Ancient Echoes

by Joanne Pence

  She took out her pack of cigarettes. “Do you mind?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  She rolled down the window, lit a cigarette and took a couple of deep drags before she said, “I said people have been killed. They were friends, and someone tried to kill me. More than once.”

  His mind raced to the deaths in Mongolia, and his feeling of dread when he learned Lionel was missing. “It doesn't make sense. Deaths connected to Lionel's search? I mean, strange occurrences happened in Mongolia, but it’s a land of superstition and...other things.”

  “Quade said the map maker was an expert on Lewis and Clark,” Charlotte said. “One of the theories I’ve heard is Lewis and Clark were sent to find a book of alchemy called The Book of Abraham the Jew. And that the book is lost in Idaho.”

  “Nowhere in history is there any indication of such a purpose,” Michael said.

  To his surprise, she found a piece of paper in her purse, and drew a symbol on it—two interlocking triangles with two vees and circle inside. “Have you ever seen this before?”

  He looked at her in shock. “Yes. But how—”

  “Where did you see it?”

  “I found it in the Chinese tomb in Mongolia,” he said. “On a sarcophagus.”

  Surprise flickered in her blue eyes a moment. “It was also found in France, showed up in important papers in Jerusalem, and”—she hesitated—”and on a paper I found with the word Idaho written beneath it.” She drew in her breath then asked with a frightening intensity. “Do you know what it means?”

  He hesitated as the full import of her words struck. “Some, in China, consider it a symbol of immortality. It’s apparently connected to alchemy.”

  The color drained from her face. She stubbed out the rest of the cigarette in the ash tray, then turned away from him, and studied the view from the passenger window.

  “What do you know about it?” he asked.

  “We should ask Quade about the symbol,” she said instead of answering. “See what he knows.”

  “Do you trust him?” Michael asked.

  “I don’t know.” After a moment she looked at him, unyielding, her manner infinitely sad. “Find your brother and ignore the rest. That’s the smartest move.” Her voice choked. “You don’t want to die.”

  “This isn’t only about my brother,” he said softly. “Young university students are in danger. They need our help. They need your help.”

  She gazed hard at him as he drove, trying to understand him. In her field of work, she had heard of him before this, and knew his reputation as a person of intelligence and passion about his work—as well as a womanizer, someone who lived on the edge, and possibly a thief of international treasures, drawing Custom’s unwavering suspicion at his every transaction.

  His few comments about Mongolia and alchemy had shaken her. And yet, for some reason she trusted him. He held something back, but she sensed it was deeply personal, that it touched his core, either the kind of man he was or wanted to be. Despite that, his words rang true. Against her usual cautious nature, she found herself liking him.

  “Do you know about the Danish scientist?” she asked.

  He glanced at her quizzically. Something rattled in the back of his mind, but he couldn't bring it forth. “No.”

  She stared at the distant mountains, wondering if treating him as an ally would put him in danger. She didn’t want to see him hurt, or worse. But then, she realized, simply being here searching for his brother did that, and he deserved to know as much as she did. “What I have to tell you will be in the strictest confidence,” she said.

  He agreed.

  She glanced at her wristwatch. “I hope there’s a diner or something in Salmon city. I haven’t eaten in over a day, and it's a long story.”

  o0o

  Sheriff Jake Sullivan also traveled to Salmon City where he met with the parents of Brian Cutter. Telling them of their son’s death was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. As soon as the meeting ended, he called a press conference. He hated it, but had no choice in the high profile situation.

  Only after all that could he do what he had wanted ever since hearing Polly Higgins’ story about six missing men.

  Lemhi County’s law enforcement files were kept in Salmon, the county seat. There, what he found shocked him.

  Chapter 11

  New York City

  JENNIFER VANDENBURG, THE chief executive officer of Phaylor-Laine Pharmaceuticals, entered her plush Dakota duplex after work and immediately rushed up the stairs to her daughter's white and pink, fairy princess decorated bedroom. “Felicity, sweetheart, Mommy's home.”

  The nurse stood and shook her head, then quietly left the room.

  Felicity opened eyes that were too large and protruded too far from their sockets. “I missed you, Mommy. You were gone so long.”

  Vandenburg sat on the edge of the bed. She had borne this child, her first and only, when she was forty-three. Now, at fifty-five, with her hair colored blond, a face-lift, Botox, a strict vegan diet, and a very sexy personal trainer, she made sure she looked more like the girl's mother than grandmother. She bent low to kiss her daughter's forehead, careful not to apply too much pressure, careful not to touch the girl in a way that might injure her delicate bones and skin.

  Vandenburg wanted to tell herself Felicity was better today, but it would have been a lie. Felicity’s only hope was for someone to find a cure for Hutchinson-Gilford progeria syndrome. The doctors, hospitals, and specialists throughout the world were all hopeless. All incompetent.

  Ironically, for the past ten years, Vandenburg had been CEO of the top pharmaceutical company in the world, with the most scientists, the most sophisticated equipment, and the most intelligent researchers. But they were years away from success.

  When she first approached them she found that several of the scientists had never even heard of progeria. She would have relished firing the idiots on the spot, but CEOs didn't hold as much power as she once imagined.

  She gathered her team, offered bonuses and made threats, but a cure continued to elude them.

  Life couldn't be so cruel as to take her daughter away from her. She had no one else. Her parents were a tedious old couple living in a condo she'd bought them in Florida. They never made the effort to understand or appreciate her. Her ex-husband was a screw-up and a cheat. All she had left were Felicity...and the disease.

  Hutchinson-Gilford progeria syndrome was a genetic anomaly caused by a de novo dominant G608G mutation in exon 11 of the LMNA gene. Vandenburg could scarcely believe that one simple mutation could cause her once beautiful little girl, who had seemed so perfect at birth and in her early months, to turn into an old woman almost overnight. At age twelve, she had the body of a ninety-year old.

  The doctors said she had at most six months left. Progeria children rarely lived past age thirteen.

  Cruelly, the disease caused no mental deterioration. Felicity possessed the mind of a normal pre-teen, which meant she knew how different she looked from everyone else, from her strange, bulbous eyes, to a beaklike nose, to protruding ears.

  “Did you bring me a treat, Mommy?” her daughter asked as she sat up. Her arthritis made movement painful, and her thin brittle bones made it dangerous. “I've waited all day for something delicious. My food is so boring!”

  Vandenburg reached into her pocket. Her daughter had developed a love of Milky Way bars after finding one in her nurse's purse and tasting it. Her diet had been strictly monitored all her life, allowing her only the healthiest foods. It hadn't done one bit of good. All it meant was that Felicity would die without having eaten ice cream, cotton candy, peanut butter, or hot dogs.

  Vandenburg unwrapped one end of the bar and handed it over. Just doing that felt like a major triumph against all the quacks who told her Felicity would never do anything normal, and that reaching another birthday would be a miracle.

  Severe atherosclerosis was a common result of advanced Hutchinson-Gilfo
rd syndrome, and a heart attack or stroke would most likely cause her death. Vandenburg knew her daughter's cardiovascular, cerebrovascular, neurological, musculature and osteopathic status better than anyone else. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered with anyone from the medical profession or scientific community.

  She didn't believe in miracles. She believed in results. Her daughter would live, no matter what it took.

  As Felicity opened her mouth to gobble down her third bite of the candy before swallowing what she'd already bitten off, she drew in her breath and the morsel caught in her throat. She began to choke.

  She coughed, but the sticky candy refused to dislodge.

  Vandenburg jumped to her feet and eased the girl forward, wanting to slap her back to force the candy out of her mouth, but feared that would cause a fracture—a broken back.

  “Help! Kay!” Vandenburg screamed for the nurse, unsure what to do. “Help me!”

  Felicity's tiny hands clawed at her mother, trying to get Vandenburg to help her breathe. Her desperate, primitive moves caused her strange little body to seem more abnormal and animal-like than ever.

  Vandenburg backed away, fearful, heart-sick, but also repulsed.

  Kay grabbed the girl and practically turned her upside down in order to dislodge the candy from her throat.

  Once Felicity calmed down, Vandenburg left her with her nurse. In the living room, she poured herself a double shot of brandy, then sat on the sofa to ease the drumming of her heart, the jangling of her nerves.

  Her fists clenched in anger. She hated that her plan proceeded so slowly.

  But it would work. It had to!

  She held her daughter's future in her hands. There was no time for anyone else to step in with a miracle cure. She was well aware of all the bad press about “big pharma” as many called companies like hers. How surprised they would all be when she succeeded in her goal. She would save not only her daughter, but also others. A select group of others. Her plan would have a profound effect on the world.

  Some might call her crazy, but she knew it would work. She had proof.

  Soon, the world would be hers. And Felicity’s.

  Chapter 12

  FIRST LIGHT CAST a gray hue over the sky as Michael loaded a box into the back of his rented Cadillac Escalante. He turned and watched as a truck careened up the gravel drive then came to a quick stop beside him. “Sheriff Sullivan.”

  Jake got out. “Going somewhere, Rempart?”

  “Why not? We now have somewhere to go.”

  “Are the two Feds inside?” Jake asked.

  “Only Charlotte. Quade helped us pick up our rental cars last night, but didn’t return with us.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “I have no idea. Charlotte and I decided if he doesn’t come back soon, we’re going on without him.”

  “Great! That’s all I need! A missing Fed!” Jake stomped through the door, Michael behind him.

  Charlotte stuffed beef jerky into a backpack. Camping gear was piled by the door. She stopped as Jake entered and her body stiffened. “This is a surprise.”

  “But that isn’t.” Jake bellowed as he gestured at the gear.

  “You can’t stop us, Sheriff.” Charlotte turned her back on him and continued packing.

  Jake eyed her, then Michael. “I don’t intend to. In fact, I plan to join you. The old lady’s story about the six missing men was true. From all accounts, they went into the wilderness, and no one ever saw them again.”

  Suspicion gripped Michael. “How is it you didn’t know about them before? That disappearance has similarities to this one.”

  “That’s why I’m interested. They were well-armed, paramilitary types. Such guys are taught survival and how to take care of themselves. Before this, apparently everyone assumed those men had a reason to disappear, and going into the wilderness area was a means to do it.”

  “And now?” Michael asked.

  “Now,” Jake admitted, “I’m not so sure.”

  Charlotte shut her eyes a moment. She didn't like hearing him express doubts. He was a rock. Or had been. Just as quickly she grew irritated with herself, and had no idea why she cared what he thought. Despite all that, she asked, “We’ve heard the superstitious reasons that cause Polly and old-timers to stay away from that part of Idaho. I’d like to know what you think, Sheriff. Why is the area so empty?”

  “It’s simple,” Jake said. “No one goes out there because there’s nothing to see, hunt or fish. For some reason, not even game animals are found there in any number. Guess they don’t like the food. Who knows? But that’s why no one goes. Everything else is just hearsay.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Quade said as he entered the cabin. They each did a double-take at his heavy shearling jacket, Wranglers, hiking boots, and wide brimmed cowboy hat. He removed the hat and put it on a chair. “A theory is that once away from the area, something makes people forget the details of what they see and experience, and they’re left with a vague dream of an unnamed and unnamable fear. They rationalize the feeling by saying they saw nothing.”

  “I say it’s time we find out what the truth is,” Michael suggested. “Any luck with the map?”

  “Not much,” Quade said with disgust.

  “What map?” Jake asked.

  Michael showed it to him. “My associate found it in Lionel’s files back in Washington D.C. Mountains, creeks, and two straight vertical lines annotated ‘two pillars.’ Does any of this look familiar to you, Sheriff?”

  “No. And there are no pillars out in that wilderness, if that’s what you’re hoping,” Jake said. “I don’t know what the map is showing.”

  “How well do you know the wilderness area?” Charlotte asked him.

  “I was born here.”

  Quade added, “But you left for twenty-five years, and didn’t return until three years ago.”

  Jake’s brows crossed. “So?”

  Michael took over the questioning. “To become a sheriff so quickly, you must have had some law enforcement experience.”

  Jake didn’t like being interrogated, and particularly didn’t like Quade or Michael Rempart knowing anything about him. Charlotte said nothing, but he felt her waiting for his answer. He took a deep breath. “Since all of you are so all-fired curious, I was a Robbery-Homicide detective with the Los Angeles Police Department.”

  Michael looked at him skeptically. “Why leave?”

  Jake’s eyes drilled him. “How about because I’d had it with the shit in L.A. and came home to get the stink out of my nostrils. The prior sheriff had a heart attack, and the county asked me to hold down the fort. He passed away, and now it’s my job until the next election. Anything else you want to know?”

  “Yes,” Michael said. “Are you riding with us, Sheriff?”

  Somehow, Jake knew it would come to this. He’d already left his deputy in charge, saying he was following a new lead. He glanced at Quade, who wore a smirk that Jake would have loved to scrub off his face, and Charlotte whose gaze was firm and steady. “Since my truck’s been modified to handle off-road, looks like you folks should ride with me. Theories be damned. No evil spirits or anything else strange is out there. The only thing dangerous is nature itself.”

  o0o

  “They’re on the move. Roll out.” Derek Hammill gave the order as he double-checked the safety on his 10 mm Smith and Wesson 1076, glad to have it near. He was a country boy, grew up in Alabama, and he sensed a strangeness about this area.

  “Fuck this!” Nose shouldered his H&K assault rifle as he stared off to the left, his mouth a grim line. “Someone’s out there, boss. I feel him watching us. I say we stop and give whoever it is a lesson.”

  “We’ve already checked!” Hammill’s words came a little too quick, a little too loud. “Heat sensors don’t give off anything big enough for a man. It’s some animal. Forget it.”

  Nose had joked to the men about the river guides’ delirious stories and old Indian tales about mon
sters and evil spirits lurking in the forest. Suddenly, the tales weren’t quite so funny. The guys seemed ready to blow up chipmunks.

  As their leader, Hammill needed to steady them. He couldn’t let nerves get in the way.

  “We’ve got our orders. No delay. We’ve got to return with the objective A-SAP. Now, move it!”

  o0o

  “There’s a good reason nobody knows where it’s at,” Polly Higgins said when Jake asked if she recognized the landscape shown on Thurmon Teasdale’s map. “Nobody goes up there. I think this stream is most likely Cayuse Creek. It’s plenty wide, plenty long, and wends its way west from Square Top Mountain. If I’m right, you’ll have to head due west, some ten miles past Devil’s Gulch, just like I told you.”

  Using ground area maps Quade had printed off of the CIA’s database, they located the general area they should head toward. “Why don’t we simply fly over and find the pillars that way?” Charlotte asked.

  “As good as maps and technology are, there are a lot of things you can only find on the ground surveillance,” Michael said. “Those pillars might be in the middle of a thick forest. They might look like tree trunks from the sky, maybe diseased ones that had lost their leaves and limbs.”

  “Michael’s right,” Quade said. “We need to go there. Ready?”

  Polly walked with them out to Jake’s truck. The Ford F-250 had traction bars, three-inch coilover shocks, and thirty-five inch all-terrain tires. The four of them had fitted it with tents, backpacks, medical supplies, and enough provisions to last a good ten days, even though they expected to be gone no more than three or four. If they found anyone alive, the extra food, water, and medicines would come in handy. Jake even included four Remington 700 rifles, plus magazines. He didn’t expect to need them, but they were going into grizzly and wolf country.

  “That’s a might fine rig you got there,” Polly said with a frown. “But it won’t do out that way. Ground’s too rough, too uneven. I’ll give it twenty miles, tops, then you’ll be walking, that’s for sure.”