She fell screaming into the inky blackness.
****
Frankly, Addison Gagnon was amazed the woman had made such a bold move. Ultimately, though, it would also be her downfall. He knew he had hit a finger with the last shot, and her screams were evidence that she had fallen some unknown distance down into the cavity.
He grabbed one of the auxiliary lights and walked to the opening. A splotch of her blood hung on one jagged edge of the rocky lip. Shining the light down through the crevice, he could see a flat stone floor a dozen feet below. A smear of blood led across the floor into the darkness. He was mildly surprised she had survived the fall, but he saw no sign of the woman. She had dragged her body to the side where his light did not reach. Chances were, she was badly injured.
The bearded man unshouldered the backpack and removed the explosive charges. If there was any doubt the woman could make it out alive, these little babies would put an end to that. He worked quickly and efficiently, setting the blasting caps and arranging the charges around the stone room. He had been a munitions expert in the Canadian Armed Forces and was truly a man who loved his job. He had mentally mapped out the charge positions for ultimate effectiveness the moment he had walked inside the vaulted cave, pondering placement even as he spotted the dead male and fired the bullet into the girl’s skull.
He picked up his backpack and retreated from the cave into the long entrance chamber. Then he backed out onto the short plateau in the dark where he continued to face the opening.
In the old days, he would have used lead wire detonators. Now, everything was remote controlled. He pulled the remote from his backpack.
“Time for my payday,” he said. He aimed the detonator toward the low opening and pressed.
****
Winds pushed against the Mustang as Curt, Scott, and Sherri raced south along A1A. Scott busily searched the Internet for the property listing that Sherri had found in Sydney’s ice tray. The address, 746 Mison Street, Lot 4, St. Augustine, Florida 32092, was an enigma. Because of zoning, it was located 16 miles northwest of St. Augustine, closer to a small town called Green Cove Springs, near a tributary of the St. Johns River known as Trout Creek. They still had no idea what the series of numbers, 8788852, below the address meant. They had already ruled out a phone number when Scott tried dialing it.
The weather had turned unstable. A continuous breeze was an eerie indication of Hurricane Fernando’s approach. In a little more than eight hours, it would hit the coast as a Category 5 hurricane with devastating winds peaking at 161 miles per hour. The storm surge of ocean water, the most destructive aspect of a hurricane, would be monumental and result in billions of dollars of property damage. Combined with the inevitable spawning of tornadoes, the destruction would be cataclysmic. It would also spell certain doom for anyone caught in the path of the storm.
It was well after ten o’clock when they turned off of State Road 13 onto a dirt path labeled Mison Street. The road wound through thick woods for several hundred yards before an austere cinder-block building appeared, cradled within a copse of trees. The windowless structure was dark.
“Look,” Sherri said, pointing to the side where a field of tall grass obscured the dozen or so cars parked in it.
“Let’s go,” Curt said with determination.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Wednesday, August 17, 9:32 p.m. EST US (2:32 a.m. DST. Thursday) – Isla de la Palma
When Lila had slipped through the crevice, she momentarily hung on the lip. This allowed her a split second to gauge the distance to the cave floor below. Then she heard a gunshot and felt tremendous pain to her finger, causing her to lose her grip. The 12-foot fall was harrowing. Yet, despite her injured hand, she was able to tuck her body and roll into a somersault upon landing at the bottom. The move minimized the impact. Once on the smooth cave floor, she scurried through the dark with her one good hand outstretched until she found a wall. She stayed hidden in the shadows well beyond the reach of the faint light coming in from the cave above.
Now, she sat quietly in the dark with her back pressed against a rough wall gripping her ring finger on her left hand. By feel alone, she knew the bullet had cut into the bone. It hurt like hell. She ripped off a piece of her shirt and wrapped it as best as she could to stanch the bleeding, struggling to see in the poor lighting.
Minutes later a raucous noise erupted. The cave shook for several agonizing seconds. The sound was excruciating. Lila felt as if her eardrums would burst. When the earthly growl subsided, it was replaced by the sound of rocks falling through the crevice. Dust cascaded down like lazy smoke. Slowly the pitter patter of reigning debris faded, and the portion of the cave where Lila crouched was plunged in pitch darkness. At first she thought it had been another earthquake, but it had been too brief, and the noise had come from the wrong direction: above. It had obviously been dynamite. The bearded killer had finished his task. In doing so, he had sealed her demise and surely obliterated the last of the ancient artwork.
Grimacing, she felt in her pocket with her good hand and removed a pen flashlight. She shined the light above and looked up. Sure enough, the crevice had been thoroughly sealed by the falling debris, and the opening was plugged with several sizable boulders. She was trapped.
Lila withdrew her cell phone. The screen was cracked. There was a chance the damage was only superficial. She touched the display. Nothing. She felt all hope sucked from her body.
She drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. “I know, I know...options,” she said, as if hearing Curt harp. For a man so casual in his demeanor and sophomoric in his humor, he knew how to handle stressful situations. It was the one thing she had tried to learn from him. “Okay, first order of business, assess the surroundings.”
Lila stood, holding her injured finger. It radiated pain and had already turned her makeshift bandage red. At the moment, though, she needed to disregard it. Lila took the penlight and turned, scanning the walls. There was a peculiar smell about the place, fresh and airy; definitely not what she would have expected.
Unlike the room above, this cave was natural, possibly part of an extinct volcanic chamber. The walls were uneven, with some areas recessed to form deep, dark niches. She explored one recess with the light and discovered it was a tunnel without any discernable end.
She was trying to decide whether to explore it as she turned to examine the other walls. The light brushed some colors on the wall behind her. She quickly drew the light back to it.
“Incredible!” she exclaimed, moving to the flat stone surface. In the natural cave, it was the one unnatural spot: another pictogram closely resembling the images in the cave above albeit covering only a tiny section of wall that had been chiseled flat. This time, the pictures appeared to tell a story, broken into scenes. The first scene depicted a green appendage pointed down at a slight angle to the right. On the right side of it were a series of blue lines curled toward the appendage. In the next scene, a man went into the curled blue lines holding the skeleton of a small creature. In the last scene, the man and the creature were gone. The curled lines were now flat. While masterfully drawn, the story made no sense to her.
She continued to study it for nearly twenty minutes when the significance of the appendage and the curled lines struck her.
“Is it possible...?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Wednesday, August 17, 10:21 p.m. – West of St. Augustine, Florida
Scott, Curt, and Sherri moved stealthily toward the structure. They momentarily paused at the wild, reedy call of an animal in the nearby woods. When they reached the front door, Curt turned the handle. To his surprise, the metal door popped open with a loud click. He cringed, listening for anyone who might have heard them entering. There was only silence.
So far, so good.
Curt pushed the door open, peeked in, and drew back. He looked at Scott with a dumb
founded expression and then opened the door wide for the other two to see. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling, bathing the stark room in a yellowish glow. The enclosure, roughly 45 feet by 60 feet, consisted of nothing more than a cement floor and cinderblock walls. There was no furniture; there were no people. They stepped inside where the trapped summer humidity made the room feel like an oven. They closed the door behind them.
“I don’t get it,” Sherri said, looking around.
“Somebody’s been here or this light wouldn’t be on.”
They spread out to examine the barren room.
Curt turned. “Look,” he said, pointing to a single switch on the back of the door.
“Odd,” Scott remarked.
Curt clicked it down. The room went black. He clicked it back up, and the overhead light came back on.
“Regardless, it’s just a light switch,” Curt said.
They continued to move about the room. Curt felt the walls and listened to their steps upon the floor, as did the others. There was nothing in the room other than the switch, not even electrical outlets; nothing but intense heat, causing them to perspire profusely. There were no vents in the ceiling or walls to indicate air conditioning.
Curt returned to the door and the switch. It was too unusual to disregard.
“What are you doing?” Scott asked.
“Have either of you ever seen a light switch on the back of a door like this?”
The other two shook their heads no.
“Stand still. I’m turning it off again,” Curt said.
He did, and immediately turned it back on with the same result: darkness, light.
“Try it twice in a row.”
Curt did. Still, there was no difference.
“Try it three times.”
The results were the same.
“Apparently, it’s only a light switch,” Scott conceded.
“I’m not buying it,” Curt said. He thought for a moment. “Sherri, count one for each time I turn it off and on.
“How many times are you going for?”
“You’ll see.” Curt turned the switch up and down in rapid succession and Sherri kept count for nearly a minute.
“...35...36...37...38...39.”
Curt stopped.
The room began to quiver. In one of the far corners, a four-foot-square section of floor retracted, revealing an open space beneath.
“Let’s go!” Curt shouted. “It may not stay open long!”
They rushed over to the opening where a ladder was bolted to the inside wall of the narrow chamber below. Sherri went down first, followed by Scott, and lastly Curt. No sooner had Curt lowered beneath floor level when the retracted portion of the floor groaned and slid back in place. As it did, a light came on inside the small room. The threesome stood cramped together. Unlike the stark room above, these walls were finished in teak and trimmed with brass in the corners. There was a keypad on one wall with a down-arrow button.
“Is this what I think it is?” Scott asked.
“Looks like it,” Curt said, pressing the down arrow button. The plastic button lit.
The room lurched and began to descend. It was a short ride, as the elevator stopped several seconds later, and the down-arrow button went out.
Nothing happened. They waited. Still nothing happened. Without the normal bisected elevator doors, there was no indication which side would open, if any. Curt and Scott felt along the walls hoping to find a seam to pry doors apart, up, or down, but the walls were solid and appeared airtight.
The morbid reality struck Curt. “Uh oh. We’re trapped.”
“And the air won’t last long,” Scott added.
“Oh!” Sherri exclaimed. She hurriedly reached into her pocket and retrieved the note from Uncle Sydney’s ice tray.
“The numbers,” Curt realized.
She typed them into the keypad: 8788852
With a pneumatic whoosh, the wall with the keypad rose straight up, tucking into a thin gap at the ceiling. A capacious, well-lit room opened before them. It had been set up to mirror the outdoors, replete with sand, foliage, and grass. A large, empty depression in the center held a molded, circular, black swimming pool set into the earth. Four vents in the ceiling pumped in cool air, and suspended greenhouse tract lighting kept the interior bright. A septic smell which was not unpleasant rose to Curt’s nose. Two of the walls were barren except for a small, rectangular table abutted against one of them; the other two perpendicular walls were filled with 5x7 framed, headshot photographs. It reminded Curt of a hospital where pictures of the past and present administrators adorned the first-floor walls. There were several hundred in total; some black-and-white images, some color. It was clear they represented several centuries given the diverse hairstyles, clothing, filtering shades, and faded photography paper.
Yet, of everything in the room, the most bizarre sight was across the way. Fourteen people lay on their backs in the dirt, side by side, with their eyes closed. At least two of them were snoring. They were fully dressed and seemed peacefully at rest.
“It looks like they’re all in a deep sleep,” Scott said.
“Welcome to the Blue Council Room,” Curt remarked.
Sherri pushed past the two men. Scott and Curt followed her to the mass of bodies.
“Sonofabitch,” Curt said as he saw their faces. He immediately recognized four of them, and whispered so Scott and Sherri could hear. “Sherri, do you recognize these three people we met with on Monday? Unbelievable. Here’s Harvey Shottier, City Commission Manager.” He pointed to the first. “Oh, he is so going to get so fired when I tell the mayor. And that’s his assistant, Renee Chaps, with the huge lump of black hair tied on her head. Over there is Bethel Washington, Manager of the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park. The big guy over there is Justice Loustein, the park ranger who was guarding the entrance to the second room discovered in the Castillo yesterday. The others I don’t know. Wait…the thin man with the comb-over and dark skin. He looks familiar…”
“Damn!” Sherri said. She pointed to a hulking African American man in his early forties. “That’s Lincoln Mosset: my boss. How the hell is he mixed up in this?!” She rushed over to him and reared her foot back in anger.
Scott and Curt both grabbed Sherri and pulled her away before she could kick the sleeping man.
“Um, it might not be to our advantage to wake them, Sherri,” Curt said. Sherri’s legs flailed in the air as they lifted her back several steps. With all the commotion, they were surprised none of the people had stirred.
“He deserves it. He set me up,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Look at their hands,” Scott said. “They each have a hand wrapped in gauze.”
Curt turned to the side wall and pointed. “Look on the table.” The white cloth covering was marred by splotches of red next to a porcelain bowl.
“Is that...blood?” Sherri asked.
“I believe so. I think they did something to their own hands,” Curt said.
“Why are they asleep? It’s as if they’re in a coma,” Scott said.
“More like a catatonic state,” Curt said.
Curt moved to the edge of the large, dark pool and peered down. A thin layer of water covered the bottom far below. Then he saw it. Actually, it saw him. Staring up at Curt was the Fish. It fixed him with ghastly white, pulsating pupils. Its fins whirled in place as it held its position.
“Jesus Christ! Scott, Sherri, you have to see this. Is that our—?” Curt started.
“Yep,” Scott said coming to his side. “In the flesh.”
“You weren’t kidding. It really did come to life,” Sherri said. “That’s amazing!”
The two men looked at her.
She shrugged. “Hey, some things you have to see with your own eyes.”
They hea
rd a moan off to the side as someone stirred. Across the room, nestled in the corner obscured by a bush was a crumpled form. A puddle of blood spread across the ground before it.
They ran around the manmade pond toward the man.
“Oh my God, Uncle Sydney!” Sherri dropped to her knees on the grass beside the man and lifted his head.
“Sherri,” Sydney acknowledged weakly as he turned to look up. His eyes appeared to be unfocused. His shirt was stained with blood and had a tear in it at his stomach. “I never meant for you to be involved.”
“What happened? Where’s Tina?” Sherri asked.
He took a moment to gather his strength. “I…I found Sabine LeFlore inside a second room in the Castillo. I thought if I could find out the answer to how the Fish worked, I could stop the breakaway Blue Council sect and keep you safe. I never thought they would grab Tina.” Sydney paused, struggling to catch his breath. He grimaced in pain. “A man is not supposed to live beyond his years. It’s unnatural...unholy. I see that now.”
“Sabine LeFlore!” Curt said, turning to Scott. “Guillaume and Pinot’s sister. She came to the New World with her brothers. Of course! The claw marks inside the second room weren’t as deep or extensive because they were made by someone not as powerful as Pinot.”
“A woman,” Scott added. “She must have been traveling with her brothers and stayed with Pinot when they separated. She and Pinot were caught by the Spanish.”
“Uncle Sydney,” Sherri began to cry. “Where’s Tina? Is she okay?”
“Yes, at the moment,” he choked. A harsh cough wracked his weak body. “I believe she’s being held at a house on Dekle Beach. I overheard Shottier. He has a second home there.”
Scott pulled out his iPhone and typed in some information.
Death in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 1) Page 21