‘That’s it, boys. Get it out of your system and let me handle the driving for a bit.’ Botha slapped them both on the back before taking hold of the wheel and powering up the engines. ‘I tell you, I could really go for some chicken chow mein right about now.’ He said it with an amused smile even as the sound of retching started up all over again.
To find a boat that could make the twenty-two mile trip had been easy, and Botha had sourced one within an hour. The hard part came when Harker had explained to them where they would be going. North Sentinel Island was far from a tourist destination, and on hearing the name, Doggie and Botha had looked very wary at the prospect. In all the world there were few places people genuinely feared to tread, but this island in the Bay of Bengal was one of them. Around the entire island a six-mile exclusion zone was enforced by patrol boats of the Indian army, although there were few laws prohibiting anyone setting foot there. These drastic measures were not due to radiation or a top-secret military base, but something just as dangerous to any visitor who dared set foot there. The island was home to one of the few uncontacted tribes in the world, the Sentinelese, who were practising hunter-gatherers still using technology that had not progressed since the Stone Age. Missionaries, anthropologists and shipwrecked sailors had all arrived on the island over the years, only to leave as corpses thrown back into the sea. Attempts had been made to establish contact, but only rarely did these visits not end in bloodshed under a hail of spears and arrows. The Sentinelese were thought to have arrived on the island as far back as sixty thousand years ago, and only a few pictures existed, taken from helicopters or passing boats, of these mysterious folk adorned with red warpaint, thought to number anywhere between fifty and five hundred. It was truly an island lost in time – a time when woolly mammoths, sabre-toothed tigers and Neanderthals still walked the earth.
Doggie and Botha had expressed grave concern right from Harker’s first mention of the place, but had reluctantly agreed once it was clear he would not back down. Had the forbidding prospect of an apocalypse not been on the horizon, Doggie most certainly would have refused to go along, but ever since Gornergrat and Nicholas Wattling’s revelations of impending doom, the dean had seemed ever more introverted, and who could blame him. It was hard enough for most people to come to terms with their own mortality, no matter how far off, let alone being told it would be occurring in less than a week.
‘How are you doing, Tom?’ Harker asked, as they retook their seats after recovering from their Botha-induced seasickness.
‘A lot better, thank you,’ Doggie replied. ‘There’s something about the constant swaying motion that really gets to me.’
‘I don’t mean that, Tom. I mean about all this ahead.’ Harker was pointing towards the lone island, now less than a mile away, with its trees silhouetted against the night sky.
Doggie glanced towards their destination and managed a smile. ‘It’s difficult to put into words, Alex,’ he began, and then after a few seconds of silence he gave it a go. ‘You spend your entire life creating a place in the world for yourself: a house, a career, your circle of friends, and then someone pops up and says “Sorry to tell you but the world is going to end in just a few days. Good luck and ta-ta.”’
As the boat rocked back and forth, his body swayed with it, as if he had no energy left to resist. ‘I always thought I would have time to meet someone, settle down and, well, you know… have a life. But time seems to have passed me by.’
For the first time since they had met Wattling, the dean was revealing just how much the startling revelation had affected him. Harker gave him a friendly tap on the knee. ‘It’s never too late, Tom.’
‘And some might just say, given the world is about to end, that it probably is,’ Doggie replied. Then he chuckled. ‘Unless the Sentinelese ladies prefer to keep older white men alive instead of spearing them to death at first sight!’
He looked out across the calm waters. ‘Time passes so quickly, Alex, and you can never truly understand that until you get older. I think it’s about all the possibilities open to you when you’re young. Then, your life could be in a rut – or not where you want it to be – but you still feel like anything is possible, anything could happen, even if it doesn’t. But as time passes, your options begin to narrow, like the roots of a tree all leading to one trunk, an amalgamation of all those years of making decisions that lead you onto a single path that you now just can’t get off.’
Worried now that Doggie was descending into a gloom that would affect them all just when they needed to be on top of their game, Harker reached over and slapped him firmly across the face.
‘Snap out of it, Tom,’ Harker yelled as Doggie recoiled. ‘You are the Dean of Archaeology at Cambridge University. You have hundreds of adoring colleagues and students who think you’re awesome. You have great friends – including me, by the way – who love you, and more money in the bank than I will likely ever see.’
Doggie stared at him blankly as Harker continued.
‘As for a love life, you need to get off your fat arse, take a chance and see what’s out there. Until you’re lying in a hospital bed with the priest reading you the last rites, you can create as many new paths as you want. And so far as the coming apocalypse goes, I have absolute faith that whatever we find on this island is going to sort the whole mess out.’
If Harker were being honest, he had no faith in that whatsoever, but he was too deep into making his point to stop now. ‘I’m getting married in just over a week’s time, and I intend to be there. So I’ll make you a deal right here, right now. When we get through this whole thing, I promise that you can be my best man. But I want your solemn promise that from that moment on, you will make an effort to get out there and start looking for that special person. And’ – Harker threw a finger up in the air – ‘that you will make a bucket list and force yourself to do everything you’ve always thought about doing but never got round to, no matter how stupid or difficult.’
Harker thrust his arm out for a handshake, but Doggie was still looking unconvinced.
‘Oh, come on, Tom, for Christ’s sake, we’re probably both going to get speared to death the moment this boat lands in a few minutes’ time, so I say – what the hell!’
A smile began to creep across the dean’s face and then he laughed out loud before grasping Harker’s hand and giving it a firm shake. ‘Deal.’
The two men released their grip and sat waiting with a renewed sense of energy, ready to take on whatever might be thrown at them next.
‘Oh, and Alex…’ As Harker turned to face him, Doggie slapped a palm hard across his face. ‘Don’t ever do that again.’
The dean kept on smiling, and Harker glanced over at Botha who was doing likewise, but then the Templar’s expression began to harden and he pointed ahead of them.
The approaching shoreline was devoid of any lights, and with only a hundred metres to go, Harker began to feel that familiar nervousness in the pit of his stomach. Who knew what they would find here, or if there was indeed some alien technology hidden on the island that could really halt a meteor strike? The very idea seemed frankly ludicrous, but when all options have been exhausted, the final, most crazy one becomes increasingly attractive.
As Harker now pinned his hopes on the fantastical, Botha whispered across to them. ‘OK, gentlemen, here we go.’
Chapter 25
The forest interior was far denser than expected and, as Harker swept away the vines and vegetation with his hands, the sound of this activity was amplified by their encroaching surroundings. Their boat had been left moored five metres off the beach, so as to make a quick retreat possible. With Harker at the front, Botha at the rear and Doggie in the middle, they had made slow progress forward for about forty-five minutes Botha had also surprised them by producing two Heckler & Koch USP handguns, which Harker had initially refused but was now glad he had accepted, given the eerie surroundings of the forest. Doggie, on the other hand, had preferred to remain una
rmed, theorising that if they were to be attacked, the first ones on the Sentinelese kill list would be those holding weapons… if they even recognised the guns for what they were.
So they pressed ahead, with next to no conversation, for another twenty minutes before coming to a small rocky outcrop with a single stream running through it. Harker gingerly approached it, cupped his hand and drew some of the water to his lips.
‘It’s fresh,’ he declared, and the others joined him to sample it. ‘This could be somewhere they get their drinking water from, so if we want to meet them we should follow it to its source.’
Doggie gave a silent nod but Botha looked like he had something else on his mind. He leaned in and whispered to them both, ‘I think we’re being followed.’
Harker’s immediate reaction was to look around, his eyes darting back and forth. Doggie did likewise till the Templar grabbed them both by the arm.
‘Just relax. I keep hearing a rustling far behind us, but if the tribe want to show themselves, let them do it in their own time. We don’t want to panic them.’
Botha then unclipped a small metal canteen from his belt, gave everyone a swig and refilled it from the running water. Then they continued onwards using the stream as a guide.
Harker now felt incredibly exposed, but he knew Botha was right. If they strode ahead boldly, they were only likely to scare their pursuers and inflame any situation that might arise. There was something else niggling at Harker – and had been since their decision to travel to this island. There were many reasons for strangers not to visit this place but near the top of the list was the risk of disease. Having been isolated for so long here, it was almost certain that they would not have immunity to any diseases, so potentially even a serious cold could cause devastation to their community. However, the overall stakes were just too high for this to be a priority. If this place was the location of an Ark of Knowledge, then they had to find it. As a precaution, he had insisted that Botha bring with him several packets of antibiotics, but he already knew it was an unworkable idea, since how would they be able to persuade the tribe to swallow them? Still, it seemed the right thing to do.
Botha now took the lead, with Doggie at the tail end, as they followed the stream through forest which quickly became dense once more, and they continued like that for over an hour. It was a suffocating environment and to say their trek was laborious would be an understatement of epic proportions. The walking itself was not the problem, because the stream over time had created a natural widening at its edges which gave room for a single person to move with ease but, with the similarity of the trees and foliage and the lack of any moonlight penetrating the canopy, it felt like one was constantly walking in a circle. Harker was beginning to worry that they had done exactly that when finally, after another forty-five minutes, they heard the sound of cascading water off in the distance.
Botha turned around with an eager expression, but as he looked further behind, it turned to one of worry. Harker instantly glanced back to see nothing but the dark, empty trail they had been following.
‘Doggie!’ he whispered loudly but the dean was nowhere to be seen, so Harker began investigating the deep undergrowth over to his right. ‘He was just here,’ he exclaimed, becoming increasingly agitated. ‘Doggie!’ he yelled, whereupon Botha slapped a hand across his mouth.
‘Keep it down,’ he hissed. ‘Do you want everyone to know we’re here?’
‘They’ve got Tom, Xavier. They already know we’re here!’
It was a fair point and Botha had begun to call out too when something caught Harker’s eye, a movement in the bushes about six metres away. It was too dark to see anything more, so he instinctively raced over and swept the bushes aside.
There was nothing there, and as he strained to peer into the dark, he called back to Botha – only to be met with silence. Harker snapped his head around to see just a dark, empty trail ahead of him. He darted back to where he had been earlier, but there was nothing to hear or see except the sound of splashing water up ahead and the shadowy silhouettes of trees and bushes all around.
From somewhere off to his left came a rustling noise, and with his pulse now racing in fear, Harker took off at a run along the path towards the running water, without looking back. He could have pulled out his gun but chose not to, for at this point it would probably only make matters worse. After a full fifteen minutes he broke through the limit of the trees and into an open area, whereupon he dropped to his knees, struggling to catch his breath. His exhaustion caused him to feel light-headed and as he looked up towards the clearing in front of him, with the moon shining down upon it, he could just make out a small, shimmering waterfall that had been making all that noise. It wasn’t a big drop, maybe only five metres, but the water landed on a large stone at the bottom with a slapping sound. Back at the boat they had agreed not to use their torches unless absolutely necessary for fear of scaring away – or attracting – the Sentinelese, until they knew where the latter were located and had formed a plan of introducing themselves. And, even though the trees shut out most of the moonlight, it had been easy enough to navigate. But as he looked over at the trees on the other side of the clearing, he spotted something that had him reaching for his torch.
The trees were moving!
Harker pulled out the torch instantly but before he could turn it on, something slammed hard into the back of his head and sent him flying forwards onto the ground. It was a hard blow and, as he turned his head to look, what he saw had his heartbeat surging.
A huge head with long tendrils dangling from the sides slowly bore down on him, grunting at first and then beginning to sniff at his head. The aroma was oddly smoky, like a lavender incense stick. And as the head pulled back the silhouette of a paw made up of clawed talons now appeared above him. The sight was terrifying but Harker had already figured out what it was. He very slowly slipped his hand deep into his pocket and proceeded with the initial plan he had decided upon back at Port Blair. Everything now hinged on it having the desired effect.
The gold coin glimmered in the moonlight as he held it up, and the creature paused for a moment before plucking it from his hand. It now stood back upright and began making a series of low melodic grunts.
From the fringe of the trees, a flickering of light caught his eye and Harker looked over to see a series of flaming torches illuminating the forty or so humans holding them. They were mainly naked except for loincloths, and as Harker looked back at the creature which had attacked him, the torchlight revealed what he had already suspected. The man was probably a little over six feet tall and the mask he wore was leather, as were the tendrils attached to it – black leather strips which stuck out at various points. On one hand he wore a cumbersome-looking glove made of numerous straps of animal skin bound together with bird claws holding them in place, and the only visible part of the fellow’s face was the eyes, whose pupils appeared as black as the night.
He now passed the coin back to Harker, and with a final grunt, gestured with his gloved hand and began walking back towards the others.
Harker took this as a sign to follow. The tall man took a flaming torch from a small, black-skinned Sentinelese female, whereupon all the shadowy figures now extinguished their own torches in the earth and seemed to melt back into the trees, leaving just Harker and the masked man. After glancing back to ensure he was being followed, the man began to lead Harker into the forest.
Harker realised these must indeed be the Sentinelese people, the uncontacted tribe whose ancestors had first come to this island tens of thousands of years ago. But as awe-inspiring as it was to be in their company, Harker could only think of Doggie and Botha and wonder where they were.
He stayed silent as the pair of them proceeded because he knew his guide would not speak a word of English. No one in the world truly knew what language the Sentinelese spoke. There were educated guesses, based on dialects used in the surrounding areas, but no one really knew for certain.
They co
ntinued in silence for another ten minutes until the masked man came to a halt by a large boulder rising up from the ground. He turned round, lowered his torch towards the rock itself, and pointed.
Harker took a few steps forward and saw what he was pointing to. It was a small, round hole about the same size as the coin and so he reached over and placed the coin in that opening.
There followed a high-pitched whine and, without a sound, his guide took off into the forest, leaving Harker in sudden darkness as a rumbling could be heard from behind the rock and the soil beneath his feet began to vibrate. Then the middle section of the rock began to slide sideways and he was bathed in a white light.
Harker raised his hands to cover his eyes, but the intensity was so bright, so consuming that he had to turn away. Just as it became almost unbearable, it appeared to fade and he turned back and slowly lowered both hands.
A long set of black steps led down into the ground, and at their lowest point he could make out a lighted doorway. His initial reaction was to back away, but as he looked back out into the creepy forest he decided to move forwards instead and so began to make his way downwards. The floor below was glass-like and undeniably similar to the strange surfaces he had seen back in the pyramid in the Strait of Gibraltar.
He had made it halfway down when the rock doorway above began to slide shut, but he made no attempt to run back up to it. What would be the point? He was here for a reason and it would not be answered back in the forest covering North Sentinel island.
Harker continued down the steps until he reached the door, scanning its outer edges and the thin white neon lighting that surrounded them. This was all too surreal! Finally, with a deep breath to steady himself, he pushed against the door’s cold, black, glassy surface and stepped inside.
Up until now Harker had not been sure what to expect. A silver UFO sitting grandly before him, a group of little, grey extraterrestrials perhaps… or even God himself seated on a white throne, with a long beard and a welcoming look on his face? But as Harker glanced around the small concrete space, he felt only bewilderment. The room was lit by a single overhead strip light and completely empty except for a man with white hair and a goatee standing in the middle of the room – and he sure as hell wasn’t God.
The Shadow Conspiracy Page 22