened to her?”
Nickerson lowered his voice. “Honestly, I don’t know how she survived. According to Interpol, the surgeon who worked on her said she was run through with a wide blade. He guessed a machete. Her throat had been cut as well. He said it was a miracle she didn’t bleed out.”
In between chews, Jennifer asked, “Jesus. Do they know who did it?”
“No, she was too loopy after surgery to talk, and she bolted before the local PD got a chance to question her. But the Apuí police — that’s the town in Brazil where she was taken — think she was ambushed in the Amazon rainforest, of all places.”
“The Amazon rainforest?”
“Yeah, seems like a strange place to hide out,” Nickerson said.
Jennifer turned to a clean page in her notebook. “What’s the name of the town again?”
“Apuí. A-P-U-I.”
“Great, thanks. What made the locals suspect an ambush?”
“Well, she was brought by boat to a fishing lodge on the Roosevelt River by some natives that live in the jungle, the Kinta-something, don’t ask me to spell it. The natives apparently dislike outsiders. The cops think she must have trespassed into their territory and got cut up for it.”
“God, Dan, the whole thing sounds bizarre!”
“Oh, I haven’t gotten to the bizarre part yet! I talked to the lodge manager about an hour ago, a guy named Billy Dubois. He’s Cajun and, damn, was he hard to understand! Anyway, Billy doesn’t agree with the Apuí PD. He said the natives tended her wounds with some black goop and patched her up before they dropped her off. When they lifted her from the boat, Billy said the natives treated her like royalty. He told me he’s never seen them act like that before.”
Jennifer dipped a chip into the clot of neon-green guacamole atop her nachos. “What do you mean treated her like royalty?”
> “I thought that might catch your attention. Billy said four of the natives accompanied her upriver. She was unconscious when they arrived. Before they lifted her from the boat, they held a little ceremony. Three of the men chanted while the fourth washed her feet, hands and forehead. Billy said they covered her with a golden cloak — his words — and cupped her hands around a stone bowl. And now for the bizarre part. The native leading the ceremony painted a symbol on her forehead. A symbol I have a feeling you’ll recognize.”
Jennifer’s eyes widened. She was just about to ask a question when someone jostled her table and spilled her beer on her open notebook. Jennifer vaulted up to avoid the stream pouring over the edge of the table. She cursed and grabbed the notebook. Dangling the dripping pages, she said, “Hold on, Dan. Got a mini-crisis here.”
Dixie came shooting over to sop up the mess while Jennifer checked to make sure her tote and roller-bag were unscathed. While Dixie ran to get another dry towel, Jennifer slapped the drenched notebook back on the table and sat down. “A symbol, you said?”
“Yeah, Billy took a picture of her laid out in the boat, and another one of her face. I’m texting both to you right now.”
The jpeg files were large enough that it took a couple of minutes for them to appear in her text app. She went right to the one of Margaret’s face. Sure enough, Dan was right. She recognized the symbol instantly. In the center of Margaret’s forehead, the native had painted three wavy lines.
“Wow. Looks very familiar.”
“Yeah, thought so. Makes it seem like she went into the jungle on purpose.”
“Agreed. Anything else?”
Nickerson paused before answering. “Not officially. Interpol’s leading the follow-up. I’ll let you know if they pass any more info along.”
Race for the Flash Stone (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 2) Page 21
