“Oh crap, is he okay?”
James bent over the man, checking his head for wounds. He was fine, though in shock.
“How did you do that?” James said. “You didn’t touch him.”
Dillon shook his head. “I don’t know. I just thought about pushing him back.”
When George was on his feet, he glared at Dillon and then turned away and headed back to camp.
James stood. “He knows what it is.”
“What?”
“That wasn’t a normal reaction to what we just saw, Dillon. He knew about it.”
Dillon walked to the tent just behind James. Inside, George was packing up his gear.
“You knew about this,” James said.
“Yeah, I knew.”
“But you couldn’t find it.”
“No.”
“What is it?” Dillon asked, his voice echoing in the tent.
“It’s how they mapped the coastline. It’s a weapon. At least I think it’s a weapon.”
“How did you know about it?”
George sat down on a small cot. “My grandfather was one of the first Norwegian explorers to this part of Queen Maude Land. He found the city. He called it Atlantis, mistakenly I think, but who knows. He thought the earth had shifted and Atlantis had been buried here, under a mile of ice. He never published his findings. My father and he spent their entire lives exploring that city, and they didn’t find anything. Where did you find it?”
“In the tower. Underneath the city.”
“We searched everywhere, including the tower. There’re no entrances.”
“It…allowed me in. I don’t know why.”
George was quiet a moment. “That suit was in some of their writings. Reformed Minoan, that’s what my grandfather called their language. He disappeared here shortly after. My father abandoned it after that. He said something was inside the city and he wasn’t ever going to bring me here. But I found it without him.”
James said, “Do you know how it works?”
“Magnetic putty, that’s what my grandfather called it in his journals. The closest translation. It creates a magnetic field around the wearer. You’re not really flying so much as pushing against the magnetic field of the earth, maneuvering around inside it. But these were special suits. Reserved for their priests. Not everyone can wear them. I think that’s what happened to my grandfather. I think he discovered the suits and it killed him.”
“There’s something down there,” Dillon said. “I don’t know what it is. Something…alive.”
“The writings said the suits had a modification. Something that was added to it. It…distorted the user’s mental and physical state.”
“That’s how they were destroyed,” Dillon said.
“What?”
“I saw it. I saw it when that thing down there touched me. Their civilization was destroyed by giants. Men in these suits were fighting them…they were killing each other.”
“Why did you need us up here?” James said.
“I’m bankrupt,” George said. “I’ve spent everything I had exploring this city…but I had to come back. Those suits…those suits…I mean, who knows how much power they contain. I had to come back. So I went to Henry and he agreed to finance two expeditions.”
“One question,” Dillon said. “Do you know how to get out of this thing? It split down the middle to let me in but there’s no seams or cracks.”
“I don’t know how it’s controlled. None of their writings ever described in detail how they worked. I think they were worried about their enemies getting their hands on the suits.”
“How did you get in?” James said.
“I told you, it sucked me in.”
“Well, it must’ve responded to you. That means you can get yourself out.”
Dillon straightened up but the tent was too low. He stepped outside and closed his eyes. He emptied his mind, the images of slaughter fresh. He forced them out, counting slowly to ten, his mind blank in between the numbers.
He felt the freezing chill of the Antarctic wind and opened his eyes. The suit was open. He stepped out and it closed up again.
Dillon stood staring at it. “Gentlemen, I do believe all of us just got very, very rich.”
17
The next day, it was decided that the expedition was over. Dillon wouldn’t take them down there again, insisting the black substance was far too dangerous. They decided that the suit was enough of a find to make the expedition worthwhile. Whatever it sold for would be split three ways among them, after Henry’s cut.
On the voyage back, Dillon sat on the yacht, staring at the suit that was set up on the deck. James had tried to enter it, as had George. It wouldn’t open for any of them. But when he had walked to it, it opened up wide and engulfed him. He tested it several times and the principle held true: He was the only one that could use it. It had…bonded to him somehow.
Henry had been notified that they’d found an artifact unlike anything that had ever been discovered. Though tentative, once they had described what they were bringing back with them, Henry could not name a figure high enough. What would a government pay to have the ability for their soldiers to fly and have the strength to run through walls? It was, he said, a blank check.
James stepped out of the cabins and came and sat by him. It was freezing and they were both bundled up tight, a battery-powered space heater in front of them. They didn’t speak at first and instead just stared at the glimmer of the stars off the water.
“I don’t think we should sell it,” Dillon said.
“What?”
“I don’t think we should sell it, James.”
“What exactly would we do with it otherwise? Use it as a lawn decoration?”
“I ran through walls like they weren’t there. I can fly. Who knows what else that thing can do? Why do we need to sell it?” He leaned toward him. “What if I go to the diamond mines in Zaire? I can bore into the caves and take whatever I want.”
“Dillon, we don’t know how this suit operates. What if it’s dangerous? How is it powered? You could be halfway to the center of the earth when it runs out of batteries…so to speak.”
“I don’t think so. I can feel its…power. George said it uses magnetism; I think that’s what powers it somehow.”
James shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Give me a week, James. Forget that, give me a couple days. Let me show you.”
“It’s half Henry’s and then you and I only have a third stake ownership each. They may not wish for us to keep it.”
“We’ll buy them out. They’ll be millionaires, what’ll they care.”
James exhaled. “The diamond mines of Zaire.”
“How long have we been saying we would go there? I’ll fly in, take as much as I can carry, and get out of there. It’s not like De Beers is going to miss it.”
James looked back to the suit. “We don’t know what it is, Dillon.”
He thought a moment and then stood up. “I’m going to the mainland. I’ll meet you there.”
“We’re over the ocean. Just be patient.”
Dillon walked to the suit. He stripped down to just his thermals and got inside. The suit instantly filled him with a calm euphoria. He looked up and began to drift. Pulling his arms close to his body, he sped over the ship and glanced down to the inky black ocean below. The Falklands weren’t far and he tilted forward and began heading in that direction. The wind flowed over him like the sea and he drifted upward to the low flying clouds and slowed as he went through them. He then shot up into the sky, gaining altitude so quickly he felt sick.
The ship was just a dot of light below him now. It was amazing how quickly he had lost all fear of this suit. It was almost as if the suit could sense his fear and calm him…sense his sadness and give him euphoria.
He propelled himself forward toward the mainland. Wanting to see just how fast the suit could go, he straightened himself like an arrow and concentra
ted.
The ocean below him was a blur. The land raced at him, moving so fast he was barely able to register what he saw.
He shot past the Falklands and continued over the sea. He turned north, having only a vague sense that he would hit South America eventually. He loved Rio de Janeiro; maybe he would take a quick stop there?
As he concentrated, emptying his mind and allowing the suit to guide him with its momentum, the speed only increased. He had to see where he was going using the periphery of his vision, much like speed-reading. Everything else was distorted and out of focus.
He flew until his back ached and his neck was throbbing from the strain. When he finally slowed, he was so far inland he could hardly see the ocean. He was hovering over a massive city, the lights sparkling as brightly underneath him as those in the sky. Coming in low, he could see a dance club with a line outside. He spotted a park nearby and landed among some trees. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, the suit was open. Stepping out, the warm weather was like a blanket around him, and he could smell the fresh scent of grass and trees.
He was wearing thermal pants and a Columbia collared shirt with Vibram shoes. Not the best outfit for fitting in, but not the worst either. The suit, he found earlier, was essentially immobile. It weighed probably upwards of two to three thousand pounds, James had guessed, and even with a winch and five men they couldn’t budge it. Dillon wasn’t worried about theft.
Walking across the park, he got to the main street and tried to look at the license plates on the cars passing him. He was able to speak some Spanish and though the language on the plates was close, it wasn’t identical. It was Portuguese. He was in Brazil, though he couldn’t guess which city.
He walked across the street and found the club that he had eyed. The line was only ten or so deep and he waited. There was no cover charge and he knew the watered down alcohol was where they made their money.
The club was packed and the heavy bass of the music vibrated his feet. He walked to the bar, which was off to the side and a little quieter than the main floor. He sat and the bartender came to him.
“O que posso fazer por você?”
“Um, English?”
“Sim. A little.”
“Heineken?”
“Sim.”
The bartender took out a Heineken and popped the top. “Isso será de quatro real.”
“I only have dollars,” Dillon said, taking out a small wad of cash he had brought in his shirt pocket.
“Five dollars.”
He handed him the cash and took a sip of beer. Turning to look at the writhing bodies in the club, he realized he missed home. Not home, exactly. He missed Jaime. He thought about calling her but knew he couldn’t hear her inside with all the noise. And it was probably the middle of the night back in Honolulu.
“You’re definitely American,” he heard an accented voice say. He looked over to see an attractive blond, about his age, sit down next to him. She held up a cigarette and waited.
Dillon reached to the package of matches on the bar. He struck one and then lit her cigarette.
“How can you tell?”
“Only an American would wear pajamas to a party in this country. Everyone else is trying to show off how rich they are.”
He sipped his beer. “You got me. And they’re not pajamas although I have slept in them an awkward number of times.”
“So, what brings you to Sao Paulo?”
“Is that where I am? Huh. I’ve never been here actually.”
“Wow. You don’t even know what city you’re in? You are the adventurer. Or a junkie. Which is it?”
“Right now, not much of either.”
“Why?” she said, blowing out a puff of smoke. “You not feeling well?”
“I have an opportunity that I’m not sure I’m prepared to handle.”
“Well, my father always told me to try new things because you never know what was going to change you.”
“You believe that, huh? That people can change?”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t think so. I think we’re pretty much born the way we are. It comes with the package.”
“Hmm,” she said, placing her hand on his thigh, “that’s such a sad way to view things. Are you sad right now? ‘Cause I think I may be able to help.”
“Try new things, huh?”
“That’s my…como é que se diz? My motto.”
He pulled out his remaining cash. “And I suppose this would be enough to experience that motto?”
“It would be close.”
He grinned and finished his beer, handing her the cash. “Keep it. I have to go.”
“Really? You don’t want anything?”
“You helped me make up my mind about something. Consider it a consultation fee.”
She smiled and placed the cash in her bra, leaning in and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Well good luck in your adventure then, jungle man.”
18
It was morning in Honolulu and Dillon woke up early, about six, and called James.
“Where the devil are you?”
“Back home.”
“Home in Honolulu?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve only been gone twelve hours. Are you telling me you went from Antarctica to Hawaii in twelve hours?”
“No, like two, actually. I stopped a few places. But that’s not why I’m calling. I want you to know I’m heading to Zaire.”
“Dillon, just stop. Stop whatever you’re doing and just wait for me. I should be there in—”
“You want me to wait for you so you can talk me out of it.”
“You’re bloody damn right I’m talking you out of it. I’ve spoken to George. We’re both in agreeance that we’re selling the suit to the highest bidder. Henry has already gotten interest from a buyer representing the Israeli government and—”
“I’ll see you when you get here, James.”
“Dillon, Dillon! Don’t you hang up on me!”
Dillon hung up. He smiled as he stood and went out to the garage. The suit was there, in the corner. He went up and touched it before going back inside and having a shower. Then he came out wearing just sweats and a T-shirt. The suit opened for him and he got inside: the rush of power causing butterflies in his stomach.
He opened the garage, ensuring no one was on the street, grabbed the gym bag he had prepared the night before, and then rocketed into the sky. He was easily two hundred feet up when he stopped and looked down to the little island that had been his home for so long. It was quiet up here, quieter than anywhere else he had ever experienced in his life, and he enjoyed the silence a bit before placing the strap of the gym bag around his chest and then drifting forward. He straightened out, and began gaining speed.
Before he knew it, he was over Japan, and then China, and then India, and then the Arabian Peninsula. He would stop every so often and check the GPS on his iPhone to ensure he was heading the right way, but his flight was surprisingly accurate for how quickly he was moving. It was almost as if the suit knew where he wanted to go and took him there.
Africa appeared different than everywhere else. It had every environment of every other country. Deserts and mountains covered in ice and snow, and thick jungles and forests and rocky, almost alien, terrain. To someone that’d never been here before it could be like going to Mars.
But Dillon knew the Congo well. They’d been here before but had been denied access in Zaire to going anywhere near the diamond mines.
Diamonds are one of the most abundant minerals on earth. They are, in reality, worthless. But because the De Beers company had stockpiled them and worked out monopolies with foreign governments, they cut supply and increased demand, making diamonds more expensive than gold.
And to the tribes and warlords that were granted protection and mining contracts with De Beers in the third-world countries they mined, it was a fortune. One that had caused slaughter and mass rape and genocide. And they guarded t
heir fountains of wealth viciously.
Dillon knew exactly where he was going. A mine near Zaire, known to only a few. James—and his contacts in the Congo—were some of those few.
Dillon found the large mountain shaped like an ice cream cone, covered in lush green vegetation, the sun bright in the sky. He put away his phone in the gym bag and slowly made his way down. On the far side, crowds of men worked in the large mine. He could see children hauling supplies in and out of the mine, their faces caked in dirt and sweat. Some of them unable to afford shoes, their feet leaving bloody tracks in the dirt paths.
Dillon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. What the hell am I doing? he said to himself. Getting rich, was the reply.
He jumped off the mountain in a free dive, headfirst, and gained speed as his chest was several inches from the jagged rocks below. Then he pulled himself up and twisted around, aimed directly at the entrance of the mine. He pointed himself like an arrow and shot inside the mine, a gust of wind and a blur the only things the miners experienced.
The mine was lit with lamps. He navigated the narrow corridors until he came to a large vein that several miners were busy at. He slowed, but couldn’t stop.
“Whoa…whoaaaaa—”
He slammed into the stone wall, massive chunks of stone breaking away and the space filling with dust and dirt. Dillon found himself on his back and he slowly rose. The miners were coughing and running: they thought it was a collapse.
Dillon turned to the vein and could see enormous chunks of pure diamond. He began tearing them out of the wall like a bulldozer and shoving handfuls into his gym bag. He was able to tear into the walls in a way the miner’s machines weren’t able to. He felt grumblings underneath his feet and knew that the mine was weak, set up with just enough precautions so they could get the diamonds but not enough to ensure the safety of the workers.
He filled half his gym bag, digging further and further down, before he turned and began flying out of the mine. At the very lip was a young boy. His feet were cut and he was malnourished. He stood silently and watched the figure floating above him.
Dillon reached into his gym bag and took out a large diamond. He flung it to the boy, who immediately hid it in his clothing. Dillon winked at him.
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