The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel

by Robert Rapoza

  All of the Alliance members appeared satisfied with Dumond’s assessment…except for one. Kristoph locked eyes with the unspoken leader of the group.

  “You had better be right, Dumond,” Kristoph said, pushing himself to his feet and striding to the door. His footfalls clicked loudly on the travertine tiles. With that, the industrialists each got up from the table and began to follow him out, leaving Dumond behind. Johan Kristoph and Rheingold Gerhardt walked together to their helicopter, while the others dispersed independently. Dumond watched Kristoph and Gerhardt closely as they walked. Kristoph was very animated, almost flapping his arms to emphasize his point to Gerhardt. For his part, Gerhardt seemed to look on in subdued amusement. Dumond continued to watch until their helicopter carried them deep into the sunlit sky.

  Of all of the members of The Alliance, Kristoph was the least stable and seemed to be in a constant state of dissatisfaction. Dumond found this odd for a man who possessed such great wealth and power, but then he reasoned that insecurity can do that to a man. Despite his enormous empire, Kristoph was like a petulant child who became angry when he did not get his way. He had been unhappy with the choice of sending Ackers and his men to handle this assignment, but the rest of the group had been in agreement that Ackers was the right man for the job. Dumond was certain that had it not been for Kristoph’s constant grousing, the other members would have fallen into line much more easily.

  Dumond turned from the huge pane of glass and walked down the hallway into his office. From there, he checked his computer for an update about Dr. Samantha Randall and her team. It appeared that they were on their way to find Dr. Randall’s father. “Good,” he thought. If Ackers could not find the elder Dr. Randall, his daughter would be a good bargaining chip to lure him out of hiding.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The jungle was an almost impenetrable wall of vegetation. Sam and her group had spent the previous day walking through the maze-like structure of the rainforest, and she had realized that without the elder’s son, they would have been doomed to roam the jungle in circles until they collapsed from exhaustion. The heat and humidity were overwhelming, but Sam’s desire was stronger than ever to find her father. The guide had been moving at a quick pace, but now he stopped.

  “What’s going on?” Monica asked.

  “I’m not sure. Monica, could you…” Sam was cut off by a sudden rumbling, and the earth beneath their feet began to rock. The group steadied themselves as the earth shook violently. After about fifteen seconds, the movement stopped.

  “What was that?” Jorge asked nervously.

  “It felt like an earthquake, I think that’s what hit us when we were on the river. Monica, can you ask the guide if this is common?”

  Before she could ask the question, the guide spoke.

  “He says that this has been happening more frequently, lately,” Monica translated. “According to his people, this is a sign that the great unification is near.”

  “How often, Monica?” Sam asked

  “Every day.”

  “This is the second one in just a few hours. That’s not good. We’d better keep moving, I get the feeling we don’t have a lot of time,” Sam said.

  Just as the words exited Sam’s lips, Jorge dropped to the ground in front of her, his head exploding into a million pieces of bloody flesh. Monica screamed as pieces of his brain splashed onto her shirt and pants. Before they could react, Anselmo, also fell to his knees, his eyes open wide in disbelief as bullets ripped through his torso. His eyes blinked and his mouth moved slowly, trying to speak, but the only sounds that came from the dying man were primal gurgling sounds. Sam grabbed the horror-stricken Monica and pushed her through a small opening in the overgrown vegetation.

  “Run!” Sam screamed

  The two women stumbled through the jungle, nearly tripping over the vines and roots littering the floor of the jungle. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of gunfire interspersed with cursing. Sam’s heart raced as her thoughts turned toward a simple idea: I need to survive. The thick brush slapped at her face and arms, but they didn’t dare slow down. They ran for what felt like miles. Ahead, Sam saw the shapes of two dark-clad figures sweeping through the jungle looking for them. Sam stopped suddenly and dropped to the ground, pulling Monica down with her. She covered Monica’s mouth with her hand suppressing a scream.

  They sat motionless as the figures passed and then moved in the opposite direction. Just then, Sam heard the sound of a gentle whoosh of air followed by exploding tree bark. Monica’s screaming commenced once again. Lunging more than running, Sam pushed herself forward, pulling the interpreter behind her through the dense vegetation. The sound of heavy footsteps followed closely behind.

  Cover, we need cover, somewhere to hide, Sam thought. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears and could feel the adrenaline coursing through her body. Their muscles burned with fatigue, but the two women kept moving forward through the jungle, bullets whizzing by them. Their pursuers were getting closer.

  Why are they chasing us? What do they want? Sam’s mind searched for answers, but there were none. Just fear and running. Keep running or die, played like a broken tape looping through her mind.

  Sam listened, intently. The sound of their pursuers had disappeared. She dropped to her knees, pulling Monica down by her side again. The two women shimmied under a fallen tree, sheltered at last. Sam tried to calm her breathing. Looking at Monica, she could see that the young interpreter was catatonic. Sam scanned the area around them, looking for telltale signs of movement. There was nothing. She heard a sound behind them. Turning, she found herself looking down the barrel of a military assault rifle. There was no escape. As if to punctuate the thought, the two figures that had passed by them earlier materialized from the brush. They were surrounded.

  “Dr. Randall, I presume?” a grinning figure asked, menacingly.

  “Who the hell are you and what do you want with us?” Sam defiantly responded.

  “That’s not important, professor. Someone wants to meet you. Get up and make no sudden movements.”

  Monica grasped Sam’s arm like a small child afraid to lose her mother.

  “It’s okay, Monica,” Sam said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Nick Randall moved forward through the passageway, his halogen flashlight providing ten to twelve feet of light in front of him. It was easy to become disoriented when moving through such a dark area with no distinguishing features. Randall had heard numerous stories of cave explorers becoming disoriented in the darkness and wandering around aimlessly until their light ran out, trapping them forever in a cold, dark tomb. Understanding this, Randall walked close to one wall of the cavern, making an arrow in the dirt floor that pointed back to Phil and Mike about every twenty feet.

  As he walked Randall found himself feeling very tired. Randall was a man of medium build with dark hair and brown eyes. His body was muscular and lean, a result of his penchant for exercise. People who didn’t know the professor were surprised at the strength of his grip and his incredible physical endurance, especially for a man in his early fifties. The events of the day, however, had worn him down, and he suddenly felt every bit his age.

  He rubbed his aching muscles and kept walking. The quiet darkness giving him ample opportunity to recall past events from his life. He thought back to the exact moment when he had developed his theory, sending his career and his life on a new trajectory. It was on a field assignment at an excavation about 75 miles from his current destination. At the time, Randall was a graduate student from Georgetown University working on a dig near the ancient city of Nazca. While cataloging artifacts, a colleague had asked if he would like to join him on an aerial survey of the land.

  During the flight, Randall experienced an event that would shape his future in archeology. From their aerial vantage point, the two archeologists witnessed something unexpected on the landscape, below. Stretched out over several miles were enormous shapes carved into the desert la
ndscape. Unrecognizable from the ground, these shapes took clear forms when viewed from an airplane. Among the shapes they witnessed were a condor, a whale, human hands, a hummingbird, and—strangest of all—a human shape that appeared to have a large, dome-shaped helmet. The human figure carved into the desert landscape bore a striking resemblance to an astronaut. It was also clear that these figures were laid out with geometric precision, with some of the lines running parallel for miles.

  Upon landing, an inquisitive Randall conducted his own research on the theories associated with the Nazca Lines. He was exceedingly disappointed and perplexed by the prevailing theory that the lines were pathways for the ancient Nazca people to walk upon for ceremonial purposes. Most amazing of all, no empirical data to support this theory had been presented in any of the literature. Randall was dumbfounded and began to question the theories about the Nazca lines. This might have created some controversy in itself, but Randall didn’t stop there. One of the benefits of studying archeology was gaining access to vast amounts of research and data on a variety of subjects. As he dug deeper, Randall began to question many other established theories, as well. His research became an obsession, and his graduate thesis about an alternative and controversial new theory about the history of the region caused a stir at the University. Clearly his new line of thinking did not sit well with his peers, and it very nearly cost him his Ph.D. Had it not been for his mentor Francisco Andrade, he most certainly never would have earned his degree. In fact, it was Francisco who he now worked for at the University and who had found this wonderful benefactor.

  He then remembered the first time he had visited the Capanhuaco and how they had been reluctant to share their secrets with him. It had taken time and energy to earn their trust, but he finally convinced them to help him. When they showed him their incredible jungle city of Paititi, he realized it was the first piece of the puzzle he needed to prove his controversial theories. It was that fateful day which had propelled him down the road that led to this trip.

  Now, many scenarios played through his mind. Were the tablets right? Did the underground city, Vilcabamba, really exist and was it nearby? Would he be able to find it and, more importantly now, would he be able to find help for Mike? Randall felt a twinge of guilt for bringing Phil and Mike on the trip, but, as always, he had been completely open with them. They knew that this could be a dangerous trip, but they had been eager to go. Actually, they had demanded to go. At one point, Randall had planned to make the trip with only a local guide and translator, but when the dynamic duo had found out about the professor’s plans, they had insisted that he take them. “What’s the point of studying archaeology if you can’t be in on the biggest discovery ever?” Mike had commented to Randall when the two had confronted him in his office. “Besides, we trust you, Dr. R.” Randall wondered if they still felt that way.

  Randall checked his watch. He had been walking for almost an hour, and there was still no sign of anything other than continuing darkness punctuated by occasional tunnels veering off into more darkness. As Randall walked on through the cavern, he stopped to rub his eyes. He was tired, but knew that he had to keep moving. He had to find help for Mike. It occurred to him that he hadn’t slept in over 24 hours. Until this point, the adrenaline had kept him alert and focused, but having been in complete blackness for several hours, his body was beginning to tell him that he needed rest.

  Opening his eyes, Randall wasn’t sure if his imagination was playing tricks on him, but there appeared to be a soft glow of light ahead in the tunnel. He switched his flashlight off, closed his eyes for about a minute, and then reopened them. He could see it more clearly, now, a sort-of glow in the distance. His pace quickened as he surged ahead, his light bobbing up and down as he ran. As he did, he caught something out of the corner of his eye and pointed his light toward the ground. There in his path was a fissure in the rocky floor. Randall stopped abruptly, his momentum nearly carrying him into the opening.

  Catching himself, Randall teetered on the edge but was able to pull his body back from the abyss, though not before kicking a small rock into the opening. The rock descended, but made no sound. It simply vanished into the emptiness. Randall assessed the opening and estimated the fissure to be about four to five-feet wide. He considered his options. He could go back the way he had come and try another route or go back to find Mike and Phil. Going back to Mike and Phil meant starting over, again, from scratch and trying another route, which likely meant running into a dead-end or another barrier.

  Randall decided to push forward. Backing up and taking a deep breath, he ran as fast as his fatigued body would allow, his flashlight bouncing crazily. Randall tried his best to keep the fissure illuminated. As he approached the edge, he lunged across the opening to the other side. As he landed, his left ankle buckled under him and he tumbled forward into the cavern. He felt a warm, sharp pain on the back of his head as he hit the ground, losing consciousness for a few moments. When he awoke, Randall winced as he touched the bloody bump which had formed. He picked himself up, dusted the dirt off of his shirt and pants and continued walking with a slight limp. His left ankle throbbed with pain from the rough landing.

  As he drew closer to the light, the cavern opened into a huge space, and the sight that met his eyes shocked him. The small tunnel opened into a gigantic cavern the size of fifty football fields set end on end. Upon closer inspection, the cavern appeared to be hollowed out of solid rock and, just as with the upper chamber, the walls were perfectly smooth. The cavern radiated outward in a huge arc that spanned from one end of the opening to the other. In the midst of the cavern were finely crafted stone temples radiating out in a grid pattern reminiscent of a large modern-day city. Randall realized immediately that this underground city, Vilcabamba, looked remarkably similar to Paititi, the city he had seen in the jungle months ago.

  Randall stood in awe of the sheer beauty of the architecture. Large stone columns stood at the entrance of the steps that led down into the city. Slowly, he moved forward, not so much walking of his own cognizance, but more being drawn into the otherworldly sight before him.

  The intricacies of the stonework were remarkable. The shapes of snakes, birds, leopards, and other creatures seemed to be leaping out from the facades of the buildings. As he walked, the creatures appeared as if alive, their eyes following his every move. It suddenly dawned on him that he could see the detail so clearly because the cavern was so well lit. Randall’s eyes darted upward toward the ceiling, which was glowing with what appeared to be a small sun. The orb shined so brightly he had to divert his eyes. His mind struggled to comprehend what his senses were experiencing.

  Randall shook his head in disbelief. Slowly the sense of disbelief gave way to a feeling of awe and loneliness. Randall wished that Sam could be with him to experience the moment, but he was alone in the vastness of this subterranean world. The professor was shocked back to reality by the feeling of a hand touching his lower back. He jumped at the sudden contact and turned, startled, only to find … nothing. “What in the hell…?” As his voice trailed off, his eyes slowly moved toward the floor of the cavern, and then he saw their silhouettes.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Due to recently increased activity from the El Misti volcano, a small team of scientists had gathered to monitor the situation in anticipation of an impending eruption. Led by Dr. Thomas Reinsdorf who was with the United States Geological Survey Volcano Hazards Team, a part of the Volcano Disaster Assistance Program (VDAP), the group grimly assessed the situation, realizing that an enormous eruption was, at most, only days away.

  The VDAP team had been formed in cooperation with the Office of U.S. Foreign Disaster Assistance (OFDA) of the U.S. Agency of International Development (USAID) following the 1985 eruption of Nevado Del Ruiz volcano in Colombia, in which over 23,000 people lost their lives. At the request of host countries, and working through OFDA, VDAP scientists quickly determined the nature of volcanic unrest and assessed its possible consequ
ences.

  Trying to prevent a similar loss of life, Dr. Reinsdorf found himself working along side his counterparts of Peru’s Geophysical Institute, reviewing the data from the seismometers and other monitoring equipment located in, and around, the volcano. A large, barrel-chested man who stood six-five, most people who met Dr. Reinsdorf said he reminded them more of a football player than a scientist. His associates, not wanting to miss a chance to needle the good-natured volcanologist, had lovingly nicknamed him The Linebacker.

  Today, however, Tom sported a serious look on his face as he reviewed the seismic wave patterns picked up by his sensors. The data was disturbing, and what was taking place under the surface of El Misti was becoming very clear. The underground region he and his team were monitoring was becoming more active. Earthquake activity beneath a volcano almost always increases before an eruption, because magma and volcanic gas must first force their way up through shallow underground fractures and passageways. When magma and volcanic gases or fluids move, they cause rocks to break and vibrate. When rocks break, they trigger high frequency earthquakes, which tend to occur in swarms consisting of dozens to hundreds of events.

  El Misti was following this pattern. Of course, this wouldn’t be the only data he and his team reviewed, however. Other scientists were also monitoring data that included gas, ground deformation and satellite imagery to assess if magma was moving toward the surface. Tom was fairly certain what the total data package would tell them, but he would wait for his team to report back to him before taking action.