Bones of the Sun God

by Peter Vegas

  Five steps, not enough time to build up speed. In his mind, he had jumped the bridge barrier like a hurdle, but instead he climbed it and simply slipped over the edge to make the big drop.

  With a rush of wind, a wide blue surface came racing up to meet him. He saw his feet hit the water, and he was under. White bubbles swirled; chaotic clouds of silver spheres engulfed him. Sam reached out with his arms and kicked to propel himself up. His head broke the surface, and the sounds of car horns and city buzz returned. Shouting drew his attention upward, and he tilted his head back. Squinting in the sun, he made out the small blobs of heads peering over the rail.

  He couldn’t tell if one of them was Jerry.

  Sam looked away, blinded by the glare of the sun. As he kicked to keep himself above water something hit him. He thrashed out with his arm. The impact on the heavy plastic casing stung. The current gently dragged him into the shade under the bridge, and he opened his eyes to see the nose of the Jet Ski.

  Sam swam to the back. Elio pulled him onto the seat and gunned the machine. They popped back out into the sun and raced up the river.

  Through the curtain of white water spraying behind the Jet Ski, Sam saw Jerry watching from the rail of the bridge. They watched each other until Elio steered the craft around the bend. Just as he disappeared from sight, Jerry raised his hand. Not an angry shaking fist, but an open palm, a farewell.

  The craft skipped along the surface. Elio stuck to one side, using the shadows cast from the buildings on the riverbank to avoid curious eyes. The boy didn’t speak, and Sam was happy to sit back with one arm wrapped around Elio’s waist and the other resting on the bulge of his journal in the thigh pocket of his cargo pants.

  Around the next bend, Sam saw the ruins of an old factory on the riverbank. The rusting iron girders looked like the rib cage of a giant dead beast. Crumbling concrete pillars stuck out of the water in front, like branchless stone trees. Halfway along the pillars, a high concrete jetty jutted out into the river.

  As Elio cut back the throttle and guided the Jet Ski in behind the jetty, Sam patted him on the shoulder. “I was worried Mary wouldn’t get the e-mail or understand it.”

  Elio grinned. “She showed it to me. I knew immediately what you meant.”

  “So where’s Mary?” Sam asked, looking up at the jetty above them.

  Elio’s grin faded. “She is waiting for us at the shed. We will go there soon.”

  “What’s wrong?” Sam asked. “Is she okay?”

  “Yes, yes, she is fine,” the boy said, reaching inside his jacket. He took out a crumpled envelope.

  “What’s that?” Sam asked.

  “The night your father sent me to get your mother, she wanted to go to the hotel first.”

  “I know, Elio, you told me.”

  “But before that she gave me this.” He thrust the envelope at Sam; there were tears in eyes. “I was afraid, Sam. I thought if I sent it and someone came looking for your parents, then Felix would blame me. So I kept it.” He lowered his head. “Please forgive me,” he mumbled.

  Sam looked at the envelope. His uncle’s name was written on the front.

  Dear Јasper,

  Phillip and I have shared our theories with you about a link to the pyramids around the world and the Ark. Well, dear brother-in-law, we have uncovered it! The implications are bigger than we ever realized. But in doing so it seems we have placed ourselves in great danger.

  Јasper, I am writing this for two reasons. The first is our darling boy, Sam. Oh, how we miss him. Our desire to uncover this great secret is at odds with the heartache of being away from him. I only hope he will understand one day that we had to carry out our work. The sacrifice we are making is made easier knowing we are doing it for him. Please look after him, Јasper. For us, he is the most precious treasure in the world.

  The other reason for writing this is to warn you. Remember the gentleman who has been funding our research? A kindred spirit, or so we thought.

  Francis Verulam led us to believe he was part of an organization called the Keepers of the Light. A group dedicated to returning the Arks to the pyramid network. As our research has progressed, we have begun to have doubts about his motives.

  We have been in Belize, not Јamaica as we told you. Francis insisted we keep our true location secret. He also revealed that if we found the Ark he wanted it delivered to him. This goes against the mission of the Keepers of the Light. So eager is Mr. Verulam to obtain the Ark that he has had a private plane standing by at the Belize airport. We are supposed to contact a Captain Sadis the moment we find it.

  Phillip and I have located the resting place of the Ark from sub 518, but now that we understand the truth behind the pyramid network we cannot let Francis come into possession of it. We made the decision to lie to him and sent a message telling him there is no Ark in Belize. We don’t know what implications this will have. But, Јasper, if you are reading this, then know that Francis Verulam cannot be trusted!

  Take care of yourself and please watch over our darling Sam.

  xx Anne

  Elio sat quietly while Sam read the letter, and he was grateful for the silence. He had savored his mother’s words and read the first few lines over and over again. His mother and father loved him and had missed him. The words filled a dark hole that had been growing in him for years. But the warm feeling faded as he read the second half of the letter.

  Elio watched him fold the piece of paper, slip it back in the envelope, and slide it into the pocket with his notebook. “Is everything okay?” he asked, watching Sam anxiously.

  “Yes,” Sam lied.

  The boy smiled with relief and turned to start the engine. “I will take you to your friend now,” he said. “She will be glad to see you.”

  Sam didn’t know anymore.

  The letter had changed everything.

  31

  TF

  “I’VE BEEN SO WORRIED ABOUT you,” Mary exclaimed.

  Locked in her viselike embrace, Sam could manage only an awkward nod and a muffled thanks. Eventually, she stood back and inspected him with an overly serious frown. “That shirt is horrid. It’s three sizes too big, you know?”

  Sam shrugged. “I didn’t have much choice.”

  “Did you get the dagger?”

  Sam patted the journal in his pocket. “Kind of.”

  “That’s good. I want to know all about it. I thought something was up with your e-mail. It’s not like you to give up. . . .”

  Her voice trailed off, and Sam thought back to his confession in the chamber about wanting to leave Belize. The awkward silence lasted only a heartbeat before she burst into more energetic chatter. “Elio went and got us some food,” she said, pointing to the table, where foil packets of noodles were arrayed around an old electric kettle. “Let me fix you some dinner and you can tell me what happened. I want to know everything.”

  Sam watched her hobble to the table. Elio joined her, and they fussed with the kettle and noodles. He felt like he was seeing her, hearing her, for the first time. Why did she want to know about the dagger? Who was she really? He moved to the bed and sat. He felt weighed down by the burden of his new knowledge. His parents had become suspicious of Mary’s father but had no proof. Now Sam did—Captain Sadis, the man Mary’s father hired to fly the Ark out. He was also the pilot that Jerry had identified as the one who took his parents out of the country after they were kidnapped.

  It could mean only one thing: Mary’s father and the Committee were working together.

  It had been a mistake to return to the shed. Sam knew that it was weakness. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to face the reality that he could no longer trust his best friend, his only friend.

  The vibrations in his leg felt like a muscle spasm. It took a few seconds to realize it was his phone, tucked in beside his journal in the thigh pocket of his pants.

  As he took it out, Sam was careful to keep the letter out of sight. He was glad he’d managed to
wrap everything in plastic before leaving Jerry’s.

  The message on the screen told him he had an e-mail.

  From: Jasper Force j.force@eef.com

  Date: Sunday, Sep 20, 2015

  To: Sam Force s.force@gmail.com

  Sam,

  THIS IS URGENT.

  My dear boy, I have been contacted by our anonymous informant, TF. He has asked for you to call him urgently. Click THIS LINK to connect to his phone. To prove his credibility I am to tell you that TF stands for Tueri Flamma—he says you will know by this that he can be trusted.

  Sam, please, my boy. I know you have to contact TF. But when you can, call me to let me know you are safe.

  Much love,

  Jasper

  “What’s wrong, Sam?”

  He looked up to see Mary holding a container of noodles.

  “It’s Uncle Jasper. He’s not well. I need to call him.” Sam got up. “I’ll go outside; the signal isn’t that good in here.”

  “Okay,” Mary said as he walked to the door. “I’ll put your noodles on the table.”

  The shadows were growing longer outside. Sam looked up and down the path that ran along the row of boat sheds. There was no sign of life.

  Sam crossed the path into the shade of the bush on the hill opposite the shed and clicked the link in the e-mail.

  The phone rang once, then a deep voice with an accent answered. “Is this Sam?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me your uncle’s name.”

  “Jasper.”

  “Tell me the name of his cat.”

  “Bast. Who is this?”

  “I am sorry.” The voice softened a fraction. “I had to be sure it was you.”

  “Who is this?” Sam said again.

  “Bassem. I work for Mary’s father.”

  Sam’s mind reeled as he thought back over the past few days. The information from TF had been invaluable. But was he part of the plot? Part of the Committee?

  “I know you are suspicious. But I have been trying to help you since I found out you had gone to Belize.”

  “How did you know?” Sam asked.

  “Please, we don’t have much time. You are in danger. The Committee has discovered that you are in Belize. They will use their contacts in the police to find you.”

  “How do you know that?” he pleaded.

  “There is no time to explain everything, Sam. What you need to know is I am a Keeper of the Light. ‘Tueri Flamma,’ our motto, means protect the flame. I am not loyal to Francis Verulam; I am there to protect the secret of the pyramids . . . and Mary.”

  “Mary!”

  “Yes. She has never been part of her father’s plan. She knows nothing about his links to the Committee.”

  “And my parents?” Sam asked.

  “There is no time,” Bassem said sternly. “Your parents are alive, Sam, and being held by the Committee. I think you already know that. I will tell you more when I can, but you must leave. And please take Mary. I knew she was helping you, but I had no idea she was in Belize.”

  “You thought she was skiing?” Sam said.

  “Yes. She covered her tracks well enough to deceive her father and me. But she was not aware that the Committee has been monitoring her. They just discovered she is in Belize. Now that they know that you both know the truth, you are in great danger. Her iPad has been traced, and the police will come. You have less than an hour; you must leave now. I will contact you when I can. Please, take Mary. You can trust her.”

  The line went dead. Sam stared at the phone then peered through the trees to the boat shed. Could he trust Mary? Could he trust Bassem? Every time he made progress, he seemed to uncover more questions and a deeper conspiracy. It was all getting too complicated.

  Sam slipped the phone back into his pocket with his journal. He had everything that was important right there in his pocket.

  Turning his back on the shed, he slipped deeper into the trees and climbed the hill.

  32

  A BLOODY END

  THE POLICE TOOK NEARLY FORTY minutes to arrive.

  From the top of the hill, Sam could see across the river to the bush on the other side. He could also see down to the row of boat sheds. Two patrol cars stopped at the end of the road and four men crept along the path. The sun was sinking below the horizon, and the light was fading fast. In the gloom, Sam watched the men line up on each side of the door, then splintering wood shattered the evening calm. Shouts of “Police” rang out as the men ran in.

  Calm returned, but only for a few seconds.

  The roar of an engine echoed from the river and Sam caught a glimpse of a Jet Ski between the boat sheds. Then it was in the open and racing up the river. The driver hunched forward, his passenger holding on with her head tucked behind him, her long hair blowing in the wind.

  The policemen sprinted out the door and down the path to their vehicle; tires screeched and the cars departed. As the last rays of the sun were pulled beneath the horizon, calm returned.

  “I hope your friends are okay,” Sam said.

  “They will be fine,” Elio replied. “I told Ralf and his sister they can keep the Jet Ski.”

  “You were going to sell that to pay for your mother’s operation,” Sam said.

  Elio smiled and waved his hands. “It’s okay. I am happy to have been able to help you.”

  “Here, take these,” Sam said. Elio’s eyes opened wide as the two gold coins dropped into his palm. “I got them off Felix. Think of it as holiday pay from Xibalba.”

  Elio stared at the coins, tears welling in his eyes. “Thank you, Sam.” He put them in his pocket as he turned to leave. “I will signal you when everything is ready.”

  Sam watched Elio disappear through the trees.

  “That was nice of you,” said a voice behind him.

  Sam turned to Mary. She was sitting against a tree, wearing his father’s trench coat and holding her bag. “Did your uncle warn you about the police? Is that what the call was about?”

  He nodded.

  “How did he know?”

  “I’ll tell you later. It’s a long story.”

  Sam felt guilty. He had been so quick to assume Mary was in on her father’s plan. Those fears had been squashed by his talk with Bassem. Mary’s minder had said more in the brief call to Sam than he ever had in person, and it had changed everything. But now Sam was putting off the conversation he had to have with Mary. How did he tell her that they could never go back to their old lives? That their hunt for his parents had become part of something much bigger, much more dangerous?

  Sam didn’t know how to put it all into words, so he put it off.

  “Did your uncle tell you they were tracking us by our phones? Is that why you made us turn everything off?”

  Sam nodded.

  “You know these devices can be tracked even when they are off?”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, but we can block them easily enough. Even wrapping them in tinfoil is enough to block the signal.” Mary opened her bag and pulled out some of the leftover packets of noodles. “These are foil,” she said, ripping them open. “Give me your phone.”

  As Mary scattered crushed noodles around her, Sam thought back to the night outside the rowing shed in Boston. The bearded man, the foil around his leg. He had been the first of many to warn Sam away from Lamanai. How did he fit in?

  It was a reminder that although his time in Belize had answered many questions, Sam still had a long way to go.

  “What’s wrong?” Mary asked.

  “Just thinking about everything that’s happened,” Sam said.

  “You know, you’re not expected back at school for another two weeks, and my family still thinks I’m in Switzerland. We can keep going.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” Sam said. “Elio is arranging a ride for us.”

  “To the airport?”

  “No, too risky. The police and Jerry will be expecting that.”

  “So
what’s the plan?”

  Sam pointed to the bend in the river; a small boat had rounded the corner, heading toward the shed. “I paid for it with one of Felix’s gold coins.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My parents are being held by the Committee until they find an Ark,” Sam said. “They won’t lead them to one, because that would mean the destruction of the world, but the Templar Knight never got his Ark to Belize. He was killed by the crocodile while he prepared the chamber. His Ark is still hidden, waiting for a pyramid. If we find it before Jerry’s Delta Force, I could use it as a bargaining chip for my parents.”

  Mary nodded. “We know from the knight’s orders that the Ark he was meant to place in the pyramid at Lamanai was buried five days’ sailing from Belize,” she said. “We also know the exact location is on the hilt of the dagger. But Jerry has it.”

  Sam opened his notebook. “But I made a copy.”

  Mary reached for the battered book and her face wrinkled as she ran a hand over the rough red marks. “Is this blood?”

  “I had a chance to make a copy, and blood was the only thing I could think of using.” Sam held his hand open to show off the long red slice down his thumb.

  “Gross! So what does it mean?” Mary asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Sam replied. “But X marks the spot.” He took the notebook back and slipped it into the backpack. “What?” he said, noticing the new scowl on Mary’s face.

  “Before this hunt goes much further, we have to take care of one more thing, Force.”

  “What?”

  She pointed to his pants. “You still have a big hole in your butt.”

  Sam began to laugh. “Okay. On the boat, we will try and unlock an ancient secret map to the last hidden Ark, and I’ll fix my pants. Deal?”

  “Deal,” said Mary.

  NOT QUITE THE END.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  If I had enough stone and ropes and pulleys and land and spare time, I would erect a towering monument in honor of the people that helped make this book happen. On the walls of that epic construction, with hammer and chisel, I would etch the names of Fiona Simpson and her team at Simon & Schuster, Mandy Hubbard and her gang at Emerald City, Mo—my favorite Iranian illustrator, and my awesome wife, Kirsty, and daughter, Frankie. Until I can secure a suitably large supply of stone, my heartfelt thanks to you all will be recorded here in ink on pulped wood.