by Hep Aldridge
Our main coffee maker was at it again. Eduardo had the pot going and seemed like his old self. When I rolled out, he had a hot cup ready for me. We had purchased our coffee at the market since none of us really cared for the instant stuff in the MRE’s. The powdered orange drink wasn’t bad if you liked Tang as a kid, but the fresh coffee we brewed had a good kick to it and started the day off right, as far as I was concerned.
There was no action to report, so breakfast was consumed, our mules loaded, and the campsite cleared. No trace of the fire was left. Once cleared, we headed out. Everyone seemed to be in better spirits. I don’t know why. Maybe the good night’s sleep was the cause, or perhaps the vodka did the trick or a combination. Whatever it was, it felt good to be following a path for a change, even as narrow as it was. The machetes could stay sheathed today.
The grade was mild, still uphill but a more gradual slope. By the time mid-day arrived, we were ready for a break. The path had disappeared a couple of times. Luckily, we were able to follow it with the LIDAR image we had and picked it back up again. During our break, Joe deployed the drone and mapped the area in front of us. The trail had been running straight so far, but I’d feel better if we had a visual image to fall back on or refer to. Now that we were on the path, Joe could narrow his search area and lengthen it considerably, and in the same thirty-minute flying time, he was able to map miles ahead.
By the time we headed out again, we had a clear image of the path to follow and made very good time. At the end of the day, we had passed our mapped area but still had a good path to follow. Dusk was settling in, and we decided to stop for the night. As we were starting to unload the mules, Reggie came up.
“Do you guys hear that?”
We all went quiet, but I heard nothing.
“No, what is it?” I asked.
“Wait here,” she said as she trotted down the path, rifle in hand. Five minutes later, she came trotting back, grinning, and said, “Don’t unpack here; the stream is just ahead.”
We loaded back up and made our way to the stream—a beautiful clear mountain stream about four feet wide and a couple of feet deep. We still had water, but this was a real plus. We found a level place next to the stream to set up a real camp, tents, and all. We unloaded the mules and let them drink and graze on the grass growing around the stream.
Another fire was in order, and I decided to explore some before it got dark. I followed the stream downhill for about twenty yards and found another small pool. As the water exited the pool, it disappeared under some rocks and never reappeared on the other side. Hmm, must start following an underground path from here, I thought. I looked at the pool again and decided that would be a good place to try and wash off some of the travel dirt in the morning. I went back and let the others know.
Another nice evening was had, fire, hot meal, and vodka nightcap. I could get used to this, I thought. The morning came chilly with hot coffee. It wasn’t easy, but we all took turns down at the pool for a very brisk, refreshing, and quick bathing experience. The water in the stream was very cold, and the chill in the morning air added to the speed and extent of our immersion or splashing. The ladies went last, waiting for a degree or two increase in air temp before heading down.
We restocked our water supply upstream and had everything loaded by the time they returned, looking rosy-cheeked and refreshed.
“Now that everyone is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I suggest we hit the trail,” I said, taking my mule by its lead and following the stream upward. We hadn’t gone far when I noticed a strange rock standing about four feet tall next to the stream. When we got to it, I realized it was a carved marker stone almost completely covered with moss and small plants. The carving was a man standing with what looked like a robe on, hands clasped in front with his head looking skyward from under the cowl of his robe. The features of the face were still in very good shape, and it was easy to tell he bore no resemblance to any indigenous peoples we had seen since arriving in Ecuador.
“What do you make of that?” Doc said, staring at the carving.
“Don’t think he’s from around here,” Joe said.
We had all gathered around the statue. We took pictures and shot video of it and its surroundings, which on closer inspection turned out to be a carved stone platform covered by undergrowth.
“I think it’s telling us this stream was important, and we are on the right track. For what, I’m not sure, but it’s obvious he was put here for a reason.”
“Agreed,” Doc said, as he took a couple more pictures before we continued.
An hour later, Joe said, “Hey, Colt, the Vatican dudes are on the move again.” He had stopped and was looking at his pad.
I walked back to him and said, “Show me.” He held it up and hit play. I could plainly see the Inca Road from a jungle viewpoint, and then the men walked by, following the road and walking past the camera hidden up the trail we had made.
“They didn’t see our trail,” he said.
“No, they just walked on past, thinking we stayed on the road. Hot damn, that’s great. Now, if they will just keep following it, we can extend our lead and maybe even shake them completely,” I said.
The others had gathered and looked at the video.
“That puts them almost two days behind us,” Dimitri said, grinning.
“Yep, so we don’t want to waste our lead. We’ll keep an eye on the trail, but we got miles to go, so let’s get a move on.”
The path next to the pool was even fainter than our previous track. It was apparent it had not been traveled in many, many years. It was a good thing we knew to follow the stream. It was early afternoon when we finally got to the big pool described by the two elders, and sure enough, there was another barely visible path turning west at the pool.
“This must be our turn,” I said jokingly since nothing but undergrowth lay straight ahead. The water filling the pool was running down a small waterfall, the source of the water coming from underground. No water was visible anywhere above the pool. We took a short break, let the mules drink, and topped off our water supply before heading in our new direction.
The thought that we were getting close to the village where it all started made my heart race. This would have been the village where the priest who wrote the journals sent to the king of Spain had lived in the early 1700s. And where our priest found him over 400 years later, alive. Unbelievable.
The path was level with no significant elevation changes, and three hours later, we came to a clearing. In front of us were the remains of stone huts, their roofs mostly gone, and many of their walls had caved in. But there were remnants of at least thirty buildings. Doc walked up next to me, and we both stood there, silent.
Finally, he said, “This is it, Colt; this is the Shuar village where the priest lived. This is amazing. We have been talking about it and reading about it for the last couple of years, and now, here we are; we’re actually standing in the place written about in his journals,” he said in a reverent voice.
Everyone was standing in a line, looking into the deserted village, saying nothing.
Finally, Reggie broke the silence and said, “So, this is the deserted village you guys have been looking for?”
I turned to her and said, “Yes, I do believe it is. This is the village where the two elders lived that we talked to in Tamara’s village last year.”
It was starting to get dark, so we found an area to unload the mules and tie them. Before full dark set in, we quickly surveyed what remained of the village. Some huts were in better shape than others, and some still had pots and other utensils lying around, but most were empty. It was an eerie feeling—like walking through a ghost town.
“Let’s get a fire going and set up camp; we’re going to have a long day tomorrow.”
Eduardo came up and said in a very excited voice, “Are we going to find the library tomorrow?”
“No, not tomorrow. We first have to locate the Lost City of the Gods that we read about
in the priest’s journals. Then, hopefully, we will find more clues that will help us find the location of the library.” He looked a little disappointed, so I quickly added, “But I think we are getting close.” That did the trick; he perked up and went about helping set up camp.
The spaghetti and meatballs from the MRE tasted especially good tonight, and the oatmeal raisin cookies hit the spot for dessert. As the firelight flickered on the battered and crumbling walls around us, I couldn’t help wondering what it must have been like living here all those hundreds of years ago—the sights, the smells and sounds, raw and unfiltered by a mind bound by the constructs of our modern civilization. I wondered if Father Gonzalez felt the same excitement I was feeling, sitting on the brink of a potentially history-changing discovery. All the expeditions that came before us, none of them had ever come this close. Not even the Hall expedition of 1976 with Neil Armstrong had gotten anywhere near here. I laughed to myself as a thought returned to me from over a year ago when we discovered they were looking in the wrong place. And here we were, a bunch of fairly amateur explorers, possibly days away from the discovery of a lifetime.
I came around when a hand holding the vodka bottle bumped my shoulder, and Dimitri’s voice said, “You want a drink or what?” I shook myself out of my reverie and took the bottle.
O’Reilly said, “You okay, Colt? We’ve been talking to you for five minutes, and it was like you were zoned out. Not even here.”
“Yeah, I’m fine, just lost in thought; that’s all,” I said as I put the bottle to my lips and took a swallow. This was indeed a monumental moment and called for a celebratory drink. I handed the bottle back to Dimitri and scanned the group, whose faces danced in the shadows of the flickering firelight.
I was staring into the fire as I said, “You know, this could be the eve of a day of history-changing discovery, hell, world-changing.”
“Yes, it could be,” Doc said, “but I think we may still have a way to go. I’m not sure how hard it’s going to be to find that city. In all our research, all we know about it is that it was about a day’s hike from here. We have no idea in which direction.”
“Yes, we do, Doc,” Joe said as he looked at us, “the priest told us in his journal.”
“Oh, he did?” Doc retorted, “And which direction would that be?”
Now Joe laughed and pointed to the mountain behind us, “Well, up, of course.”
I had to laugh along with the others as it hit home. That’s true; he did say the chief and he climbed up to the city. So, there you have it. Doc paused and then broke into laughter with the rest of us.
“Guess you’re right, Joe; we do have a direction—rather broad but a direction nonetheless.”
Joe did a mock bow sitting down and said, “And you thought I was just brought along for my good looks.”
Now that did bring the house down, and the vodka bottle got passed around one more time as our muted laughter filled the night around us. We started prepping to turn in, and even though we had no new indication of an imminent threat, we still decided to post guards. I was tired but knew sleep was far away, so I took the first watch. I would wake Joe in three hours. I moved away from the circle of firelight and sat with my M-16 in the half shadows of the closest hut, staring into the darkness and letting my mind wander as the flames turned to glowing orange coals. The cold crept in even though I was wrapped in a thermal blanket.
I stayed alert but did let my mind embrace our surroundings and its history. My thoughts were filled with flights of fancy and wonder as I watched my sleeping comrades and the darkness that surrounded us. Three hours later, I woke Joe and handed off my M-16 and blanket. As I crawled into my sleeping bag, I couldn’t help thinking we are on the verge, the cusp of something extraordinary; I only hoped we would be up to the mental and physical challenges I knew would be forthcoming. As I looked heavenward at the multitude of twinkling lights in the night sky, I remembered what Tony had said in our briefing back in Florida on his discovery of the celestial coordinates on the silver cube. He had looked at us sitting around the conference table and said the answers lay in the stars.
“The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff.”
Chapter Fourteen
The following day, it was apparent we had all benefited from a good night’s sleep. Everyone seemed more energized and upbeat than on previous days. Things were put in order in the camp quickly and efficiently with a lot of laughing and small talk as tasks were being done. Breakfast was more leisurely and enjoyable than in previous days. I felt as energized as everyone else when my SAT phone chimed. It was Fitz calling.
“Hey, bucko. How are things down south?” Fitz asked in his offhanded way.
“Good, Fitz, things are good. Why do you ask?” I replied.
“That’s good to hear. I got a call from your uncle a few days ago, and he said you guys might have a heap of trouble brewing down there.”
“Well, yeah, that’s true. We’ve had a new wrinkle added to things that could potentially be serious, but so far, we’re handling it.
“You sure things are good? I wouldn’t want you all to get hung out to dry down there when the cavalry’s not that far away.”
“Well, we are being followed by some seriously dangerous dudes, but we’ve been able to neutralize one of our problems. Still got another we may have to deal with, but this ain’t our first rodeo.”
“Don’t get cocky on me, Colt. I just want you to remember backup is just a call away; that’s all.”
“Appreciate the concern, really, I do, and you know we’d give a shout if we needed to, so don’t worry. I am going to send you the GPS coordinates of our location, just in case. We found the original village where the priest was living that wrote the journal, so we’ll be using it as our base camp.”
“No kidding, you found the village?”
“Well, we found what was left of it. It’s been deserted for a long time. But we’re using it as our starting point to look for the lost city.”
“Well, all right then, keep your SAT phone handy and call your uncle if you need something. Send him the coordinates too.”
“Roger that, will do; we’ll be in touch.”
“Good, oh, and by the way, give your team up here a call. I think they have some updates for you.”
“Will do,” and with that, the line went dead.
“Joe, send Fitz and Uncle Harold our coordinates. We want to make sure they know where our base camp is in case they have to come to find us.”
“On it, Colt,” he said.
I punched in Gus’s number, and he picked up on the fourth ring, “Hey, Colt, how the hell are you?” Gus asked in a cheerful voice.
“Alive and well, Gus; how are things in Florida?”
“Not bad; I take it you talked to Fitz. Did he tell you to call?”
“Yep, just got off the horn with him; what’s going on?”
“Well, the legal stuff is still moving along slowly; no new developments and no one’s bothering us. So, that’s all good. I wanted to let you know we have finally cleared the debris off the quarter deck of the galleon and have gotten down to the main cabin area. I think we may have found that Vatican emissary’s cabin, and it looks like he hadn’t taken a vow of poverty.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I think you will be very happy with what we’re pulling out of there, on the QT, of course—quite the haul. The rest of the recovery is going smoothly. Weather looks like it may take a turn for the worse, though, so we may have to shut down for a few days, but no big deal.”
“Man, that’s great news; I look forward to the details later.”
“Lawrence is still tied up in Orlando, but he wanted me to give you a message. He said he got a call from the law firm he was working with in California about Reggie’s legal troubles.”
“Okay, what’s the latest?”
“He said the guy who has the lawsuit against her just got busted for trafficking cocaine. He thinks this can really he
lp her case and will stay in touch with the attorney.”
“That sounds like it could be very good news. Let him know we talked and to keep those money-grubbing government yahoos at bay.”
“Don’t worry about that; from all accounts I hear, they are kicking butt, in a legal sense, of course,” he said, laughing.
“Great, anything else I need to know?”
“No, don’t think so; things are moving along smoothly, but I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”
“Good, just so you know, we found the old village where the priest lived, the one that wrote the journal, and we’re putting together our search plan for the lost city, so we’ll keep you updated as well.”
“Fantastic, all right, you all be safe; we’ll be in touch.”
“You got it, Gus; you guys take care too,” and with that, the call ended.
We had cobbled together a makeshift table and some low benches from scraps we found in the village. Joe had set up the laptop and his pad along with the solar charger we had gotten in Fitz’s care package. Batteries were being charged, and he was looking over a topo map of the area we had loaded into the laptop. The others were gathered around, talking. I quickly brought them up to speed on the info I had just received, except for the Reggie legal stuff. I thought I would keep that to myself until I found out how things developed.
I said, “Okay, folks, here’s the plan. Joe, we need to get the drone in the air and do a visual flyover of our immediate area to see if we can spot any trail leading from the village into the mountains. If nothing jumps out, then we’ll have to try a LIDAR search. We have a good head start on the Vatican mercs, but we don’t have time to waste, so we need to get the drone up as soon as we can.” Joe had already started setting up the drone for launch.
“The rest of you spread out and do a quick area recon of the village perimeter and see if you can spot any physical sign of a trail. Don’t go too far and stay on Comms. Give me a holler if you find anything. O’Reilly, I want you to hang back and help Joe and me review the drone video in real-time. Okay, let's hit it.”