The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel

by Robert Rapoza

  “I got into a fight, Mom, but you should have seen the other boy!” Francis announced, proudly. Such would be the future for Francis Dumond, who actually gained a reputation as a tough kid that you didn’t want to get into a fight with. However, his newfound bravery didn’t help his social awkwardness, and he remained a loner and grew to distrust people. Winning at all costs became his primary passion, a passion that would serve him well in the business world. Dumond quickly learned that intimidation was the quickest route to success in business. But to intimidate others, you needed power and money. Dumond made it his professional and personal goal to become as powerful as he could, no matter whom he stepped on in the process. This newfound passion was troublesome to his mother, who still saw a lonely and scared child. Dumond ignored his mother’s warnings and focused his laser-like attention on his goals. The culmination of the transformation of Francis Dumond was on a business trip in Spain. He was negotiating the terms of a contract, favorable to his company, of course, when he learned from a close relative that his mother passed away. When asked if he would be home in time for the funeral, Dumond’s response was that he had important business to attend to, and since his mother was dead, it wouldn’t really matter if he was there, anyway.

  Aside from his drive to succeed in business, Dumond was obsessed with the night that had changed his life. Specifically, he wanted to know more about the creatures that abducted him. He began to conduct research and spent every free moment trying to discover the truth about them. His pursuit led him down a dark and mysterious path, crossed frequently by crackpots and charlatans trying to make a quick buck at the expense of gullible victims. These individuals quickly discovered, frequently to their dismay, that Dumond was not a man to be trifled with. Several shallow graves in indistinct locations of the world attested to this fact.

  It wasn’t until a trip back to the east coast that Dumond finally discovered a possible connection to follow. He was on a business trip to Washington, D.C., when he heard about a controversial young professorial candidate who was offering a late afternoon lecture. The name of the lecturer was Nicholas Randall, a doctoral student at Georgetown University. Apparently, the young Ph.D. candidate caused quite a stir during a lecture he was offering to archaeology students at the college. His demonstrations of the evidence of past civilizations describing contact with what appeared to be extraterrestrial beings piqued Dumond’s curiosity. As a result, Dumond decided to sit in on one of his lectures.

  Randall was impressive. Prior to launching into theories, he first laid the scientific groundwork for his hypothesis. Citing the work of the Harvard trained astronomer, Frank Drake, Randall explained to the class the meaning of the now famous Drake Equation, which estimated the number of intelligent civilizations in the galaxy.

  Dr. Drake had developed and proposed this formula while working as a radio astronomer at the National Radio Astronomy Observatory in Green Bank, West Virginia. Even assuming very conservative estimates for the variables in question, there was a high probability that more than a dozen such civilizations existed in the Milky Way Galaxy, alone. Applying these same assumptions over the vastness of the universe itself, it was very clear that, mathematically speaking, the universe was teeming with intelligent life. When further considering that many of these intelligent species could be thousands, if not millions of years older, than our own, Randall was able to successfully lay the foundation that space-faring civilizations were almost a certainty. From this vantage point, it wasn’t much of a stretch to assume that a pale blue dot in the vast cosmos, teaming with its own life forms, had potentially drawn the attention of at least a handful of these cosmic explorers.

  After laying this foundation for the discussion, Randall went on to mesmerize the students—and Dumond—with alternative theories of archaeological discoveries. Amazingly, he was able to do so while always providing some form of evidence to support his ideas. He began with maps belonging to the fifteenth century Turkish Admiral Piri Reis, discovered in Topkapi Palace. Much to the delight of his students, Randall explained how the maps, once transferred from a flat grid and projected onto a round globe, accurately displayed the areas of Mediterranean landforms along with the coasts of North and South America. Next, he spoke of ancient petroglyphs from exotic locales such as Val Camonica in Italy and Tassili in the Sahara. In both cases, the images portrayed humanoid figures sporting unusual headgear reminiscent of Apollo-era astronaut helmets. Randall tantalizingly questioned how people from such ancient civilizations, separated by thousands of miles, could produce such similar drawings.

  He continued, showing the class images of an elaborate stone drawing found at the temple at Copan. He then showed another image side by side with the Copan drawing. Gasps emerged from the audience as the figure in the Copan drawing bore a strikingly eerily resemblance to the image of an astronaut sitting in a space capsule. Murmuring could be heard from the students as Randall pointed out what appeared to be flames and exhaust coming from the bottom of the “spacecraft” in the Copan drawing. How could this be the case when Copan was an ancient Mayan ruin?

  Randall was clearly enjoying himself, and his enthusiasm only served to draw his students and his special guest ever deeper into his theories. Next, he described the Moai of Easter Island, huge humanoid statues with grotesquely enormous heads, measuring 13-feet tall and weighing over 14 tons each. He explained how the inhabitants of this remote island had fashioned 887 of these huge statues, some even larger and heavier than the others. How had they done so and then moved them into place with only rudimentary tools?

  Randall paced the floor, arms moving in rhythm to the elaborate explanations he gave to support his theories. Dumond was impressed with the young academic. He had clearly done his homework, and his theories were well supported. At that moment, Dumond decided he would keep a close eye on this young Professor. He searched out the Dean of the Archaeology Department of the school and decided to pay him a visit. The office of Dr. Francisco Andrade appeared just as Dumond imagined it would. Pictures of exotic lands hung from the wall and strange odds and ends from various archaeological sites adorned the desktops and file cabinets. At first, Dr. Andrade seemed wary of the meeting with Dumond, which seemed odd to him. Soon enough, he discovered why. Apparently, Mr. Randall’s theories were not popular with the mainstream faculty, who viewed Randall with disdain. His theories, Dumond learned, were considered ludicrous and even scandalous. Apparently, there was a petition to have the young doctoral student removed from teaching. A fellow graduate student named Charles Young led the drive to expel Randall from the school entirely. Dr. Andrade explained that he greatly appreciated Randall’s enthusiasm and didn’t agree with the other faculty. But the pressure to dismiss him was mounting. In fact, the Academic Senate formally requested that the University President remove Randall under the guise that he posed a threat to the school’s academic reputation. Andrade’s hands were tied; the young doctoral student’s days at the school were limited.

  “Thank you for the information, Dr. Andrade. I hope things change at the college, it would be a shame for the University to lose such a bright, young mind.”

  “I agree, Mr. Dumond, but short a miracle, I fear Mr. Randall will never earn his doctoral degree or be able to teach again.”

  “Well, don’t lose hope. Miracles happen.”

  Later in the week, a strange event unfolded. A rather large endowment was offered to the University. Specifically, the donor wanted to fund archaeological and anthropological research, but there was one stipulation for the endowment: the college was to offer tenure to Nicholas Randall immediately and allow him to pursue his field studies. The school also was to keep the terms of the endowment a secret from the rest of the campus.

  Dumond smiled as he recounted these events, and it served as a reminder of the need for patience and fortitude to press on. He was so close to realizing his goals. His reverie was quickly ended by the sound of his intercom.

  “Mr. Dumond, Ms. Seivers is on t
he line for you.”

  “Thank you, tell her I’ll be right with her,” Dumond said, summoning his willpower. He steeled himself for the conversation he did not want to have, knowing that it was simply one more hurdle to overcome before attaining the ultimate prize.

  Chapter twenty-three

  In the cavern, Nick Randall thought about their options, and sadly, there appeared to be only one course of action. “I need to find the guys that took us hostage, Sam, and get the medallion back.”

  “I was thinking the same thing, Dad, but I’m going with you.”

  Randall shook his head. “I just got you back, Sam, there’s no way I’m going to put you in harm’s way again. I already put Phil and Mike in danger, I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you, too.”

  “Dad, I’m already hip deep into this adventure, there’s no way I’m going to bail out now. Besides, where else am I going to go? We don’t know where they are or how to get out of here. If something is going to happen to us, I’d rather be with you.”

  Randall had seen the same determined look in his daughter’s eyes before, and he knew there would be no convincing her. She had a sizable stubborn streak—one that she had inherited from her father, as his wife used to point out. “Okay, Sam, we’ll go together. I think our best bet is to backtrack the way we came. I don’t want us to get lost in this tunnel system. Let’s keep the light to a minimum and move quietly to try and sneak up on them.”

  Sam smiled at her father, grabbed his arm and said, “Okay, let’s go!”

  Their approach was straightforward. In stretches of the tunnels with no bends or turns, they would use their light to search ahead for signs of Dumond or Kristoph’s men. When they approached a turn, they turned off their lights, and the elder Randall would slowly scout around the turn looking for headlamps and listening for the sounds of shuffling boots or the clicking of metal. After searching the tunnels for some time, they had found no sign of the soldiers.

  “This is where the fight started. It’s the main cavern I walked down and where we escaped.” Randall shined his light down toward the far end of the tunnel. “There’s the chasm I jumped across to get to Vilcabamba.”

  “Where could they have gone?”

  “I’m not sure, but it looks like there aren’t as many as before.” Randall was now shining his light on several lifeless corpses lying on the cold, damp ground. Sam turned away in disgust. “You stay here, I’m going in for a closer look.”

  Randall moved closer to the bodies and immediately recognized one of them as the man who had brought him back to the cavern. Kristoph’s now lifeless form lay sprawled on its side, a pool of crimson liquid puddled under his head. Even in the poorly lit cavern, Randall realized what had happened to the once proud and angry man. The large caliber weapon that had been fired at point-blank range, had removed a portion of the left side of his upper temple. He moved his light to see that the others in this killing zone had met similar fates. A shiver ran down his spine as he realized that this could have easily happened to Sam and Phil, as well. Once again, he felt a twinge of guilt for involving them in this deadly adventure. Returning to Sam, he relayed the news that his former captor was now deceased.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Well, we should get out of this underground cavern system and get you back to civilization where you would be safe,” Randall reported, the thought of the dead men down the tunnel still fresh on his mind.

  “Or, we could go after the medallion, get it back, and return it to the rightful owners,” Sam responded.

  Randall sighed. “Sam, be reasonable. These guys are heavily armed, and they’re not afraid to use their weapons. This isn’t a game, and there’s no guarantee we’ll survive another encounter. I’m sorry, but you’re going home, and I’m going to see if I can find Phil and Mike. I got them into this mess, and I’m sure as hell going to do everything I can to make sure they get home safe.”

  Randall’s apprehension was apparent, and the tone in his speech was his serious-dad voice; the one he used when he wanted to make it clear that he was the father, and she was the daughter. It also meant that his word was final. It was the same tone he had used when he told Sam that she would go into a different field than archaeology, so that she could have a stable family life, in one place. It was the same speech he gave her shortly before she had applied to the Anthropology Department at Georgetown University. Both times, his admonitions had fallen on deaf ears, and he was doubtful there would be a different outcome this time.

  “Dad, I know you’re worried about me, but I’m not a little girl, anymore. I’ve had my share of dangerous run-ins with sketchy characters. I’ve also survived some pretty scary near-misses in the field, and I have the scars to prove it. First of all, if Dumond and his men aren’t here, that means they likely went back to their jungle base. You have no idea where it is or how to get there. On the other hand, I know where it is, and more importantly, I’ve been inside the facility. I know my way around and what to expect. You need my help. You can’t finish this alone.”

  Randall stared into the now serious eyes of his daughter, knowing not only that she was right, but also that once she set her mind to something, there was no convincing her otherwise. He shifted uncomfortably.

  “Well?”

  “Okay, we’ll go together. But at the first sign of trouble, I want you to leave.”

  “Deal!”

  chapter twenty-four

  It was a short trek back out of the cavern and into the chamber room for Randall and Sam. Fortunately, one of the ropes that Ackers’s men had used to rappel down, was still hanging into the cavern. After climbing back up and out of the temple complex, the feel of the warm sunlight on their skin was a welcome sensation. They enjoyed it only for a moment, as time was short, and they both knew that they had to move quickly.

  Removing her GPS-equipped phone from her backpack, Sam proudly said, “We need to go this way.”

  “How do you know?”

  “When they were holding Monica and me, I marked the camp as a waypoint on my GPS,” Sam said, smiling proudly.

  Randall shook his head, smiling at his daughter.

  The trip to the encampment was a difficult march through dense undergrowth. Had circumstances been different, the two scientists would have undoubtedly been impressed enough to realize that they were trekking across ground unseen by human eyes for centuries. The biodiversity in this part of the rainforest was amazing. Everything was alive. But there was no time for enjoying the scenery. They were on a mission, and time was of the essence.

  Finally, after several hours of rough hiking, they reached Dumond’s base. Randall marveled at the sprawling compound that arced across an enormous clearing in the rainforest. Multiple buildings dotted the complex, which stretched east, ending on the coast. Several of the structures were badly burned, no doubt from Kristoph’s attack, and others were riddled with bullet holes. The similarity between the sight before them and the vision that Randall had when he was in the dream-like state with the visitors, was eerie. Once again, Randall was overcome with awe at the realization that he had likely not dreamed that event.

  “What do we do now?” Sam asked.

  “Now we wait and keep an eye on things. We need to see if there’s anyone on guard. I’m sure our friends wouldn’t just let anyone who happens by to just stroll into the camp,” Randall replied

  “That’s true, but they also eliminated their competition.”

  “Good point, but I still think we need to watch for a guard.”

  The two sat crouched for some time, hidden by the dense underbrush. Their patience was rewarded as a uniformed man appeared from the distance and walked in their direction. As he walked, he scanned the perimeter of the encampment, looking for signs of intruders. Slowly, the figure grew larger and larger until he was about 20 yards away. As the guard drew near, Randall began to wonder if their decision to get so close to the clearing had been a wise one, but the soldier abruptly turned, walk
ing at a near right angle to where they lay hidden in the heavy foliage. He had not seen them and continued on his assignment guarding the perimeter. Sam and her father sat motionless as the soldier disappeared into the distance.

  “Okay, we were here for 27 minutes before we saw him, so we have at least that much time to make it over to the buildings. When you were here last time, where did they keep you?”

  “I was in that building over there,” Sam said, pointing to the center building in the semi-circular encampment.

  “We’ll have to move quickly. Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Hunched over, the two ran to the side of the administration building, carefully watching for signs of others exiting the structures. Much to their surprise, no one came out, and they arrived undetected at the eastern side of the building.

  As Sam pressed herself into the exterior wall, Randall peered through the small glass window of the exterior door. Through it, he spotted an empty hallway with doors interspersed at semi-regular intervals. The lack of activity both in and around the complex was unnerving, but Randall rationalized that his captors no longer sensed a threat from the other group of mercenaries. He motioned to his daughter that he was entering.

  Randall slowly pressed the wooden door inward, extending his arm as he opened the door in case someone suddenly appeared in the hallway. After a moment’s time, it appeared that the hallway would remain clear. He slipped inside, with Sam following closely. The two hugged the wall as they crept down the passageway to the first door. As they approached it, Randall used the same technique he had used on the exterior door, peering through the glass window. The room was empty and appeared to be some sort of break room with vending machines and a big screen. They moved further down the hall to a windowless door.

  “That’s where they held Monica and me,” Sam whispered to her father, who nodded in acknowledgement.