We have been waiting five hundred years.
The Inca prophecies say that now, in this age, when the eagle of the North and the condor of the South fly together, the Earth will awaken. The eagles of the North cannot be free without the condors of the South.
Now it’s happening.
Now is the time.
The Aquarian Age is an era of light, an age of awakening, an age of returning to natural ways. Our generation is here to help begin this age, to prepare through different schools to understand the message of the heart, intuition, and nature.
Native people speak with the Earth. When consciousness awakens, we can fly high like the eagle, or like the condor.
– Willaru Huarta
Purdue and what was left of his crew were guests on the boat called Cóndor, a Spanish vessel owned by a multinational company that ran several sea-based businesses across the Mediterranean and West-African waters. When Purdue checked his plastic hard case, he was relieved to find that his tablet was unharmed by the water and still in working condition. It was, however, not a discovery he felt like sharing with his hosts, especially after he realized that they had already sailed well away from the wreckage, foiling any attempt for Purdue and his people to be rescued by the authorities.
Hannah had recovered somewhat from the physical toil of her ordeal. She was still, however, rattled by what she’d witnessed in the water a few hours before. Peter was cordial, but it was clear that he was done with maritime careers for good. Purdue overheard him telling one of the crewmembers of the Cóndor how shaken he was at the whole incident, how he just wanted to go home.
“I understand completely, old boy,” Purdue told Peter. “I’ve been regrettably numbed to even the most heinous events by having already been in countless deadly situations during my excursions. Still I must tell you, what happened to us today will not be easily swept back into memory.”
“You know, I love working for you, Mr. Purdue. It’s not your fault, what happened. I get that. But you see, this is personal. Personally, I can’t deal with these types of things too well,” Peter confessed. “And I don’t want to ever put myself in a likely situation again. I suppose you don’t need a formal resignation, hey?” He smiled at his employer for the first time since the disaster. He had known Purdue for a year, having accompanied the billionaire on two previous cruises before, but he had never seen him like this.
“No, a verbal rebuke will be sufficient,” Purdue replied lightly. Behind his smile, Peter saw that Purdue held a dreadful sorrow aching to come to the fore, but he could not let it consume him.
“None of this is your fault, Mr. Purdue,” Peter remarked awkwardly. “You must know that, no matter what you think you did wrong. We all know you feel responsible, but you should let that ship sail. Please.”
Purdue tried to distract himself from Peter’s words by eavesdropping on the crew around them, but he could not lift the yolk of guilt he felt. None of what he was thinking could be said, because if he told Peter and Hannah that he did not feel half as bad for them as he did for Sam, they would rightly see him as a bastard. He needed to grieve the loss of his friend, but he couldn’t, not here, not in front of these people.
“Thank you, Peter,” Purdue sighed.
“So, the lady tells me that your friend was on that helicopter,” Vincent said bluntly as he walked over to Purdue and Peter. Naturally, the clumsy skipper would choose the worst subject at the most unkind moment. Purdue felt his chest burn, holding a torch of lamentation for his friend, but he maintained his pose for the sake of his companions.
“That’s right,” Purdue snapped a little. He was in no mood to discuss the horrid event, least of all the parts where it was his idea for Sam to come. It had been his charter that had hired that pilot and that machine. “He was one of my closest friends, Vincent, and I do not have more than a handful of those in all the world.”
“I’m sorry, man,” Vincent replied with a softer tone. “It must be a real sore spot for you, and here I bring it up just because I was curious why you would bring a man here on a helicopter instead of just mooring at the harbor and getting him to meet you there.”
Purdue looked up, his eyes ablaze, but Vincent pretended that his blow was unintentional. He sat down with a bottle of wine and motioned for one of his men to bring glasses.
“I don’t want to drink, Vincent, thank you,” Purdue informed the skipper of the Cóndor without much reservation on being polite.
“But you have to drink with me, David,” Vincent insisted. “In fact, I would like all of you to join me in a little libation for the sake of the story I want to tell you.”
Looking utterly disinterested, all three of Vincent’s guests gracefully declined, asking to just be allocated places to sleep. The latter was not a viable idea, according to Purdue, for he dared shut his eyes even if it meant his death. Sometimes, he reckoned, you just have to trust the devil long enough to rejuvenate yourself. But his host would have none of it.
“You will be shown to your bunks as soon as I have told you this story. I promise,” Vincent pressed with absolutely no consideration or grace. He was like the tide that rocked the boat under them—unpredictable and seeming to harbor some really slimy predators behind his tranquil blue eyes.
“Listen, Vincent, really,” Purdue answered, rising from his chair, but Vincent raised his voice. “Sit down!” A boisterous bark leapt from his mouth that made Hannah jump and slam her hands over her eyes. Purdue obeyed. Vincent looked at Hannah, rubbing her upper arm in contrition. “My apologies, madam. I just hate having to repeat myself, especially when I really have something to divulge.”
“David,” he said, turning to face Purdue with a sneer that made him look like a clear-eyed demon in the low light of the cabin. His own men looked tense as well. “I’m trying to share something with you, so please, do not provoke my rage without reason. As it is, I’m already trying not explode at the smallest provocations.”
Some of his men exchanged glances between them in agreement, although they did it so subtly that the captain would never have noticed. Hannah could see the tension in them because she knew what to look for. Purdue shrugged, looking down at the table in disinterest, tapping his fingers on it. Vincent cleared his throat, “Call him up.”
One of the crew went downstairs into the sleeping quarters. When he emerged, Vincent poured the wine into the glasses set out for them. “Now, let’s drink.”
There was an extra glass for the shadow that bent on the interior of the cabin as he ascended the stairs. Hannah was terrified and she shifted closer to Peter, pretending to make space. When Purdue looked up, he dropped his glass.
“My God! Sam!” he shrieked unashamedly and propelled toward Sam to embrace him.
“Easy, easy!” Sam said too late. The billionaire had his good arm around Sam in a tight grip. He chuckled into Sam’s borrowed coat, “You certainly know how to make an entrance, old boy. My God, I can’t believe it! You’re alive!” Purdue ceased his raving abruptly. He pushed Sam away to have a good look at him. “How, in the name of all things holy, did you survive that impact?”
The tall, dark journalist was as handsome as ever, apart from obvious bruising and a considerable gash across his brow above his left eye. His lip was split in two places and his right cheek swollen a bit, but for a helicopter crash these were very light injuries.
“I could never have survived that impact. Are you daft?” Sam asked. “I had to hide. Hide! I climbed through to the back and hid in a small luggage compartment, hoping the fucking thing would not have a lock seal. Bad idea, but the best I had. I didn’t have to go to Davey Jones fucking Locker, Purdue. I had my own locker for the long stay at the bottom of the Mediterranean! Christ! Felt like the worst thing you can do in a falling chopper, bound for the water!”
“Except to stay in your front seat and wait for the collision to kill you,” Hannah muttered to herself. But they all looked at her at once, while Sam pointed at her with a rigid finger to a
ccentuate her valid argument. “Perceptive,” he told Purdue. “I had that same opinion at the time, but I tell you, it did not make the escape painless. I had to haul my ass out of the flooding, burning fuselage before it reached the compartment.”
Purdue patted him on the back, looking greatly satisfied. “Well, I am beyond delighted that you managed to escape a most horrible death.” He gave Sam a long stare, while the skipper poured more wine. “So, what caused the crash, then?”
Vincent’s blue eyes instantly shot up to the two men, and his hand slowed the pouring of the wine as he listened intently. Sam swallowed hard, searching for a way to formulate the lunacy that caused the crash. Feeling very self-conscious, he finally shrugged, “The pilot went insane.”
“Ha!” Vincent scoffed, and promptly resumed his task of filling everyone’s glasses. Purdue and Sam both looked at Vincent, waiting for more, but he simply shifted the glasses to each in turn and gestured for them to sit down. “I believe you, Sam,” he said, almost smirking. “This area is worse than the bloody Bermuda Triangle, but nobody has ever made a public report of what happens here. You see, that is exactly why we are here.”
Purdue leered at Vincent. He did not trust him or his word, but he kept that to himself for now. He wished to hear what the skipper was going to use as a front for whatever devilish reasons he had to be lurking around here. Once more Purdue cast a quick glance at the madly flapping flag of the boat, the ominous and all too familiar insignia of the sun he knew all too well. Granted, it was a variation of the symbol of the Order of the Black Sun, but it still did not justify its presence on a Spanish fishing trawler.
Sam had to have noticed, he thought to himself as he watched the others lift their glasses. We don’t have a choice but to play along, but I hope Sam shares my suspicion, at least. I hope he is as wary of Vincent as I am.’
“Why?” Sam asked sincerely. “Why are you here? Tell us, then.”
“Alright,” Vincent agreed eagerly. “This region has a very sinister lore attached to it, but it’s a reputation only known by devoted mariners and scholars of arcane history.”
Sam wondered if the term ‘arcane history’ had just given Purdue a boner, though he chose to hold in the urge to tease the billionaire about his passions. But he held his tongue and pondered if Purdue had noticed the symbol on the vessel’s flag.
Vincent took a sip of wine and cleared his throat. His shaggy hair gave him a look of madness and eccentricity, the coiling raven tresses only accentuating the unnatural azure of his eyes. “Did you notice the symbol of the sun on the flag?”
“Aye,” Sam answered, at the same time confirming what Purdue was pondering.
“That is our pride,” Vincent said, to the repugnance of both Purdue and Sam. “It represents us and what we stand for, to the full.”
Hannah did not move in her chair to partake of the wine offered to her, but she casually linked into the conversation, negating the opinions of the two Scots in one sentence.
“The Children of the Sun.”
13
Road of Hell
Nina was to be on the first flight to Madrid to find out what had happened to her two friends. She awoke in the hospital, and after being given a bit of aspirin for her hangover, she was discharged. Her heart was broken, no matter how positive she tried to be about the terrible news she’d received via the news channel. She packed two blouses, a pair of hiking boots and two pairs of jeans only. A pashmina and a fedora completed the contents of her suitcase and, after she booked her flight, she had a quick shower.
Nina tried not to cry at the thought of the tragedy, but the sorrow kept her feeling sick. All she wanted to do was to find out what had happened and to confirm that Sam Cleave and Dave Purdue were indeed dead. If they were missing, she was going to look for them, even if she had no idea where to start. Because of the nature of her trip, she elected to leave her laptop and other usual items at home, bringing only her cell phone as technology.
Her dissertation had to be put on hold, so she did the proper thing and sent a message to the academy to extend her due date. They would understand, given the circumstances. Without waiting for a response Nina left for the airport. Of all the options, she had to pick the quickest, even if she had to relinquish some comforts. Glasgow would be the best choice, and then to Madrid via Dublin. It would take her about a day, maybe more, to reach the airport of Málaga-Costa del Sol. From there she would have to navigate the coastline by charter to engage in her search.
As she left the house her phone rang, but Nina ignored it. There was no time to waste and she was adamant not to be distracted by anything less important than Sam and Purdue. Once she hit the highway, driving south towards Glasgow, Nina started weeping uncontrollably. It wasn’t that her romantic relationships with both men had tenderized her feelings like a pregnant widow, but the fact that their deaths made her keenly aware of her solitary existence. For all the love she received from the townspeople who finally accepted her, for all the praise and accolades she had garnered from the academic establishment as a renowned historian and lecturer, in the end she was still alone.
Purdue and Sam were her only close friends, the only people who have ever saved her life and checked up on her when she was silent for too long. Without them she would survive just fine, but without these two men Nina’s throne room would become nothing but a vast mausoleum to wander through. They were always there, even when the three of them had no contact for months on end—the fabric of true amity. Nina’s eyes rained tears just as the skies outside sent down a shower of water, the force of which challenged her windshield wipers while clattering like pelted rocks. All traffic had to move extra carefully along the A82 for the next few miles at least, perhaps for the entire two-hour drive.
She could not help but wonder what had happened in Spain, why Purdue had needed Sam to come to him while at sea. It was a puzzle she was sure could be solved by some kind of wild chase for some relic somewhere, but it did not soothe her notions of the terrible death they must have suffered.
The only hope Nina held fast to as she trudged through the frustration of having to drive slowly, was the fact that they had not been found yet. In a sense, them being lost at sea, or missing for God knows what reason, was better than the definite knowledge that they had indeed perished. But just to be sure, Nina had her car radio on to keep up on any new developments concerning her friends. Most stations only covered local news, but both Purdue and Sam were celebrities in their fields, which would merit coverage, she thought.
For over an hour Nina traversed the long, winding main road with tears still lingering in her eyes, hoping not to hear the newscast she dreaded. In her head her demons tormented her in the perfectly eloquent voices of reporters. ‘The bodies of two missing Edinburgh men had been found after a two-day rescue effort on the Alboran Sea just off the coast of Spain.’
“No,” she frowned, protesting aloud.
‘David Purdue, noted explorer and billionaire businessman, and his associate, award-winning investigative journalist Sam Cleave, have been missing since Tuesday . . . .’
“No!” she repeated, trying to drown her thoughts.
‘ . . . when the helicopter occupied by Cleave collided with Purdue’s yacht in a failed emergency landing. Divers recovered the remains of Cleave minutes after Purdue’s body had been discovered floating in the water near the wreckage.’
“Nooo! NO! Jesus, no!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, dampening the clanking of the hard rain on her car. “Shut up! Shut up!”
Motorists behind her saw her tantrum, as did those passing. Most laughed, but some just shook their heads. Violently, Nina reached down between the seats and fumbled madly in her purse. From the zipped up compartment she pulled her flash drive and shoved it hard into the input of her radio. There was no preference for a specific artist. It just had to be loud. Nina turned up the volume and unleashed some good old Fear Factory through her car speakers, the only aggression she had, loud enough
to beat the devil.
14
Above and Beyond
Police captain Pedro Sanchez carried out his daily duties without entering his new-found interest into any of the dossiers, not only because it would be laughable, but also to keep his personal investigation under wraps.
“Another day without the air conditioners?” he asked the sergeant behind the charge office desk.
“They said they’ll come out as soon as they are finished at IES Jaume I, sir,” the sergeant responded, trying to console the captain and two other officers who had already had to loosen their collars, all before 10 a.m. “It’s going to be a scorcher today, and they don’t want the high school kids to lose concentration in the classes.”
“Oh!” Sanchez exclaimed sarcastically. “Here we have to concentrate on arresting drug dealers, pimps, and killers to protect the people of Sagunto, but hey, as long as those wayward teenage fuckwits can add two and two, who are we to complain, eh?”
The officers agreed in a chorus of moaning and flopped down on their chairs, while others were leaving on a call. “Anything I should know of?” Captain Sanchez asked.
“No, Captain, just a domestic violence complaint. We’ll sort this one out,” an officer answered as he exited the police precinct. Sanchez shrugged with a sigh, “Of course. Must be the heat driving everyone crazy.” He plodded into the long corridor to his office, at the end of which the polished floor ran into the badly painted wall. When he turned the corner, someone was sitting in his office. “Dios mío!”
Dr. Sabian turned slowly, not at all bothered by the captain’s utterance. Calmly he replied, “Morning Capt. Sanchez. I am so sorry if I startled you.” He rose from his chair to shake the captain’s hand. “Also, sorry to barge into your office uninvited, but I just wanted to catch up with you regarding my patient, Madalina Mantara.”
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