The faint trail wound down among pillars of lava, caves, overhangs, and steep rockfalls. It appeared to be a very old path, much worn with use, the edges of lava rock polished smooth by the passage of many feet. After they had descended perhaps two hundred nearly vertical feet, the trail made a hairpin turn, followed a tight horizontal ravine, and then entered an unobtrusive opening in the rock.
Very quickly the passageway opened into a large tunnel, evidently an old lava tube, heading into the heart of the island. The floor was of solid rock, the central portion worn and gleaming, again as if polished by the passage of countless feet. Gideon glanced at Amiko but said nothing.
As the light from the entrance became dim, the passageway opened up into a large, domed cavern, with a roof a hundred feet above their heads. The Cyclops halted. At the far end of the cavern stood a crude stone door, made from lava rocks fitted and stacked, with a shaped block forming the lintel. A mysterious, pale light spilled from beyond the door. Now the Cyclops shuffled forward on his large feet, moving slowly and with what felt to Gideon like a certain hesitation—or perhaps reverence—toward the entrance.
They stepped through the door, entering a cavern even bigger than the last. Gideon stopped in astonishment. Behind him, he heard Amiko gasp out loud. The walls of the cavern were encrusted with crystals—clusters and sprays of milky white, some four to five feet long. A spear of sunlight streamed in from a distant hole in the ceiling above them, striking a crystal array on one wall, which refracted it, spreading a soft, ethereal light throughout the cavern. The floor was covered with pure white sand. On the far wall, the lava had been polished smooth and was decorated with many designs, like petroglyphs—animals, spirals, suns, moons, and geometric people.
Gideon glanced at Amiko and saw the astonishment in his eyes reflected in her own. Neither spoke; the cathedral-like atmosphere and the hushed movements of the Cyclops seemed to call for silence.
The Cyclops continued walking through the cavern, past the crystals, toward the wall of petroglyphs. There were other drawings here, and with a start Gideon recognized a picture of a ship with a sail and what looked like rows of oarsmen.
“That,” whispered Amiko, “is a Greek pentekonter. The ship of Odysseus.”
With a grunt of annoyance the Cyclops hurried them along toward where the cavern closed in to a narrow yet tall passageway. As they left the brightness of the crystal cavern behind, the full dimension of what they were seeing in the dimness beyond slowly began to take shape. The high walls were honeycombed with niches, shelves, and small openings. From every dark nook came the faint gleam of white—the white of bones. It was a catacomb, Gideon realized: a vast necropolis carved into the lava, on which rested massive skeletons—skeletons of Cyclopes. From where they were standing, they could see dozens, if not hundreds, in the walls all around them and in the corridor ahead, stretching into full darkness.
The Cyclops moved forward, much more cautiously. As they penetrated deeper into the catacombs, darkness closed in, but the Cyclops kept on. At one point Amiko stumbled in the dark and the Cyclops, with a soft noise, took her hand and led her along. Gideon realized the large, single eye was indeed some sort of adaptation to darkness, as the creature could evidently see far better in the darkness than they could. They followed the sounds of his movement.
Then he stopped. Gideon could hear him breathing. And suddenly there was a click and the Cyclops stood there, lighter flicked on. The wavering flame cast a dim yellow glow all about. Now they were literally surrounded with shelves and holes full of bones, a vast city of the dead, but the Cyclops was standing in front of one niche in particular. This one was different from the rest. It was larger, the opening framed with carefully shaped blocks of stone. Inside were laid large crystals, apparently offerings to the remains within. As Gideon peered in, he saw that behind the crystals were laid out various grave goods—flint knives, spears, and a much-corroded bronze helmet.
An ancient Greek helmet.
The Cyclops spoke. His voice was rough, guttural, but nevertheless reverential, and it boomed through the dark spaces of the cave. Gideon jumped.
The Cyclops spoke again, repeating the word.
Gideon recognized the word from before: Polyphemus. Could this be his tomb?
The Cyclops reached into the tomb and grasped the slab lid of an ancient, stone container sitting near the skeleton. He slid the lid off and reached in, removed a handful of dried lotus, and showed it to Gideon, who stared down at the wrinkled store of brown fungi. Once again, he had the impression that the lotus was more rare and precious than gold.
Then the tall form slid the lid back on, and turned away. They silently followed him out of the catacombs of the Cyclopes.
55
THEY RETURNED TO the dwelling cave later that day. The Cyclops built up the fire in the cave and then disappeared out the door, carrying his spear, leaving Amiko and Gideon behind. It was the first time they’d had a chance to talk since seeing the Cyclopes’ necropolis. Even though they doubted the Cyclops could understand any English, they had both been reluctant to discuss their situation in front of him.
Amiko spoke first, the words pouring out. “My God, Gideon. Do you realize what that necropolis means? These Cyclopes—they aren’t just a bunch of cavemen. They have a culture. A history. A sense of the afterlife. Religion. That art—it indicates a symbolic understanding. In other words, they have something we might call civilization. And they’ve been here a very, very long time.”
“And that single eye,” said Gideon. “It’s an adaptation to darkness.”
“Exactly. This island is riddled with caves. This is their homeland. In a way, like Homo floresiensis, the ‘hobbits’ in Indonesia. This group of islands is where they evolved. And he may well be the last of his kind. I think he’s been alone for a long time—maybe hundreds of years.”
“Kept alive by the lotus.”
“We’ve got an obligation to protect him,” Amiko said. “Otherwise, he’ll end up in a zoo or a lab…or worse. Here’s what we’ll do: we’ll get some of those dried lotus and bring them back. That was the mission Glinn tasked us with. But we’ll keep secret the existence of the Cyclops and the location of the island. Nobody needs to know that. Mycologists might be able to cultivate the lotus, or perhaps chemists will be able to isolate and synthesize the active ingredients.”
“That may be difficult,” said Gideon. “The compounds in the lotus must be incredibly complex to have such a profound effect on the human body.”
“If that’s so, we’ve really got a problem on our hands.”
“And then there’s Glinn. He knows about the Cyclops. And he knows our general location.”
“He has no idea we found a live Cyclops. And he doesn’t know the location of the island. We’ll lie. We’ll make up a cover story, say we were on another island. Say we only saw bones—old bones.”
“Glinn’s a hard man to deceive,” said Gideon.
“Then we won’t deceive him. We just won’t tell him. We’ll keep silent. And if he insists on the details, we’ll be vague. We were sick, the details are fuzzy. I mean, how many times has Glinn kept us in the dark? Turnabout’s fair play, right?”
“So what now?” Gideon asked after a moment.
“We’re done here. We need to get back to civilization. With the lotus.”
“Easier said than done,” Gideon said. “We’re stuck on a volcanic peak walled in by sheer cliffs, in the middle of the sea, with no boat and no phone. Not to mention a mainland populated by people who are seriously pissed off at us.”
They fell silent, the fire burning low, casting flickering shadows about the walls of the cave. Beyond the entrance, the afternoon sun streamed through the vegetation, and the faint calls of birds and frogs could be heard drifting back. Gideon could feel the spell of the moment enveloping him as he thought back on what they’d seen and experienced: the lost-world magic of the island; the ancient Cyclops, apparently the last of his kind; the crystal m
ausoleum hidden in the cliffs; the ancient petroglyphs of the Greek ships. It was all so fantastical, so otherworldly. He looked at Amiko, her face, pale and beautiful, staring into the dying fire, the faint, earthy smell of the lotus lingering in the air like a musky perfume. Gideon extended a hand to her, and she turned her face toward him. He gently drew her toward him and their lips met. This time, he could feel the willingness, the eagerness of the contact. They kissed quietly, slowly. He pulled her closer, felt her breasts against him, and their kisses became faster, more urgent—
Suddenly a shadow fell over them and they sprang apart. The Cyclops stood in the entrance to the cave, a bloody howler monkey hanging from a stick. His single eye stared at them, black brow furrowed in displeasure. Slinging the dead monkey aside, he advanced at Gideon with a growl.
Gideon stood up, facing the creature and realizing what a colossal mistake they had made. He could feel the air congeal with tension.
The Cyclops halted a few feet from him, staring him down with his single, bloodshot eye. He was gigantic, towering over Gideon by a good three feet. Gideon could smell the creature: the sweat and dirt, the crushed jungle foliage. He could see that the Cyclops was flushed, the skin under his coarse hair mottled red, the muscles of his long arms jumping with nervous tautness. He sensed he was moments from being torn apart. But he stood his ground, feeling intuitively that to turn and run, or try to talk his way out of it, would only set off the explosion he still hoped to avoid. The Cyclops, although clearly enraged, his veins pulsing with anger and jealousy, seemed uncertain what to do next.
Gideon waited for a sign, a signal, some sort of indication how to defuse the situation. But he could think of nothing.
Amiko tried to speak—a few halting words of ancient Greek—but the Cyclops silenced her with a terrifying roar, brown teeth snapping.
Slowly, a hand rose up and closed around Gideon’s throat. Gideon grasped the wrist with both hands and tried to tug it away. But the Cyclops was unbelievably strong, the wrist like a steel bar.
“Don’t. Please.” He glanced over at his bag. The gun was in there. Amiko could use it. She followed his eyes and seemed to understand.
The grip tightened.
In a smooth and easy motion, Amiko reached out, grasped the bag, removed the gun, and pointed it at the Cyclops.
He ignored her, the fist tightening. Gideon could feel his air being cut off, the blood thrumming through constricted arteries.
Amiko spoke again in Greek, but the Cyclops didn’t appear to hear, so focused was he on Gideon. Still grasping Gideon by the neck, the creature lifted him off the ground.
Gideon could no longer breathe. He felt himself starting to black out and struggled to cry out to Amiko. She had to shoot. Now.
The ground suddenly shook. A faint rumble like thunder rolled through the forest. The Cyclops jerked, startled, dropping Gideon and staring about wildly.
Coughing, tugging at his neck, Gideon scrambled to his feet and backed away. Amiko was still pointing the gun, but the Cyclops was ignoring both of them, completely focused on the sound. Another rumble, the ground shaking. This was clearly something the Cyclops had never heard before, and he was becoming more agitated than they’d ever seen him. In a flash he loped to the entrance of the cave and peered out with his huge yellow eye, surveying the jungle.
“Thunder?” Amiko asked.
“No,” Gideon replied in a strangled voice.
Now another sound reached them: the thwap-thwap of chopper blades. In an instant the Cyclops vanished into the forest. Gideon exited the cave with Amiko and stared up in time to see a shape passing over them: a large single-engine helicopter, which Gideon recognized as a Sikorsky S-70, was passing over the trees. A column of smoke was rising into the pristine sky from the far end of the island-top. Even as they looked, there was the roar of another explosion, along with a wash of overpressure that lashed the jungle canopy. Another ball of fire rose into the sky, billowing into black smoke.
“What the hell?” Amiko cried.
“Napalm!” yelled Gideon, over the roar. “They’re clearing a landing zone!”
“They? Who?”
As the S-70 passed overhead, Gideon could see no identifying logos or marks—only a call number. But even as he watched, the chopper slowed and the cargo door slid open. Just before the chopper disappeared over the trees, Gideon could have sworn that the man standing in the door, wearing plain jungle camo, was Manuel Garza.
56
THE HELICOPTER HAD vanished, but Gideon could still hear the thud of its rotors. It sounded like it was going into a hover near the middle of the island, no doubt to rope down personnel to finish clearing the LZ.
“Glinn,” said Amiko, in a low voice.
Gideon swore. “I guess he got a better fix on us than we realized.”
For a long time, neither said a word. The thump of the chopper blades rolled through the trees, the smoke billowed upward. Soon that was joined by the sound of chain saws.
Gideon looked at Amiko. He could see the disbelief, the shock and anger, in her eyes.
“We need to stop this,” she said.
“Yes. We need to confront Glinn, find out what’s going on.”
They went back into the cave, threw some supplies into a drysack. Without exchanging a word, they set out toward the rising smoke and the outraged buzz of chain saws, following the web of trails toward the far end of the island. As they moved on, the sounds grew louder: the crashing of a great tree being felled, the whines of multiple chain saws going at once, the shouts of men, the crackle of radios—and now the rumbling of a massive diesel generator.
They burst into the clearing. One chopper was coming in while a second had already put down. A third was hovering nearby. It staggered Gideon how much had been done in so little time. A crew was busily cutting up and hauling off a litter of great trees that lay on the ground, while others went around with fire extinguishers putting out the last of the napalm fires that had devoured the thick brush and understory. Still others were erecting metal poles for tents and establishing an electrified perimeter fence.
At one side, a massive metal cage was being erected.
At the sight of this, Gideon stopped. It was impossible. They hadn’t told Glinn—hadn’t even known themselves—that there was a live Cyclops on the island.
“The son of a bitch,” breathed Gideon. “How did he know?”
Amiko said nothing.
Nearby stood a large wall tent, already erected and staked out, with a small gazebo adjacent to it. After a moment’s hesitation, Gideon walked toward it, Amiko following. He pulled aside the flap and there, as he expected, was Glinn, sitting in an all-terrain wheelchair, wearing light safari clothing, a young blond man in camo standing at his side, holding an M16. Nearby stood Manuel Garza, his face like stone.
“Ah, Gideon and Amiko,” Glinn said. “I was expecting you. Come in.”
“What’s that cage for?” Amiko asked quietly.
“Won’t you sit down?”
“Answer my question.”
“You know some of it already. It all started with the vellum. Respondeo ad quaestionem, ipsa pergamena. ‘I, the very page, answer the question.’ It turns out that the ‘very page’—the parchment itself—was the solution. It was made from the skin of an animal—but not any sort of animal normally used for parchment. We did a DNA analysis of the sample. As I’ve told you, we identified the creature that the parchment was taken from. Neanderthal. But there was a twist. This Neanderthal-like hominid was different. More robust. Bigger. Fiercely aggressive. And in one area, this creature’s genetics are completely different from Neanderthals—and modern humans. And that is in the area of sight. The creature of the vellum had a very different way of seeing, a single, large optic nerve, a single area of the brain for optic processing—and what’s more, a single eye. When you radioed that you’d seen the skull of a Cyclops, we knew exactly what this creature was. And when we ran this information through our proprieta
ry QBA programs, we got a most interesting result: that, given the remote location of this island group and lack of contact with the outside world, there was no good reason to think the Cyclops had gone extinct.”
“And the cage,” said Amiko. “That’s for…capturing one?”
“While the lotus is our prime goal, the scientific opportunity to study a living Neanderthal-like creature must not be missed.”
Gideon stared at him, then glanced at Amiko. She was looking at him with intensity, communicating some meaning.
Gideon managed an easy laugh. “That’s ridiculous. We’ve been on the island now for days. We haven’t seen the slightest indication of any Cyclopes. You might as well send that cage back to where it came from.”
Glinn seemed to pierce him with his one gray eye. “You’re an excellent liar, Gideon, but you can’t fool me.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I shall keep the cage ready and waiting, because you have just confirmed what I suspected: that there are Cyclopes on this island.”
Amiko finally spoke. “Wrong. There’s one Cyclops. A very old one. The last of its kind.”
Glinn arched his eyebrow. “Indeed?”
“So you see,” said Amiko slowly, “there’s no way you can put the last one in that cage. It would be a crime against nature.”
“I’m sorry, Amiko, but we’re going to be working to recover the lotus. Our activities will be disruptive to the Cyclops’s habitat. The creature will need protection.”
Amiko’s voice rose a notch. “You need to call this whole thing off. Right now. You’re wrecking the island. It’s a unique habitat. This isn’t the way to recover the lotus!”
“I am sorry,” said Glinn, “but it’s the only way to recover the lotus.”
Amiko said, “You’ll kill him if you put him in that cage.”
“Him?” Glinn’s one eyebrow raised slightly.
“Yes, him.”
“So you’ve made contact?”
“Yes.”
He lapsed into silence. Finally he sighed and extended one claw-like hand in a gesture of conciliation. “May I speak?”
The Lost Island Page 24