“So, he never found it,” Tommy said, more to himself than the others.
“No. Even on his deathbed, Alvarado kept speaking about the temple and the strange power that dwelt there.”
“And you want us to find it,” Sean said with a dubious glare.
“Mr. Wyatt, I realize that what I’m saying may sound crazy or even dangerous.”
“Neither of those really bothers us.”
“Then what’s the issue?” She folded her arms across her chest.
“The issue is that this guy Alvarado couldn’t find it. We hear stories about these lost cities and lost temples all the time from that region all the way down into Peru, Brazil, even Argentina. Even with the latest satellite technology, it’s nearly impossible to find anything in those rain forests and mountains.”
“Well,” Tommy cut in, “there was that kid who thought he found a lost pyramid.”
“Sure, there are exceptions,” Sean went on, “but that isn’t the norm. How are we supposed to find this place without any sort of points of reference?”
“That, gentlemen, is why that book is so important. Just before he died, Alvarado realized he didn’t have much time left. So, he put down as much information as he could remember into that journal. His intention was that someday someone would come along and be able to figure out the temple’s location.”
“He sure didn’t make it easy,” Tommy said.
“No. He didn’t. That diary is a map, but not just anyone can decipher it. It takes someone with a knowledge of those kinds of things.”
Tommy twisted his head to the side and stared at the encoded message. “We’ll need a key,” he said. “Can’t do anything with these kinds of ciphers without the key.”
“I’m sure you’re more than capable of figuring out how to do just that. This temple Alvarado speaks of could be the key to unlocking unlimited free energy for the entire world. I’d say that’s a worthwhile cause. Wouldn’t you?”
Sean snorted. “We’ve stumbled on a few things like that before.”
“I’m well aware of your exploits and discoveries.”
“Then you’re also aware that politicians like yourself and others blocked usage of those technologies until further investigation and research could be done.” Sean used air quotes for the last part of his comment.
Lilian did her best to look offended. Maybe she really was. “I am nothing like those animals,” she protested. “I have championed renewable energy sources for years.”
“Fine,” Sean said, putting his hand up to apologize. “I’m sorry. Please, go on.”
She drew a deep breath and collected her thoughts. “This temple clearly had some kind of incredible energy. I want you two to find it. It goes without saying that you will be well rewarded.”
“It should go without saying that we don’t do it for the money,” Tommy said.
“Yes, Tommy. I know you don’t do these kinds of things for profit. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have your expenses covered.”
She could see the two still weren’t convinced. “Look. Worst-case scenario is you find some ancient ruins with a bunch of artifacts inside.”
“No, the worst-case scenario is we end up finding nothing and wasting a bunch of time in the process.”
She conceded to the last statement. “I understand. I suppose I could find another agency to look into this for me, but you two were my first choice.”
“Now hold on a second,” Tommy said. “I didn’t say we weren’t going to take the job. I just want you to have appropriate expectations. This sort of thing usually doesn’t yield the desired outcome. If it looks like a dead end, you need to be ready to accept that.”
A wry smile creased Lilian’s lips. “I’m well aware of the risk involved. If, and I realize it’s a big if, this temple holds what I suspect it might, it will be worth it.”
Chapter 5
Washington
Lightning flashed, and clouds churned in the boiling pot of the night sky over western Virginia. Congresswoman Margaret Monroe looked out from the railing of her balcony while she sipped a warm brandy.
From the looks of the forecast, the storm was supposed to skirt the edge of the city and continue north, narrowly missing the capital on its way toward the Northeast.
She didn’t mind the storms. She enjoyed them, in fact, especially from her balcony. It was one of the simpler pleasures her role as a member of Congress provided. The AMG in her garage was another one, although it hardly qualified as simple.
Monroe had been in Congress for just over a decade. She’d won her first term running unopposed. After that, she’d dismantled a slew of mediocre candidates who offered nothing in the way of a positive change for her constituents. The one who had presented a challenge ended up fighting a sex scandal that essentially took him out of the running before the election even happened.
It paid to have powerful friends.
That was a lesson Monroe learned early on in her career. She’d come to Washington with a list of things she wanted to change and a heart full of admirable ideals. It didn’t take her long to see that those things weren’t what made things go in the nation’s capital. Those were the kinds of traits that got someone pushed out before their second term.
Initially, she’d figured playing the game was the best way to make a difference with the things she cared about. For the most part, that had been proven true. Her initiatives had saved tens of thousands of lives in Africa and Haiti, providing medical care, food, and education to those who needed it.
But the cost had been high.
To serve what she believed was the greater good, she’d made a deal with the devil. Every day was a battle with her conscience, though the little voice in her head that tried to steer her down a more righteous path had grown quieter over the years. She’d grown accustomed to the good life as well as the way things had to be done.
In the beginning, she gave herself pep talks every night, reminding herself that this was what had to happen in order to best serve her voters and the rest of the world. Those talks stopped years ago.
Her husband wouldn’t be proud of what she’d become, but he was dead, killed six years before in an automobile accident.
She’d always wondered if it really was an accident. The tragedy occurred at a time when she was being asked to vote a certain way on a new energy bill. Monroe had waffled on the bill, thinking it was too much to ask. The people with whom she’d aligned herself, however, weren’t the kind to ignore. After her husband’s death, she voted as requested, albeit with great hesitation.
Getting reelected that year had been the easiest of all. The sympathy vote along with the massive contributions she received from her allies made certain no one could challenge her seat.
Monroe took another sip of the brandy and leaned over the railing. Now she was fifty years old and one of the more powerful members in the House of Representatives.
Her cat, a Russian blue, stepped out onto the balcony and rubbed its side against her legs. She’d ditched her usual business suit in lieu of a white terry cloth robe, so the cat’s fur was soft against her skin.
“You want something to eat?” she cooed like it was a toddler.
The cat offered a short meow in response.
She took a deep breath through her nostrils and sighed. “Oh all right.” After another sip of brandy, she set the snifter on a patio table by the railing and stepped inside.
Monroe padded downstairs and into the kitchen, removed a can of cat food from the walk-in pantry, and scooped the wet pâté into a little white bowl that read Albert on the side. The cat eagerly dove into the food, licking the meat at first and then biting off chunks as it purred.
“You like that, huh?”
Monroe tossed the can in the garbage bin and started to head back up the stairs when she caught sight of something outside. Her eyebrows lowered as suspicion rose in her mind. She leaned to the right and looked out the window.
A bird suddenly zipped
by, and she jumped back, startled. She let out a sigh and shook her head.
She knew her security guard, a young man named Blake, was sitting in his SUV outside. If anyone tried to get in, he’d see them first. Just to be safe, though, Monroe walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains. Sure enough, Blake was sitting at the steering wheel, peering into the darkness.
Monroe didn’t know how those guys did it, especially the night shift guards like Blake. She’d have passed out multiple times on a shift like that.
She let go of the curtain and started back up the steps.
The death of Tripp Haskins had unnerved most of Capitol Hill. Maggie Monroe had taken it especially hard.
It wasn’t because she was particularly fond of the congressman, though she’d enjoyed a night of passion with him once after too much champagne at a fundraiser. His tastes were typically much younger. She’d dismissed the occurrence as a mistake and moved on, only occasionally finding conquests of her own when she felt the need.
No, the death of Congressman Haskins didn’t bother her because of their relationship or even their one romantic encounter.
Monroe and Haskins were on the same team. They’d been handpicked by a group of powerful, wealthy people to lead things in a certain direction when it came to voting on bills related to energy and the environment.
She remembered her first meeting like it was yesterday. She was young—relatively—an energetic and ambitious member of the House, hoping to make the world a better place.
She’d returned to her office and found the man waiting for her. He didn’t give his name, phone number, or even an email. He’d simply placed an envelope on her desk and told her there’d be more deliveries like that made every month for the rest of her life if she decided to play ball.
At first, Monroe balked at the offer. Then he showed her a picture.
Rounding the top of the stairs, Monroe felt a chill go over her skin at the thought. She shivered away the goosebumps and walked softly back to the balcony where her drink waited on the table where she’d left it.
Her thoughts remained on that first meeting with the mystery man and the picture he’d shown her: her daughter, sitting under a tree at her university, reading a book.
The guy hadn’t made any threats. He hadn’t warned her what would happen if she didn’t do what she was asked. He didn’t need to. The danger was implied.
“What am I supposed to do?” she’d asked.
“You’ll be told when the time comes” was the only response he offered.
After that, she didn’t see him again for almost six months. The envelopes kept coming, though, stuffed with stacks of cash the likes of which she’d never imagined before.
When so much time had passed, she wondered if the man was ever going to reappear again—or if the instructions he claimed were forthcoming would ever arrive.
Then it happened.
One day, she’d come in from a session on an oversight committee when she found something else inside the envelope of money. There was a piece of paper with one sentence typed on it.
No on 32.
It took her a second to realize what the line meant. Then it hit her. Proposition 32 was a bill to reduce the number of new refineries in the United States by 10 percent every year for the next five years. The goal behind it was to start pushing the big oil companies and other fossil fuel corporations to pump their money into alternative and green energy research and development.
The bill seemed innocent enough, and she didn’t yet understand what it would mean for the massive companies it would affect most. What pushed Monroe over the edge with her vote was the thing attached to the note.
It was the same picture of her daughter.
After that, she got more frequent requests from her anonymous benefactor: a vote here, a filibuster there, nothing condemning—at least not in this life.
She stepped back out onto the balcony as another blast of thunder rolled through the soupy sky in the distance. Off to the right, the bright lights of the Capitol Building blazed in the middle of the city. A warm breeze wrapped around her and held her in its embrace. Then it died just as suddenly as it had arisen.
The floor creaked inside her bedroom just beyond the double doors, and Monroe spun around to see what made the noise. The bedroom was empty, lit by the lamp on her nightstand and more light pouring into the space from the bathroom on the other side of the room.
She peered into the dim bedroom, her senses on full alert. After five or six seconds, she turned back around to enjoy the view and her drink.
Monroe scooped up the glass and put it to her lips, letting the golden liquid fill her mouth for a moment before she swallowed. It was her second drink of the night, so the burn that came with the first few sips was gone, leaving nothing but the brandy’s natural flavor notes she loved so much.
She enjoyed the last sip so much, she decided to go ahead and finish this drink and get one more refill before heading to bed. She tipped the glass back, poured the rest of the contents into her mouth, and turned around to make her way to the bar in her upstairs study.
As she pivoted, she felt something brush against her back. A strong hand forced her forward against the rail while the other wrapped its fingers around her throat. The jarring contact with the wrought iron jiggled the glass from her hand, and it fell into the grassy lawn below with a quiet clink.
Monroe tried to scream, but the hand around her squeezed so tight she could barely gasp for air.
She felt the intruder shifting their right hand, working it quickly, near her waist, but couldn’t see what was happening. Monroe realized what was happening when the abrasive noose slipped around her neck. When the attacker let go of her neck, she instinctively bent over, gasping for air and clutching at her throat—both to remove the rope and to ease her breathing.
The next second, she felt two strong, slender arms wrap around her legs just below the knees. Monroe’s feet left the balcony floor as the intruder lifted her up and over the railing.
Her arms flailed, and her legs kicked wildly as she toppled over the railing. She started to scream for help, but her plea was cut short. The rope abruptly jerked and went taut. Monroe’s neck popped, but it didn’t break.
She kicked her feet harder and clawed at the rope crushing her throat. Her watery eyes bulged out of their sockets. Her face reddened and swelled as if about to burst. The lungs in her chest ached for air, air that wouldn’t come.
As she surrendered to unconsciousness, the darkness crept in from the corners of her eyes. Her head slumped forward. Her body shook and gyrated for another thirty seconds before it finally went limp, twisting and turning as she hung from the balcony.
The killer stood on the balcony and watched for another minute to make sure the woman was dead. Then, like a ghost, the shadowy figure vanished into the night.
Chapter 6
Atlanta
“It’s authentic,” Alex said as he placed the diary of General Alvarado on the lab workstation in front of Tommy. “Although I don’t know how much longer it’s going to last being exposed to the elements like this. I’m pretty amazed we can even still see the writing.”
“I am, too,” Tommy said. “Incredible it didn’t fade more than it has.”
“Any idea about the cipher?” Sean asked.
“Not really,” Tara said as she leaned over the item with her hands pressed firmly onto the desk. “We need the key.”
“And there wasn’t anything in this document that alluded to a key?”
Alex and Tara shook their heads simultaneously.
Tommy put his hand to his mouth, covering his lips with the index finger. His thumb pressed into the right cheek and rubbed it as he considered the problem.
“What if the cipher’s key is encoded within the book itself?” he asked.
The other three frowned.
“What do you mean?” Alex asked.
Tommy flipped open the diary and thumbed through the first few p
ages. “Occasionally, these kinds of things have the key put into what would otherwise be unnecessary information. It could be a dedication, a comment that seems out of place, something like that.”
“So, it could be that the key is hidden inside a message in the journal,” Sean said.
“Right. We just have to find the fluff. That’s where I’ve seen other cipher keys in the past.”
Tara raised a dubious eyebrow. “How many of these things have you seen?”
Tommy fired a look that told her all she needed to know.
“That many, huh?” she said. “Well, it’s worth a shot. We can set up some parameters in the computer and have it analyze all that in just a few minutes.”
Tommy snorted a laugh and shook his head. “That would have taken days, maybe weeks twenty years ago.”
“Heck, maybe even fifteen years ago,” Sean said. “Unreal how fast these things have gotten.”
Tara plopped into her rolling chair and scooted over to her workstation where a keyboard sat in front of a 30-inch monitor. A second later, her fingers were flying across the keyboard at a dizzying pace.
Sean shot a sidelong glance over at Alex. “You type that fast?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Alex asked with a cynical grin.
“I guess us old timers take things a little slower.”
“You guys aren’t even forty yet.”
“Getting there,” Sean said as he watched Tara work.
The three guys hovered around the workstation until she’d finished putting in all the information.
“Okay,” she said after fifteen minutes of furious typing. “It’s done. The system is going to check for anything in the rest of the text that has a similarity to what you described: things that might match up with the weird symbols in the back of the journal.”
“And it’s going to do that pretty fast, huh?”
The Fourth Prophecy Page 5