Damn, where was Kelly? Clutching her treasure, Freya lowered her head. She searched for the knife strapped to her right calf. Before she could find it, her gaze was met by the cold stare of reptilian eyes. A sea snake was inches from her face, rippling its body to hold its position. Its eyes were fixed on hers. She froze, holding her breath. Freya shifted her focus from the uncomfortably close predator to the shadow lurking behind it. Oh God. The shark?
It was Kelly. A brief feeling of relief washed over her, but it was snatched away by the searing pain of fangs plunging into her left hand. Freya gargled a scream through her regulator and dropped the box, letting it fall to the sea floor. The snake shot off into murk as Kelly tore through the water toward her. Her breathing slowed and her limbs grew heavy. Her eyelids slid closed, then open, and then finally closed.
Location: A hospital in a small village, India
The haze of unconsciousness lifted. Freya was laid on an unsteady, broken, hospital gurney. Light blue sheets were tucked tightly at her sides, with only her arms remaining free. Various wires and tubes protruded from pale limbs that were bruised at the point of needle entry.
The sound of labored breathing droned in her head. For a moment, she wondered what the hell the noise was and then realized it was her own heavy exhalation into a ventilating machine. Sluggishly, she pulled at the mask, trying to pry it from her face. Kelly’s hand gently rested on hers, preventing the action. She rolled her eyes upward to see his familiar smiling face gazing back at her. He looked exhausted, drained. His usual, healthy, tanned complexion was pallid and sickly. Dark circles had formed under his now gray, dull eyes.
Kelly shook his head slowly. “Don’t try and get up. And don’t pull the mask off. You’re lucky to be alive. That was a Jerdon’s sea snake. Pretty powerful venom in those things. They cause asphyxiation through diaphragmatic paralysis. At least, that’s what the Doc says. Basically, it stops you breathing, and you suffocate.”
Freya nodded once.
“So, I hope you don’t mind, but I had to suck on your arm for a bit there to try and get rid of as much of that poison as possible.” He chuckled, but his frivolity was cut short by the onset of a coughing and wheezing fit.
She stared at him, her eyes full of concern.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he lied. “Anyway, you’re the one in trouble this time, not me.”
Raising a spare hand to her arm, Freya felt for the fang marks. She winced as her fingers lightly skimmed across the two puncture wounds in her otherwise perfect flesh.
“Don’t worry. I don’t think it will scar.”
“Di ... did we find it? Was it a device?” Her voice was weak, each word a concerted effort to push from her lips.
“No. At least not a device that we were looking for.”
She scrunched her nose as if to ask, what?
Alejandro waltzed into the room and sat by Kelly’s side, though he did not extend the courtesy of actually acknowledging his son-in-law. He was still dressed in his linen shorts. It seemed his outfit was just as useful in India as it was in Egypt.
“What we have found, young Freya, is something that may still be of help. It’s an Antikythera mechanism.” It was the first time either Freya or Kelly had heard the old man express any kind of emotion. For it to be joy was a surprise to them both.
“What does that mean?” Freya could barely catch her breath to ask the question.
“The original Antikythera mechanism is an ancient mechanical computer, thought to be built around one-hundred years BC and designed to calculate astronomical positions. It was recovered in 1900 during a diving expedition just off the coast of the Greek island Antikythera,” began the old man. “But its significance and its complexity were not understood until many years later. Jacques Cousteau even visited the wreck for the last time in 1978 but found no additional remains of it.”
“I’ve heard about this. There were a bunch of us that did a dive on the Antikythera wreck. It’s a huge galleon. We didn’t find anything.” Kelly stared at the old man, who still did not acknowledge he had spoken.
Alejandro continued. “The device is remarkable for its level of miniaturization and complexity. The recovered device had more than thirty gears, although it was badly corroded. It has been suggested there may have been as many as seventy-two gears, each with tiny teeth—small triangles. When a date was entered via a crank, the mechanism calculated the position of the sun, moon, or other astronomical bodies, such as the known planets. This device is so accurate it even compensates for the elliptical, rather than circular, movement of the heavenly bodies. It had more than two thousand markings on it, and I was part of one of the teams that helped verify the translations—quality control, if you will.”
Freya nodded again but was still confused as to what this had to do with the device they were looking for.
“It has long been debated that a device of such complexity could not have been just thought up and built in the space of a year or even ten years. To start with, understanding the paths of the sun, moon, and planets would take many, many years of recording—particularly to establish the elliptical orbits. It suggests there was prior knowledge, ancient knowledge, like the kind you believe to be passed down by your aquatic friend.”
“So?” Kelly said. “How does this help us? All you’ve found is another high-tech cuckoo clock. And?”
The outburst grabbed Alexandro’s attention. “As always, dear boy,” huffed the old man, “you are jumping the gun. The mechanism that young Freya recovered is in perfect condition and doesn’t have Greek markings. It has Mayan ones.” Alejandro reached inside the bag he had rested at his feet and pulled out an object approximately the size and shape of a standard shoe box but made of bronze, not cardboard. The mechanism had three main dials, one on the front and two on the rear of its longest sides. “I have done a cursory inspection. From what I can decipher from the text, the outer ring, here, is marked off with the days of the Mayan calendar. The front dial carried three hands. One showed the date, and two others showed the positions of the sun and moon. The front dial also includes a second mechanism with a model of the moon, displaying the lunar phase. There are also references to Mars and Venus in the inscriptions. The lower back dial is in the form of a spiral, which, if like the original device, means it might predict eclipses. But here is where it gets interesting.” He shifted the box around and placed his index finger on a row of symbols. “Here, it refers to the visitor, Viracocha, who comes at each lunar eclipse.”
Freya’s eyes widened.
Kelly leaned forward on his chair. Could it be? Had they found a device that was supposed to predict the coming of K’in’s kind?
“This would explain almost every civilization on Earth and their obsession with the stars and planets. Although many writings refer to gods and other deities originating from the stars, it is very likely this is merely a corruption of the original intent—to predict the next encounter with the knowledge-bringers.” Alejandro took a breath.
“But, what is a high-tech cuckoo clock with Mayan markings doing in the Indian Ocean? And how does this help us find what we’re looking for?” Kelly had grown impatient. The old man was rambling again. They had no time for this.
“There are markings on this I have never seen before. I don’t know what they mean. Symbols that look familiar, yet don’t. I have a colleague who is up in Siberia near the Altai Mountains. She has an interest in rare symbology and languages. If I could send her pictures of this—”
“No!” Freya snapped, having mustered enough breath. “No, I don’t trust sending anything through email, or fax, or whatever. If we move, we need to rendezvous with the General first. He needs to see this. There’s a port in Vladivostok.”
Kelly pulled a map from the side pocket of his sand-colored combat pants and spread it roughly across Freya’s legs. “Okay, so how do we get there?”
“We’ll need to get to Lhasa—here, in Tibet.” She propped herself up on her elbows and point
ed weakly to the city that was almost directly north of India. “We can take the plane there. But from that point, we are better off taking a train to Beijing, then Harbin, and then on to Vladivostok.” She slumped back on the gurney, having exhausted her energy.
Kelly admired her. Even on death’s door, she could give commands. “Okay. I assume we’ll need visas to get through Russia. I’ll go into town. I’m sure I can find help.” With that, Kelly scooped up the map and left.
“How are you feeling, my dear?” Alejandro placed a hand on her blanket-covered knee.
“Okay. Tired. But we need to keep moving. I can’t stay here. I’m sure Kelly can get us some visas—even if they’re fake. He’s resourceful.”
“Kelly Graham is not always right, young Freya. Believe me. He’s hot-headed and rash. He’s the reason that—”
Freya cut him short. “I know what you will say. But it’s not his fault.”
“I suppose he told you that?”
“Actually, I overheard your son telling someone else about Kelly, Izel, and their daughter. Kelly doesn’t really talk about it.”
“The reason he doesn’t talk about it,” scowled Alejandro, moving his hand away from her leg, “is because he doesn’t want to tell the whole truth. Carmen was not his daughter.”
Freya frowned. “What? But I heard Chris. He said Carmen was Kelly’s daughter.”
“Kelly Graham is no more related to my granddaughter than you are, Ms. Nilsson. Kelly met Christopher when he was just beginning college. Chris was so intelligent. Kelly was in his mid-twenties and a mediocre student at best. His final year crossed with Christopher’s first. He was supposed to be a mentor. Instead, he dragged my son around bars and got him into trouble. After twelve long months, Kelly left for work in South America. I thought I was rid of the man, but as fate would have it, he met Izel.”
“Oh.”
“Izel was teaching there. It was her lifelong dream. A dream she could not fulfill, given her daughter, little Carmen, was only a year old.”
“Wait. Izel already had Carmen? If Kelly was not the father, who was?”
“A remarkable young man named Paulo. He passed away before Carmen was born—just died in his sleep one night. So tragic. He was a good man—strong, educated, and kind. Izel was distraught.” He paused and furrowed his brow. “When Carmen was born, Izel didn’t bond with her. She told me once that she just saw Paulo in the baby. For months, she couldn’t cope. So I took over the situation. I sent Izel away to clear her mind, so she could come back ready and able to care for her daughter. Instead, she brought home Kelly Graham. I loved my daughter very much, but she always needed a man in her life. I never understood why.”
Freya eyed him, feeling the anger in his voice. How could he not see it? Clearly, she sought from men the love he was unable to show. “So why does Kelly refer to Carmen as his daughter?”
“Despite my protests, Kelly and Izel married within six months of meeting, and he adopted Carmen as his own. Izel would not listen to reason. Carmen was told Kelly was her father, and I was not allowed to mention Paulo. Ever.” Alejandro shuffled in his seat.
“You know, there is another way to look at this.” She tried propping herself up again. “Kelly loved both your daughter and your granddaughter. And he misses them both more than I think even he lets himself admit. To take on someone else’s daughter as his own is a big thing. Trust me, I know what I am talking about.” Freya hadn’t thought it possible, but perhaps now more than ever, she had a connection with Kelly. He had a strength in him that only Benjamin had shown.
The old man changed the subject. “Get some rest, young Freya. If you are to travel, we need to get you out of here. The emergency team allowed you in, but soon, they will start asking for identification and details.”
* * *
Kelly shook the hand of the little Indian man, secretly exchanging a large number of folded bills. The man expertly received them and placed them in his pocket in one silky movement before scurrying off to a scruffy, little moped and speeding off in the direction of the town center. Wandering slowly back toward the hospital, Kelly paused at the emergency entrance. It was a horrible, old, and decrepit building but obscure enough to be concealed from prying eyes for now. He hated hospitals. They freaked him out. He hadn’t been near one since he’d had to identify Izel’s body. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. His mind wandered back to his first meeting with Alejandro.
* * *
As the door opened, Izel stopped fidgeting. The hand holding Kelly’s went limp. Her father had answered the door. He glared at Kelly.
“Papa?” Izel feigned delight. She took a step forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Papa, what are you doing here?”
“Christopher mentioned that you were bringing home the love of your life. And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”
“Love of your life?” Kelly was agog.
“Papa, I hadn’t ... well, told him yet.” Her tone was hushed and embarrassed.
“And just what is it you do, young man? Hmm?”
“Papa, we’re still on the doorstep.”
Chris came barging out from behind his father. “Kelly? Kelly Graham?” Chris had short hair, unbleached at the time, and was sporting one of his baggy, light shirts over khaki shorts.
“Hey, esé.”
Chris stared in disbelief. Then he punched Kelly hard in the mouth. Blood trickled from Kelly’s lip.
Kelly raised a finger and touched the open wound, licking the crimson liquid from his fingertips.
“Kelly Graham, the degenerate womanizer you slummed with at college?” Alejandro stormed into the house, muttering in Spanish.
“Feel better there, esé?” Kelly raised an eyebrow, still nursing his lip.
Izel remained frozen on the spot.
“Yep. Figured we’d get that out the way and get on with our friendship. What d’ya reckon?”
Kelly smiled at him but winced in pain as the wound opened. “You got it, Paco.” He slapped his friend on the shoulder and stepped inside the apartment.
Location: U.S. submarine, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean
Pinging. That was all that could be heard inside the control center of the submarine. Pinging. Hollow and empty. The sound of sonar. Searching for another object. Another submarine. But there was nothing. Deep below the surface within the trench, there was only the cold dark ocean. Not so much as a whale had swum by. The XO had his hands placed on the shoulders of his sonar operator, who was intently concentrating on the consistent pinging in his headset.
“Anything?” the XO asked.
“No sir, we’re alone down here.”
“Good.”
He patted his operator’s shoulders and walked back to the chart table in the center of the room. On the surface of the electronic map were six digital flags, indicators of where they had deployed the series of communication buoys. They had spent the last two days drawing out an incomprehensible path within the Pacific Ocean to ensure no pattern or direction of travel could be discerned from where the buoys surfaced.
The XO stared at the map. The harsh white light from underneath illuminated his face, obscuring his good looks. His chiseled features cast shadows in awkward and unpleasant shapes.
“Teller, how goes the signal scrambling?” The General sidled up to the XO and rested his elbow on the table.
“Good, sir. If they have managed to detect with whom we are speaking or even decoded your messages, then they haven’t shown their hand. So far so good.” He shrugged his shoulders. “All we can do is guess, really.”
“Sir, we have an incoming transmission from the buoys,” the communications officer called over his shoulder. “I’ll patch it through to you.”
The electronic map disappeared and was replaced with a line of green-glowing text. Teller stared at it, but the code didn’t mean anything to him. It read: *z*13**2te99*va6ch**ay3**a82g.
“What does it say? It’s not standard military code.”
<
br /> “It’s a cipher. I taught Freya how to create one when she was young—er. It’s unique to her.” The General paused again. “We need to go to Russia. Head to the east coast.”
“Won’t it be easy to crack?”
“It’s a standard thirty-nine character Beaufort cipher, but they don’t have the keyword. They may crack it, but we’ll still have time on our side.”
“General, if anything should happen to you, we would be unable to communicate with Ms. Nilsson. Should you not tell at least one of us the keyword?”
Benjamin studied the XO’s eyes. The man had come this far. Perhaps he should be trusted. Given the situation, the men aboard the submarine were the only people Benjamin could trust. The General pulled a pen from an inner pocket of his jacket and grabbed the XO’s hand. He turned it palm up and scrawled Father across it.
Teller quickly glanced back at the code. Working the keyword into the equation, it read: *o*to**ladiv*stock**two**ays. It was still coded, so he calculated the missing characters using the keyword again. Now, the message was clear: Go to Vladivostok. Two days.
Teller nodded. “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Good. Now, we need ...” The General trailed off, distracted by the loud clanging of heavy boots echoing up the corridor.
Wiezorek burst into the room, completely out of breath, almost falling into the command chair. “Creature ... breathing ... stopped.” wheezed the pilot.
“What?” Benjamin barged past the officer and ran down the corridor, bouncing off the oncoming Tremaine.
“What’s going on?” called the Shadow Man after him.
“Follow me. K’in has stopped breathing.”
“Ah, shit.” Tremaine started after his commander, lumbering down the narrow space.
The XO and pilot were left in the command center.
“Do we have a medic on board?” the young pilot asked.
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