Buried in the Sky

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Buried in the Sky Page 11

by Ryan Mullaney


  Simone dropped the paddle at her feet and lay back once more, resting her eyes and letting the darkness calm her mind. She knew she couldn't make a decision until her thoughts settled. She breathed slow, conscious breaths, slow inhales and slower exhales.

  Eventually, her mind grew as still as the gentle waters below her.

  The current seemed nonexistent, yet she drifted down the narrow river toward uncertainty. She'd been out there, alone, for several hours. Two, three, possibly even longer. Her sense of time was foggy, likely from the concussion she'd received upon impact after tumbling down the waterfall.

  She forced her hand into her pocket to retrieve her phone, the effort made nearly impossible by the sweat gluing her clothes to her body. Blinking from the rays of sunlight lancing through the jungle canopy above, her eyes went not to the time, but to the one little sliver of service showing on the corner of the phone's display.

  Simone pushed herself up and prepared to dial.

  She found Clark Bannicheck in her contacts, paused, then kept scrolling until she reached the name Georgia Gates.

  Simone hit 'call' and waited for an answer.

  "Girl, what's up?" Georgia said in her typical emphatic tone. "Where you've been hiding lately?"

  "Peru." The single word came out with a wince as Simone shifted again in her seat in the canoe.

  "Do I even want to know?"

  "Probably not," Simone said. "Listen, I need help."

  "Let me know what I can do."

  Simone stifled a grunt. The pain in her right foot was particularly unbearable. "I … I don't know what to do."

  Georgia's tone shifted to concern. "Simone, what's wrong? Are you okay? Are you safe?"

  "Yeah, I'm safe. I'm fine." She wiped sweat-slicked hair away from her dirty face.

  "You don't sound fine."

  Simone rested her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, closing her eyes. She knew what she was going to say before she dialed, but all the words went away when she tried to vocalize them, as if disturbed by an unspoken panic. "Georgia," she said. "I'm scared."

  She heard something happening on the other end of the call, like Georgia telling someone she'd be back and transiting into a different room.

  "Okay," Georgia said. "Tell me what's happening. Where are you right now? What's going on?"

  With a huge breath to fill her lungs, Simone said, "I'm somewhere in Peru, not sure where. The team I came with is somewhere else, also don't know where. I think I'm being followed. I took a ... an object. It's what we came here to find. In doing so, I messed up my shoulder and I think I broke one or more of my feet."

  "Jesus, Simone..."

  "The object is not big, but it's heavy," Simone continued. "Maybe a hundred and fifty pounds or more, I'm guessing. If I wasn't hurt, I could probably muscle it around, but – "

  "Simone, stop. You can't muscle around one-fifty with broken feet. Can you even walk?"

  "Painfully, yes. But I'm in a boat, so I don't have to at the moment."

  "And you're going where?"

  A silence preceded Simone's answer. "I don't know. I have to get this back to the States, but I don't know how."

  Simone heard Georgia swearing to herself quietly.

  "You need to get to a hospital," Georgia then said. "That's what you need to do, girl. You need to do that right away."

  "But what do I do with – "

  "Forget the object! You've gotta take care of yourself, Simone!" Georgia took a breath to calm herself. "Is there anyone looking for you? Besides the people following you?"

  "...I don't know. Maybe."

  "Listen to me, okay? What you've gotta do is call them and find out. You've gotta meet up, regroup, and get yourself gone from Peru, you hear me?"

  Simone couldn't help but smile at the tough love she was receiving just then. It reminded her of Georgia with her children -- no matter how angry she got, she was always driven by her love of those she cared about and making sure they were on the right track.

  "Thank you," Simone said. "I really needed to hear that."

  "You really need to get somewhere safe. Don't waste your time talking with me. Go do what you've gotta do, girl!"

  "I will ... but I need you to look into someone for me. While we're already on the phone."

  "Who?"

  "His name is James Smith."

  "James Smith?" Georgia said. "Couldn't you give me a more common name? Simone, that's ... I need more than just James Smith."

  Simone hesitated. "That's all I got on him. He knew Clark Bannicheck, and my grandmother, Winifred Locklear."

  Georgia paused while she made note of the names. "Is that it? Simone, I can't promise I'll find anything."

  "There's one more name," Simone said. "Also look into Sonja Cassidy."

  "How do you spell that?"

  "Try every spelling you can think of," Simone said. "Also try Sonja Locklear."

  "Got it. Is that another relative?"

  Simone exhaled. "Someone from another life."

  "When we hang up, you better take care of yourself," Georgia said.

  "I promise."

  "You better come back alive, or I'll be pissed."

  Simone laughed. "Love you, Georgia. And thank you."

  "Love you back, girl."

  When the call was ended, Simone leaned back and rubbed her hands down her sweat-streaked face. She'd drifted further downriver, out from the shadowy canopy of the jungle and into pure blazing sunlight.

  She realized that she wouldn't have much energy if she sat out in the sun, drifting down the river toward a hope and a prayer. She needed to get out of the sun, out of the canoe, and out of Peru.

  Simone pulled up the contacts list in her phone once again and dialed the number for Lincoln Lewis.

  _____

  Vincent had thought of every conceivable way he could escape from Solomon and his mercs, but none of them included stumbling upon a remote village next to the river two dozen kilometers from the Gocta Cataracts.

  The tribe was thrown on high alert at the sight of the heavily-armed force descending on their previously peaceful home. The mercs raised their guns at the ready, trained to treat every development as a threat.

  Vincent scanned the village as best he could from his vantage point. These were not warrior people, just looking to live life in peace. They barely wore clothes, let alone tactical gear.

  Solomon stepped up to greet what looked to be the village elder, judging by his age and the garments he wore -- more elaborate than any other.

  "Do you speak English?" Solomon asked as he casually approached, giving no indication that he was a threat beyond the accompaniment with which he arrived.

  "I speak your language," the elder said. "You come looking for blood."

  "We come looking for a woman," Solomon said. "A thief. She stole something from us. Something valuable."

  The elder shook his head. "No one passes through here. It is only us."

  "Are you certain?" Solomon asked, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized the old man's reaction.

  "I see all."

  "She would be this tall." Solomon raised his flat hand to indicate a rough estimate of Simone's five-foot-nine frame. "Black hair. Long, very long. Bronze skin. She is fit, athletic, very strong."

  The village elder shook his head slowly but with steadfast conviction.

  Displeased, Solomon glanced from one merc to the next. "Search the village," he said.

  Vincent stepped up. "She ain't here, I'm telling ya. If she's even alive, that is."

  Solomon turned to Vincent, the two men eye to eye. "She is."

  "Then she's getting further and further away with every minute you waste badgering the locals." Vincent swatted at an insect on his arm. "And I'd really, really like to get out of the jungle, if you're so keen on shipping me off."

  Solomon patted him on the shoulder, mocking a friendly gesture. "Don't worry. We'll be done with you soon enough."

  One of the mercs returned, w
eapon at her side. "Nothing," she told Solomon.

  Two more of a mercs regrouped where Solomon stood. "If she was here," one of them said, "she ain't here now."

  Vincent exchanged a look with Solomon. A challenge, almost. A "told you so" moment without actually telling him so.

  Just as Vincent opened his mouth to suggest they move on, the fourth mercenary came striding through the village holding what looked like a wad of bloody bandages.

  "Found these, sir," the merc said.

  Solomon took the bandages to inspect them. They appeared to be fashioned from the same material as the garments worn by the tribe.

  Vincent's look faded into one of dread.

  Solomon approached the village elder, holding the bandages for him to see. "Where did these come from?"

  The elder held his arms apart, as if demonstrating he had nothing to hide. "The medicine man treats many wounds. Many wounds."

  Solomon said to one of the mercs, "Bring him." He turned to the elder. "She was here, wasn't she? The woman, Simone. She was here."

  "Here, you will not find what you seek." The village elder remained as solid as a rock, unmoved by Solomon's words or actions. "You must go elsewhere."

  "Hear that?" Vincent said. "It's time to go elsewhere, eh?"

  Solomon kept his stare locked on the elder. "Not quite."

  The merc returned to the gathering, pushing the medicine man to the center of the group.

  Solomon held the bandages out for the medicine man to see. "Whose blood is this?"

  "He does not understand your tongue," the elder said.

  "Ask him." Solomon's inflection left no room for debate.

  The elder said something to the medicine man, and the medicine man replied.

  "He says there are many wounds. He does not know which wound caused this injury."

  Solomon looked to his crew, then to Vincent. He threw the bloody cloth to the dirt.

  Vincent noticed a look of defeat wash over him at the recognition that whether Simone had been there or not, Solomon was wasting precious time.

  The defeat grew in Solomon's features until it stopped, replaced by a different look. One of curiosity, then of desire.

  Solomon grabbed the village elder by the wrist and pulled him closer, his eyes on the jewelry on the old man's wrist.

  "Where did you get this?" he asked. "It is not like the jewelry worn by your tribe. Where did it come from?"

  The elder lowered his eyes to the bracelet that Simone had given him. Gently, he lifted his gaze to meet Solomon's. "Is this what you come looking for?"

  "Who gave it to you?" Solomon said as his frustration simmered.

  "The one you look for is not here," the elder said. "You may look, but you will not find."

  "Which way did she go?"

  The elder just stared at Solomon in silent refusal.

  Solomon let go of the old man's wrist and spat on the ground between them.

  "Now is it time?" Vincent asked. "Elsewhere awaits. Unless you believe she's coming back, which I don't."

  Solomon stood with his hands on his hips, eyes down, mind racing. He wore the look of a man who knew the truth but could not get anyone to confirm it. He knew Simone had been there, which meant the villagers knew in which direction she left.

  "You." Solomon abruptly turned to Vincent. "Get him to tell you everything he knows."

  "What?" Vincent said.

  "You leave when he tells us where she went."

  Vincent let out a nervous laugh. "Mate, this isn't my area of expertise. What makes you think he'll be any more willing to spill the details to me?"

  Solomon pulled the handgun from his belt, holding it at his side. "Because you will be very, very convincing."

  17.

  Chachapoyas, Amazonas, Peru

  Beads of sweat slid down Vincent's face, one right after another like rain.

  "Mate, think about this-- "

  "I've thought about it more than you have, Vincent," Solomon said. "We can't leave until we know which way to go, can we?"

  Vincent wiped his sweaty palms against his pants. "You don't even know if she was here."

  "I do."

  "Someone was here, yes, but ... It's unlikely that it was Simone."

  Solomon closed the distance between them. "You don't know her. She's alive. She was here. Now we need to know where she went. You better start asking quickly, or I will be forced to use alternative means of interrogation. Do you want that?"

  Vincent held up his hands in defense. "Fine, chap. I'll ask. No need to bring violence into it."

  Solomon gave instruction to the mercs to search the area again. The four peeled off in separate directions, weapons in hand.

  Vincent swallowed, turning his eyes from Solomon to the village elder. "Listen to me, mate. That woman? We know she was here. I'm a friend of hers. Friend, you know? I need to find her, help her. She is badly hurt, isn't she?"

  The elder said nothing.

  Vincent picked up the bloody bandages. "She's out here on her own. I need to find her right away. There’s no time to waste. I need to know where she went. Can you tell me that?"

  The elder wrapped his bony hands around Vincent's and the bandages. "You friend is away from here. She will not be coming back."

  "I know that," Vincent said. "I need to know where she went. Which direction?" He pointed. "North?"

  The elder released Vincent's hands and remained silent.

  "Try harder," Solomon said.

  Vincent bit his lip, thinking of a new approach before Solomon's patience ran out. "You live near the river," he said to the elder. "Did she take a boat? Did she follow the river?"

  No reply.

  Nothing else made sense to Vincent. It was quicker than going on foot, less taxing on whatever injuries she likely would have sustained in the impossible fall, and there was no other mode of transportation the villagers made use of.

  He turned to Solomon. "She had to have followed the river."

  "Is that what he said?" Solomon asked.

  "It's what I'm saying. She couldn't have gone far on foot after falling from that height. Let's just follow the river and see what else we can find."

  Solomon considered the idea.

  Vincent swallowed, his mouth dry and his heart pumping. "Listen," he said to the elder, "If you don't tell me right away, this man will kill me."

  He turned to Solomon and shrugged, totally out of ideas that did not involve more bloodshed.

  If Solomon got any more frustrated, something bad was going to happen, either to himself, Vincent knew, or the people of the tribe. He needed to get Solomon moving, get him and his team away from these people.

  The mercenaries returned once again to Solomon, having found nothing else that indicated Simone had been there, or where she had gone.

  A moment of uncertainty teemed within the group as Solomon considered the next step.

  To the elder, he said, "I need a boat."

  _____

  Eglin Air Force Base, Florida, USA

  Squinting through the blinding Florida daylight, Simone gripped both sides of the portable stairs and hobbled as best as she could down the steps, Lincoln following close behind.

  She was greeted at the bottom by Michaela from the medical staff, who wore a look of shock which gave way to urgency as she called for assistance.

  Simone waved it off. "I can walk just fine."

  "What happened to you?" Michaela asked. "You look like you were hit by a truck!"

  Simone forced a smile. "Rough day at the office."

  On their way to the medical ward, they crossed paths with Clark Bannicheck. He looked Simone over with neither surprise nor concern. "Rough day at the office?"

  Simone shifted her eyes to Michaela and this time had to suppress her smile. "You could say that."

  Clark said to Michaela, "I want your evaluation ASAP. We're moving out at eighteen hundred hours."

  Simone then noticed the unusual amount of activity on the base. V
ehicles passing by, men and women hurrying about. "Moving out to where?"

  Michaela guided Simone toward the medical ward. "To get you looked at before they ship us out."

  Clark walked with them. "With Agent Farren compromised, we can't afford to sit in the same spot for long. Our current location may come out during any ... advanced interrogation."

  "But not likely," Lincoln said as he caught up.

  Clark hit him with a look. "Standard protocol must be followed."

  Simone stopped. "I hope there's some room for flexibility in the standard protocol."

  Lincoln lowered his eyes.

  Clark looked between them. "What are two talking about?"

  "The meteor fragment," Simone said, leaning to keep pressure off of her right foot. "We didn't exactly bring it back."

  A quiet displeasure simmered behind Clark's hard glare.

  "It's safe," Lincoln said. "Buried where no one will find it. April was gone, the British team was splintered, most going with SWANN. It was Simone and myself, and we couldn't bring it back on our own."

  Clark narrowed his eyes. "Why not?"

  Simone hobbled on her left foot, shifting her gaze to Lincoln.

  "Simone," Michaela urged. "We have to go."

  Lincoln cleared his throat, preparing the question that demanded to be asked. "Clark, how big was the piece Simone's parents found?"

  Clark stared silently as realization set in. He didn't have to verbally confirm that it was much smaller than whatever Simone and Lincoln had found.

  Without another word, he departed.

  Lincoln exchanged a look with Simone just as Clark doubled back, taking Lincoln by the arm. "That meteor fragment must be retrieved."

  Clark left again, this time without turning back.

  Lincoln nodded to Simone. "Be well." He followed after Clark in haste.

  "You too," Simone said, fighting the dreadful feeling climbing up from the pit of her stomach.

  Lincoln stopped suddenly, sprinting back to Simone. He pulled from his pocket her folded up boonie hat.

  Simone took the hat as the two exchanged a look of thankfulness that said more than an exchange of words ever could. Not for the hat, but for each other.

 

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