The Lost Continent

by Percival Constantine

  “—right, or taken photos with a—”

  Max heard a beeping noise and turned his head, putting his glasses back on. Elisa held a digital camera in her hands and handed it to him. Max looked at the photo through the display and started to laugh.

  “There's hope for you yet, my dear.”

  He hopped off his desk and removed the memory card, plugging it into his laptop. Elisa stood and moved to the side so he could work, looking over his shoulder as he transferred the photos to his hard drive.

  “Can you work with them?”

  “The resolution and the lighting is far from perfect, plus the stone's a bit too grimy to make out all the text, but it's better than nothing. We may be able to get some mileage out of these. A partial translation could point us in the direction we need to go.”

  “We?” she asked. “Max, you're retired. You're not a myth hunter, not anymore.”

  Max turned to her and removed his glasses. “Young lady, I'm the one who taught you everything you know. And this find, this is bigger than anything I've ever seen in my life, and I've seen my share of craziness.”

  He looked back at the screen.

  “No, you're not doing this alone. We work on this together, you hear? But first things first, we need to see about getting this stuff translated.”

  “Think you can do it here?”

  “Not even close. This language is about as similar to Mayan as Japanese is to Chinese. No, I'll need to consult my home library, that's the best bet.”

  “And failing that?” asked Elisa.

  “King.”

  “Jackson King? Tell me you're joking.”

  “What's wrong with King?” asked Max. “Elisa, I've worked with Jackson King since you were in diapers. He's the best linguist I know. If anyone can translate this tablet, it's him.”

  Elisa looked sheepishly down at her feet and Max leaned forward. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing!” she said. “It was...we had a disagreement...”

  “What kind of disagreement?” asked Max.

  “I...I may have shot him with a crossbow...”

  “Elisa!”

  She pointed a finger to accentuate her point. “In the shoulder! Not even close to being fatal!”

  “Why in the name of all that's holy would you shoot Jackson King in the shoulder with a crossbow?” asked Max.

  “...he had a smart mouth,” said Elisa. “Kept calling me an inexperienced little girl who was going to get people killed with my recklessness.”

  “You have got to stop taking offense over every little thing,” said Max. “Elisa, King is an old-timer, you know that. And he hates change.”

  “It was a few years ago, I've grown since then,” said Elisa.

  “That's not the point, we...ugh.” Max shook his head and stood from the desk. “Look, here's what we'll do. I'll go meet with King, see what he can do to help us. Meanwhile, I want you to see what you can discover about Davalos' whereabouts. Maybe he got sloppy, left something of a trail somewhere.”

  Elisa nodded. “I'll see what I can do. When should we meet?”

  “Tomorrow morning at my place, around eight,” said Max. “Do you have any classes for today?”

  “No, still technically on sabbatical,” said Elisa with a grin.

  “Good, then make yourself useful and get to work.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Lucas Davalos sat in a bar in Cancun, a glass of straight tequila sitting before him and a cigarillo held between his fingers a few inches from his lips. His eyes scanned over the tavern from his small table in the rear of the bar. As he reached his arm to expel some of the spent cigarillo into the ashtray, the butt of his pistol came into quick view, holstered beneath the brown leather jacket he wore.

  He watched everyone, taking a mental picture of each face. Made a note of each and every movement. An old habit from his time in the military and later as a contract mercenary for private security firms. His face was the only white one, but his rugged features and grim demeanor meant no one would give him trouble. He couldn't say the same for the latest arrival, a man dressed in a Hawaiian shirt with oversized sunglasses and a hideous straw hat. Davalos rolled his eyes as the tourist-looking guy approached his table and sat down across from him, setting the attaché case he carried down on the ground.

  A waitress came over, asking for his order and the tourist looked at Davalos before saying, in very badly broken Spanish, “umm... on ker-vah-za por fae-ver.”

  Davalos rolled his eyes. “Una cerveza, por favor.” He spoke with a natural accent.

  “Y tú?” she asked him. He raised the almost-empty tequila glass to indicate his drink choice. The waitress nodded and said “un momento” before returning to the bar.

  “I take it you're my contact,” said Davalos.

  “I am,” said the tourist. He offered his hand. “Name's Wade, nice to meet you.”

  Davalos ignored the hand and finished off the last of the tequila, then took another drag on his cigarillo. Wade kept his hand out there for another moment or two before retracting it.

  “You'd think the Order would find someone who sticks out a bit less.”

  “Really?” asked Wade, looking down at his shirt. “I actually think I blend in just fine.”

  “Maybe in a resort but not in a dive like this. Man like you is asking to get jumped. Especially given what you're carrying.”

  “The Order felt that this look would give the impression that I'm harmless.”

  “They were right.” Davalos exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. The waitress returned and set the fresh tequila glass in front of him. Lucas winked at her. “Gracias, señorita.”

  “De nada,” she replied, flashing him a smile of her own. She looked at Wade and her smile vanished and she set the beer down roughly. “On ker-vah-za.” As she walked away, she started to laugh and Lucas couldn't help but chuckle himself.

  Wade fixed his gaze on the beer. “I think that waitress just mocked me.”

  “You are a sharp one, I'll give you that,” said Davalos. He stomped out the cigarillo in the ashtray. “Now, what say we get down to business? That waitress gets off in half an hour and then an hour after that, she'll be getting off again if I have my way.”

  “What do you—oohhh...” Wade smiled and nodded.

  “You look like a moron when you do that,” said Lucas.

  Wade stopped immediately.

  “Now, let's make the switch, shall we?” Davalos reached into his bag which sat on the floor and pulled out something wrapped in cloth, setting it on the table between them. Wade glanced around and then carefully lifted it, unwrapping it and letting his eyes fall on the tablet Davalos had stolen from Elisa.

  “Ohhh yes!” Wade removed a magnifier from his pocket and held it over his eye so he could get a better look at the tablet. “This is incredible, I can't believe you actually found it.”

  Davalos took a drink from his tequila. “Believe it. Now my money.”

  “In the case,” said Wade.

  Davalos lifted the attaché and opened it, his eyes scanning over the cash inside. He snapped it shut again and set it back down on the floor. “That only looks to be about five hundred.”

  “Very observant, Mr. Davalos,” said Wade.

  “The deal was for a million. Why am I only getting half?” His hand went beneath his jacket, fingers wrapping around the butt of the Zastava CZ05 semi-automatic pistol.

  Wade held out his hand. “Just relax for a minute, okay?”

  “I'll relax if and only if you've got another half a million stashed away in that fat ass you're carrying around.”

  “I've been asked to pass on a message to you from the Order.” Wade sipped his beer. “You could make a million dollars today or you can consider this briefcase a down-payment on ten million.”

  Davalos found his interest grabbed. “Ten? Gotta be a catch. What does the Order want from me?”

  “They want you to perform another job. Use this tablet and find where it
leads to.”

  “And why do they care so much about where it leads?” asked Davalos.

  “Legend has it that it's the first civilization and that they were far more advanced than the ones that followed—present company included.”

  Davalos chuckled. “Let me get this straight. You're telling me that this little rock is supposed to lead me to some ancient civilization that no one's ever found any trace of?”

  “Oh, traces have been found. But the claims were so outrageous that the finders were labeled as frauds.”

  “So what happened to the bumbling tourist persona?” asked Lucas. “You seem like a completely different man.”

  Wade smiled. “Who's to say what sort of man I really am, Mr. Davalos? Or if I'm even a man at all?”

  “Yeah right,” said Davalos. “Well you can tell the Order that I'm not interested in any wild goose chases. An extra ten million would be nice, but I'm not greedy. I've got more than enough to live comfortably and this little payoff will allow me to continue to live comfortably.”

  Davalos stood from the table, lifting the briefcase from the floor. He offered a slight, condescending bow to Wade. “By your leave, good sir.”

  “No.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  Wade stared up at the younger man and removed his sunglasses. “I don't grant you any leave. Now sit down, we haven't finished here.”

  Davalos drew the Zastava and planted it right against Wade's cheek. “Listen, fat boy. We're finished when I say so. And that's what I just said, so if you've got a problem with it, I'm going to redecorate this place with your insides, got it?”

  The weapon had drawn a few stares, and Lucas noticed a few men at the bar who seemed particularly interested. Wade grinned and began to chuckle. “Do you really think I'm afraid of you, Mr. Davalos?”

  As Lucas stared into Wade's eyes, he watched as there was a rapid change. The whites seemed to change yellow and the brown pupil turned to black, contracting inward until it formed a sliver. Lucas blinked, not sure if he could trust what he thought he saw, as Wade's eyes were already normal once more.

  “No...I suppose not,” said Lucas.

  The three burly men at the bar made their way over, towering behind Lucas.

  “And as I'm sure you've also surmised, the Order is not to be trifled with.”

  “Oh really?” asked Lucas with a cocked brow. He swung his free arm back, his elbow striking one of the three dead in the chest. Lucas followed that by ducking as the man directly behind him attempted to grab him.

  Lucas hit the ground and braced himself as he drove one foot into the man’s crotch. Lucas sprung up again as the man bent forward, using the gun as a blunt instrument to bring him down.

  The first one had recovered from the elbow strike and grabbed Lucas’ gun hand as the Zastava went off. With the sound of the gunfire, some of the barflies decided now was a good time to make an exit but a few others stayed to watch.

  Wade’s man had Lucas pinned against the table and the Greek mercenary struggled before headbutting him. The man pulled back and Lucas drove the edge of his hand into the attacker’s throat.

  One more left, who tried to tackle Lucas right out. Lucas ducked and moved into the attack, using the man’s own momentum to flip him over on the back. Without missing a beat, Lucas took aim and put a bullet between the man’s eyes. He shot the other two downed men as well and then returned the Zastava to Wade’s head.

  “You were saying?” he asked.

  Wade just smiled and sipped his beer, as if he couldn’t care less about the entire incident. “You see, Mr. Davalos? This is why my organization is in need of your services and why we want you to continue this mission. You will be rewarded handsomely for your efforts, naturally.”

  Lucas couldn’t help but grin slightly at the fat man’s arrogance. “I just killed three of your men in front of me. I’ve got a gun to your head. What makes you think you won’t join them?”

  “Your itchy trigger-finger aside, if you wanted to kill me you wouldn’t still be talking,” said Wade. “You’re showing off, trying to make me afraid of you, but I frankly couldn't care less. I know what you’re interested in and that’s the money. And this job will give you more than you’d know what to do with. But if you’d rather kill me and walk away with only half a million dollars, that’s fine. On the other hand, if you’re more interested in making ten mil, why don’t you have a seat?”

  Lucas was tempted to just pull the trigger but Wade was right—it wouldn’t be profitable in the least. So he sat, but he kept the gun aimed at Wade just in case the man said anything more to piss him off. With his free hand, he took a cigarillo and lighter from his pocket.

  “What’s the job?” he asked as he began to puff on the end of the rolled tobacco.

  “We have the Keystone, we know what it leads to, we just don’t know where the gateway is.”

  “How the hell would I know that?” asked Lucas.

  Wade reached across the table and took Lucas' cigarillo from his mouth. He sucked on the end of it and slowly exhaled the smoke as he answered the question. “Does the name James Churchward ring any bells?”

  “Not even a jingle,” said Lucas.

  Wade stomped out the cigarillo, earning him another dagger stare from Lucas, but the larger man gave it no mind. “Churchward was a soldier in India during the late nineteenth century. He discovered a set of clay tablets written in the Naga-Mayan language. The same as the Keystone.”

  “And?”

  “The tablets weren't very descriptive, but we believe they hid within them a location, a site where the Keystone can be used to return to the lost continent of Lemuria.”

  “So we need the tablets,” said Lucas, drinking the tequila. “Where do I find those?”

  “The Churchward Tablets, as they're known, are most likely in the same place where Churchward himself first viewed them.”

  “You want me to go to India?” asked Lucas.

  Wade offered a smile as he tapped his nose.

  “Wonderful, I hear it's fucking scorching there this time of year,” muttered Lucas. “But if I'm going to do this, I need something from you.”

  “And that would be?”

  “You handle my travel expenses.”

  Wade tapped the briefcase with his foot. “That should be sufficient to get you started. We'll be in touch soon to arrange for more.”

  “This isn't going to be deducted from my final fee, will it?”

  Wade grinned. “Why Mr. Davalos, I thought you weren't greedy?”

  “Greed's got nothing to do with it, this is business.”

  “Indeed it is. Don't worry, the job is ten million in cash plus travel expenses.”

  “That's better,” said Lucas, finishing the tequila. He stood, lifting the briefcase. “Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a date with a waitress.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Maxwell Finch examined the books on the shelf, running his fingers along the spine. All manner of dictionaries and texts. If one needed a translation, there was no one better to go to than Jackson King.

  “See you're admiring the collection, old friend.”

  Max looked up and saw King descending into the first floor of the massive library via a circular staircase. His dark head was bald save for the silver goatee, the only real indication of his age. When he reached Max, the two men shook hands and smiled.

  “Good to see you again, Jackson,” said Max.

  “The feeling's mutual,” said King. He gestured to the study. “Cognac?”

  “Please.”

  They entered the study where a pair of large chairs sat in front of a fireplace. Max took one of the chairs as King went to the liquor cabinet and poured cognac into two glasses. He carried them over and handed one to Max before sitting in his chair.

  Max's eyes wandered around the study, admiring the massive, oak desk and the scrolls that lined the walls. Jackson King was a child prodigy, graduating from M.I.T. at the age of fifteen with advanc
ed degrees in linguistics. Over the past fifty years, he made his fortune working as an independent translator and code breaker, doing a lot of work for various intelligence agencies during the Cold War. He also worked for museums and corporations, translating whatever was necessary and sometimes interpreting as well.

  King had mastered most languages spoken in the modern world and had a firm grasp on the ones he had yet to achieve fluency in. He also had a wealth of knowledge on the subject of ancient languages.

  “I look at you and sometimes I feel like I went into the wrong line of work,” said Max, savoring the scent of the cognac.

  King chuckled at this. “So what can I do for you, Max?”

  “I've got something here I think you'll want to take a look at.” Max set the cognac on the table by the chair and reached inside his jacket, pulling out an envelope which he handed to King. Inside the envelope, King found glossy hard copies of the photos Elisa took.

  “What is this?” asked King.

  “The Keystone of the Naa'cal,” said Max.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “I didn't, Elisa did. Near Tortuga.”

  King slowly looked up at Max. “Elisa Hill?”

  “I've heard about your...encounter.”

  “Encounter. Nice way of putting it,” said King. “My shoulder still aches at times.”

  “She's a good kid, a good hunter, she knows what she's doing.”

  “Reckless. She started off doing jobs for money. No better than a mercenary.”

  “Well now she's a myth hunter for the right reasons,” said Max. “And you know what this concerns.”

  King nodded. He produced a pair of thin glasses from his pocket and examined the photographs with them on. Max sipped the cognac and watched as his old friend tried to read the symbols.

  “Do you recognize it?”

  “It'll take some time, but I think I might be able to interpret some of it.”

  “How long do you think it'll take?”

  King lowered his glasses. “When do you need it by?”

  “Elisa and I are meeting tomorrow morning at eight. Any chance you could have it translated by then?”