by Darren Hale
Catherine was intrigued. ‘How far back are we looking?’
Juliet looked at the number on the screen. ‘At least one thousand BC or earlier.’
‘That’s amazing!’
‘And there’s more,’ said Juliet. ‘As I mentioned before, the signs of the Zodiac rotate around the sky so that the same constellation rises with the sun at the same time each year. And that sign also changes every couple of thousand years due to this wobble effect. In our present day, the constellation Aquarius rises with the sun at the spring equinox. But that has not always been the case.’
‘It wasn’t?’ Catherine yawned. Juliet’s explanation fascinated her, nevertheless, it was three o’clock in the morning and she longed for her bed.
But Juliet did not seem the least bit tired and was in fact looking all the more animated for their conversation.
She continued.
‘The equinoxes and more particularly the solstices, were very important to the ancient people of South America. The ancient Incas for example, used sundials to determine the summer and winter solstices, fearing that, as the days shortened, the sun would disappear from the sky altogether. So I used this program to look back and see when the constellation Cancer would have appeared at sunrise during the summer solstice.’ She pressed the key again and watched as the date scrolled further backwards. ‘And lo and behold, on the morning of the summer solstice in two thousand BC, the sun rose in the constellation Cancer, and Ursa Minor lay inverted in the sky…’
15
Thursday 12th October:
A small ship bobbed somewhere off the coast of Colombia. A casual observer would have mistaken her for nothing more than a common ocean-going research vessel, as was the intention. But had they been allowed to make a closer inspection, they would have noticed more than the usual array of radio masts, transmitters, and research equipment than would ordinarily have been found on such a craft. The Blue Yonder II was in fact a high-tech surveillance vessel, manned by a skeleton crew of mariners and a handful of drug enforcement agents, tasked with surveilling the activities of Colombia’s numerous drug cartels.
Bradley Leavenworth crossed the deck, his hands tightly clenched around two steaming mugs of coffee and a brown paper bag containing a piping hot toaster tart, while the ship bucked and swayed with a savagery that threatened him with having to wear it all before his journey’s end.
He placed a hand on the cold metal door of the Operations Room and with a twist of the handle, swung it open. ‘Ready for breakfast?’ he asked, as he stepped inside.
Mick Hutchins was sitting at his desk, watching as the footage from the previous day’s surveillance flight played on the monitor in front of him. The Icarus, their unmanned aerial reconnaissance drone, was just one of the instruments at their disposal, though piloting it was doubtless more exciting than monitoring the conversations captured and then parsed by those other systems they had available.
‘Not half,’ Mick yawned, raising his hands to massage his weary eyes.
Brad deposited one of the mugs on top of the desk, rivulets of the tar-black coffee meandering down its side and onto the work-surface, adding one more to the rapidly growing collection of sticky black circles already there. ‘So what are we looking at?’ he asked.
Images flowed across the screen, panning over the treetops before coming to rest upon a twin-engined aircraft idling at the end of a makeshift runway and three figures loading boxes into the back of a truck next to it.
‘The ISIS network located a temporary airfield near the western edge of the Colombian border, and the Icarus was diverted to investigate… And we found these guys…’ Mick explained.
‘Any idea who they are?’ Brad asked. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed a packet of sweeteners. His wife had been nagging him incessantly about his weight and health ever since he’d transferred to his current more sedentary “desk job”, and the sweeteners had served as a conciliatory gesture on his part. He plopped a couple into his mug, and then, after a moment’s thought, added a third for good measure. The coffee filter had been running all night and the residue collecting in the bottom of the pot had given the coffee a rather bitter and metallic taste.
Mick pressed a key and the picture on his monitor froze, framing the figures next to the truck. A second, clearer image appeared alongside: a detailed portrait of one of the figures. ‘This photo was sent to us courtesy of our friends in the CIA. His name is Ramon Aguilar – a captain in the FARC. He dropped off the CIA’s radar a few years ago, only to reappear again more recently at the head of one of the newly emerged splinter cells – the LNC – or Liberación Nacional de Colombia.’
‘Not a very imaginative name is it?’ Brad observed.
‘No… But he’s looking for credibility. Which makes him especially dangerous.’
Mick took a sip of his coffee, then flashed up another photo.
‘And we believe him to be working with this man… Manuel Rodriguez, leader of one of the more ambitious of the Colombian drug cartels…’ He flashed another photo. ‘And his son – Santiago. We believe that their cartel is trading Cocaine across the border in exchange for weapons.’
‘Looks like some fairly heavy-duty kit,’ said Brad, scrutinising the open crates. ‘Do we know what they’re planning?’
Mick shrugged. ‘No idea… But now that we have an agent in the field, we might be able to get some better intel.’
Brad pointed to three long cases lying just inside the tailgate of the truck. ‘And what are these?’
‘Yes… You’re not going to like that bit…’ With a few deft keystrokes the film jumped back in time – eight minutes according to the time code in the bottom corner. The figures had all swapped places and were now standing near the aircraft’s rear hatch. The three boxes lay open on the floor between them, displaying a number of distinctive tube-like launchers.
‘Stinger missiles!’ Brad exclaimed. ‘Where the fuck did these guys get stinger missiles?’
‘We think that’s where this guy comes in…’ Mick pointed out a swarthy individual dressed in American Special Forces greens. ‘Nathan Eades… A Special Forces operative originally assigned to Operation Snowcrest.’
‘Operation Snowcrest… That royal fuck up of a mission mounted against the Rodriguez Cartel’s labs six years ago?’ Brad took a bite out of the toaster tart, letting out an involuntary gasp as the hot pureed filling burned his tongue. How did these things manage to stay so hot, for so long?
‘That’s the one…’ Mick affirmed. ‘He was part of a seven-man assault team whose mission was to destroy one of the cartel’s cocaine manufacturing labs in the Colombian Jungle.’
‘So, what happened to them?’
‘The Rodriguez Cartel somehow got wind of the operation and ambushed them. Wiped them out. Or so we are told…’
‘And next thing we know this man Nathan Eades is working for the Cartel?’
‘Something like that…’
One of the figures removed a launcher from its case and hefted it over his shoulder as if preparing to fire.
‘Doesn’t look like they’re too worried about being seen,’ said Brad.
‘Why should they be? They know the schedules for all of our satellite fly-bys. And even if they didn’t, what does it hurt to let us know they’ve got stinger missiles? That way they pretty much know we’re not getting to them by air.’
The toaster tart had cooled a bit. Brad took another bite. ‘What about the drugs? Do we know what they are shipping?’
‘As far as I can guess, about one metric ton of cocaine,’ Mick replied.
Brad whistled. ‘Sixty million dollars – give or take. They’re getting gutsy.’
‘And why not,’ Mick sighed. ‘As of yet, we have no idea how they are managing to ship this stuff.’
‘What have we got from the Colombian authorities so far?’
‘Very little I’m afraid… We might be dealing with a new reformist government, but the army and police are
so corrupt they’re of little use to us. One leak and we’re done for.’
Brad gave him a pat on the shoulder. ‘I want you to get this latest intel up the chain of command ASAP, then turn in for a bit of shut-eye. I’ll have Toni come and relieve you.’
16
Thursday 12th October:
‘There – what did I tell you!’ exclaimed Angus, as his shovel pinged and skittered against a solid stony surface.
‘Congratulations, you’ve discovered a rock,’ replied Oki sarcastically. He tested the soil with the edge of his own shovel.
‘Oh ye of little faith.’
‘Oh – I have the greatest of faith,’ Oki corrected him. ‘I have faith that every minute I spend helping you increases the chance of me getting into trouble as well.’
‘Then why are you helping me?’
‘You blackmailed me as I recall.’
‘Ahh… yes… Now I remember.’
They continued to work, hefting shovels full of dirt up and over the sides of their trench.
‘So, what do you think it is?’ Angus asked.
‘You mean other than being a bloody great rock?’
‘Ha ha.’
‘No… seriously… this has got to be the biggest damn rock I’ve ever unearthed!’ And to Oki’s mind, this was fair comment. The stone slab was easily ten feet in length, and six or seven wide.
Angus scowled at him. ‘Careful mate – I think this hole might just be big enough to bury you.’
‘Hold the press and take a look at this!’ Oki knelt and started to pick at the dirt with his fingers.
Angus knelt next to him. ‘What is it mate?’
Oki was frowning. ‘Looks like some kind of carving…’
‘Here – let me.’ Angus started to scour away some of the more resistant clods of earth using the kind of paint brush that every good archaeologist habitually carried in their pocket. Long vertical panels of glyphs, some marvellously intricate while others were little more complex than a dot or a line, decorated the surface, surrounding a pair of figures that had been embossed in bold blocky detail in the centre of the stone. The first of the figures was emaciated and almost skeletal in appearance, with rib ends poking from the sides of its chest and a face so withered it resembled a skull. It was pouring blood from what looked like a heart, onto the roots of an upturned tree.
‘Ugly bastard, isn’t he?’ Oki observed.
‘A god of the underworld maybe?’ Angus was no expert on ancient Mayan deities, but in his experience, ugly bastard gods usually belonged in the underworld.
Oki shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure. Most South American cultures use animals to depict the guardians of the underworld – commonly the jaguar. This chap looks ill. A representation of death and disease perhaps?’ There was something about the picture that troubled him. ‘And the tree is another peculiarity. Aren’t they normally depicted growing upwards as a symbol of life and rebirth?’
‘I don’t know – you’re the expert,’ Angus confessed. ‘But get a load of his date! Doesn’t look like she was too popular.’ The second figure was distinctly female, although that was about all he could determine. Most of the detail had been effaced beneath the multitude of deep grooves that criss-crossed it like scars.
‘Graffiti perhaps? You think someone might have gotten here before us?’ Oki speculated.
‘No – I don’t think so. The scratches are old. Very old, I think. Look at the way the edges are worn and discoloured. No – I think this happened a long time ago.’ Angus stared at her pensively. ‘I wonder who she might have been?’
‘Who knows. They haven’t left us very much to identify. But if I had to guess, I’d think she might have been a queen – or a priestess perhaps?’
‘I thought ancient South American cultures were all patriarchal in nature,’ said Angus, scratching at the limits of his knowledge. ‘Isn’t she more likely to be some kind of fertility goddess? Life and death and all that?’
‘She isn’t pregnant…’ Oki mused.
Angus feigned a deep sigh. ‘What is it with you mate? You think it’s every woman’s place to be either pregnant or holding a baby?’
‘Hey – I never said that! If you’d actually taken the time to attend any of your lectures, you might have noticed that most fertility deities are represented either by the pregnant female or contain some kind of phallic imagery,’ said Oki defensively.
Angus raised his hands in surrender. ‘Hold on there mate, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’
They laughed.
‘Right – I think it’s about time we found some way of raising this thing,’ said Angus, scrambling out of the pit.
‘Whoa – hold on there! Have you gone completely mad? You don’t think we should maybe inform the professor of this first, while there’s a chance in hell that he might still let us live?’
‘Ach no!’ said Angus, in laboured Celtic tones. ‘Let’s wait until we’ve got something worth showing him.’
He offered Oki a hand up.
‘Like what exactly?’
‘Like whatever’s hidden beneath this slab…’
‘And what makes you think anything is hidden beneath this slab?’
‘The GPR and seismic surveys suggest there’s some kind of chamber underneath there, and I want to see it,’ said Angus, not to be dissuaded.
‘A secret chamber hidden beneath a huge slab of rock engraved with images of the god of death and some woman that evidently wasn’t very popular…’ said Oki, summarising their find. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘Good – you’re in then…’ said Angus, turning towards the camp.
Oki sighed. ‘I guess so.’
******
The camp was empty except for Arno and a pair of rather colourful turkey-like birds that were no doubt going to feature as the centrepiece of the evening’s meal. The chef’s attention was thus duly focused upon the plucking of these two birds and not on the private exploits of Angus and Oki, which was a good thing – given that neither one of them was particularly accomplished when it came to lying.
Arno barely paid them a second glance as they ducked into the supplies tent.
‘So, what do you reckon we’re going to need?’ Oki asked.
‘Just about everything. That stone’s gotta weigh at least a couple of tons,’ said Angus, responding with the crudest of estimates.
‘And you reckon that we can lift it between the pair of us?’
‘Sure thing… We just need the right equipment is all…’
A short search turned up a plentiful supply of rope, some lengths of chain, a block-and-tackle, and some scaffolding poles that could be used to construct the A-frame from which it would all be suspended. Angus loaded as much as possible into a wheelbarrow for easy transport, leaving Oki to manhandle the scaffolding poles back to the temple mound.
‘Good afternoon boys. Are we up to anything interesting?’ Juliet asked. She’d seen them sneaking out of the tent and decided to investigate.
Angus shrugged. ‘Nothing exciting.’
‘Just taking these tools for a walk then?’
‘We thought they looked as if they could do with a bit of a clean is all.’
‘Really? Just wait till I tell the professor how keen you are to keep all this equipment clean. I’m sure he can find some more for you…’ She winked impishly at Angus. ‘You know what? I reckon you’ve been excavating out near the temple ruins, and I think you’ve found something – haven’t you?’
Oki gave Angus a disdainful look. ‘I see you can keep a secret then.’
‘She already knew,’ said Angus defensively. ‘She was with me yesterday when I was doing the surveys.’
‘So you did find something!’ Juliet gasped.
Angus gave her a broad smile. ‘The cover stone to a buried chamber – we hope.’
‘And now you’re going to try and move it? Don’t you think you should let the professor know first?’
Oki shot Angus a hard glar
e. ‘We thought we’d take a look first. Didn’t we Angus…’
Angus gave Juliet a pleading smile. ‘We wouldn’t want to bother him for nothing…’
‘I’m sure he’ll thank you for being so considerate,’ Juliet observed. ‘I take it you wouldn’t mind if I came to watch you then?’
Oki grunted and muttered beneath his breath. ‘You could even give us a hand while you’re at it.’
******
The stone moved almost imperceptibly at first. Spidery cracks of shadow appeared beneath the ancient slab and broadened as it rose like a giant from its slumber. The air ached with the arthritic rasp of stone on stone and the tired pop-and-creak of rope and metal protesting their immense burden. Oki and Angus laboured upon the pulley, drawing breaths through teeth clenched in effort.
‘Quick, get those logs underneath,’ Angus ordered as the rope suddenly began to quiver, as if threatening to tear itself apart. They’d already prepared half a dozen logs for this task, having stripped them of their branches so they would slide easily on the damp soil. But, with the slab suspended little more than a foot above the ground, there was barely enough room to roll them underneath.
Juliet worked quickly, having registered her concerns as to the creatures that might be lurking in the darkness below. The Amazon was a well-known breeding place for all those nasty snakes and insects that were inclined to live in dark moist spaces like this, though Angus could only imagine that her frequent squeaks and cries had been enough to scare them away.
‘Okay, let it down slowly,’ Angus instructed, as the last log was rolled into place.
Wood sighed as the mighty stone came to rest. The timbers bowed dangerously but held.