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

by K Patrick Donoghue

  Before Anlon could offer a pithy retort, Pebbles again faced the wall and directed the Breylofte’s sound waves at the center of the slab. When the vibration recommenced, she hummed with slightly more intensity and she tightened her grasp. The crusty mixture surrounding the slab puffed dust in the air as the slab quivered. Small fissures then emerged along the entry door’s edges.

  Foucault nodded appreciatively as he observed Pebbles pull one side of the slab outward. Malinyah had taught her well. Cesar stood to the side and recorded the event with a digital camera. Like the others, he was anxious to see inside, but his professional instincts were still intact. Anlon peered over Pebbles’ shoulder as the slab came loose.

  She halted and spun around. With double biceps curled, she said, “Oh, yeah!”

  Anlon and Cesar celebrated in response, as did the howlers. At that point, though, Pebbles was too stoked to care about the monkeys. She advanced to the slab, and just as Malinyah had instructed, she took a position adjacent to the slab that allowed her to blow on its back side.

  Directing the Breylofte’s sound waves through the foot-sized opening, she stepped forward and hummed more aggressively. This pushed the door further outward. The ground in front of the slab bulged as the outward movement shoved turf out of the way. Larger chunks of rock dropped to the ground across the span of the wall. Dust churned in the opening.

  Pebbles, feeling dizzy from her exertion, staggered back a few steps and lowered the Breylofte. Dropping to her knees, she panted while waving her free hand to clear the dust floating around her head. Above, at the hill’s crest, the monkeys erupted in raucous chatter.

  Anlon knelt alongside her, hugged her shoulders and kissed her brow. “That was awesome! Cesar, did you get all that?”

  Cesar said, “I did. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would have believed it a trick of the camera.”

  They were in the midst of celebration when the first terciopelo slithered out. Several feet long, the olive-colored snake with yellowish zigzagged lines along its sides hissed when it emerged. It was followed by three more, including a brownish one with similar markings that was twice the size of the others. Their hissing, obscured by the jubilant grunts of the monkeys, went unnoticed by Anlon, Cesar and Pebbles. Foucault, standing behind the group, was the first to see them.

  “Serpents!” he shouted.

  The others froze and looked in his direction, then followed his pointing finger to the snakes closing in. Foucault said to Pebbles, “Quickly, the Breylofte!”

  She lifted her hand and he snatched the device. Leaning forward, he blew sharply on the Stone. The snakes flailed through the air and crashed against the back of the open door. The attack frightened two of them, and they rapidly slithered for the cover of the jungle.

  The other two did not, including the eight-foot female. They coiled briefly and then shot forth with lightning speed. Foucault blasted them again, this time sweeping the Breylofte across their path. Both snakes crashed against the rock wall with a thud. Before they could recover, Foucault hummed long and slowly against the Stone. The snakes quivered on the ground and then rose into the air. With the snakes held captive by the Stone’s sound waves, Foucault lifted them higher and higher. Soon, they dangled at treetop level, wriggling and hissing in protest.

  Foucault spun them around in circles, over and over, before yanking his head forward with a great huff. The sound waves hurled the two snakes against the rock wall once again. Lifeless, they slid down and thumped onto the ground. Anlon cringed as he watched. The plight of the snakes was all too familiar.

  Once all had quelled their heartbeats, they turned their attention back to the open Maerlif. Pebbles glanced past the dead snakes and said to Foucault, “You first!”

  The group readied to enter the Maerlif. From their backpacks, Anlon and Pebbles withdrew small lanterns and flashlights. Cesar walked around the vault entrance, capturing video footage and still frames from different angles. Foucault managed to light a cigarette with his bandaged hands and then checked his watch. Margaret’s call was now long overdue.

  “What should we expect inside — besides more snakes?” Anlon asked of Foucault.

  Pebbles tested a flashlight and said over her shoulder, “The Maerlif Malinyah showed me had metal chests. The Stones were divided between them. But she didn’t say anything about bodies.”

  “I do not think we will find any bodies here. If we do, it will be a first. Burial Maerlifs were reserved for volcano slopes,” Foucault said.

  “I meant to ask you earlier, why is that?” Cesar asked, lowering the camera.

  “A symbolic gesture,” Foucault said. “Their homeland was ringed with volcanos.”

  Anlon thought of Isabela. He asked, “Galápagos? Was that their homeland?”

  Foucault froze in place. “What makes you think this?”

  “Volcanos, lots of cryptochrome-rich vegetation on the islands, unique plant and animal biology. Plus, Cassiopeia is visible most of the year there.”

  Foucault dropped the cigarette and crushed it with his foot. “We have no time to discuss this now, perhaps later. Come, I will lead the way.”

  The entrance stood about four feet high and four feet wide. Each of them had to crawl through the opening, but once inside, the Maerlif ceiling was high enough for them to stand. The entire inside of the vault, including floor, ceiling and walls, was encased in rock. Rock that had been fused by some means. To Anlon, it looked like lava trails.

  Over the millennia, chunks of the fused rock had dislodged in places along the walls and ceiling, leaving scattered debris on the Maerlif floor. Most of the debris was covered by a layer of dust; however, a number of chunks looked fresh, no doubt shaken loose by the Breylofte’s vibrations against the outer walls. It wasn’t immediately apparent how the snakes found a way into the chamber, but a portion of the ceiling and one wall glistened with moisture, presumably from the earlier rain. Also, a handful of vines had chewed their way through the outer wall of the Maerlif, providing additional evidence of cracks in the sealed vault. There were surprisingly few cobwebs and no overt signs of insects; however, Pebbles did spot a hairy spider disappear beneath the vines.

  When they arrived in the center of the Maerlif, Pebbles expressed relief the chamber contained no bodies or more snakes. Instead, at the base of the deepest wall of the chamber sat four metal chests arrayed in an arc. They were approximately three feet long, two feet tall and three feet wide. The sides of the chests were covered in a sooty grime, and rocky debris layered around and between their bases, but the tops were clean.

  Cesar followed closest behind Foucault, filming the entry while doing his best to avoid bumping his head or tripping over rocks. He noticed the cleared lids and made a comment. Foucault suggested the snakes, drawn to the magnetic Stones inside the chests, chose the lids as roosts.

  Anlon was last to join the group gathered around the chests. To him, it was a surreal moment to look upon the ancient cases. For more than ten thousand years, the Stones inside had rested in peace while the history of the outside world raced forward. Forgotten to all, their great powers languished in obscurity. He paused to consider the incredible, and unlikely, chain of events that led to their rediscovery. A sense of exhilaration filled him. Devlin’s great folly proved true.

  “Which chest should we start with?” Anlon asked Foucault. “They all look the same.”

  “Any will do,” Foucault said.

  They decided to start with the chest farthest to their left and then work their way around the arc to open the others. Anlon expressed surprise that the chests had no locks. Foucault said, “They were in a great hurry. The asteroid was coming fast. They prepared the chambers, unloaded the chests, installed the beacon, sealed the vault and then left. There was no time for anything else.”

  While Cesar recorded the event, the three others took hold of the first chest lid and slowly lifted. It was much heavier than Anlon expected. Thinking of the trek through the jungle, it was hard
to imagine how they maneuvered the heavy chest this far inland. Then he recalled the chests were left before the great flood. The area was likely along the coast prior to Munirvo.

  Once the lid was lowered to the floor, they all peered inside. The chest was filled with Aromaeghs. Foucault explained, “If you have not seen these before, they are step-by-step tutorials on how to use the Tyls for many common purposes. How to till a field using the Dreylaeks. How to use the Tuliskaera to cut trees and stone to build homes. How to use the Breylofte to create a dam. And so on.”

  “Yes, we have one. It’s more of a storytelling video, for lack of a better description. It shows the Munirvo tale,” said Anlon.

  “I have seen it; it is hard to watch. Yes, there were storytelling Aromaeghs as well. They were used to preserve the Munuorians’ history, to record the most important lessons for the young,” Foucault said.

  The unmistakable rhythmic thumps of helicopter blades echoed through the Maerlif entrance. Anlon turned toward the opening. “Uh-oh, we’ve got company.”

  “Jen?” asked Pebbles.

  Anlon hitched his belt. “I hope so.”

  “Oh, my God, A.C., what if it’s Navarro?”

  “Then we’re screwed.”

  “What should we do?” Cesar asked.

  “Damn it! I left the Breylofte outside.” Pebbles punched her thigh.

  With the others flustered, Foucault took control. “Quickly, open the other cases. Look for Breyloftes, Dreylaeks.”

  Pebbles and Anlon sprang into action and tugged off the lid of the second case. It was stacked with nested Breyloftes. Pebbles grabbed one for herself and handed one to Anlon. “Just hum on it as hard as you can,” she advised.

  Cesar, with the help of a grimacing Foucault, hoisted the next lid. Inside, the chest was packed with the mother lode of Munuorian technology. Mixed together were dozens of Naetirs, Terusaels and Dreylaeks. Poking through the mix of stone cylinders, eggs and cookies were three pointed tips.

  Foucault reached in and cupped a pair of Dreylaeks. He directed Cesar to slide them in the pockets sewn into his shirt cuffs. When done, he nodded to Anlon and the four crept toward the entrance. Anlon peeked around the edge as the helicopter’s landing struts touched down.

  “What can you see, A.C.?”

  “It’s on the ground, but I can’t tell much else.” Poking his head out farther, he tried to make out the shapes through the blacked-out helicopter windows without success. “Get ready,” he whispered back. “Someone’s coming out.”

  Pebbles cupped the Breylofte and held it near her mouth.

  “Wait,” Anlon called, holding up a hand. A second later he sighed. “Thank God. It’s Jen.”

  He slumped against the Maerlif wall and exhaled deeply. Pebbles lowered the Breylofte. “Why didn’t she call first?”

  Anlon grumbled. “She probably did. I left the satellite phone outside.”

  They wiggled through the opening to greet her as Henri piloted the copter away. Jennifer wore a stern look as she headed toward them.

  Pebbles waved and smiled. “Look at what we fou—”

  The sound wave crushed into Pebbles and flung her through the air. Her legs kicked out as she soared past Jennifer, clipping her in the jaw. Both went down hard. Anlon, stunned by Pebbles’ sudden flight, anchored in place. When he realized what had happened, he whipped around. The blow caught him on the upper shoulder and knocked him down. He tried to sit up and was pasted against the ground by another blast. He heard Cesar utter an “oof” as he, too, was hit.

  “Still yourselves, mesdames et messieurs. I don’t wish to kill you, but I will if I must.”

  Finca 6 Museum

  Palmar Norte, Costa Rica

  Margaret was still sitting in the car when two blacked-out SUVs came barreling down the access road, swirls of dust following in their wake. They were more than an hour late.

  They pulled into spots close to the steps leading to the museum’s entrance. Margaret watched from behind the open pages of a museum brochure and waited for Navarro to appear. The two vehicles sat idling for several minutes before four burly men exited wearing matching white guayabera shirts and sunglasses.

  Margaret laughed at their effort to blend in as tourists. Well, at least they’ll be easy to spot, she thought. The four men ascended the steps and approached the security guard. Two of the men engaged the guard in friendly conversation while the other two slipped inside.

  Retraining her gaze on the two SUVs, Margaret noticed the drivers of both vehicles remained in place. Nothing happened for several minutes, until at last one of the white-shirted men poked his head out the museum’s front door and signaled the vehicles.

  The rear door of the SUV closest to Margaret popped open and a ruddy man with a bushy mustache exited. He wore a panama hat, sunglasses, tan shirt and white slacks. He slowly scanned the parking area. When his eyes swept toward Margaret, she buried her face in the brochure. Unsure when to look up, Margaret continued to stare blankly at the brochure. Then she heard a car door slam shut. Darting her head in the direction of the sound, her eyes picked up two men rapidly ascending the museum steps: panama-hat man and another with a long, black ponytail. Dressed in all black, ponytail man carried a briefcase. His majesty had arrived.

  As soon as the men cleared the vehicles, the drivers reversed out of their parking spots and maneuvered the SUVs to face outward as Margaret had done. She waited until Navarro and the other man disappeared into the lobby before she made for the grove. As she stepped out of the car, she thought, “Five men plus two drivers? Man, is he paranoid!”

  With the backpack in one hand, she quietly moved through the foliage using the other hand to guide fronds out of her way. When she arrived at the edge of the grove, she surveyed the situation. As expected, Navarro sat alone on the bench. On the ground next to him was the briefcase. He gazed at the massive sphere from behind sunglasses. Looking back toward the museum’s main building, Margaret could see two of the bodyguards standing on the back porch scanning the grounds in opposite directions.

  The other two bodyguards and the panama-hat man who accompanied Navarro were not visible. It was possible they were stationed on the far side of the outbuilding. She could not see it from her vantage point in the grove. However, it was just as possible they were roaming the grounds or standing on the opposite side of the sphere, or both.

  Skittish about approaching Navarro without knowing where the other men were positioned, Margaret backtracked into the grove and turned toward the field where the smaller globes were displayed. After ensuring no eyes were focused on the grove, Margaret stepped out into the open and wandered among the smaller spheres. Several museum visitors milled about, taking pictures and chattering. A couple of them snickered at Margaret’s goth-girl getup, but the others took no notice.

  She halted at a grouping of spheres and took her phone out of the backpack. Looking up after she snapped a couple quick shots, she spied one of the remaining bodyguards positioned on the far side of the sphere. That left two unaccounted for, but from her position she could tell that no one stood near the outbuilding. Navarro was completely alone.

  CHAPTER 24

  SNAKE BITE

  Indio Maiz Biological Reserve

  Nicaragua

  September 5

  Anlon and the others sat against the Maerlif wall next to the dead snakes. Foucault stood in the clearing with the satellite phone against his ear and his eyes riveted on the group. Though they were scraped up and sore, none had sustained a serious injury in the attack. Anlon propped his arms against his bent knees and buried his head. How could I have been so stupid? he thought.

  Foucault angrily disconnected the unanswered call and placed another one. This time, the party on the other end of the line answered. Foucault gruffly rattled instructions in French and abruptly ended the call. He tore the bandages from his hands and advanced to the wall.

  “I have no more time for foolishness,” he said. “I expect your full cooperati
on, comprende? Bon. Now, I want answers.”

  Turning to Pebbles, Foucault asked, “You said Ometepe earlier. Why?”

  Pebbles looked to Anlon, who motioned her to answer the question. “We think Devlin was interested in Ometepe. We think it has something to do with a statue he had in his collection.”

  “Statue?” Foucault said. “What kind of statue?”

  “Like ones on Ometepe and Zapatera. A man wearing a headdress. It looks like a fish head. It has the Sulataer symbol on the back of the headdress.” Pebbles glared at him and rubbed her bruised shoulder.

  “Mon Dieu!” said Foucault.

  “What?” Anlon asked. “What’s with the statue?”

  Foucault quickly asked Pebbles, “What made you think Devlin was interested in Ometepe?”

  Anlon jumped in. “He wrote down the name in one of his journals. We thought he was searching for volcanos, but then we made the connection with the fish-man statue. Why did you get excited when Pebbles described the statue?”

  “Volcanos? Devlin was interested in volcanos?” Foucault sounded alarmed. “Then it is for certain, Muran lives.”

  “Volcanos,” Cesar said. “We have returned to the topic of crypts, have we not? I take it one of Ometepe’s volcanos holds a crypt.”

  “Précisément.” Foucault paced back and forth in front of the others with his hands clenched at his sides.

  “Whose crypt? Muran’s? Malinyah’s?” Anlon asked.

  Foucault paused and turned to face Anlon. “Why did you come here, Dr. Cully?”

  “What?”

  “Why did you seek a Maerlif? Did someone ask you to come, perhaps? Did someone suggest the idea to you?”

  “Of course not. I came because of Devlin. I wanted to finish his work. Prove the Munuorians existed.” As Foucault advanced toward him, Anlon balled his hands into fists.

  “But, you have Malinyah’s Sinethal, a Breylofte,” Foucault said.