The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel

by Robert Rapoza

  They were studying something, intently, but he couldn’t make out what. He moved closer and saw that they were examining something in space. On a large, recessed section of wall was something akin to a computer monitor, only much larger. Filling the screen was a portion of space resplendent with stars, nebula and various other items. The creatures were focused on one, small, section of the sky, where there appeared to be a spiral galaxy. They had significantly enlarged the image of one of the outer arms of the galaxy, where their ultimate target appeared to reside. On the outer edge of the screen, small characters of a type that matched what Randall had found in his research about Vilcabamba, zoomed by. Finally, the screen slowed to a crawl on a planetary system circling a yellow-tinged star. Randall could see smaller pinpoints of light circling the star, moving in large uneven ovals. The screen continued its slow enlargement of the planetary system, passing the outer rocky rings. Soon, it had passed the outer planetary bodies, and its zoom-like effect slowed down even more until a small, pale blue world started coming into focus. The planet became larger, until it nearly filled the screen, its large oceans interrupted by irregular outcroppings of land. It rotated slowly on the large screen, and it dawned on Randall that Italy really did look like a boot, when seen from space.

  Discussions were taking place among the occupants of the room, though no one spoke. Once again, Randall hypothesized that these creatures had developed the capacity to communicate telepathically, and he was listening to their discussion. The discussion that was taking place had to do with sending a contingency to the planet to study its primitive inhabitants. Apparently, the species on this distant, alien world were in the infant stages of developing their societies and technology, having reached a critical juncture in their development. The creatures decided to send an exploratory team to the planet to study the inhabitants until they could determine if the inhabitants had the capacity for space travel and if they warranted direct interaction with more advanced species.

  Next, Randall found himself floating above Earth, from the vantage point of a satellite. The Earth rotated slowly beneath him, and he was overcome with its grandeur. He began descending through the atmosphere, at first slowly, then picking up speed. Following a long arcing pattern, Randall traced the curvature of the Earth in his mind’s eye. The sky was a blinding blue, punctuated by the occasional wispy white cloud. As he drew nearer to the surface, the complex design of modern cities came into view, and Randall realized he had returned to the present and was viewing occurrences in real time. The blue-green hue of the ocean fell off to the left, as he made landfall in South America—on Peru, to be exact.

  The jungles were lush and green, and he could feel the humidity thick in the air as he descended. A small encampment in the middle of the jungle came into view. There were signs of an armed conflict, with structures damaged by explosions and gunfire. Dead men lay on the ground, while soldiers with guns stood guard over others who were unarmed. The view continued to become clearer, and Randall focused on the unarmed persons. One was a woman, who appeared to be in her 30’s. “Sam,” the professor said, involuntarily.

  Chapter sixteen

  Colonel Frank Ackers wasn’t a man you wanted to anger. His six-foot, three-inch frame sported 227 pounds of solid muscle. His face held a pencil-thin mustache that curved up slightly at the edges when he was amused, which was rarely. His reflective sunglasses hid the deep-blue eyes of a remorseless killer. The title of Colonel was one held in a previous life as an officer in the British Special Forces—a previous life that he’d been forced to leave in dishonor.

  “What were you and your friend doing, Professor?” Ackers asked coolly, walking up to Samantha, his gun pointed directly at her face. “You weren’t trying to get away, were you?” the Colonel’s smile belied the anger he felt at the assault upon his men. “Do you know who these people are working for?”

  Sam remained silent, her eyes alternating between the barrel of the gun and the recently deceased interpreter lying in a pool of her own blood.

  “Cat’s got your tongue, Professor? That’s okay.” Ackers sneered as he swung the butt of his assault rifle in a single, swift arc, catching Samantha on the cheekbone. Caught off guard, Samantha tumbled backward onto the ground. Ackers could see she was in pain as she moved her hand to her cheek and felt a large welt forming where the gun had struck. From the look on her face, Ackers could see that Sam was weighing her options, perhaps even contemplating striking him in retaliation. After a moment, the flash of anger left her eyes, and she instead began rubbing her cheek, no doubt despising him.

  “Get up.” Ackers grabbed her under her right armpit, and roughly pulled her to her feet. Sam recoiled at his touch. “Start walking, Professor.” Ackers poked the end of his gun into her side, giving Sam no choice but to walk in the direction of the compound.

  As they approached the compound, another person slowly came into view. Sam recognized the familiar face. One that she had grown to hate. It was Dumond.

  “I see you found our guest, Ackers.”

  “Yes, she was with the translator, who was working for Kristoph. My men and I neutralized their strike team, but there will be another. They know your objective, Mr. Dumond, and they’ll follow us to the ruins.”

  “So Kristoph is behind this? How did you find out?”

  “We captured one of his men alive. I was able to convince him to disclose who he worked for.”

  “Where is Kristoph’s man now?” Dumond asked.

  “Sadly, he met a tragic death.”

  “How many men does Kristoph have working for him?”

  “If his man was telling the truth, he started with a mercenary force of forty soldiers.”

  “Do you have sufficient men to handle the situation, Colonel?”

  “Yes, experience has taught me to always be prepared for counterinsurgencies in situations such as these. We’ll plan accordingly.”

  Ackers shoved Sam forward with one last rough push of his assault rifle. “What do you want me to do with her?”

  “Put her back in her cell, we’ll be leaving shortly.”

  Ackers escorted the Professor to her cell and returned to the command center to assess the damage that Kristoph’s men had caused. Ackers had lost a total of six men, leaving him with 18 remaining soldiers to repel further attacks upon their group. Good fortune had smiled upon Ackers and his men. They had been able to catch the strike team off guard as his group returned from the jungle ruins. In return for killing six of his men, Ackers had dealt the other team a serious blow, killing twelve of them in the firefight.

  While a two-to-one kill advantage over his opponent was a good ratio, Ackers knew he had to plan carefully to minimize future casualties to his team. It was hard to gauge how many men Kristoph would utilize in an attack. However, Ackers and his men had the advantage of knowing the jungle and the ruins area, while his opponents had lost their greatest advantage: surprise. Kristoph’s men were undoubtedly licking their wounds right now and would not gamble another attack on the compound. The next attack would likely be in the jungle or near the ruins.

  * * * *

  Kristoph pounded the ship’s bridge with a clenched fist. His veins were popping from his forehead in anger. Somehow, Dumond had outdone him again. “How could this have happened? You told me we had the element of surprise!”

  “Sir, we successfully attacked the compound and caught them by surprise. The woman you had implanted into their group had relayed the location and size of their force at the compound, but made no mention of the strike team in the jungle. They caught my men on our rear flank, and before we knew they were even there, they had cut my men to pieces. We were fortunate to get out alive.”

  “Fortunate? That’s a poor choice of words, Captain! Dumond still has Randall’s daughter and his research notes while we have nothing!”

  “Sir, we killed six of their men, and their force has been reduced to eighteen. My team is double that size, and we know where they are going. We will
follow them to the ruins and take possession of the girl and the research book. This is only a minor setback, I promise you that.”

  “You had better be right, Captain. Your life depends on it.”

  Chapter seventeen

  When Randall awoke, he was lying on the ground, the lump on his head throbbing. He ran his hand across the bump and discovered dried blood trailing down the side of his face. Disoriented, the professor was unsure of where he was. Slowly, his eyes began to focus in the darkness, and he reached for the flashlight in his zippered pocket. He shined it to one side and found only sheer rock. As he turned the beam in the other direction, he was startled to see the chasm he had jumped across, earlier.

  Randall stood and shook his head from side to side, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. As he rubbed his aching skull, he walked over to the sheer rock face where the path to Vilcabamba had been earlier. He pressed his hand against the stony surface. It was as solid as the ground he stood upon. Confused, he sat back down to assess his situation.

  Had he dreamt the entire episode with the creatures? In his groggy state, Randall was unsure of what to make of recent events. His encounter had seemed real, but it was also entirely possible his experience was simply a manifestation of his deepest desire to prove his theories. There was no way to be certain, but Randall was sure of one thing. He needed to get back to Phil and Mike and get them some help. He also needed to find out if Sam was in danger.

  Suddenly, all of his years of research and even the discovery of Paititi were secondary. Three people he cared deeply about were in trouble, and he needed to help them. Strangely enough, even if his vision of Sam had been the byproduct of a blow to the head, Randall could sense that his daughter needed him. Call it father’s intuition, but his little girl was in trouble, and he was going to be there for her. The real question, now, was how to get back to Phil and Mike? When he had jumped across the chasm the first time, he had been able to get a good running start. This time, he only had a few feet to get enough speed to jump. Randall searched for anything that might help him get across, but there was nothing except solid rock walls all around him. He only had one choice, and he needed to get moving.

  Randall backed up as close to the rock face as he could. He estimated that he had about six to seven feet to get up to speed for his jump across the large opening. If he couldn’t get enough speed to clear the chasm, he had a long trip straight down waiting for him. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted for the edge of the opening and jumped. Randall felt as if he was moving in slow motion. A split second into the jump, he realized that his arc wasn’t high enough to clear the chasm. As he moved closer to the other side, he could feel that his body was dropping too quickly. He wasn’t going to make it. Dropping his flashlight, he reached out his arms as far as they could stretch, feeling for the ledge of the other side. The rock outcropping hit him with such force that all of the air in his lungs was immediately expelled from his body. His face didn’t fare much better as it hit the sheer edge of the chasm. Somehow though, Randall managed to get his hands high enough to grip the rock ledge.

  He dangled in midair, trying to catch his breath while hanging from the side of the rock face. In the midst of his situation, the only thought that crossed his mind was Sam. She needed him, and he wasn’t going to let her down this time. Summoning all of the strength in his body, Randall pulled his torso up the rock face until his head and shoulders were above the ledge. Straining with gravity against his own weight, he struggled to keep his positioning, thinking to himself that if he could only get a foothold, he could push his body over the ledge. Randall searched for a foothold on the rock face with the toe of his boot. First, he tried with the right foot, but it bounced off the rock. He could sense the strength leaving his body. His arms were shaking under the strain of holding up his weight. Randall kicked in the air, trying to direct his left boot to the stony wall in the darkness. He managed to move it close enough to the rock to feel his left boot bounce off, in futility. His arms, now weak from holding his body up, could no longer support him. He was slowly dropping lower as his grip on the rock face weakened. Randall realized that he was not going to make it.

  Dangling over the edge of the chasm, he thought about never again seeing the people he cared about. He had wasted his life pursuing this damn discovery, and now it would end like this, falling to his death in some godforsaken cavern. Without his help, Phil and Mike would probably never make it out. They would eventually die of thirst in this underground tomb. Then there were Sam and John. If Sam was really in trouble, there would be no one to rescue her. As for John, he didn’t even know that he and Sam were in Peru. John would lose his father and his sister without ever even knowing what had happened.

  “Goddamn it!”

  His grip growing weaker, Randall knew that the end was coming quickly. As his fingers slowly slid closer to the edge, he suddenly felt something gripping his forearms. A mixture of relief and terror filling him, he looked directly up into the darkness, unable to see what was holding him. A sudden bright light peered over the edge, temporarily blinding him. Soon he found himself being hauled over the ledge. Randall lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath, unable to speak for a moment. Finally, he was able to manage, “Who are you?”

  “Are you Randall?”

  “Yes, thank you for saving me, but would you mind shining that light in another direction?”

  Suddenly, Randall felt two hands grab him, one from each side. Someone was lifting him to his feet. He could sense that there was more than one person in the cavern with him.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We work for someone who has an interest in your research. We’ll need you to come with us.”

  “I can’t leave now, my two graduate students are stuck in this cavern. One of them has a broken leg and needs medical attention.”

  “That’s not our concern.”

  The two men who had helped Randall up were now pushing him forward. He could feel the barrel of a gun pushing into his back.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Our employer wants a word with you.”

  chapter eighteen

  The sleek, 472-foot-long luxury liner floated on a glassy sea. Custom built by German yacht manufacturer Peters Schiffbau, the six level ship cruised along at 14 knots, driven by its 13,400 horsepower engines. Its owner, Johan Kristoph, frantically paced the length of the meeting room aboard his ship while Rheingold Gerhardt, his assistant, watched in quiet amusement. A wealthy industrialist, who had amassed his great fortune in the energy business, Kristoph was a man accustomed to getting his way. A German energy mogul, who was CEO and founder of Heimat Energie, he had built his empire on his ability to always stay one step ahead of his competition. This ability had allowed him to become one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the world. With this wealth and power, also came influence. Many was the time when Heimat Energie, facing stiff competition from another large firm bidding for the same project, benefited from Kristoph’s ability to wield his influence to guide the transaction in his own favor. Blackmail, extortion, bribery were all terms Kristoph’s competitors had used in describing his tactics, but he simply dismissed the slings as sour grapes from lesser foes. It had been many years since he had lost a business transaction to another man, but that had all changed the day he met Francis Dumond.

  The two men’s companies were competing on a large government energy contract to supply power in Finland. Nuclear power accounted for almost 26 percent of Finland’s electricity generation, and lacking the natural resources that most of the world uses to generate electricity, the country would either have to build a new reactor or import resources. Kristoph had used his contacts to discover the details of most of the competing proposals and felt very confident that his company would win the contract to build a new nuclear power plant. The only proposal he hadn’t been able to view, was from a large French firm, Areva, which had also submitted a proposal to build a reactor in southwest F
inland. Much to his embarrassment, the public power consortium Teollisuuden Voima (TVO) awarded the contract to Areva. Stunned and angry, Kristoph demanded to know why the consortium had chosen Areva over his own firm. He would never forget the reply. Dumond, speaking instead of the consortium members, simply stated, “My offer was better than yours.” It was the way he had said it and the grin that slowly spread over his face. He was clearly mocking Kristoph, and no one mocked Kristoph.

  On that day, he had sworn his revenge on Dumond. Revenge at all costs.

  Kristoph’s thirst for retribution consumed him, but he realized that getting his vengeance would be difficult. A series of events had to align in just the right manner to allow him the opportunity to extract his retribution on the Frenchman. Finally, after years of waiting, the perfect opportunity had arisen. When Dumond had brought Dr. Randall’s discovery to their secretive group, The Association, Kristoph knew at once that he would finally have his chance. Per Dumond, Randall had discovered an ancient power source that would transform the landscape of energy for generations. Seeing this as both a threat and an opportunity for The Association, Dumond had devised a plan to provide funding for the professor and keep tabs on his progress. He had brought the concept to the group, having put the plan into play prior to their approval.

  The planning and early stages of executing the plan were unbearable. The Frenchman was just so damn smug about everything. It didn’t help that the rest of the group—titans of industry, but not energy people—followed Dumond’s lead like a bunch of lapdogs. Not once did anyone else in the group consider Kristoph’s opinions or dissentions, even though he had many more years of experience in the energy field then his counterpart. Thankfully for Kristoph, he had the benefit of his associate, Gerhardt, and Gerhardt’s reminders that he needed to stay focused on the prize. His plan was simple. Kristoph had found an informant inside of Dumond’s team, who would keep a watchful eye on Dr. Randall’s progress. When the time was right, the informant would notify Kristoph, who would swoop in and steal the power source for himself.