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

by K Patrick Donoghue

  Dialing Nickerson, she puffed out a sigh and waited for the call to connect.

  “Jen, hello! How are you?” answered Nickerson.

  Bent over on the waiting room bench, Jennifer massaged her forehead. “I’ve had better days.”

  “Oh, no. What’s up?”

  “I’m in a bit of a spot.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  Jennifer crossed her fingers. “Me too.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Don’t think so, but thanks. What did you call about?”

  “Oh, right,” Nickerson said. “We got a call from Interpol this morning. Klaus Navarro cleared customs in San Jose, Costa Rica, yesterday.”

  “Holy shit, you’re kidding me!” Jennifer’s head snapped up. “I flew in there a few days ago!”

  “Really? What are you doing down there?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said. “Did Interpol detain him?”

  “Not yet, but they’re looking for him. They said customs video footage showed he arrived with several other men. Big guys. Serious-looking guys.”

  “Uh-oh, that’s not good,” Jennifer said. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember how long it had taken to reach Greytown from San Jose. She, Anlon and Pebbles had flown into San Jose on their way to Nicaragua to meet up with Cesar. There, Anlon had hired a helicopter charter to transport them and their gear to Greytown. It was less than an hour, she estimated. “Listen, Dan. I need to call you back, but I need a quick favor.”

  “No problem, what do you need?”

  “Can you do a quick Interpol search on two names for me?” She spelled Jacques Foucault’s and Christian Hunte’s names. In the background, Jennifer could hear Nickerson typing.

  “Okay, got it. I’ll see what I can do. This have anything to do with your problem?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately.” Jennifer sighed. “Is the captain around?”

  “Yep, want me to patch you through?”

  “No, I’ll call back in a little bit.”

  On her way out of the police station, Jennifer hung up and pulled out a slip of paper with Foucault’s satellite phone number. The Nicaraguan sergeant wouldn’t be happy about her skipping out, she thought, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Indio Maiz, Nicaragua

  “As a young man, I served in the French navy,” said Foucault. “I was assigned to the invasion forces that claimed the West Indies. I was stationed on one of the early colonies, Saint Pierre, or Martinique as it is now known, when the island’s native people, the Caribs, attacked our settlement. We repelled them and chased them into the jungle, a jungle dominated by a volcano known today as Pelée.”

  “One afternoon, I was patrolling the perimeter of our encampment when I happened upon a curious stone which had rolled down the side of the volcano. It was curious because it was shaped like a brick. I asked myself, ‘What is a brick doing in the middle of a jungle?’

  “My curiosity led me to look around the area. I found two more bricks higher on the volcano. Then, I looked up and spotted a small opening on the slope above. As I neared the opening, I noticed other dislodged bricks. I pulled them away and squeezed inside. I was very excited. Pirates were rampant in the Caribbean in those days and I thought I had stumbled onto a treasure horde. To my surprise, I had…but it was a treasure trove of Stones, not gold. All except this here.”

  Foucault used the back of his gauze-wrapped hand to lift the medallion from his chest.

  “This I found draped on the chest of a skeleton. Resting on his chest, below the medallion, was his Sinethal, facedown. It was clutched in one hand. The other hand rested at the skeleton’s side. In it was a Naetir. I would not know it for weeks, but I had discovered the final resting place of Mereau — possibly the greatest man to ever walk the Earth.”

  “Mereau’s crypt was on Martinique?” Anlon asked. Staring off toward the jungle, he mumbled, “How did Devlin miss it?”

  “I removed the Maerlif beacon long ago,” Foucault replied. “Without it, Devlin had no chance of finding Mereau.”

  Pebbles asked, “So, the Dominica Maerlif is a crypt too?”

  “Non. The Maerlif there was one of Malinyah’s caches. You see, the islands of the West Indies were common stopping points for Munuorian ships heading into the Atlantic. Why she chose Dominica ahead of other islands, I do not know,” Foucault said, hoping his lie went unnoticed.

  The group listened to the rest of Foucault’s story as they rested on rocks at the base of the hill. By now the rain shower had subsided and the temperature and humidity were on the rise. While Foucault spoke, Anlon shed his raincoat and squeezed water from his boonie hat. Pebbles had already removed her slicker and sat fidgeting with the Breylofte, while Cesar sipped water from a canteen.

  Foucault described how he carefully removed the necklace with the medallion. After layering it over his own neck, he noticed the shape of the Naetir would fit nicely in the round depression of the Sinethal. In fact, he said, Mereau’s body seemed positioned to encourage a discoverer to put one against the other. This led him to pry each Stone from Mereau’s grip. When they snapped together, Foucault was so frightened by the explosive clap that he dropped the fused Stones and bolted from the tomb.

  But, he said, his curiosity led him to return the next day. The Stones had separated and lay next to one another on the dusty floor of the chamber. He picked them up and snapped them together again. When his hands slipped into the handholds, Mereau appeared. Foucault again dropped the Stones and fled the vault.

  “Voodoo” sorcery would not arise in the Caribbean for another two hundred years, Foucault told them, but the natives of Saint Pierre were thought to practice dark magic. When he first saw Mereau, he thought it a trick of the Caribs. A hallucination. Yet, the vision of Mereau seemed to Foucault as beyond the primitives’ capabilities. So, he worked up the courage to return again and reconnect with Mereau.

  This time, he stayed longer. He realized he could interact with Mereau. Although he did not understand Mereau’s speech, the ancient Munuorian was adept at communicating through visions and gestures. The interactions were infectious. Soon, Foucault could not go a day without being with Mereau.

  “He encouraged me to surround myself with magnets, eat food grown around the volcano. In time, I found I could communicate with him. Understand his thoughts. He showed me how to use the other Tyls stored in the tomb.

  “He told me of the Munuorians and of his adventures on the seas. He shared stories of their great works and the tale of the Munirvo catastrophe. He asked for my help. Mereau wanted to know what had happened to his people.

  “I could not answer these questions, I was just a young sailor on my first voyage, I told him. He begged me to help him and proposed a trade. Help him learn the fate of the Munuorians and Muran. In exchange, he would teach me how to use the Stones. He would make me rich; he would show me how to live far beyond the life span of other men. It was an easy trade to make for a lowly sailor.

  “It took centuries to find the answers. I had no idea when or where the Munuorians lived. There was no Internet or encyclopedias to consult, nor was it easy to travel from place to place in search of clues. Indeed, many of their Tyls weren’t rediscovered until colonists invaded South America and north Africa and unearthed ancient ruins.

  “Mereau was heartbroken when he learned the fate of Munuoria. They were a proud people, a brilliant civilization. It was hard to tell him they simply faded away.”

  When Foucault finished speaking, Cesar said, “An astounding story, Monsieur.”

  “I assure you, every word of it is true.”

  Pebbles listened to Foucault with a mix of wonder, envy and skepticism. It was believable that Foucault found a Sinethal and learned to use it. It was possible he learned how to make enjyia and slowed his aging. She could even imagine Mereau imploring him to seek out the Munuorians’ fate. If Malinyah had made the same request of her, Pebbles would have accepted the challenge without question, altho
ugh she liked to think she would have done so out of fealty rather than for riches or the promise of youth.

  But…she didn’t understand the connection between Foucault’s story and Muran, and why he referred to her earlier in the present tense. She asked, “Why was Mereau so concerned about what happened to Muran? She died in the revolt.”

  Foucault raised an eyebrow. “What did Malinyah tell you of Muran?”

  “Not much. Enough to know Malinyah was angry with her. I mean royally pissed. She blamed Muran for the revolt that killed her children.”

  “So, she told you the details of the revolt?”

  “Yes…well, somewhat.” Pebbles hedged.

  Thinking back to when Malinyah finally revealed the reason for her cliff-side outburst, Pebbles recalled Malinyah saying the revolt after Munirvo cost the lives of many, including Alynioria and her other children. She blamed Muran for leading the revolt and turning the people of Munuoria against one another — and for using Tyls in the battle, including the Tuliskaera.

  Pebbles had asked what happened to Muran after she was defeated. Malinyah said she died. When Pebbles then asked about her children, Malinyah became so distraught she could not speak. There were a hundred other questions Pebbles wanted to ask at the time, but she couldn’t bear to hurt Malinyah by digging any deeper.

  Anlon interrupted her thoughts. “Look,” he said to Foucault, “what does all this have to do with you sending your goon to hold us hostage?”

  “To prevent you from finding a Tuliskaera,” he said. “To prevent you from giving it to Muran, or her taking it from you.”

  “Pebbles just told you she died…ten thousand years ago. You’re going to need a better story than that!”

  “She did not die,” said Foucault. “At least, her mind did not.”

  Before Anlon could respond, Foucault’s satellite phone began to ring. He saw Jennifer’s number appear on the screen and said to Foucault, “Hold that thought.”

  Rising from the group, Anlon paced away and answered the call. “Hey, Jen, on your way back?”

  “Listen, Anlon. Navarro’s in San Jose,” she said.

  “What?” Anlon halted in midstride.

  “Just got off the phone with Dan Nickerson. Navarro arrived yesterday; he has several men with him. I think you better open the Maerlif quick, unless you want another uninvited guest!”

  “Yikes, okay. Will do. Thanks for the heads up,” Anlon said.

  “I’m not sure when I can get back, so don’t wait for me,” Jennifer said.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” He turned back to look at the others gathered at the wall.

  “It’s a little sticky here with the police. I’ll try to get there as quick as I can.”

  When Anlon hung up, he nearly threw the phone into the jungle. Could this day get any worse?

  Pebbles saw the look on his face and knew immediately there was a problem. “What’s the matter, A.C.?”

  “Navarro. He’s on his way here. He has men with him,” said Anlon. “We need to open the Maerlif now.”

  Foucault frowned and sputtered, “C'est impossible!”

  Stopping dead in his tracks, Anlon stared at Foucault. “Come again?”

  The Frenchman darted a look at his watch. Margaret’s call was an hour overdue, but that in and of itself wasn’t cause to panic. He could think of several benign reasons for the delay, including the possibility that Navarro had arrived late for the appointment.

  However, as Foucault considered a range of alternative explanations, a sickening feeling overwhelmed his optimism. If the worst had happened, it was possible Navarro was indeed on his way to Indio Maiz.

  A quick phone call to Margaret would clarify Navarro’s status, but how could he explain it to Cully without drawing suspicion?

  “I am just surprised, that is all,” Foucault said. “Let us open the Maerlif as you suggest.”

  CHAPTER 23

  THE MAERLIF

  Indio Maiz Biological Reserve

  Nicaragua

  September 5

  “Do you know what to do, Mademoiselle?”

  Pebbles faced the wall with the Breylofte in her shivering hands. She nodded and crouched into position. “Get ready for the return of the spooky monkey choir.”

  Foucault stood by Pebbles’ side and watched the taller woman with great curiosity. She exhibited passion in her words and body language whenever Malinyah was discussed. It reminded him of his own connection with Mereau.

  He found it most interesting that Pebbles seemed to possess the ability to converse freely with Malinyah. It had taken Foucault years to tune the magnetic energy of his mind to communicate as freely with Mereau. He was anxious to see if Pebbles could harness her energy to find and open the Maerlif entrance.

  “Here we go again,” Pebbles said.

  There were five sizeable slabs within the initial target area Anlon and Cesar had suggested, any of which might be the Maerlif door. Pebbles picked the middle one to focus on first. She closed her eyes and hummed against the Breylofte in a steady, low tone. Unlike her earlier attempts during the rain, the wall this time responded with a light rumble. The vines drooping down its slope began to lazily sway. Smaller pebbles nesting in crevices, and others teetering on jagged ledges, broke free and scattered down the wall face.

  While she hummed, Pebbles tightened her grip, causing an audible change in the tone emanating from the Stone. As soon as Foucault noticed the shift in sound, he looked to see Pebbles’ fingertips white with tension.

  In the background, the howlers began to gather. Grunting and wailing, they swung from treetop to treetop on their way to the ceiba. The jungle bristled with the swish of swaying branches and the intermittent cracks of broken limbs. Dissonant at first, the shrieking monkeys grew more harmonious as they neared the clearing.

  Again, Pebbles’ tone on the Stone altered pitch. The howlers responded in kind. Anlon and Cesar exchanged looks as Pebbles’ face turned beet red. She tugged the Stone from her lips. “Gah! Nothing!”

  The howlers greeted her pause with a cavalcade of hoots reminiscent of rabid sports fans welcoming a disdained opponent. Pebbles lowered the Stone. “Damn monkeys!”

  Foucault stepped forward and placed a bandaged hand on her shoulder. In a paternal tone, he leaned close and whispered, “You are trying too hard. Relax your grip. Slow your humming. You can’t force the door to respond, you must coax it.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to do this? I’ve moved rocks, logs, that kind of thing. I’ve never tried to pull a boulder from a wall,” she said.

  “Non. You must do this. Remember, there are three diamonds embedded in the back of the entry stone. Before you try to pull any slab, you must make sure you’ve found all three. If you only find one, it’s possible you’ve found the Maerlif beacon instead of the door’s diamonds. If you pull the wrong stone, the chamber may cave in. The door diamonds only will respond if you find their frequency. If your sound waves are too strong or too weak, they will not vibrate.”

  “Okay, I’ll try, but I’m having a hard time concentrating with the noise,” Pebbles said, pointing her head toward the hundred or so monkeys gathered around the tree.

  “Here, let me calm them for you.” Foucault gestured for the Breylofte.

  When Pebbles handed him the Stone, Foucault turned toward the ceiba. Many of the monkeys hopped angrily on the branches while others pounded their paws on the snaking roots. He winced as he cupped the Stone with his burned hands and then pointed it at the tree. When he started to hum, the howlers’ throaty moans converged. The monkeys at the tree’s base climbed onto branches next to those already there.

  Foucault raised and lowered his pitch on the Breylofte. The monkeys followed his example each time. He swayed the Breylofte to the left; the howlers leaned in that direction. He raised his head and the monkeys did so too. Like a magician charming a basket of snakes, Foucault willed them to follow his lead.

  When he paused to breathe, the monkeys started to
chatter just as they had done with Pebbles. Abruptly, Foucault huffed against the Stone. The howlers, stunned by the magnetic surge, silenced. They remained quiet for nearly thirty seconds. A few of the monkeys dropped down from the tree and bounded away, but the rest sat in confused silence. Then, a small group began to grunt again. Foucault waited for several more to chime in and then he sounded another gruff blast. Immediately, the rogue protestors hushed. When he lowered the Breylofte, the entire collection of primates stared back in quiet obedience.

  Foucault turned to find the open-mouthed group staring at him. He smiled, bowed and returned the Breylofte to Pebbles. She nodded her thanks and he stepped back to allow her more room. After taking a deep breath, she crouched and started again. The monkeys slowly began to croon in unison. Pebbles did her best to block out their song and focus on relaxing her fingers as Foucault had suggested.

  She tried another slab. Nothing. The rock wall trembled and more loose rubble broke free, but she felt no vibration from the cupped Tyl. Finally, on the third of five slabs, Pebbles felt the Breylofte rattle in her hands. Maintaining the hum, she slowly raised the Breylofte higher on the slab’s face. Another rattle. She guided it down toward the rock’s base, and the Stone tugged at her fingertips once more. Finally, she’d found the three diamonds.

  Triumphantly, Pebbles pulled her lips from the smooth underside of the bowl-shaped tool and turned to the others. She flexed a bicep and a wide smile spread across her face. Anlon couldn’t help but laugh as she struck the all-too-familiar pose. His cackle had the unfortunate effect of riling the howlers. Emboldened by her success, Pebbles raised the Breylofte in their direction and sharply huffed against the Stone as Foucault had done. Instantly, the monkeys fell quiet. As the hundred pairs of blinking eyes stared down at her from the ceiba, she turned toward Anlon and held up the Breylofte. “This could come in real handy during happy hour at Sydney’s!”