Remembering the armed men near El Mirador, I wondered if the Believers had caused the man’s disappearance. It could have been as simple as him abandoning his wife, but my gut was telling me otherwise.
“Be careful,” Marta warned as we began to descend choppy steps cut into the wall of the quarry.
“Did your family own this?” I asked.
She laughed, as if that was the most ridiculous question in the world. “No. My abuelo was the…” She searched for the word, finding it after a few steps. “Supervisor of the quarry.”
“How did you learn English?” Marcus inquired.
“It was owned by a British man. Father worked with English people like Mister Clayton, and teach me to speak.” She continued down, her footsteps sure and faster than mine.
Soon we were at the bottom of the quarry, and I peered up, witnessing nothing but a sheer cliff face greeting me. “When did it close?”
Marta waved us on, striding for the opposite edge. “Two decades. The owner left Father in charge, giving him the house. Now it’s mine. The owner never come back.”
It was over a mile wide, and we walked the next section in silence, my mind reeling from what we were potentially about to encounter. Marcus went ahead, chatting with Marta as I stayed a few steps behind, wondering how my dad had found Marta’s father in the first place. This woman and I were connected in a strange way by the relationship of our parents.
The sun had vacated the quarry, the last of the light climbing up the west cliff until we were in the dusk. Already it felt cooler, and I billowed my shirt, tugging it near my chest. A doorway came into view as we neared the rocky wall, a wooden entrance with supporting beams across the top.
“In there?” I asked, and she nodded.
Marta held a flashlight, and she flicked it on, the incandescent beam hitting the ground. A thick old padlock hung on a rusted hinge, and Marta pulled a key from a leather strap around her neck, using it to click the lock open. She removed it and tried to push the door but failed. “It is stuck.”
Marcus tried, and it shifted an inch.
We set our packs down, and I helped him, our hands close as we pulled with all our strength. It finally shifted enough for us to enter.
“If this door was that sticky, the entire room could be compromised,” Marcus warned me.
Marta shone her light into the dark space, and entered without hesitation. Marcus gaped at me, and I could only shrug, stepping into the cliffside room.
“They stored supplies,” Marta said, and I saw what she was referring to as the flashlight showcased the wall. There were a dozen shovels, pickaxes, and other various tools lined on hooks, but she kept moving past them all, heading for a secondary door. “The quarry had tunnels under it. Father say they are natural.”
I peered into the corridor, seeing dust fall from wooden braces. It looked like the bowels of a mine, and I cringed at the thought of walking under so many tons of rock. “Is it safe?”
“I think this here for millions of years.” She patted the wood with a palm and grinned. “These were added too.” She moved on, but I noticed Marcus hadn’t entered with me.
“Rex, I’ll stay. Guard the exit,” he said, picking up a shovel.
“Fine, but the next time we go into an abandoned quarry mine, it’s your turn.”
Marcus nodded noncommittally, and Marta was already far ahead; the only sign of her was the bobbing of the flashlight beam. I rushed to catch up, hoping to be in and out in a few minutes. That wasn’t the case. The corridor went on for a half-mile, and rocks blocked part of our path near the end.
Marta didn’t seem to care. She set the light on the floor and started moving boulders. I joined her, nervously gawking at the ceiling, and she climbed effortlessly, maneuvering the flashlight when we’d cleared a route. With a sigh, I landed across the pile where the corridor opened up.
The smell changed. It was damp, with heavy notes of metal. “What is this?”
“A lake.” She exited the tunnel and stopped, aiming her light at the water. It was calmly flowing, and I glanced up to find bats on the roof. I hated bats. Which was detrimental in my line of work, since they seemed to exist in every cave, cavern, and crawlspace I’d ever worked in.
The walls held an assortment of minerals, and they sparkled under the light. “I used to love it here. I was not allowed in, but I followed Father when he returned from his trip.” She paused, staring at the lake. “He walked into there. I heard him say a prayer, and I hid.” She motioned to an outcropping near the cavern wall behind us. “I had never seen him so afraid.”
“What is it? What did he dump here?” I asked Marta.
She shrugged. “I didn’t check. Don’t like water. Think there might be snakes.”
I flinched at the words, staring at the underground lake. “Your father put something in there? How far?”
“Not very. Ten feet.”
Ten feet. I could do that. “Where?” I started for the edge of the water, looking at the murky depths. I had no way of knowing how deep it was, and Marta helped with the flashlight, glancing at the tunnel entrance and back to the lake.
“Around here,” she said, pointing at the ground.
The last thing I wanted was to go in, but I didn’t have a choice. I slipped from my boots, removing my socks, and set my possessions on the rocky ground. “You’re certain of this?”
Marta nodded twice.
The water was warmer than I’d expected, but I still recoiled as my foot entered it. The rocks were slick below, and I nearly slid the moment both feet were in the lake. With a wave of my arms, I stayed balanced and took another step, then another.
I tentatively walked a few more yards and stopped, craning my neck to see Marta. It felt like something might have brushed by my leg, but I couldn’t be certain.
“There. Or close.”
I crouched, sticking my hands under the surface. It was past my knees, soaking the bottom hem of my shorts, and I felt around, gripping more stones.
I was about to give up when my finger snagged something. I grabbed hold of it and lifted, hefting a burlap sack from the water. The bag dripped, making a hundred small ripples as I stared at it.
I exited the lake in a hurry. What had been so important as to hide all the way out here?
I set it to the rocky ground, tugging my shoes on, and suddenly being in the cavern with the bats high above was too much. Taking the prize, we returned abruptly, jogging the short distance to the storage room.
“What’s inside?” Marcus whispered as we stepped outside. A constant insect chirping carried across the entire quarry now that the sun had set, and I clutched the bag in my grip. I didn’t know if I wanted Marta to see the contents, but I couldn’t delay any longer.
I pulled my pocketknife out, carefully slicing the top of the bag, and reached inside. The object was chilly. Metal. It was six-sided, like a cube, with a two-inch-thick frame. Along each edge was an opening, five inches tall and wide. I ran my finger through the hole, smiling as I understood what I was seeing.
“This is it,” I muttered.
“That shape. The hex. It’s like the empty holder in El Mirador,” Marcus said reverently. Marta just stared at us, probably not understanding what we were so excited about.
“Do you think this is it? The thing that creates the Bridge?” Marcus asked, and I frowned at him, shaking my head curtly while turned from Marta. We’d said we wouldn’t speak of it in front of anyone, and he’d just broken the cardinal rule.
I returned it to the bag and beamed at our guide. We were still missing a piece, and I had to know. “Marta, did your father keep any books? Journals? Something that might be of use?”
She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “I have some of his things. Jose repaired the house after he passed. Found some stuff.”
I raised an eyebrow but refused to let myself get too far ahead. “Can we see it?”
____________
“This is intense. Six coordinates, Re
x. Six slots in that… whatever you found.” Marcus paced the room Marta had offered us for the night.
There was no cell reception, so we couldn’t check the locations on a map. I held the single sheet of paper in my grip, careful not to smudge the old ink. I was certain it was my father’s handwriting, and it brought even more questions. Were these the coordinates of the spots where he’d found the six Tokens, or was it something else?
“We should take her van,” I said, peering at the door.
“Madison gave us enough cash. We can offer to buy it,” Marcus said.
“We need some cell service, and that’s probably a few miles from here, at least. I doubt that town even had internet, but I could be wrong. I forgot to check when we passed through.” I sat on the bed, the springs protesting.
“Are we going to tell Madison?” Marcus asked. I was used to flippant easygoing banter, but his expression was grave. This was serious, the real thing, and neither of us knew exactly what to do.
“I don’t think so. Not yet.” I stared at the door, trying to listen for Marta’s footsteps. “I guess it depends on what Marta has from her father.”
I waited silently, thinking over the few details we knew. My father had disappeared with Clayton Belvedere in 1989. Hunter Madison had funded their initial expeditions, but something happened that caused my dad to cut him out of the deal. The Bridge. Hunter admitted that he’d been part of the Believers at one point, but bailed on them due to differences in principles.
Dirk and Clayton hired Marta’s father, Luis, after meeting him in Venezuela, and this meant he’d been with them in Portugal, the day they vanished. Did her father have something to do with their disappearance? Could he have killed them, stolen their things? Or had it been as Marta indicated: Luis had been a loyal employee, and they’d paid him well to hide this article somewhere it wouldn’t be found?
This was bothering me. “Marcus.”
He stopped pacing long enough to glare at me. “What?”
“Why?”
“Why what? Why are we here?”
“Why were these coordinates on Clayton’s gravestone?” I asked.
He plopped onto the bed beside me with a huff. “Man, I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
I didn’t know my father well. I’d been a little boy when he’d gone, so to me, he was a distant memory with rough stubble, magnetic brown eyes, and a smirk that when you saw it, you knew everything was going to be all right. Only it hadn’t ended up that way. I could remember him picking me up and placing me on his shoulders, the smell of his musky cologne stuck to his collar.
The more I’d learned about him later in life, the more I understood his passion for adventure. My mother had claimed she got more than she’d bargained for when they met, and there were days when I thought she considered marrying him was the biggest regret of her existence. Then I remembered her in her bedroom after he’d gone for the last time, staring at a picture of their wedding and crying. Near the end, she’d admitted to me that she loved his spirit, but that he wasn’t meant to have a family.
I glanced at the watch he’d given me and ran a finger along the fractured leather strap.
“What did you come up with, Rex?” Marcus asked me, and I forgot I’d even started a discussion.
“My dad. He wouldn’t have left loose ends. He was so particular with what he added into his journals and the clear lack of evidence of his trips, that this couldn’t be his work. Dirk Walker didn’t want us to locate this artifact.” I picked up the metal Token holder, hefting it in my grip.
Marcus’ eyes went wide at the revelation. “So it was all Clayton. He set this up with Marta’s dad.”
I nodded, lowering the item into my pack. “That’s why she didn’t know who Dirk was, just Mister Clayton.”
“That makes sense. Okay, Clayton wanted someone to find this. There has to be a reason.” Marcus stopped talking as we heard the creak of the floorboards down the hallway. A soft knock clicked on the door, and I asked Marta to enter.
She had a box in her hands, water-stained and torn at the edges. “Here. Jose wanted to throw it out, but I kept it in the attic.” She smiled sadly and passed it to me.
I accepted the box. She stood there watching me, then seemed to realize I was waiting for privacy. She could have asked to stay, since it was her father’s possessions I was about to rifle through, but she stepped to the door, resting her hand on the knob. “Would you like some batidos? Uhm, fruit smoothie?”
Marcus said we would, and she left us in the spare room.
“There has to be a clue.” Marcus picked up the first item, a picture of a man. It had to be Marta’s father. Luis was smiling at a girl beside him, who I guessed to be his daughter. The beam of pride in his eyes was unmistakable.
An address book was next, and I flipped through it, checking if there was anything remarkable about the names or locations. Nothing seemed out of place, but Marcus took photos of each one regardless. Perhaps it was written in a cipher. We couldn’t be too careful.
A faded t-shirt, a belt buckle, and an old pistol rounded out the collection. I eyed the gun but kept it where it sat in the box. “Damn it. No leads.”
Marcus took the box, careful to return the possessions in it, and I heard something slip along the bottom. “What was that?” I asked.
He dug his hand in, moving the gun, and pulled out a key. “This is it. It has to be. There was a number stamped on it, and a ring.”
I retrieved the key from him and shoved the box at Marcus, rushing for the hallway. Marta was pouring us the fruity beverages when we entered the kitchen, and I slammed the key down on the countertop, startling her. “What does this open?”
She shrugged noncommittally. “He always carried it. When I asked him, he said it was a key to the stars.”
My heart raced, and Marcus grabbed the key. “To the stars.”
“Nothing else?” I pressed, but she only shook her head, sliding a cup to me. I took it with a thank you as Marcus inspected the ring.
“I think I recognize this name. What does it mean?” he asked me. There was Spanish writing on it, and the logo for a restaurant located at the Caracas airport.
“The airport,” I whispered. “This must open a locker.”
“What if we’re wrong?” Marcus was nervous, and so was I.
“If Marta is certain there’s no lock here, it’s our only lead. We’ll have to try it. Marta, what are the chances we can buy your van?” I wanted to get moving, but it was very late, and I didn’t love the idea of cruising around these foreign back roads in the dark.
She appeared distraught by the idea and muttered a few quiet words in her native tongue. “I cannot sell it.”
“Are you sure? We’ll pay far more than…” Marcus was cut off by her hard stare.
“It was his. My father’s, and I won’t give it up.” She was determined, so I didn’t want to argue. Her expression softened, despite our intrusion on her day. “But I will take you to the airport.”
“To Caracas? That’s a long drive.” I appreciated it but didn’t expect it from her.
“Not a problem. I’ve been wanting to see the city for some time. This is a good excuse.” She smiled, and it was settled. “But we leave in the morning. I won’t drive at night.”
I downed my cold beverage in seconds, providing slight relief from the lingering heat of the day. As badly as I wanted to leave, a night of rest would do us a favor. We settled in, and soon I was in bed, dozing off and dreaming of coordinates and a key to the stars.
12
Compared to the trip south, sitting in Marta’s van’s passenger seat while Marcus slept in the back was a pleasure. The slightest breeze rustled from the old AC unit, and I stared at the landscape through a heavily cracked windshield. She told me about her people and described the terrain as she drove. She had a passion for her country, and I enjoyed the company. The object in my bag was never far from my mind, and the key in my pocket was heavy on my spirit.
<
br /> We arrived at the airport, and Marcus had already secured our seats on a flight in five hours, giving us what we hoped was enough time to locate the proper locker. With our bags in our hands, we took turns hugging Marta, and Marcus slipped her another envelope of cash.
“I cannot take this,” she said, shaking her head.
I grasped her hands, closing her fingers around the money. “Look, either you take it or I return it to a man who doesn’t need it. Trust me.”
This sold her, and she averted her gaze, staring at her shoes. “I hope you find what you’re after.” Her words were kind, and I smiled at her as I backed away. Someone honked behind her, wanting her parking spot, and she turned, calling out to the driver before hopping into her van. And she was off.
“Nice lady. Not everyone would have helped us,” Marcus said.
“I can see why Clayton trusted her dad. They’re good people.” I eyed the key, and we entered the international airport.
An hour later, we realized there were no lockers here. “Damn.” I’d asked every employee I’d found about them, and they’d all given the same response: There are none. One woman thought they used to exist but hadn’t seen them in some time.
We’d avoided passing through security so far, and the airport was growing extremely busy, with long, slow-moving lines at every corner. “What if they had them and they’re gone now?” Marcus asked as we sat on a bench, the endless cycle of stressed-out fliers walking by, the noise of luggage rollers a main part of the soundtrack.
A man mopped the floor, whistling as he wrung the bucket lever. “I have an idea.”
Marcus followed me as I approached the older man. He wore headphones, his hips swaying as he cleaned the tiles. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he seemed surprised someone had noticed him.
“Yes. Can I help you?” he asked in his native tongue.
I told him that we were looking for a locker, and that they must have stored them somewhere on the grounds.
I translated his words as he spoke them. “Yes. We remodeled a few years ago. I think they’re stowed away.”
Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) Page 11