Race for the Flash Stone (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 2)

by K Patrick Donoghue

  When Christian said the words “my employer,” Jennifer’s memory clicked.

  “Jacques Foucault!” she blurted. As she recalled her last phone conversation with Christian, her stomach twisted.

  “What?” Anlon darted a startled look at Jennifer.

  “Jacques Foucault is his employer.” Pointing at Christian, she added, “His name is Hunte, Christian Hunte.”

  Christian bowed. “A pleasure to meet you in person, Miss Stevens.”

  While Hector kept watch over Anlon and crew, Christian strode to the wall. There, he examined the zones marked by Anlon and Cesar, then moved backward several paces. Gazing up at the top of the hill, he spied the ceiba tree at its crest.

  Cesar placed a hand on Jennifer’s shoulder. “Jacques Foucault? As in Count Foucault? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. He’s a private collector. He and Devlin traded email about one of the Stones last fall. Why? Do you know him?”

  “A little. I’ve met him on a few occasions. He’s more than a collector.”

  Anlon frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Jacques Foucault is the author of the Duat-Waterland paper,” Cesar said.

  Anlon’s jaw dropped. Before he could say anything, Jennifer said, “It’s my fault. I mentioned we were traveling when I talked to Hunte on the phone. He asked me where we were headed…”

  Christian called over his shoulder, “It’s very impressive that you found it. I take it you had difficulty finding the door?” Turning back toward the group, he approached Anlon. When they stood face to face, he asked, “What made you decide to look north of Cano Negro?”

  “I’m not answering any questions until you tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “You will see soon enough. He should be here within the hour.”

  CHAPTER 21

  THE STONEMAN COMETH

  Indio Maiz Biological Reserve

  Nicaragua

  September 5

  For most of the hour, the rain refused to let up, leading Anlon to appeal to Christian for permission to string a tarp to the branches of the mangrove stand. Under Hector’s trigger-happy scrutiny, they erected the makeshift lean-to and then dragged a couple of fallen kapok limbs beneath the tarp. Hector and Christian sat on one limb while their captives crowded on the other.

  Anlon tried several times to probe Christian further, but the Brit ignored his entreaties. Meanwhile, Pebbles noticed Cesar rocking unsteadily on the log and asked for clearance to fetch water and food from their backpacks. Christian assented but directed Hector to retrieve the provisions. The sullen guide glared at Christian and did not budge. Christian sternly repeated the order. Hector looked at Pebbles with disgust. “Let the puta do it.”

  “Classy,” said Pebbles. “You do well with the ladies, don’t you?”

  Hector’s face contorted and he charged at Pebbles. She mocked his show of machismo with a laugh, leading the enraged guide to smack her across the face with the back of his hand.

  Furious, Anlon launched up at Hector. “That’s f——ing it!”

  He slipped on the wet ground and crashed into Hector’s midsection. They grappled briefly before the stronger Hector shoved him to the ground. As he stood over Anlon, readying to whip him with the pistol, Jennifer lunged for Christian.

  Christian was focused on the scrap between the two men, but heard the splash of Jennifer’s first step. As she stumbled forward to tackle him, Christian wheeled to face her and slapped his inner wrists together. The unexpectedly loud clap startled them all, even Hector.

  The Dreylaeks’ blast pushed Jennifer sideways, causing her to tumble against Hector’s legs. The Rama guide fell on top of Anlon and the gun flew out of his hand. It scooted across the trampled foliage until it bumped up against Pebbles’ boots.

  Before Hector could clamber over Anlon to reach the pistol, Pebbles leapt up and snagged it. She spun to face Christian, while Anlon tripped Hector, who in turn knocked into Cesar.

  “Enough!” Christian roared, slamming his wrists together again. The blast of air crashed into Pebbles and sent her tumbling backward. Christian marched to her side and kicked the gun away while the rest of the group lay tangled on the ground.

  Brusquely tugging the dark green Stones from inside his shirt cuffs, Christian showed them to the group and bellowed, “The next one of you who does anything foolish gets cut in half! Now, slowly, up on your feet!”

  In the distance, the whir of an approaching helicopter announced the impending arrival of Jacques Foucault. While Hector recovered the gun, Christian shoved the Stones in his pocket and walked out into the clearing to signal the helicopter.

  Soaked and muddied, Anlon and the others watched the helicopter lower to treetop level. There it hovered, looking for a place to land. The pilot delicately maneuvered the aircraft another ten feet lower. The wash of the propeller blades plastered the vegetation in the open patch as well as the surrounding trees and everyone below.

  Squinting through the turbulence, Anlon saw the helicopter door open as the aircraft touched down. A skinny, gray-haired man, dressed in a gold blazer and dress slacks, climbed onto the landing struts and hopped out. He seemed unfazed when he splashed onto the mucky terrain next to Christian. He waved to the pilot and the whirlybird ascended.

  As it circled away from the site, Foucault adjusted his shirt cuffs and blazer lapels and then greeted Christian. Together, they walked to the Maerlif wall.

  Anlon and the others stood grouped together and craned to get a clear view of Foucault, but Hector stood in their way. Anlon turned to Pebbles. There was a large red welt on her cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said with a defiant thrust of her jaw. “It stings, but I’ve had worse.”

  “What did he use to knock you down? Are those Heal Stones?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, Malinyah calls them Dreylaeks, but I didn’t know they could be used that way.”

  In the distance, they could see Christian hand Foucault the Breylofte while the pair paced between the two marked zones. At the farthest zone, Christian turned briefly and pointed at the huddled group. Foucault turned as well, bringing his face into view.

  “That is definitely Foucault,” whispered Cesar.

  Hector demanded quiet. Straining to get a better look over Hector’s shoulder, Pebbles ignored the command and asked, “Is he like Navarro?”

  “If you mean, ‘is he a scoundrel?’ then, no,” said Cesar. “He is a collector, but to my knowledge, a reputable one.”

  “I said quiet!” Hector snarled, waving the gun at Cesar. The shout roused Christian and Foucault’s attention. After a brief consultation, Christian called, “Señor Santos, bring them here.”

  Hector herded the group together. As they crossed the clearing, Cesar whispered, “He’s also an astronomer. He owns the world’s largest private collection of meteorites.”

  “Meteorites?” said Anlon in a low voice. “Ah, I see.”

  “See what?” Pebbles asked.

  Only a few steps from reaching Foucault and Christian, Anlon leaned close to Pebbles and whispered, “Our mystery man has a magnet fetish.”

  Until that moment, Pebbles’ view of Foucault had been shielded by Hector and the others trudging ahead of her. As the group fanned out before their captors, Pebbles got her first glimpse of the smiling Frenchman. Before her eyes focused on his face, they were attracted to the medallion dangling from a gold chain around his neck. She blinked several times and staggered backward. Raising a hand to her mouth, she gasped.

  Her mind flashed with a stream of images. Malinyah seated beneath the Seybalrosa…the coming of Munirvo…the uprising against the Andaers...men on ships…Malinyah waving good-bye…her last embrace with their captain…

  The others turned to see her shrink to her knees. Tears filled her eyes as she relived Malinyah’s heartbreaking farewell. She hugged her arms across her chest and mumbled in a trancelike tone, “Ailta erill, ento ainfa.”

  The smile sl
id from Foucault’s face and his mouth fell open. His eyes flared and he grasped Christian by the arm. “What did you tell them?” he shouted.

  Christian insisted he’d said nothing. Anlon crept to reach Pebbles as she rocked on her knees and blankly stared at Foucault. Anlon knelt beside her. “Pebbles? What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

  With a quivering, outstretched finger, she pointed at Foucault. “Mereau!”

  Foucault flinched, then teetered against the wall as Christian moved to steady him. Jennifer seized the moment of confusion to chop down on Hector’s wrist and deliver a stiff kick between his legs. The unsuspecting man crumpled instantly and Jennifer yanked the gun from his hand. Before he could groan a syllable, she reared back and let loose another vicious kick to the side of his head.

  As Hector collapsed unconscious, Jennifer spun to face Foucault and Christian. Gripping the revolver with both hands, she motioned Cesar out of her line of fire. He dove to the ground as Jennifer squatted, aimed the pistol and shouted, “Down. Get down now! Both of you!”

  Christian’s head snapped in Jennifer’s direction. He spied the gun and released his hold on Foucault. There was never a moment’s hesitation. He pushed Foucault aside and whipped his forearms together. Jennifer fired.

  The booming gunfire masked the harmless clap of Christian’s colliding wrists. Its echo ricocheted off the rock wall and throughout the clearing. The howlers, deep in the jungle, began to whoop and grunt. Christian clutched his chest and fell over.

  Jennifer called to Foucault. “On the ground! Hands behind your head.”

  Foucault hesitated. Pebbles screamed, “Don’t shoot!”

  Unmoved, Jennifer growled, “Do it! So help me, I will put your ass down if you f——ing blink wrong!”

  Sinking to his knees, Foucault raised his hands above his head. He stared down at Christian twisting next to him. “Christian! Be still!” Then, glaring up at Jennifer, he slowly lowered his arms to the ground until he was on all fours. He pleaded, “Let me help him. I can save him.”

  “Down!” she commanded. Once Foucault lay prone with hands clasped behind his head, she said to Anlon. “Check him; he probably has Stones, too.”

  “Jen!” Pebbles cried out.

  Foucault lifted his mud-caked chin. “They are in my cuffs. I have nothing else. Hurry, take them.”

  Anlon started with the cuffs and tugged the Dreylaeks from their hidden pockets. From Foucault’s jacket, Anlon removed a satellite phone, wallet and cigarette case. When he finished patting down Foucault’s legs, he said to Jennifer, “That’s it. Just the Stones.”

  Jennifer turned to Cesar. “There’s a first aid kit in my backpack.”

  As Cesar dashed to retrieve the backpack, Pebbles stepped in front of the gun. “Please, Jen! Put the gun down. It’s all over.”

  Clenching her jaw, Jennifer said, “Move out of the way.”

  Pebbles crossed her arms. “No!”

  Anlon came alongside Jennifer and placed a hand on her shoulder. With the other, he slowly edged the gun barrel down. “Come on, Jen. Let’s take it down a notch.”

  Cesar returned with the first aid kit and knelt by Christian. The injured man shivered and continued to gasp. Blood gurgled from his mouth as Foucault pleaded, “Please, it is almost too late!”

  Anlon turned to Foucault. “Go! Help him.”

  “I need the Stones. The ones you took,” Foucault reached out his hand.

  The rush of adrenaline that fueled Jennifer’s quick actions began to taper. Suddenly, she felt weak. As Anlon eased the pistol from her hands, she mumbled, “Don’t do it, Anlon. He’ll attack.”

  Anlon passed the pistol to Pebbles as Foucault rose to his feet. Anlon reached into his pocket and handed over the two Stones. “I’m trusting you, don’t screw me!”

  Foucault snagged the Dreylaeks and joined Cesar at Christian’s side. Pebbles followed suit, while Anlon wrapped an arm around Jennifer. “Are you okay?” She didn’t answer. In a softer tone, Anlon said, “Look, I don’t know diddly about battlefield wounds. You do. Why don’t you see if you can help.”

  Jennifer nodded and joined the others. Foucault ripped open Christian’s jacket and shirt and surveyed the bubbling entry wound. He directed Jennifer, Pebbles and Cesar to gently turn Christian on his side. Jennifer spied the larger exit wound and said, “Passed through his lung. We need to seal it.”

  She fished in the first aid kit for field dressing to stanch the exit wound. Foucault waved her off. “There is no time.”

  “If we don’t seal it quickly, he’s not going to make it,” she said.

  “Quickly, roll him facedown!” barked Foucault.

  Jennifer stared at him. “Why, what are you going to do?”

  “He’s going to use the Dreylaeks,” Pebbles said.

  As the group started to roll Christian, Jennifer told them to halt. She tore open the dressing package and yanked out the thick bandage. Pressing it against the bullet’s entry hole, she gave them the okay to continue. As they rolled him, Jennifer maintained pressure against the chest wound.

  Foucault clasped a Dreylaek in each hand and began to grind them in a circular motion. A glow steadily arose between his hands while Christian wheezed and flailed his arms. Pebbles reached down and squeezed his hand.

  “Christian? Can you hear me, mon ami? There is no time to do this gently. Prepare yourself.”

  Christian nodded rapidly. Foucault said to Anlon, “We need you too, Dr. Cully. Please, everyone, hold him down…Bon…Mademoiselle, remove your hand now or lose it.”

  Jennifer quickly slid her hand from beneath Christian. The glow between Foucault’s hands was nearly white when he ceased to rotate the Stones. The Dreylaeks themselves pulsed a brilliant red. Foucault’s hands briefly separated before he slapped them together. A thin, crackling beam shot forth into Christian. The glare caused all but Foucault to avert their eyes. Christian uttered a gurgling wail and writhed against the hands that held him down.

  Foucault slowly scraped the Stones to adjust the electrical discharge. Smoke rose from the wound and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Christian passed out. For ten seconds, Foucault oscillated the beam around the injury before pulling the Stones apart.

  Jennifer released her grip on Christian’s leg and covered the charred flesh with another dressing. They quickly flipped him over and Foucault repeated the ancient surgical technique. When it was over, Foucault dropped the glowing Dreylaeks. Hands seared and swollen, he sighed, “We have bought him time, but he needs more care.”

  “Without a doubt. Can you recall the chopper? There’s no way he’ll survive if we try to carry him to the boat,” Jennifer said.

  “If you permit it, I can. My pilot, Henri, is on standby. He can be here in less than twenty minutes.”

  “On one condition,” Anlon said. “Jennifer, you go with him and get the damn gun out of here.”

  Jennifer agreed. “I’ll take sleeping beauty with me, too. Turn him into the police.”

  Anlon retrieved Foucault’s satellite phone. With Foucault’s hands in no shape to handle the phone, Anlon had him recite the number while he punched the dial pad. When the call connected, he held the phone and Foucault relayed instructions to Henri.

  The call completed, Jennifer directed her gaze to Foucault and said, “The bigger question is what to do with him.”

  “I hear you,” said Anlon. “But, he’s unarmed now. And there’ll be three of us and one of him. We’ll manage until you get back.” Looking at Pebbles and then Foucault, Anlon added, “Besides, we have a lot to talk about. I don’t know what just happened between these two, but I want some answers.”

  Foucault peered into Pebbles’ eyes. “As do I.”

  “He did hold us hostage,” Jennifer reminded them. “And he was armed. If you ask me, I don’t think he showed up just to chat. I wouldn’t trust him.”

  “It is true,” Foucault said with a nod. “I came to discourage your treasure hunt, by force if necessary.
But…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “To hear those words again…It changes everything.”

  Finca 6 Museum

  Palmar Norte, Costa Rica

  When Margaret Corchran arrived at Finca 6, there were half a dozen cars parked in the grass outside the ranch-style museum. With the appointed time of the meeting still an hour away, she mounted the front steps, endured the mandatory tour and video inside the main building and then trekked outside among Las Bolas.

  Hoisting her backpack over one shoulder, Margaret surveyed the perimeter of the converted banana plantation while stopping to admire dozens of the ancient spheres lying in a mix of grass and scrub. She was pleased to see so many tucked close to low-slung trees and bushes. The foliage would provide excellent cover to observe Navarro unseen.

  There were fewer benches than she expected, but all were strategically placed in shady areas to provide visitors respite from the sweltering heat. There was one that stood out among the others. It was positioned opposing the largest of the museum’s spheres under a stand of tall trees.

  The monster orb was easily ten feet around. Though its surface was pocked and coarse, it still inspired a sense of wonder…even to Margaret. Admiring the feat of craftsmanship, she thought back to the museum video’s description of the stones’ discovery. She imagined the farmers, clearing jungle growth, stumbling across randomly strewn stones. Margaret could picture them gathered around the globes, hands on hips or scratching their heads, while a rush of questions filled their heads. What are they? How did they get here? Who made them?

  Standing behind the bench, Margaret scanned the surrounding area and a smile slithered across her face. Foucault had picked the ambush site well. The trees shading the stone and bench were thick with leaves. With the sun slightly beyond its apex, the whole area would remain shaded for some time to come. Further, there were several decent observation points within a short walk, including a small outbuilding less than ten feet behind the bench.

  An approach from the rear of the building on either side would be easy and quick, she thought, but it would be hard to get into position unseen. She knew Navarro’s paranoia well enough to know he would ignore Foucault’s instructions and bring at least one bodyguard.