“There will be no time for drama. Your stroke must be swift and decisive. Do not revel in the kill,” Foucault instructed. From the side pocket of his blazer, he withdrew a slim knife. He pushed it, shining and black as night, across the table to Margaret. “I expect this to be returned. It carries many memories.”
Margaret frowned and touched the knife. “Why this instead of the Stone?”
Foucault smiled. He had considered it. It was the very reason he brought Margaret a replacement for the Breylofte she left behind in Brazil. Using the Stone to dispatch Navarro would be satisfying irony. He imagined Navarro sitting on a courtyard bench, impatiently scanning the museum foot traffic for Foucault’s courier. Hidden from view, Margaret slides a hand into a backpack and withdraws the Breylofte. She directs the Stone at one of the smaller ancient balls resting on the grass. Humming on the Breylofte, she lifts the one-ton sphere from the ground and guides it over his head.
A few tourists notice the ball moving through the air and gasp. Others spot the hovering sphere and point in its direction. Navarro hears the commotion and whirls around to see people pointing above his head. Just as he looks up, Margaret releases the ball from the Breylofte’s hold. The last thing Klaus Navarro sees is the perfectly round orb, carved and shaped by those with a memory of the very Stone he covets, colliding with his face.
“Too risky, too public,” Foucault said.
The truth, however, was that he did not trust Margaret to control her emotions. The moment she saw Navarro and grabbed the Breylofte, Foucault was convinced bloodlust would rage through her veins. The Stone would sense her emotion and feed it. She would become frenzied. She would not hide in the shadows. She would not notice tourists nearby. She would thirst for a confrontation, for Navarro to know that she was alive and there to seek vengeance. It would be a public spectacle, one that Navarro might escape.
Margaret lifted the blade from the table. “It’s very light.”
“Yes, and lethal. You will only need one stroke. If the museum has metal detectors, the knife won’t be detected, but keep it out of sight,” he said.
She nodded her understanding. He was about to provide further instruction when Christian called again. Foucault motioned silence to Margaret while he extinguished the cigarette.
“Allô?”
Over the roar of the motorboat, Christian shouted, “Confirmed. They found the Maerlif, but they haven’t opened it yet.”
Foucault consulted his watch. “Text me the coordinates. I will be there in two hours. If you get there before they open it, hold them and wait for me.”
“If it’s already open?” Christian asked.
“Do not let them leave with any Tyls.”
“If they resist?”
“I will be surprised if they resist, but if they do, don’t kill Cully. I need to talk to him, learn what he knows. The rest are expendable.”
“Understood.”
Margaret listened intently to Foucault’s half of the conversation. When he finished the call, she asked, “You found Cully?”
Foucault retrieved his gold case and lit another cigarette. He inhaled the rich tobacco deeply and waved away her question. “Concentrate on your mission, Margaret.”
She tucked the knife in her jacket. “Don’t worry about me, it’s as good as done.”
He frowned and cleared a stray ash from his trousers. How many times, he thought, have I heard such boasts? A hundred? A thousand? More? Many of them came from men and women far more skilled than the peacock before him. He rose to leave the café. In parting, he said, “Once you are in the museum, you are committed. Do not leave until he is spent. Comprende?”
Indio Maiz, Nicaragua
Anlon handed the Breylofte to Pebbles. “Okay. You’re up. Try the zone on the left first. Go slow. If you get a vibration, don’t try moving any stones. Just holler and then we’ll figure out next steps. And don’t get too close. If you shake something loose, you don’t want to get bonked.”
“Got it,” she said. Taking a deep breath, she cupped her hands around the Stone and prepared to use it. Closing her eyes, she tried to recall Malinyah’s Maerlif tutorial.
“Wait!” Jennifer said. “Not yet. Anlon, can I have a word.”
She scampered to where Anlon and Pebbles stood and motioned for Cesar to join them. When he arrived, she leaned in close and whispered, “Don’t you think we ought to prepare Hector for what might happen? If she starts tossing boulders around, he might bug out.”
The question rattled Anlon. “I honestly forgot he was here. Should we send him back to the boat?”
“Yikes, don’t do that! What if howlers show up? We need that gun around,” whispered Pebbles.
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Enough with the monkeys already! They’re as scared of you as you are of them!”
“And we have the Breylofte,” Anlon reminded. “But, I don’t mind if Hector stays. I’ll talk to him.”
They broke from the klatch and Anlon headed for Hector. The guide was still resting on the log, munching on a banana while looking at his GPS device. Anlon called, “Hector, need to talk to you. Cesar, can you come over and translate for me?”
The call startled Hector and he dropped the tracker. He cursed while he picked it up and stood to meet Anlon and Cesar. Anlon pointed to the Breylofte in Pebbles’ hands. “Hector, in a minute, Pebbles is going to put that bowl to her mouth and hum.”
Pebbles raised the Breylofte to her mouth to simulate Anlon’s description while Cesar relayed his comments in Portuguese.
“When she does, it will send out sound waves that will shake the rocks. Some of the rocks may rise up in the air. It may look strange, but please, don’t be frightened. It’s just a tool that uses sound to move things.”
Once Cesar finished the translation, Hector shrugged and returned to finish his banana. Anlon asked Cesar, “He looks a little disinterested. Are you sure he understood?”
“He said he does,” said Cesar. Pointing at the Breylofte, he added, “I haven’t seen it myself. I’m anxious to see it in action.”
They all stepped back and watched Pebbles approach the target zone. She closed her eyes again and tried to remember Malinyah’s instructions just as the clouds let loose with sheets of pounding rain. A chorus of shrieks echoed through the trees. Pebbles gasped and swung around. “They’re here!”
To escape the shower, the group ran under the low-hanging canopy of a mangrove stand. Pebbles darted looks at the taller trees surrounding the hill as the haunting grunts and wails grew louder. Anlon wrapped an arm around her and patted her shoulder. “Relax. They’re probably just excited by the rain.”
She tucked the Breylofte against her pelvis and mumbled, “I’m trying to remember what Malinyah said to do, but I can’t concentrate with all the noise.”
He smoothed his hand along her back. “Try focusing on a sensation from the memory. Just like we did before. Don’t worry about the monkeys. They’re not interested in us, I promise.”
While the howlers chattered away, Pebbles cast a doubtful look at Anlon before closing her eyes once more. She searched her memory for a sensation associated with Malinyah’s demonstration. The first thing that came to mind were the torches.
She remembered the blaze of their heat upon her face and the sound of the flames whipping in the wind. The wind. That’s right, she thought. It was windy…and dark.
A vision of Malinyah appeared. She stood next to Pebbles with a Breylofte in her hands. Malinyah placed a hand on the stone wall and said, “Stand so you can reach out and touch the stone. When you hum, make your voice deep, like this.”
The memory made Pebbles smile. Malinyah hummed like a chanting monk: “Ooouuummmhhh.”
Pebbles watched the Breylofte shake in Malinyah’s hand. She lowered the Stone and handed it to Pebbles. “You try.”
While Pebbles relived the vision, the rain continued to fall. Soon, the mangrove leaves ceased to provide cover. Rain pelted their edges until they tipped downward and streamed water
all over Anlon and his companions. He did his best to shelter Pebbles from the worst, but it was a losing battle. At least the howlers had lost interest in the storm, thought Anlon.
When Pebbles mouthed “Ooouuummmhhh,” Anlon shot a surprised look at Jennifer.
Inside the vision, Malinyah praised Pebbles. “Very good. Did you feel the vibration?”
That caused Pebbles to remember the scratchy feel of the Breylofte wobbling in her hands. Then came a rush of visions: Malinyah humming at the wall, the rumbling of stones and the whoosh of dust escaping as cracks emerged along the entry stone edges. The dust tickled her nostrils.
“What is she doing?” Jennifer asked as she watched Pebbles swish her hand back and forth beneath her nose.
“Shhh,” Anlon whispered. “She’s reliving Malinyah’s demonstration.”
“She has to wipe her nose to make the stone work?” Jennifer asked.
“Be quiet!” he said.
Malinyah stepped to the wall and wedged her fingers into the gap created by the Breylofte. “Once you see the cracks,” she said, “point the Breylofte on one side or the other. Not on top, not on bottom. Pick one side and hum.”
She demonstrated the proper technique. The entry stone trembled and shifted outward several inches. Malinyah stuck her hand into the small opening and said, “When you can fit your hand inside, move to the open side so that the Breylofte can push the stone from behind. Hum at the gap, not the rock. It will push it open like a door.”
The last thing Pebbles remembered before emerging from the memory was the rush of cold air when they entered the Maerlif. She shivered and opened her eyes.
“Okay, I’m good,” Pebbles announced. She uncoiled from Anlon’s arm and stepped from beneath the mangroves. In the pouring rain, she splashed toward the stone wall.
Anlon rose to follow her, but stopped when Jennifer said, “Hey, where did Hector go?”
He turned to spot Jennifer stepping into the thicket of mangrove branches. She called out for Hector, but the rain overwhelmed her shouts. She scanned the dense underbrush as the leaves danced back and forth. Several times, Jennifer heard cracking branches, but each time they echoed from different directions.
Planted in the center of the clearing, halfway between Pebbles and the spot where Jennifer had disappeared into the mangroves, Anlon darted looks in both directions. He shouted for Pebbles to hold up, but she continued to the wall without pause. Cesar followed close behind her and turned when he heard Anlon’s shout. Although the rain muffled his plea, Cesar could see Anlon’s outstretched hands signaling stop. Cesar nodded and scurried to catch up with Pebbles.
Directing his attention back toward the mangroves, Anlon spied Jennifer wending her way back to the clearing. He called out, “Anything?”
“No. Maybe he had to take a bio break,” Jennifer yelled back.
“With all his gear?” Anlon asked. “Look, his pack is gone. Everything.”
As Jennifer approached Anlon, she unclipped her GPS tracker and wiped away the layer of water obscuring the screen. Cupping the device to shield it from further droplets, she looked for Hector’s red dot. The display showed he had walked away from the site on the southeast side and curled westward. Then the trail ceased. She motioned for Anlon to look at the device. “See, he went that way, but then stopped.”
They called a few more times before joining Pebbles and Cesar at the base of the wall. Anlon said, “Sorry. Hector took off without saying anything. You ready?”
Shivering, Pebbles nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Stand back a bit.”
The group retreated a few steps as Pebbles crouched into position. She raised the Breylofte to her lips and hummed a steady, low tone against the flat base. The driving rain in front of the Stone pushed outward on both sides. From Anlon’s vantage point, it looked like curtains spreading open. He observed no movement in the wall, but in the background the howlers stirred to life once more. This time, however, their shrieks took on a new form.
When the rain had first commenced, their shrieks had varied in pitch and tone. To Anlon, they seemed to be talking with one another through a combination of pig grunts and wails. Some would chatter while others listened. Then answers would resound among the treetops. Dozens of individual conversations simultaneously crossed through the jungle canopy.
But, now, their shrieks arose in unison. The same pitch and tone reverberated all around them as the howlers joined together to form a solitary haunting groan. Eyes closed, Pebbles seemed unaware of the monkeys as she continued to hum on the Breylofte, but the rest of the group shot anxious looks at the trees surrounding the clearing.
Not only were the howlers singing as one, but they were rapidly swinging through the trees on their way to the clearing. Dozens of them dropped out of the trees and scurried to the ceiba tree rooted on the hill’s crown. In droves, they climbed the tree and continued to moan.
Pebbles ceased humming on the Stone. When she did, the monkeys silenced immediately, startling her. She opened her eyes to see a hundred of the howlers dotting the tree’s branches. Upon their faces was an expectant gaze directed at Pebbles. She turned to the others and said, “Whoa! Where did they come from?”
Anlon said, “They came as soon as you started humming.”
“That’s so weird!”
“Did any stones move?” Jennifer asked.
Cesar leaned in. “I saw nothing, but I confess, the monkeys distracted me.”
“I had my eyes closed,” Pebbles said, “but the Breylofte didn’t vibrate at all.”
Anlon gestured toward the wall. “Try again.”
As soon as Pebbles began to hum, the howlers commenced chanting. The rain showered the swaying monkeys as they wailed in unison. Again, though, the wall remained motionless. Pebbles halted her buzz on the Stone and at once the monkeys hushed.
Anlon nodded at the monkey-filled ceiba tree. “They’re tuning into the sound waves from the Breylofte.”
“How’s that possible?” Jennifer cocked her head.
Anlon thought of cryptochromes and the hypothalamus before explaining. “It appears they can detect changes in the magnetic field. It’s an odd reaction, though.”
“That’s an understatement!” Pebbles said.
“Yeah, I suppose so. Normally, animals consider a sudden change in the magnetic field as a threat. They either flee or fight. It’s a survival instinct,” Anlon said.
Pebbles eyed the monkeys dubiously. “Hopefully they’re not gathering for a fight.”
“I don’t think so,” said Anlon. “They seem soothed by the sound waves, attracted to your humming.”
Jennifer asked, “If they’re picking up the sound waves, why aren’t any of the rocks moving?”
From behind, a clear voice with a British accent answered, “The rain, Miss Stevens. It distorts the sound waves.”
They spun around to find Christian Hunte standing at the edge of the clearing.
Beside him stood Hector Santos…gun in hand.
With hands raised, Anlon stepped forward and barked, “Who the hell are you?”
Removing the outback hat sheltering his head from the rain, Christian bowed slightly. “At present, my name is not important, Dr. Cully.” To the full group, he said, “Please, everyone, do keep your hands where they can be seen. Young lady, I would be much obliged if you dropped the Breylofte.”
The British accent tickled Jennifer’s memory.
“Please, miss,” said Christian. “The Breylofte. Release it and move away. Señor Santos, please scatter the monkeys.”
The words had barely left Christian’s mouth before Hector pointed the gun skyward and ripped off three quick shots. The booming echo circled the clearing. The howlers dispersed in a frenzy, grunting and screeching as they scrambled for the safety of the jungle.
Pebbles dropped the Breylofte as instructed and raised her hands. Jennifer kept her eyes on Hector. The wiry guide seemed quite pleased with himself, she thought. He blew on the smoking barrel an
d then retrained his aim on the group. The urge to rush him and kick away the gun briefly flowed through her mind, but Cesar stood in the way. She slowly nudged past him and said, “No one is armed here, Hector, you know that. Lower the gun.”
Hector spat at Jennifer and uttered an unflattering expletive in his native tongue. Cesar snapped at the guide in Portuguese while Jennifer crept to the front of the group. Directing her gaze toward Christian, she said, “There is no need for him to keep the gun pointed at us. Please tell him to point the gun away.”
“A noble request. I would feel better about honoring it if you didn’t have a rather large machete hanging from your belt,” replied Christian.
In the excitement, Jennifer had completely forgotten the dangling blade, even though she could now feel its weight against her hip. She glanced down and unclipped the snap hook looped through her belt. Together, the hook and machete plunked into a small puddle. Christian motioned to Hector to lower his aim.
That voice, she thought, I’ve heard that voice somewhere before.
Anlon pushed up next to Jennifer. “What do you want from us? The Breylofte? Take it.”
“Calm yourself, Dr. Cully. If I was after the Breylofte, I would have already seized it,” Christian said.
“Then, what do you want?” Pebbles demanded.
Christian looked up at the clouds and squinted as rain spattered his face. Reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief, he lowered his head and wiped his eyes. He adjusted his hat to better shelter his face. “Right now, I want the rain to stop. Until it does, we wait.”
“Why?” asked Anlon. “Just take what you want and go.”
“This isn’t a robbery. I haven’t come to steal,” Christian said.
“Then, what the hell is this about?” Anlon asked. “You seem to know who we are and why we’re here, though I don’t know how. If you’re not here to steal, what are you here for?”
Jennifer added, “And why the gun?”
Christian walked past the group and lifted the Breylofte from the muddy turf. As he wiped away debris from the bowl’s edges, he said, “My employer wishes to meet with you.”
Race for the Flash Stone (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 2) Page 29
