by Steven Moore
"The key?" Megan probed. "Atlantis has a key?" This was getting weirder by the second.
"I suppose it could be called a key, yes," he said, doing little to lessen his mysterious aura.
"So you're saying you’re a ... some kind of—" R.B. paused, knowing what he was about to say would sound ridiculous. But Lucero nodded, encouraging him to finish his question. "You are telling us that you're a guardian to Atlantis?" R.B. even heard the incredulity in his own voice.
Lucero Perez laughed. "Some would call me a guardian, I suppose. Yes, maybe they are right. And as long as I hold the key," he added, "then the legends and secrets of Atlantis will forever remain untold."
40
Slain
Mercurial Priest Lucero Lopez kindly offered his guests Ryan Bodean and Megan Simons a bed for the night, and though they seemed doubtful there was even room in the tiny house for a second bedroom, one look outside at the huge storm that now battered the region convinced them it was a good idea.
After a simple yet delicious dinner of deep-fried shrimp fritters, the priest's favorite, he told them, his advanced years finally caught up with him and he excused himself and had an early night, though R.B. suspected it had as much to do with the three generous glasses of wine he'd polished off with dinner.
"What an amazing man, eh?" R.B. said. "So old and yet so sprightly."
"He is that," agreed Megan. "But what do you make of all that guardian and key and secrets stuff? I mean, he seems so genuine and all, but how can we know? I want to believe him, I really do."
R.B. thought about how to answer Meg. "Honestly?"
"Of course, honestly. Tell me what you really think?"
"Well, I believe all of it. Sure, it sounds far-fetched. But as we've agreed before, darlin', rarely is there any smoke without fire. Those myths about a lost city can't just mean nothing, can they? Doesn't matter nobody else has found it yet. It doesn't mean we won't!"
Megan didn't miss the determination in R.B.'s last words. She really did want to believe it too. She hadn't been almost killed several times for nothing. They decided they too were exhausted after the day's events and all the emotional ups and downs of the last few weeks, and out of respect for Lucero in the near-silent, small house, they went to sleep too.
It was early when they awoke, Megan stirring first after being roused by the pounding of rain on the window. She nudged R.B. with her toe, down in his customary position on the floor beside the bed. He stretched and yawned. They'd both slept well and were ready for whatever new challenges the day would throw at them.
They left a note for Lucero, thanking him for his hospitality and telling him how nice it was to meet him, and they slipped down the stairs and out into the rain, assuming the old priest was still sound asleep. They sprinted to their rented car parked half a block away, and already drenched, headed directly back to the Navantia Shipyard to pay Santi Llorente a visit. They needed to collect Gidget, and hoped she was fixed up with a new fuel line. They took the more direct inland route back to Cadiz, and within forty-five minutes they pulled onto the dock, still quiet at the early hour and, likely, because of the horrendous weather. Yesterday Santi had assured them Gidget would be ready early in the morning and that he'd be there to greet them.
They hustled into Santi's workshop and immediately spotted Gidget, exactly where they'd left her. "Santi?" called R.B., his voice echoing metallically around the spacious workshop. "Santi, are you here?"
There was no answer, and since the place was unlocked R.B. thought that was a little strange. They spread out, looking in and around the cluster of different cars, boats, and planes Santi was working on, just in case he was wearing headphones and couldn't hear them. But once they'd done a complete sweep of the workshop, it was clear he wasn't there. A knot of anxiety began tightening in their guts.
"Hey, Meg, why don't you call him? If there's no answer, maybe call the number he gave you for Rosa?" She nodded. "I'll run some checks on Gidget, okay?"
Megan took out her phone and punched in Santi's number, letting it ring for a full minute. No answer. She repeated the process and got the same result. Then she dialed his mother, Rosa.
R.B. went back to the space that served as Santi's office, essentially a few work benches, upon one of which sat a filing cabinet and a simple PC and its accompanying monitor. He was looking for the keys to Gidget. They weren't simply left on the desk as had hoped, and he pulled open a couple of drawers. He didn't find them. "Dammit," he muttered, and headed back to Gidget, hoping to find them left in the ignition.
"Hola Rosa, it's me, Megan," she said. After a quick conversation in Megan's broken Spanish and Rosa's limited English, Megan had established Santi hadn't been home last night, but that it wasn't unusual because he sometimes stayed at his girlfriend's house down by the shipyard. The component had come earlier than expected, Rosa told her, and Santi had returned to work after lunch yesterday afternoon to fix their plane, which, when Megan heard the familiar roar of Gidget thundering in the workshop, she realized he had done so successfully. She thanked Rosa and ended the call, then jogged over to R.B., who had shut down Gidget's engine and now stood there, a worried look on his face.
"So Santi was here yesterday, that's for sure, but Rosa can't confirm if he was here today," Megan explained.
"But where the hell is he? He wouldn't leave the workshop unlocked, would he? Not with all these expensive boats and planes here."
"And Gidget," Megan teased, lightening the mood, knowing Gidget was worth nothing compared to every single other vehicle in there. "But no, I don't think he'd do that."
"And that's what worries me. Hey, at least Gidget's fixed. Like he promised. But I really want to pay him for his work. "Would you try his number again?" She did, and R.B. fell silent. He was certain he heard something, and it sounded like a phone ringing.
He raced to where he thought he heard the sound coming from, Megan hot on his heels. He paused, listening for the sound again. "There, you hear that?"
"Yes, from outside I think."
They sprinted to the workshop door and tracked the sound to ... to a dumpster. There was no doubt about it now. A phone was ringing inside the dumpster. R.B. hardly dared look inside, and he had to shoo away a couple of huge squawking seagulls flitting about the large blue garbage container. They looked at each other in horror, almost certain now of what they'd find inside. Finally Megan ended the call, and, horrifyingly, the ringtone of the phone stopped. R.B. stepped forward and flung back the dumpster lid. Inside, laid out on top of a pile of broken down cardboard boxes, was Santiago Llorente. There was blood everywhere, and in a flash they saw his throat had been cut. His eyes bulged from their sockets, and R.B. reached for a pulse. But they were too late. He had stopped breathing just seconds before they got there.
Santi Llorente was dead.
"No, no, no no no!" bellowed R.B., slamming his open palms on the side of the dumpster. "Why? Why Santi? He's just a kid, with his whole life ahead of him. He had nothing to do with all this. Goddammit! Why are there such bastards in this world?"
Megan was distraught. She dropped to her knees and leaned back against the dumpster, tears pouring down her cheeks. It was a senseless murder. Whoever had done this to Santi hadn't needed to. He was a young man with a girlfriend and a successful business. It broke Megan's heart.
Then R.B. crouched down beside her, hands on his face and breathing hard. After a few moments, he sighed deeply. "Look, Meg, much as I hate saying what I'm about to say, I think we should get out of here."
"What? We can't just leave him here," she replied, mortified at the thought. "We have to call the police, R.B., we have to call Rosa."
"No!" R.B.'s tone was a little harsher than he had meant. "Sorry. Listen, if we stick around here and call the police, then we might become suspects. Two Americans lurking around a deserted shipyard in a storm at seven in the morning on a Sunday? Looks pretty suspicious, doesn't it? We need to go. And we need to go now."
Meg
an shook her head, sending more tears flying from her cheeks. But R.B. was right. It was too risky to stick around, not only because of the police, but whoever killed Santi might still be there, maybe even watching them right then. She stood up and pulled R.B. into a hug. "Okay, you're right. I agree, we need to go." She grabbed R.B.'s hand and turned him around so they could look down at Santi's murdered body for the last time. Megan took a deep breath. "We're truly sorry, Santi. Thank you, for everything."
It wasn't much of a speech, and Megan felt awful. With neither she nor R.B. being of any religious persuasion, despite Megan's strict religious upbringing, they couldn't offer any prayers. R.B. reached in and gently closed Santi's eyes, then he closed the lid of the dumpster, shooing away once more the hungry, scavenging seagulls.
"Okay, Meg. Let's get outta here."
41
Into the Darkness
Darkness still shrouded the dock at Navantia, not only because it was still early morning, but because swirling black clouds blotted out the sun. Luckily R.B. knew how to operate the powerful winch systems that loaded and unloaded containers from the freighters, so it wasn't too much of a challenge for him to lower Gidget down into the water. Just twenty minutes later she was on the surface, and R.B. and Megan climbed aboard. Though he had run the checks before finding Santi's body, R.B. still felt nervous whether or not the old girl would come through.
She did, literally with flying colors. Soaring into the dark skies they headed north, not sure exactly where to land but certain they had to get away from Navantia as soon as possible. Only fifteen minutes later, glancing down as they headed north towards Doñana National Park, R.B. spotted the Río Guadalquivir, snaking inland and forming the park's southern border. With no better idea, R.B. angled down and towards the river, and, spotting a wide expanse of sand along the eastern bank twenty miles inland, he made his decision.
"Might get a little bumpy," he said as they approached the shoreline. "Hold on."
Megan gulped. She trusted R.B.'s ability to land safely, but it was still scary. Slowing Gidget's velocity to landing speed, the river came up quickly beneath them, and easing back on the throttle, they splashed down, gliding towards the beach with just enough power to edge up onto the sand.
R.B. breathed a deep sigh of relief, as did Megan.
"Nice job," she said, clapping him on the shoulder. "But what next?"
"Gidget should be safe here for a while. There's a road about a half mile north of here. Let's jog to the road and hotfoot it to the nearest town and rent another car. Then we'll head back over to Lucero's house."
An hour later R.B. pulled their new rental car to a stop as near to Lucero's house as possible. Again they got drenched from the now constant downpour as they jogged to the priest's house. Megan knocked on the door, and they waited, hustling deeper into their coats against the chill of the rain. But Lucero didn't answer, and an unbidden wave of anxiety rose in them both. Megan peered through the window, but everything seemed normal. R.B. pounded on the door again. Nothing. Then he noticed some scrape marks beside the lock. On a hunch he tried the door, and his worst fears were realized. The lock was broken.
He glanced at Megan, whose face was wracked with anguish. "Wait here," R.B. demanded, then he rushed into the house and flew up the stairs. What he saw next stopped him in his tracks. It was the old priest, Lucero Perez, lying in a pool of his own blood. His throat was slit, just like Santi's had been, and dark blood still trickled from the lethal wound.
Dead.
R.B. heard a noise behind him and he spun on his heels. And there was Billy Edgar, his eyes wide with fury.
Billy lunged at R.B., waving the bloody knife in crazed arcs, grunting like a wild animal. "You must die," he yelled. "You have to die!"
"Megan, run!" shouted R.B., dodging another wild slash of the blade. "Run, Megan. Go get the police!"
Billy lunged again, this time over-stretching enough that R.B. grabbed a fistful of his collar, hauling the weaker man to the ground. The blade went clattering across the wooden floorboards out of reach, and seizing his advantage, R.B. started strangling Billy Edgar. R.B. wasn't a wrestler, but he'd seen enough movies to know that it took an average man about sixty seconds to pass out from a lack of oxygen. Billy thrashed around on the floor, struggling against R.B.'s strong grip, but he wasn't as powerful as his opponent, and he started to weaken, his wild jerks diminishing to weak spasms. Then his eyes closed, and he fell still. It had taken just forty seconds.
R.B. relaxed his grip. It was a mistake.
Billy had tricked him into letting go, and he thrust his elbow upwards, catching R.B. square on the jaw. It wasn't a knockout blow, though, and R.B. rolled off onto his side and scrambled to his feet. But for Billy it was just a momentary reprieve. As he struggled onto his knees, R.B. spotted a huge, ancient candlestick, and grabbed it. He felt the weight in his hands and knew it would do the job. He waited until Billy was on his knees and looking up at him. Then he swung the improvised weapon as hard as he could at Billy Edgar's jaw. The impact was devastating, and Billy crumpled onto himself, his head slamming into the hardwood floorboards with a sickening thud. He was out cold.
R.B. sprinted down the stairs after Megan, afraid now that the other Edgar brother was on the premises. But there was no sign of a second assailant. And there was no sign of Megan Simons. He called her name, darting from one room to another. He sprinted out onto the gloomy street, but there was no sign of her there either. It was as if she'd never been at Lucero's at all.
Megan was gone.
R.B. rampaged back up the stairs. He surged straight to the stricken Billy Edgar and hauled him into an upright position. Grabbing a jug from the side of Lucero's bed, he filled it with water from the bathroom. Standing in front of Billy, he launched the water at his face. He didn't stir. Rage coursed through Ryan Bodean now, more fury than he'd ever known. "Wake up!" he demanded. "Wake up you chicken-shit low-life, wake up!" And with his open palm he slapped Billy's cheek as hard as he possibly could. Then he did it again. And a third time. It wasn't like R.B. But he was mad. And he wanted answers.
Finally, Billy's eyelids flickered. R.B. filled the jug again, and again he sloshed the cold water into Billy's face. At last his eyes opened, and he looked at R.B., all fight gone from his body and all will gone from his soul. R.B. stared down at the man, blood pooling down from his jaw and mixing with the water. With both hands Billy wiped the water from his face, never once taking his eyes from R.B. And in a moment that shocked R.B. to his core, Billy smiled.
"You are finished, B-Bodean," he stuttered through racking coughs. "They ... they will come for you."
"Who?" R.B. demanded. "Who will come?"
Billy grinned. "The Light. The Light will come."
"The Light? What the hell is that?"
"You really don't know what you're up against, do you?" In that moment Billy Edgar's smile faded. He stared expressionless at R.B. for a long moment, and then his face softened. Gone was the cocky, defiant murderer. In his place was a broken man. And if he wasn't mistaken, R.B. thought he saw compassion. "You should leave," Billy said. "They're coming for you."
"The Light? Who the hell is The Light?"
"The Congregation For The Light," he answered. "They ... they have my family. They will k-kill me. They will kill you too." Billy's breathing was becoming labored. He sucked in a deep, wheezing breath, and closed his eyes. R.B.'s blow with the candlestick was taking its toll. "P-please, Bodean. Help my family. Leave here now. Save your f-friend. And help my family. I'm ... " he wheezed. "I am sorry. For the priest. I was instructed to ... "
"What?" demanded R.B. "Instructed to do what?"
"My brother and ... we were ordered to kill you both. And whoever helped you. It was ... " He slipped to the floor, no energy left to remain upright. From the floor he looked up at Bodean, pleading with his eyes. "My wife ... daughter. Please ... help them."
R.B. heard the sudden and distant wailing of police sirens. "Shit!"
He took the narrow stairs four at a time and raced out into the street. Still no sign of Megan. "Goddammit," he shouted, just as the first blue and red lights illuminated the darkness at the far end of the street. With no other choice than to run, he ducked behind a hedgerow that ran parallel to the road and, keeping his head down, he scooted along towards where they'd left the car. Pausing as several police cars flew past him towards Lucero's house, he darted into the car and quietly eased along the road until he was out of sight. Then he drove fast for two miles and, confident he was out of danger, he pulled over beside the road in the shelter of a small forest, though the rain still pelted through the canopy and thundered against the roof.
R.B. found it hard to think. So much had happened. Two people had been murdered, and now Megan was missing. It was almost more than he could handle. He leaned back in the car seat, letting his eyes close. He was suddenly more exhausted than he'd ever known.
And then his phone rang. He snagged it up from the passenger seat and checked the number, putting on speakerphone mode.
It was Megan.
42
Lost & Found