The Third Hour

by Richard Devin

  Now, with their destiny clearly laid out before them, Dominic dismissed the thought of turning around and beginning again tomorrow. He pushed down onto the gas pedal of the Alero and urged its little engine forward.

  Just over 16 miles into the desert, Tonita maneuvered the flexagon to the fifth page of the map. Near the far edge of the map, the lines of the road curved around a small circle that could not be seen when the page was at its original size and before it had been folded into the flexagon. The circle was formed by an arch in one fold and an arch in another fold that curved in the opposite direction of the first. Separately, they formed part of the lines that squiggled around the page. But once the map had been folded, only a small portion of the lines remained visible. Two portions of the lines formed the circle.

  “Do you see anything? Tonita asked, squinting her eyes.

  “Like something alive?”

  “Well, that too. But there’s a circle on the map and the road curves around it, so I’m thinking that we should see something.”

  “That circle could mean anything. An old building. A rock. A hole.”

  “Or that!”

  Dominic looked in the direction that Tonita was pointing. Her arm stretched out, her index finger extended, crossing his line of sight. Diagonal to their heading less than a half a mile ahead, the rusted remains of a metal structure lay crumbled in the desert.

  SIXTY NINE

  BILL CELENT STOOD BETWEEN the well, gurgling with the sounds of life preserving water, and the rocks on which the three figures had been standing. The same three figures that were now moving slowly, almost cinematically, as if directed by some great silver screen mogul. They moved between the ripples of heat. Their outlines against the backdrop of the darkening desert sky were distorting, almost melting, in and out of human form. Their silent march continued in Bill’s direction without hesitation.

  In the distance, far behind the slowly moving figures, great clouds of dust lofted, then fell back to the earth following the direction of the breeze. The dust clouds rose, fell off, and then rose again. Like a game of dominos, the dust tumbled in order. A quiet rumbling, that Bill felt more than heard, as it welled up from the soles of his bare feet, accompanied the distant dust clouds.

  The three distant figures continued their approach, either not hearing or not caring about the dust clouds and the rumbling to their backs. A flash of recognition sparked in Bill’s mind as he watched their steady movement. The delirium of traveling in time and the scorching heat of the desert gave way to scientific deduction. Soldiers.

  Behind the soldiers, three military transport trucks, canopied in a darker green canvas, reminded Bill of the covered wagons, of the not so distant past, as they traveled these same desert paths. The transport trucks broke through the veil of dust that had kicked up when the thick-treaded rubber tires tore through the desert crust. The rumbling of the trucks’ engines now clearly heard, as well as felt, scared a flock of grey desert grouse into the air. They circled over Bill’s head and he turned and following the flock, watching as they landed not far off, and immediately took cover under the scrub brush.

  The military transport trucks came to a halt in a chevron pattern, just behind the three soldiers. Cab doors popped open and the driver and passenger in each of the trucks jumped down. They ran to the rear of the trucks, and in moments the gates of the trucks had come down, and an area of earth, that may not have ever been creased by the footsteps of man, was crowded with solders.

  “Bill Celent?” One of the three foot soldiers glanced at a photograph then repeated, “Bill Celent?”

  Bill cocked his head, somewhat confused that they would know his name, and somewhat relieved. He answered, “Yes, I’m Bill Celent.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, sir.” The soldier with the photograph stepped forward, “Come with us.”

  As if he had a choice, Bill nodded and fell in alongside the three soldiers.

  The other soldiers, who had arrived on the military transport trucks, were lined up in perfect military fashion, and as Bill passed, he heard orders shouted out to them by a clipboard carrying sergeant. “Every piece of debris will be removed from this area. I don’t want so much as to find a bolt or nut. If I do, I’ll have yours.” The sergeant raised his voice and his blood pressure. “Do you understand me?”

  A rousing, enthusiastic, “Yes, sir!” in near perfect unison was the reply.

  “No questions,” the sergeant continued, shouting at his men. “There are to be no questions. Every piece of everything that does not belong in this desert will be removed. We will not leave a trace of this...” the Sergeant glanced down at the clipboard in his hand and read from a printed page, “This Air Force experimental weather balloon, behind.” He looked up. “That is what crashed here. An experimental weather balloon. Do not deviate from that. Do you understand me?”

  Again, in unison, a choir of, “Yes, sir!”

  Bill was ushered to the back of the nearest transport. He peered around the truck and watched as the soldiers obeyed the sergeant’s orders and spread out, moving like an ocean wave and using their bare hands to pick up anything that was foreign to the desert. One of the soldiers grabbed Bill by the arm. He along with the other foot soldiers, moved to the back of the transport parked farthest away from the wave of troops, stepping carefully through the scrub, and climbed in. The engine came to life as the driver backed the truck up and turned it, heading back in the same direction that the trucks had come.

  As the truck pulled away, Bill could see a group of soldiers push the bodies of Commander Kupovits and Lynda into black body bags and carry them off, placing the bodies under the canvas cover of one of the other transports. He sighed with a long breath and relaxed, as the other soldiers moved away from the rocks, leaving what he had buried there, undiscovered.

  “It’s all right now. You’ll be fine,” The lead foot soldier said, misunderstanding the sigh as a sign of relief at being rescued.

  Bill smiled and nodded his head. “Thank you.” He leaned back, resting his head on the canopy support bar that curved above him, and closed his eyes. A moment later, he opened his eyes, sat up, and looked at the lead foot soldier. “I was trying recall in detail everything that has happened since the ...” He hesitated, “the crash. I’m afraid that I may leave some important details out when I speak to your commander.” He over emphasized the last words. “Might you have some paper so I can make a note or two?”

  The soldier looked around the bed of the transport. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he grabbed a clipboard that had been stuck between a canopy support beam and the back of the bench seat. “Sure, here.” He handed Bill the clipboard.

  “Thank you.” Bill pulled the pencil from the spring-mounted clip and made note of the soldier’s name, “Corporal.” He leaned toward the soldier and read from his name badge, “Stolt. Corporal Stolt.” He wrote the name down on the paper clipped to the board. “I’ll make sure to mention your services Corporal. You and your men have been very kind.”

  Corporal Stolt smiled. “Just doing as I’m told.”

  “Never the less, worth mentioning,” Bill said, then turned his attention to the page on the clipboard and the view out of the back of the transport. He began to work feverishly on the notes. Concentrating. Glancing out of the back of the transport. Then writing, moving the pencil over the page.

  An hour and twenty minutes later, as the transport turned off of the dirt trail on to a paved road, Bill placed the pencil behind his ear, rested the clipboard on his lap, and closed his eyes nearly drifting off to sleep immediately.

  Within a minute the transport fell into a pothole in the paved road and then lurched up, stretching the shocks to their limits.

  Corporal Stolt and the two other soldiers grabbed on to the bench seat for support.

  Bill, caught off guard, bounced hard onto the bench and flayed his arms in an effort to grab onto something. The clipboard flew from his lap. Bill reached for it, but lost his balance as t
he transport fought to right itself. The clipboard continued through the air, hitting the knee of Corporal Stolt before falling to the ribbed metal floor of the transport bed. It landed face side down.

  Corporal Stolt picked up the clipboard and turned it over. He looked at the page, squinted his eyes, and then looked up to Bill. He examined the page closely, bringing it up nearer to his eyes. His face contorted into confusion as he turned the clipboard and the page of paper to Bill and the other soldiers. Lines. The page was filled with lines. Lines that ran in no particular order—zigzagging in every direction—running parallel, perpendicular, and curving all over the page.

  SEVENTY

  DOMINIC STEERED THE rented Alero around what had been built as a well, but was now ruins of steel and iron. What had once been filled with water, now tumbled over with sage and desert brush.

  A small burrow had been dug into the earth by a desert tortoise or owl, along one side of the rusted ruin that now gave refuge to a rattlesnake that slipped into the hole as Dominic came around the side of the car. “Be careful of that,” Dominic said, pointing to the burrow.

  Tonita stopped, looked in the direction of the hole, and immediately changed course walking in the other direction. “This was for water?”

  Dominic walked the perimeter of the structure coming alongside Tonita. “It had to be a water source. I’m sure that they grazed sheep on this land, and they would have needed a close supply of water. So wells like this were dug. Guzzlers, the locales call them.” He walked about ten yards out into the desert and kicked at the earth with the heel of his foot. “It doesn’t look like there’s been much grazing out here lately.”

  “I hope not,” Tonita said, kicking at the rusted outer ring of the well.

  Dominic did not respond. He brushed the hair from his face and slowly scanned the horizon. A small ravine ran off to the left, carved out by water from rain that had fallen long ago onto the scorched desert crust in sufficient quantities to cause a flow. It ran for few yards down slope and then ebbed out into a larger flow plane. But that was long ago, and any moisture now lay hidden deep underground. The surrounding earth appeared, at first glance, to be flat, almost void of dimension. But as Dominic continued to scrutinize the area, he noticed that the land did have shape. He could clearly see small hills, nothing more really than little bumps in the earth, and small depressions carved out by wind and water over eons of time.

  “Come on,” Dominic said, then began to walk away.

  Tonita followed leaving the well and the car to their backs. “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t see much out here, and I don’t know what we’re looking for. So, let’s just walk around,” Dominic called over his shoulder.

  “Can you wait up for a second?”

  Dominic stopped, and without turning around, waited for Tonita to come up alongside of him. Once she joined him, they moved forward. “I don’t know what we’re doing here.” His voice carried an evident irritation to it. “And I don’t know what we’re looking for.” He shifted his eyes to the ground.

  “We’re looking for something.”

  “Thank you.” Irritation replaced by sarcasm.

  Tonita stopped, grabbed Dominic’s arm turning him around. “All right, the map brought us this far and we know we followed it correctly,” she spoke matter-of-factly. “So, we are where we are supposed to be.” Her eyebrows raised, and a grin spread across her reddened cheeks, “Now, we just need to figure out why we’re where we are supposed to be.” Tonita laughed.

  “Was that one of those tongue twisters, like...say sun shine city real fast five times?” Dominic smiled.

  “No.” Tonita pouted. “I was just summarizing why we are where we are.”

  “And so concisely, too.”

  “I’m only trying to help.”

  “Do me a favor.” Dominic looked directly at her. “Stop then.”

  “Look, there was a circle on the map and we found that.” Tonita held the map up pointing to the circle and then to the ruins of the well behind them.

  “We hope.”

  “Stop being a doubting Thomas.”

  Dominic stared at her. “No one says that anymore.”

  She glared at him, “The road, or the line that we think is the road, stops at the circle. The circle is the water thing over there, and there is nothing else here or on the map.” She pointed to the ground. “The map stops here. I think that we should look around that old well. Something has to be there, because there is nothing between there and that rock.” She pointed up to a pile of rocks that had at one time been a mound covered with sand and dirt. After millennia of wind and rain, the dried earth had been eroded away, leaving what looked like a pile of boulders.

  Dominic raised his eyes skyward, then turned to Tonita. “What did you just say?”

  “I was pointing out the obvious, Dom. There is a well that doesn’t work anymore, and who knows when it last did, and nothing more between it and that pile of rocks. That’s it.”

  “Upon this rock,” Dominic whispered. “Upon this rock,” he said loudly. “Come on.” He grabbed hold of Tonita’s hand and took off running, pulling Tonita with him.

  With the old well to their backs, Dominic and Tonita headed for the pile of rocks and small boulders fifty yards ahead of them. The sun, now high overhead, cast a shadow that fell slightly in front of them as they ran. Dominic glanced down at his shadow and that of Tonita’s just behind him. The shadows glided over the land and brush; silhouettes warping and conforming to the land, rocks and plants, transforming from two shadows to one as Dominic and Tonita’s bodies adjusted to the terrain.

  The rocks were now just a short distance away and Dominic shouted, “Upon this rock, I will build my church!” As he said this, Tonita moved off to his right, still trailing behind him. He countered and moved to the left, their shadows fell together. And for a moment, in the shadows, having become one, the silhouette of a man, with a long flowing robe and outstretched arms welcomed them forward. They followed. At the foot of the rocks, Dominic and Tonita came to a stop as the shadow of the man, his arms wide apart, continued to flow up the face of the rocks, and held there. “And the gates of hell shall not prevail against it,” Dominic said breathlessly, then let go of Tonita’s hand. The shadow figure on the rock dissolved from one robed figure back into the silhouettes of Dominic and Tonita.

  Dominic quickly climbed up on the rocks. He surveyed the area in every direction. The rental car sat baking by the old well, rippling waves of heat emanating from it. High mountain ridges, many miles away, sloped down to the valley floor and opened up to the great vastness of the desert. An occasional insect’s buzz broke the silence that, until then, had only been broken by their pounding footsteps and gasping breaths. “This is the spot,” he said, looking down from his rocky perch at Tonita.

  “This is the spot?” Tonita asked. “The spot for what?”

  “Whatever it is that we’re supposed to find.”

  “But we don’t know what we’re supposed to find or where to look for it.”

  “I do,” Dominic said, raising his hand to his heart. “Upon this rock, I shall build my Church and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” Jesus said that to Cephas, a man who joined Jesus and the Apostles. Cephas was also called Simon. But he is better known as Saint Peter the Apostle. Jesus renamed Cephas giving him the name of Peter when he came to Jesus and fell in with the Apostles. Peter!” Dominic exclaimed. “The name means rock!”

  “So it’s here?”

  “It must be. Whatever Cardinal Celent did, or found, or saw that day in the desert, must be here.” Dominic surveyed the area again, turning in a complete circle. “If we’re supposed to see something from here, I’m not finding it. There’s nothing more than just the same scrub and dirt and dust,” Dominic said, as he bent his knees to jump down. He hesitated, contemplating the ten foot plunge, then pushed his weight down onto his lower legs and feet and began to spring off the rocks. Then, one foot slippe
d on the blackened desert baked surface of a boulder. His arms flew out to steady himself but there was nothing there to grab hold of. He fell onto his butt and slid down the surface of the rocks, half landing and half falling to the smaller stones below. His feet dug into the stones, pushing them forward. His back scraped against the edge of the rock. He arched backwards as the skin was peeled away from his back in a steady line crossing his shoulder blades to his ribs. His shirt tore, his hand bruised and his ankle twisted, as he finally came to a stop.

  Tonita covered her face with her hands as Dominic slipped on the rocks and fell, releasing only a slight gasp from her covered mouth. “Are you okay?” She leaned forward extending her hands to Dominic.

  “I think so.” Dominic tried to stand, slipped again on the stones loosened from the fall, but caught himself. “That hurt.” He hobbled away from the rock.

  “You tore your shirt.”

  “I don’t think that’s all I tore,” Dominic said, turning around and raising his shirttails. “Here look.”

  “Oh, Dom you’ve got a nasty scratch. You might even need stitches.”

  “Well then, I hope you brought a sewing kit? ‘Cause I didn’t.”

  “When we get back into town, I’ll have a closer look,” Tonita said, letting the shirttail fall gently. “Dom, do you think we should just go and come back? You’re hurt. We didn’t bring any supplies. We’re not very good at treasure hunting...”

  “Tonita?” Dominic whispered.

  Her voice trailed off, “What is it?”

  Dominic didn’t respond. He raised his arm, letting his index finger slowly uncurl from his fist, and pointed to the glint of sunlight off the foil protruding from the stones at his feet.

  SEVENTY ONE

  TWO DAYS LATER, AN Alitalia 767 touched down at Fiumicino Airport outside of Rome. As the plane rolled to a stop and the “ding-ding” signal from the cockpit alerted the flight attendants and the passengers that it was safe to stand, Dominic reached down and patted the backpack that he had kept his legs around for the length of the flight. Reassured that the backpack and its contents were safe, he unbuckled the seatbelt and stood. The man on the other side of the isle in 17 C also stood, and for a moment the two men jostled for the free space of the plane’s left aisle.