Cryptid Quest: A Supernatural Thriller (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 8)

by Anthony M. Strong

  “Got it,” Decker said.

  “Now, listen carefully. This is very important. You are to wait until you board the helicopter to open the encrypted file containing the coordinates of base camp. The pilot won’t know where he’s taking you until you provide him with that information.” Hunt observed the two men with narrowed eyes. “You understand?”

  “Yes. We understand,” Decker replied.

  “Crystal-clear, boss,” Rory added.

  “Good. When you get to base camp, you will provide the second set of coordinates—the ones that will lead you to the pyramid—to the leader of the Ghost Team. His name is Commander Ward. Do not share any of this information with anyone else.”

  “It goes without saying,” Decker said.

  “Excellent.” Hunt smiled for the first time since Decker had entered his office. “Go down to the canteen. Eat a hearty breakfast. You’ll need it. Both of you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Decker stood up.

  Rory followed suit.

  Hunt reached down and pressed the concealed button under his desk. The office door locks disengaged.

  They made their way out, but Decker stopped in the doorway and turned back toward his boss. “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there something you’re not telling us?” Decker couldn’t shake the feeling this assignment was just a cog in a bigger narrative and that their lives may be in more danger than Adam Hunt was letting on.

  Hunt met Decker’s gaze with a cool detachment. “Mister Decker, what I’m not telling you could fill a football stadium.”

  “No, I mean about this assignment in—”

  “I know what you mean.” Hunt’s eyes shifted to the right, over Decker’s shoulder. “Close the door on your way out.”

  9

  Seven hours after Rory McCormick stepped into Adam Hunt’s office, he and Decker occupied the plush cabin of CUSP’s Gulfstream jet. They were less than an hour away from landing in the Brazilian city of Manaus. A commercial flight would take almost eight hours to make the trip, but CUSP’s state-of-the-art jet flew faster and higher, cutting the flight time down to under six.

  Since it would already be evening when they arrived, Hunt had arranged overnight accommodation. The next day the helicopter would fly them three hours northeast to the base camp, where they would meet up with the rest of their team. After that, they would press into the unknown.

  Rory sat opposite Decker. A thick folder sat open on a narrow desk in front of him, which he studied with singular intent. Earlier, as the jet made its way down the East Coast, they had chatted, catching up on all that had happened since Ireland. Since neither could talk freely about their previous assignments, the conversation had soon died out.

  Now, as they neared the end of their flight, Decker observed his companion with interest. “You’ve had your nose in that file for more than three hours. Must be enthralling.”

  “Oh, it is.” Rory pushed a pair of wire-frame spectacles higher on his nose. “This is everything I could dig up on the Cyclops.”

  “Want to share?” Decker asked. His own knowledge of the fabled beast came mostly from old Sinbad movies.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Rory said with a grin. He closed the folder and turned to look at Decker. “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, for a start, what exactly is a Cyclops. I know it was a creature from Greek mythology with a single eye in its forehead, but beyond that I’m fairly clueless.”

  “There actually isn’t just one type of Cyclops, but three, depending on which ancient source you listen to,” Rory said, his eyes sparkling with excitement now that he was talking about something he loved.

  “The creature originated in Greek mythology but was later adopted by the Romans. In the original story they were three brothers called Brontes, Steropes, and Arges. They made the thunderbolt weapon for Zeus. Homer’s Odyssey tells it a different way. They were a race of island dwelling giants who liked to eat human flesh. One Such beast kept Odysseus and his men captive in a cave for days, eating them two at a time. Eventually Homer’s protagonist blinds the Cyclops, and tricks it into letting them escape. In another rendition, they were supposed to be the builders of Mycenae, the Bronze Age Greek city.”

  “So which one is it?” Decker asked.

  “Well, if you believe the eyewitness testimony of Darren Yates, a bad-tempered giant with a hankering for human flesh would seem to fit the bill.”

  “Not what I hoped you’d say.” Decker wondered what Adam Hunt had gotten him into. “And apparently there’s more than one of them.”

  “There would need to be if their race were to survive through the millennia.”

  “And the Egyptian angle?”

  “That remains a mystery. But don’t worry, we have an excellent Egyptologist on the team. If she can’t figure it out, no one can,” Rory said.

  “You’ve worked with her before?”

  “Twice.” Rory’s cheeks reddened. “I’m rather looking forward to seeing her again, to tell the truth.”

  “Are you really?” Decker couldn’t contain a grin. “I take it there’s something between you and this Egyptologist.”

  “I don’t know if there’s anything between us, but I hope there will be. The last time we were on an assignment together was in Luxor. We ended up trapped in a tent during a dreadful sandstorm. It was the best three hours of my life.”

  “I hope you’re exaggerating.”

  “Well, maybe a little. But there was chemistry between us. We both felt it.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “A little over a year. It was a couple of assignments before Clareconnell.”

  “Did you keep in touch afterward?”

  “We did to at first. There were reports to write.”

  “And after that?”

  “Not so much.” Rory looked uncomfortable, as if this touched a nerve. “But that’s okay. It wasn’t like anything happened, and she’s consumed with her career. Very single-minded. But I figured one day we’d end up working together again, and since the attraction is already there… who knows?”

  “Sounds like you really like this woman.” Decker turned in his seat to better face Rory. “Would you like some advice?”

  “I don’t know. When we were in Egypt, I emailed Colum for advice. He wasn’t helpful.”

  “I’m surprised about that,” Decker said. “Colum strikes me as the kind of guy who doesn’t have much trouble with women.”

  “He doesn’t.” Rory sighed. “That’s the problem. What works for him would get me slapped in the face.”

  “Surely not.”

  “You think? He’s an ex-Army Ranger with the scars to prove it. He has muscles on top of his muscles. I spent my youth playing Dungeons and Dragons and now I scrabble around in the dirt for a living.”

  “It isn’t all about physical appearance,” Decker said.

  “No. But it helps.” Rory looked defeated. “Maybe I shouldn’t bother.”

  “Look, I don’t know this woman. I’ve never met her. But I did spend time with you in Ireland, and you’re so much more than just a guy scrabbling around in the dirt. You faced down Grendel, after all. If you want my advice, just talk to her, and take it from there. Don’t force it. Get to know her, and if she seems receptive, tell her how you feel.”

  “I guess.”

  “And don’t forget, we’re about to travel into the heart of the Amazon to do battle with the Cyclops. Even the ancient Greeks thought that was pretty heroic.”

  “Don’t remind me about what we’re doing.” Now Rory looked queasy. “Every time I think about it my stomach churns. I don’t know why Adam Hunt keeps putting me on these assignments.”

  “Maybe he sees more in you than you see in yourself?”

  “Or maybe he just doesn’t like me.”

  “You could just quit and go get a job with the museum if you hate it that much.”

  “What? End up begging for grant money and donations a
gain. No, thank you. Been there, done that. I might have to fight the occasional monster in this job, but at least I’m well-funded.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Decker said, bemused.

  At that moment, the pilot came over the intercom and announced that they were about to land. Twenty minutes later, the plane was on the ground and taxiing toward a private terminal.

  10

  It was early evening in Manaus, and the sun was inching toward the horizon, casting long shadows. The taxi that had picked up Decker and Rory from the airport sped through the narrow streets, past ramshackle apartment buildings and garish storefronts. Some stores were shuttered and adorned with graffiti, sprayed gang tags and street art crowding the dilapidated frontages one on top of the other in an unintentional mishmash that ended up looking like the work of a crazed surrealist painter. Other stores were open, their metal shutters rolled up to display brightly colored clothing hanging on racks and electronics sitting in glass cases. Yet more shops sold produce or liquor. Utility poles lined the sidewalk on both sides, masses of tangled electrical cables running in all directions with no sense of order.

  A bicyclist with shopping bags strung on his handlebars appeared from an alley between two buildings and bumped over the curb, swerving into the road ahead of them.

  The taxi driver leaned on his horn and let out a string of curses in Portuguese, then spun the steering wheel hard right to avoid a collision. Even so, he barely avoided clipping the bicycle’s rear tire.

  In the back, Decker steadied himself as the careening vehicle’s center of gravity shifted. Beside him, Rory was gripping the taxi’s grab handle for dear life, his knuckles white.

  “Holy crap, where did this guy learn to drive?” Rory said, breathless. “I have a half-blind uncle who could do better than this.”

  “I take it you’ve never been in a New York taxi then?” Decker said, but even so he reached up and took a hold of his own grab handle.

  “How far is it to the hotel, anyway?”

  “Does it matter? I think we’re about to break the land-speed record,” Decker said.

  As if to prove him right, the taxi driver swung the lumbering vehicle—an old Mercedes 300E sedan with three regular tires and one whitewall—around a tight corner and onto a road even narrower than the first, without bothering to use the brakes.

  The tires squealed, and the back fishtailed.

  Decker lost his grip on the handle and slid sideways into Rory, who grunted and shot the oblivious driver a thunderous look.

  Decker pulled himself back to his own side and gripped the handle even tighter.

  “It’s a good job I don’t get motion sickness,” Rory said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  The taxi reached another intersection and turned. This road was wider. A one-way thoroughfare with three lanes and cars parked on both sides. On their right was a wide-open grassed space with a monument in the middle. A street seller had set up shop at its periphery, under a multicolored sun umbrella next to the sidewalk. Helium balloons on thin ribbons bobbed in the breeze, struggling to break free of their moorings. A trap for parents bringing their children to play in the open space. Another seller further along offered bottles of water from a red cooler.

  The taxi driver pointed as they sped by. “Praça da Saudade. Oldest square in city.”

  “Is it walking distance to the hotel?” Rory said in a low voice. “Because I’ve had just about enough of this roller coaster ride.”

  “Walking. Yes, good,” the taxi driver replied, apparently understanding only a part of Rory’s question. “Great place to come in summer. Play frisbee. Kick soccer ball.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “You play soccer?” The taxi driver asked, his eyes darting up to the rear-view mirror and observing his passengers. “I’m on best team in city. We win championship three straight years.”

  “No, I don’t play soccer.” Rory looked at Decker. “Do I look like the kind of person who would play sports?”

  “I’m going with a no on that one.” Decker watched the square slip by.

  “My son play soccer,” the driver said with a smile. He pulled down his sun visor and pointed to a picture attached with a rubber band. The photo showed a smiling boy, perhaps ten or twelve years of age. He was posing on a sports field with a foot resting on a soccer ball. “He made school team last year. Was very good.”

  “Was?” Decker asked, looking at the photo. “Does he not play anymore?”

  The driver shook his head. “Not since the illness. He has… what do you call it…” The driver searched for the right word. “Seizures.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Decker said.

  “It is life.” The taxi driver shrugged.

  Praça da Saudade was behind them now. The green space was replaced by more buildings. A café stood on the corner, and beyond that another vacant storefront, it’s pulled down silver shutters one more blank canvas for the graffiti artists. A cluster of mopeds stood parked under a tree at the edge of the sidewalk. Another street seller had found enough space in between the vehicles to set up shop. Phone chargers and umbrellas hung from a makeshift rack. The proprietor sat on a kitchen chair in a vacant parking spot, reading the newspaper.

  “Are you seeing a doctor about the seizures?” Decker asked at length.

  Paulo nodded. “We are on waiting list to see specialist. If we had money, we could pay and see doctor right away, but we cannot afford that. We rely on state medicine, which is free.”

  “How long have you been waiting?” Decker asked.

  “Six month. The specialist is in Rio de Janeiro, so my wife took him there. She has been living with cousin in Del Castilho neighborhood. Not good part of city. I worry about them.”

  “She can’t bring him back here until the appointment?”

  The taxi driver shook his head. “We do not know when it will be. If there is an opening, we must be ready.”

  “What’s your son’s name?” Decker asked.

  “Caio. It means happy.”

  “How much does it cost to see the specialist right away?” Rory asked, his demeanor toward the driver softening.

  “Much money. Five thousand real. We cannot pay so we wait. I am afraid. Caio’s seizures get worse.”

  “That’s awful. I’m sorry,” Rory said.

  “It okay. My problem. I will deal with it.” The taxi driver weaved around a city bus and turned onto a wide avenue. Here the buildings were larger. They were also in better repair. Then, opposite a second square which also contained a monument, he swooped to a stop in front of a large five story building and turned to face them. “Casa Amazonia.” He pointed out the window. “Hotel.”

  The taxi driver left the car idling and jumped out. He went to the back of the vehicle and opened the trunk.

  He pulled their bags out and deposited them on the sidewalk as Decker and Rory exited the cab. “You want me to take luggage into hotel?”

  “No, thank you. We’ll be fine,” Decker replied, taking his bag.

  “Sure, sure. Forty-five real for the ride.” He grinned and held out his hand.

  “A bargain,” Decker said, opening his wallet. He took out two banknotes, a fifty and a ten real, which he handed to the expectant driver.

  “Thank you very much.” The man grabbed the notes and quickly pushed them into his pocket, then turned to leave.

  “Hang on.” Decker stopped him.

  “You need ride somewhere else?”

  “No.” Decker shook his head. “What’s your name?”

  “My name is Paulo.”

  “And your son’s name is Caio.”

  “Yes. That is right.” Paulo looked confused.

  “Stay right where you are. I have something to give you.” Decker knelt beside his travel bag and opened a side pouch. He removed a wad of tightly wrapped bills secured with a rubber band. He counted them quickly, keeping a small amount for himself, and then offered the remainder of the wad
to Paulo. “Here.”

  “What is this?” Paulo eyed the money warily. “You already pay your fare.”

  “This isn’t for the ride. This is for Caio’s tests. Five thousand real.”

  “No. No.” Paulo shook his head vigorously and backed away. “I cannot take.”

  “I insist,” Decker said. “We can afford it, and you need to take care of that boy.”

  “Are you sure?” There were tears in Paulo’s eyes.

  Decker nodded.

  “Will you just take it?” Rory said. “We’re sure.”

  “Okay, then.” Paulo reached out and took the money. He looked at it for a moment as if he couldn’t believe it was really in his hands, then he stepped forward and hugged first Decker, then Rory. “You don’t know how much this mean to me.”

  “I have an idea,” Decker said.

  “I am in your debt,” Paulo said. He handed Decker a card with a telephone number on it. “You need taxi again, or anything else, you call me. Any time. Day or night. I help.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” Decker promised.

  “Good.” Paulo slammed the trunk, then retreated and hurried back around the cab. “Thank you again, my friends. Thank you.” He climbed in and gave them one last wave.

  Rory slung his bag over one shoulder. He watched the taxi pull away, then turned to Decker. “That was a nice gesture.”

  “Seemed like the right thing to do.” Decker started toward the hotel lobby.

  “Exactly how much is five thousand real?” Rory asked.

  “A little under a thousand dollars.”

  “That’s most of our walking-around money.”

  “I kept about five hundred real. It should be enough.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  “And don’t forget, we have credit cards, too.” Both Decker and Rory carried plastic in the name of Clayborne Petro-Chemical, a shell company CUSP used as cover. It allowed them to spend without attracting undue attention or leaving a trail that could be linked back to the real organization. Even the names on the cards were aliases.