Truthseekers

by Mike Handcock

  That day there were already a couple of jets on the tarmac. He assumed they didn’t get many in those parts, yet there was some media interest in the conference and he could see some CNN people unloading one of the planes with a variety of camera gear. They had a taxi organised and quickly hit the motel picking up a few supplies on the way. It was 7pm and they both wanted an early night.

  Their pick-up was at 5am for a transfer by boat to the stunning Isle Royale National Park, in the middle of the lake some 150 kilometres from where they were staying. It was a fast ferry and would be full of TV crews. They had to get straight on what they were doing, but even so, the call of love and a room without bullets flying and Rocko snoring was too much to give up. They fell into each other’s arms and made love.

  Abbey fell asleep in David’s arms. She felt the world was at peace for once. There was something unique about this feeling for her, during her last moments of consciousness. She simply couldn’t recall the last time she had ever felt that safe, that secure or that loved. Her dreams were filled with horses and picnics and wind-swept beaches and laughter with David.

  The alarm was a rude awakening for both of them at 4am. Both joked that they would have much rather taken a few days out and with nothing to do in this part of the world it would have been perfect.

  In the Waldorf Astoria 301 Park Ave New York, Stacey was woken at that exact moment, not by an alarm, but by a Rocko. The man was like a bull in a china shop, Stacey thought. He was obviously just getting home. She heard the shower go on, and him clumping around singing. She really wished he hadn’t got adjoining rooms.

  Abbey and David were quiet on their transfer to the dock. Yet the scene at the dock was anything but quiet. There must have been five news crews all bustling for the best spot on the fast ferry. The trip would take a little over two hours.

  They hadn’t brought much for the tour. In fact they didn’t have much. It was a matter of travel real light. David simply had his phone and a jacket. Abbey carried a small pistol, well concealed in her jeans and a denim jacket. After alighting from the ferry and going through the almost non-existent boarding procedures they tried to slip away from the main group by heading upstairs. This part of the world was never really warm and at around seventy kilometres an hour they knew they would be hugging in pretty tight. Their plan didn’t work. Within a few minutes a young man, whom they had noticed on the aft deck upon boarding, bolted up the stairs to them. He had that radio announcer voice and ears that could have helped him fly to the island. He wasn’t more than twenty-three.

  “What the hell are you guys doing up here? Come downstairs, you will freeze up here. What station are you from? My guess would be somewhere in Florida.” He bristled up so fast that David couldn’t even sidestep him. The enthusiastic young man already had his hand out. Abbey spoke first.

  “We are from the University of Auckland. Pedro here (using David’s fake passport name) is a visiting professor of indigenous studies. I’m his assistant. We have been meeting with a few cultures here. We figured we should come up for the summit.”

  “Pedro eh! Wow I never would have picked that one. My name is Brian Altin. I’m with NBC. These are the types of jobs I get because I am new.”

  David shook his hand and Abbey followed. “Altin… you said,” David replied summing up the young man. “That’s a very famous showbiz family in this country.” David well knew the Altins were of Jewish origin and firmly entrenched in owning most of the country’s media. The young man seemed surprised to have that said to him.

  “Well, I guess… but it’s done me no favours. My grandfather was a distant cousin to the wealthy side of the family so I wouldn’t know what that lot were up to.”

  “Well your name got you here I guess,” David replied. He felt Abbey firmly nudge him. It was one of those times he wished he’d kept quiet.

  “What he means to say Brian is that he’s pleased to meet you. He doesn’t care who your family is and he’s sorry he brought it up, because he’s had a long trip and wasn’t thinking straight and he would like to buy you a coffee.” Abbey smiled her beautiful smile and Brian’s indignation seemed to disappear.

  “Oh, that’s all right. I just haven’t had that for a while. I’m going to head downstairs. You guys really should come down. It will get pretty cold up here,” said Brian

  “That’s all right,” David replied. “I think I may need to freshen up.”

  Brian smiled and turned on his heel, disappearing down the steps with the same bristling energy.

  “Keeping a low profile, eh?” Abbey looked at David and they burst out laughing.

  * * *

  In New York Stacey was up early. There was no point sleeping more with the freight train just through the other room. She showered and ordered a room service breakfast. She opened her loan laptop and went about her work of ensuring they had tickets for the evening function, then back onto some background information David would need for his meeting. Outside the hubbub of a busy city waking up grew louder and Stacey pondered her long lost trip to South Africa and how she would really just like to walk down Park Avenue and do a bit of window shopping.

  * * *

  The time on the boat went relatively fast. After about thirty minutes braving the deck Abbey and David were turning a desirable shade of blue. They decided they would venture downstairs. The clear air and chill did, however, serve their souls. It made them feel alive. The lake was rugged, choppy and huge. This was both of their first times on Lake Superior and they were impressed. It seemed very much in the middle of nowhere, with little farms and red barns dotting the shoreline. The ferry really sped along, and the captain hugged the shoreline keeping some one hundred metres off the shore to avoid the choppiness farther out.

  David was about to usher Abbey downstairs when his cell phone beeped. It was a message from Stacey. She was up early.

  “It’s confirmed,” David told Abbey. “I have a meeting with Lone Bear. He’s the most senior elder of the Chippewa, the last surviving band of Ojibwe that go back to about the time of the Templar occupation. It is said they migrated around the same time over a few hundred years from the Atlantic Coast. I am also meeting one of the five Hopi prophets from New Mexico. He is here for the first time in twenty years.”

  David looked at the rugged shoreline lined with pines and continued.

  “There is something going on, Abbey, and I am pretty sure all these newspeople are not here to record the speeches of old men. They have been sent for an entirely different reason. Altin is on a mission. I can feel it.” David wrapped his arms around Abbey and held her tight. She shuddered as the cold left her.

  “David, we both know this feels like a recon mission of sorts for these guys. What we don’t know is who is on side with the darkness and who is not. Let’s play it straight down the line.” Abbey stroked his curls, which were blowing freely in the wind. David’s strong jaw signified a leader. He could never be anything else with a jaw like his. She pulled her hand down to his chin and waggled it.

  “Come on… I’m bloody cold. Let’s get a coffee.”

  Abbey and David went inside. To them it felt like one of those bar scenes where everyone goes quiet the minute you enter. Then up bounced Brian Altin with a couple of cups of coffee in his hands.

  “Here you go. You guys look frozen. At least you should be awake by now. Anyway, come and tell the boys what you do. It’s a room full of journalists and they all want to know how you guys got here and I’m damned if I can make sense of it,” Brian quipped loud enough to engage most of the people in the cabin huddled around the bar.

  * * *

  It was now 10am in New York and Stacey had left Rocko a note. She was off for a quick bit of shopping. David had his contacts and she deserved some time out. She loved the boys but they were always pretty hectic and full on. A walk down Park Avenue would do her good.

  In an office across town William Chant II was on the phone to his number one security adviser, a Slovak named John.
It was true that John had been in the wars lately. He was in a car returning to the city from Newark. His face ached on both sides. He had hardly had time to gather his thoughts and heal from his shark experience, hanging off the back of Abbey’s boat watching his friend Jack being shredded by the monster of the deep, when he was party to another failed attempt on her and the researcher. This time he again escaped from a sniper he could not see, being the only one. At least his ankle was almost back to full use.

  “It’s good you are back, John,” said Chant. “Those idiot Georgians underestimated these people and paid the ultimate price. Black has got rid of the Georgian from our board. It will be two years before he is taken seriously again. But this means you must not fail me. I am relying on you to find them and destroy them before they uncover us.”

  “Mr Chant, Sir. We may not have to wait long. I have just been sent the list for tonight’s event. There are two unknowns that have been added to the list, a Peruvian man and woman. Their plane came in to the USA yesterday in Louisiana. I have tracked it back to Cusco and that’s where our team never laid eyes on them.”

  “Excellent – the flies come to the spider,” Chant hissed. “And the other two? Where are they?”

  “I’m not sure Mr Chant. My Intel tracked the jet to a small airport on Lake Superior. Duluth, I believe. It could be a hoax. They have done it before. They are very clever. The woman is ex SAS from South Africa. Their most highly awarded female. I will not underestimate her again, Sir.” John almost winced admitting that Abbey had the better of him.

  “Yes yes,” said Chant. “All of our egos have taken a hammering. Including Black’s. Let’s end this.” He looked at a light flashing on his desk. It was his mobile phone. That almost never rang. He tenderly picked it up. He had no numbers stored on it, but he vaguely recognised the number.

  “Yes.”

  “Uncle William, it’s Brian Altin.” Brian was one of three children born to Chant’s sister, who had married into the significant Altin family. He hadn’t seen Brian since getting him a job for one of his media outlets.

  “I don’t have time now, Brian. What is it?”

  “Sir, I don’t know why I am calling except for a hunch, but I’m on Lake Superior on assignment for Mr Black. There’s a big Indian meeting here he wanted intel on. Rumour is there is going to be a big announcement by Chief Ghost Wolf of the Hopi. There’s a New Zealand professor here and a pretty South African. He has a Latino name. It doesn’t make sense. I called Mr Black but his secretary won’t put me through. I felt one of our families should be aware. It just feels wrong. These two are meeting with the tribes and their elders.”

  “You will receive instructions. Don’t let him out of your sight and beware of that woman. She is extremely dangerous.” Chant hung up. Picking up the other phone to John he said:

  “Your assassin has shown up. Can you get to Lake Superior?”

  “No Sir, Mr Chant,” John had added up the logistics in his mind immediately. “I would not get there until late afternoon, and then I would make a scene as well. I am not 100% fit yet. I will think of something, however. Please leave it up to me. Let me talk to the contact in the area.”

  “I will, but you cannot fail me again. They need to be taken care of. They may just find out information today that will leave us very exposed.”

  Chant hung up. He turned and looked at the wall of his office. Hanging there was a Rembrandt self-portrait. It was part of the spoils of art Hitler stole during World War 2. He almost never had visitors and the plaque said it was a copy done in the 1920s anyway. He looked at the power of the piece. Surely a man who had this much power could not be undone by a group of wannabe sleuths, even if one of them was a crack militia.

  John’s trip had turned hectic. He was on the phone seeing which of his team and confidants was where. He was striking out. No one was anywhere near Lake Superior. He had learnt that Chant’s nephew Brian Altin was there gaining information for Mr Black, as well as two other family members representing two other channels. Black obviously had an interest in these Indian affairs. He knew that none of the family in the area had the ability to outfight the woman. It would be lambs to the slaughter, so he thought of an entirely unique plan. One he felt Chant would love, as would the media already there. As the car sped down Lexington John started laughing in the back of the car. It was so simple. It couldn’t fail. He himself would take care of the other two tonight, supported by two others of his squad, yet the plan in Duluth. That was pure genius.

  He almost forgot the pain in his ankle as he flew up the stairs to Chant’s office.

  * * *

  Stacey returned after just a couple of hours walking. It had started to rain, plus she had seen a man run down on 53rd Street. Hardly anyone ran out to help him. It was pouring with rain and he just lay there. She started to cross the street and then some police came and shooed people away. She decided she didn’t like New York after all.

  Rocko was up, albeit looking a little slow. He was thrashing round like a wildebeest. She started crying when she saw him, the shock of the man in the street capping off a wild ride that week. Rocko may have been rough and tumble but his heart was huge. He drew Stacey close and held her until her tears subsided. Then he told her he would fix everything. Lunch it was at Park on the Green in Central Park. Stacey smiled and wiped the tears away. Rocko was the big brother she never had. The truth be told she was missing her kids and was sending them photos she’d downloaded off the Internet of African safaris so they would think she was having a great time. By now she just wanted to go home.

  23

  It was just after 11am and the Isle Royale National Park was coming into view. The boat had slowed and was making its way to the dock.

  David had explained to the reporters on the boat that he was in the USA researching indigenous cultures under a Maori grant. He had decided to be partly truthful and told them the New Zealand Maori had recently discovered their own DNA included Taiwanese strains, which they never knew before, their myths being clearly from the Pacific Islands. He said he had heard the Minoans had mined the lakes and that the Chippewa have Minoan DNA and since he was in the USA, he and his South African research assistant had decided to make the trip. The tribes he represented had close affiliations, which is how he got a meeting (he told the media it was closed door). They seemed to buy it.

  He also noticed that Brian Altin had been on his phone a lot. Not unusual for a journalist, yet he noticed Brian was agitated and had kept looking his way. Abbey had picked up the same.

  David had told Abbey that somewhere in the bay off this island was another rune stone. It was about ten feet down. Stacey’s research had showed him some underwater pictures of it. There was no hooked X, and he felt it was probably a ruse, thrown overboard. David had told Abbey he was sure that a ship left from this island sailing through the great lakes and following the river through Montreal and Quebec it had left with the last of the Templars on it nearly 700 years before.

  The fast ferry docked and local Indian people took the media crews and David and Abbey to a lodge. They were treated respectfully, yet everyone was very quiet. It seemed this was a momentous occasion and people were treating it with reverence.

  The lodge was cosy and warm, an open fire crackled and it was adorned with a variety of Indian regalia and there were a host of people sitting around chatting and sipping tea and coffee. The occasion was most definitely formal. Brian ushered his crew to set up immediately and the other crews followed suit. The two elders would come from different parts of the lodge led in a ceremonial way to the fireplace to meet officially and then they would adjourn behind closed doors with other elders for what was to be a pow wow with an undisclosed theme. All that was officially released to the media was that this was about the future of the tribes and unity.

  David made his way forward to the man who looked almost like a wedding planner. He had security in his earpiece and a clipboard with the proceedings on it. David introduced himself.
The man was polite but firm.

  “Yes yes, Professor Carlos (David’s Peruvian name), they will see you first. You have three minutes with them according to my schedule. There is an interest in what you say, but you will have no time for questions. Your information will be considered.”

  “Um… Oh I had hoped for more… Could we fit ten minutes? I have come a long way,” said David

  “We have all come a long way, Professor. But not Indian relations until now. You have three minutes. Now please step aside. I will call you up when the time is right.” The man was firm and held his hand up to David; the conversation was over.

  David returned to stand by Abbey. “Well this is going to have to be the best pitch of my life.”

  Abbey smiled. “Nah… you already made that … and here I am.”

  David smiled but looked nervous all the same.

  Just then drums sounded. It was that rhythmic Indian feel. The soft chanting of the tribespeople in the room followed. Cameras rolled. Through a door to the right of the room came some men in suits. Behind them, a strong and powerful man, hair in a ponytail, skin rusted by the sun and a life of hardship and understanding, entered. The man with the clipboard announced: “Chief Lone Bear of the Chippewa.” The man acknowledged some applause and stood silently. The room felt like everyone had direct contact with this wise man’s eyes. David felt it was like looking directly into the akashic records.

  The drums then started again, this time the chant was louder, a little more rhythmic and different. The door opposite opened. Some men came in, not overdressed, but in ceremonial clothes. The man announced: “Chief Ghost Wolf, elder of the Hopi of New Mexico.”

  A pause, nothing happened, then a frail ancient man entered. He had a stick, was withered and bent over. He moved very slowly. It appeared to David that under a hat that was way too big for him and clothes that he had been dressed in for the day, this man may be well over a hundred years old. The room applauded and the old man just waved his hand down at them in humility and stuttered across the floor. He came right to Chief Lone Bear and looked up. It was obviously difficult for him. Lone Bear was a huge man, but he did it. A smile turned up at one of the old man’s lips and he said quietly, “I could still take him.” The room erupted with laughter and the two men embraced and completed a sacred handshake.