Still pumped up on adrenaline, Navarro felt the sweat drip from his face and his hands shook. As he relived the feel of the machete slicing through the little bitch, he inhaled deeply and smiled. Margaret never suspected the setup.
She had been a decent insurance policy in the event they stumbled across the Cinta-Larga, but once Drummond found the cache site, her services were no longer required. Now, all that was left was to find the Flash Stone. He closed his eyes and pictured his grandfather strutting around the copper mine, imaginary fireworks leaping from the rocks.
Earlier, during Navarro’s brief call with Drummond, the Scottish cowboy described the discovery. They had arrived at the ruin around midday. There, Drummond and the small band of support crew slashed the vines and other foliage obscuring the decrepit outer walls of a half-buried ancient structure.
Once the undergrowth was cleared, Drummond completed a sweep with the magnetometer. He told Navarro he had found the strange, pulsing kimberlite signal. After zeroing in on the area exhibiting the strongest reading, Drummond had employed a ground-penetrating radar. It hadn’t taken long to find a sizeable cavity. Based on the readings, the cavity was not a natural formation. The depth of the image was too uniform and its shape too well defined. Navarro had been ecstatic at the news, and he congratulated Drummond.
Navarro had asked if a doorway existed. According to Drummond, most of the ruin was buried under a thick mound of rocky soil, vines and other foliage. Only a section of outer wall was visible. They could dig the mound away to find an entrance, he said, but it would take considerable time to accomplish — an idea Navarro rejected.
Now, as the boat throttled back and steered toward shore, Navarro saw a small gathering of other boats along the riverbank. A man along the riverbank signaled to Navarro’s pilot with the aid of two flashlights. The pilot whistled back and maneuvered the starboard side parallel with the bank.
As they bumped against the bank, Navarro ducked to avoid low-hanging branches. Several of them hit against his shoulders anyway, their leaves raking his face and hair. While the man with the flashlights illuminated the landing area, another man reached out to help Navarro step ashore. A beam from the flashlight washed across Navarro, revealing a splattering of blood across the front of his shirt and shirt sleeve.
Turning quickly away from the light, Navarro beckoned for the boat’s pilot to pass over his backpack. While the other men patiently waited, Navarro yanked a safari jacket from inside the pack. He put the jacket on and directed one of the men to carry the pack.
They were less than four hundred yards from the river when Navarro saw the twinkle of lights between the thick branches. His heart rate accelerated with each step closer to the ruin. Once again, he thought of his grandfather and the Rivers of Gold tale.
When they arrived at the site, a yawning Drummond stepped from a tent and ambled toward Navarro. They exchanged a vigorous handshake and Navarro said, “Show me.”
Built by an unknown civilization at an indeterminate time, the crumbling structure was more than an outpost but less than a citadel. Its walls were formed by precisely cut stone blocks, wedged against each other without mortar of any kind. A trading post, perhaps?
As Navarro scanned its length, he imagined it standing proudly along the banks of the river in the days of its use. But, the Amazon had consumed it over the millennia as the jungle stretched its advancing fingers into the river. Running a hand along the weathered surface, Navarro wondered if the blocks had been cut by a Flash Stone and lifted into place by a Sound Stone.
They maneuvered their way along the wall. Bathed by halogen lanterns set around its perimeter, the wall’s slick stones sparkled. Navarro could see an area staked by small surveyor flags. Drummond pointed and said, “The strongest reading is here.”
Navarro walked close to the wall and scanned the pocked blocks of stone. He was pleased to see Drummond hadn’t tried to chisel or blast the rock yet. “What do you think, Drummond? Where should we try first?”
“Depends on whether you want to dig or blast,” answered the prospector.
“We can’t blast. The noise will attract the Cinta-Larga,” Navarro said.
Drummond nodded. “We haven’t seen them yet, but I think you’re right. I’d rather not risk waking them. But, the lads are bushed, Klaus. If we’re going to chisel, we should wait for daybreak and let them rest now. The wall’s thick. It won’t be easy.”
“No, we start immediately. They can sleep later,” said Navarro.
“They won’t like it,” Drummond said.
Navarro glared at him and turned to walk away. Drummond said, “Where is your guide? The woman? She should pitch in.”
Without breaking stride, Navarro called back over his shoulder, “I sent her back to Apuí. You’ll have to make due.”
During the wee hours, three men with picks chipped away at the edges of a slab chosen by Drummond. A chalky dust circulated around them as they took turns whacking the stone. Navarro impatiently watched their progress, every now and then tossing looks toward the surrounding jungle.
He cringed at the sound of their blows echoing among the trees. He had hoped the buzz of the jungle’s living creatures would mask the sounds, but as soon as the men had started whacking the wall, the chirps and croaks silenced. Looking back toward the river, Navarro now questioned the virtue of his earlier decision to set fire to the campsite where Margaret had perished.
In the fervor of the moment, it seemed a prudent action to render Margaret’s body unrecognizable and mask evidence of the attack. As the men chipped away at the wall, however, Navarro worried the fire might have produced an unintended result: alerting the Cinta-Larga to their presence in the jungle.
When daybreak came, gray light covered the dig site. While the laborers took a water break, Drummond and Navarro inspected their progress. Drummond flicked away crumbs of stone from the divot hewn into the rock.
“At this rate, it will take the better part of the day to get through,” Drummond said.
“Too long,” Navarro said, frowning.
“I do have a drill,” Drummond offered, “but it’s noisy.”
Navarro shook his head and cursed his options. It was only a matter of time before they were detected. If he gave Drummond the go-ahead to blast, it would mean they’d have to work quickly to clear debris and inspect the cavity. The boom would not only signal their presence; it would tell the Cinta-Larga what kind of intruders lurked in their lands. The irony of the situation caused him to laugh. If only there was a silent way to slice through the rock…
Tired of waiting, Navarro turned to Drummond. “Blast it.”
Drummond nodded and convened the men. Using Drummond’s drill, they bored three holes in a line down the crevice between the slab bearing their divots and another of the wall’s decayed blocks. Spacing the holes about a foot apart, Drummond prepared the explosives and joined the others behind cover.
The explosion was loud but more muffled than Navarro had expected. Before the dust cleared, he was up and moving toward the gap. Drummond paced close behind, urging Navarro to wait to make sure the blocks above didn’t crash down. Eyes focused on the gaping hole, Navarro sped toward the wall.
Leaning through the gap with a flashlight, he probed the dark chamber. Dust floated inside the cavity, blocking the torch’s view beyond two feet. Navarro reached one leg into the gap and bent the rest of his body through the opening.
A loud crash sounded from inside the hole, followed by a shout. A minute later, Navarro slithered through the hole with a scowl on his face and nothing in his hands.
CHAPTER 13
SIXTH SENSE
Incline Village, Nevada
August 14
With a low, throaty rumble, the bow pierced through the shoreline mist and emerged into the open waters of Lake Tahoe. Aboard the small craft, two silhouettes huddled under the open-air canopy as it made its way across Crystal Bay.
Approaching a secluded cove, Anlon silenced the
engine and waited for the forward momentum to abate before lowering the anchor. Antonio Wallace watched him dip the iron chunk into the frigid waters and then retreated to the aft bench. Reaching into his anorak, he retrieved two cigars and offered one to Anlon. “Join me?”
Slowly limping across the teak deck, Anlon laughed and invoked Antonio’s nickname in reply. “Are you kidding me, Skipper? It’s a little early for me!”
“Suit yourself,” Antonio said as he lit the plump Cuban and inhaled with satisfaction.
Flopping on the bench next to Antonio, thermos in hand, Anlon eked out a small yawn. “Coffee?”
“Um, hold on a sec. Gotta take care of a couple emails first,” said Antonio, rapidly tapping away on his cell phone. Amid the fog and cigar smoke, the reflection of the phone’s screen cast an eerie glow on his face.
During the wait, Anlon filled a mug and gazed out at the still waters. Sipping the coffee, he winced. Its bitter, watery flavor made him ashamed to call himself a scientist. Pouring the cup overboard, Anlon hobbled back to the boat’s cabin to fetch a bottled water. He returned to the bench as Antonio stowed his phone. Puffing out a thick cloud of smoke, Antonio said, “Okay, all done. Now where’s that java?”
Biting his lip, Anlon hid the bottled water from Antonio’s view and poured his friend a cup. He briefly contemplated mentioning the brew’s poor quality, but thought, Screw it. Payback for the early wake-up! He passed the steamy mixture to Antonio and asked, “So, why all the cloak and dagger, Skipper?”
“I have my reasons,” Antonio answered while raising the cup.
Anlon waited for Antonio to recoil after his first sip, but his friend showed no reaction. Either the tang of the cigar was overwhelming or the man’s taste buds were no longer functioning, Anlon decided.
“Just call it a desire for the utmost privacy,” Antonio said, happily swigging more of the liquid mud.
A brief gust of wind lifted the sandy-gray strands of Anlon’s hair. He shuddered and blew on his hands. Casting a suspicious eye in Antonio’s direction, he said, “Pretty sure it would have been just as private — and a helluva lot more comfortable — sitting by the living room hearth!”
Antonio exhaled a long trail of smoke and said, “I met Malinyah.”
The water bottle in Anlon’s hand crinkled from a sudden squeeze. “Say what?”
“Yep, in my office. Now, don’t get all ruffled up. I guilted Pebbles into it,” Antonio explained.
With a slap of his thigh, Anlon growled, “The little minx, she didn’t tell me!”
Antonio tucked the cigar in the corner of his mouth and extended both hands. “Easy, buddy, easy. She didn’t know it would cause such a ruckus.”
“What? What ruckus?” asked Anlon, his face scrunched into a puzzled scowl.
“Oh, it was a s-h-o-w, my friend,” Antonio said, nodding his head. “When I came out of the trance, there must have been a dozen people in my office. Katie even called an ambulance.”
Burying his face in his palm, Anlon shook his head and groaned. “Ugh! Pebbles! Why?”
“Like I said, it wasn’t her fault. I pushed her for a demonstration. Anyway, it all calmed down eventually, but I don’t think Katie will let Pebbles come back anytime soon.” Antonio’s deep laugh echoed among the swirls of mist.
“What happened?” asked Anlon, still locked in a face palm.
“Oh, I freaked out a little. Kinda like you did, according to Pebbles. Only, I lasted a bit longer than you did before I broke down,” Antonio said with a smile.
Anlon cringed and recalled his first meeting with Malinyah. The intensity of the experience had taken him by surprise. Based on Dobson’s description of the Aromaeghs, Anlon had expected a holographic experience but thought it would be a simple video and audio presentation. He was completely unprepared for the visceral, interactive experience. In fact, he’d been outright terrified when she reached out and touched him on the wrist.
Raising his head, he turned to Antonio and asked, “Did she touch you?”
The tech mogul nodded and shivered.
Anlon said, “That’s what set me off. I thought it was going to be more like a virtual reality kind of thing, you know?” Staring out at the steely lake surface, Anlon added, “God, it was such a rush! The feel of the wind on my face, the smell of her perfume. It seemed impossible. And when she touched me? It was like ‘whoa’ and I lost it.”
While Anlon spoke, Antonio reached for the thermos and refilled his cup. Pinching the nearly spent cigar between finger and thumb, he said, “Totally get you, my brother. She didn’t touch my wrist; she put her hand on my shoulder. I swear to you, it felt like a real hand. Honestly, every time I think about it, I can feel her hand there again.”
For a moment, they sat in silence. Antonio tossed back the coffee and extinguished the cigar in the cup’s murky residue. Anlon fidgeted with the cap of his bottled water and pondered his friend’s comments.
“It defies explanation,” murmured Anlon.
Antonio nudged Anlon and said, “Oh, I think you have an explanation. Pebbles said you’ve been locked away doing research. Says you’ve turned your office into a lab. She’s not happy you’ve been so tight-lipped about it.”
A grin washed over Anlon’s face. He pointed a finger at Antonio and said, “Aha! So, that’s it! You woke me up to come out here and pump me about my research.”
“Maybe,” Antonio said with a shrug.
“You couldn’t wait ’til this afternoon?”
“Anlon, for the last three days, I’ve had the hand of a ten-thousand-year-old woman pressed against my shoulder. I know it’s not actually there, but I can feel its warmth. I can close my eyes and sense her fingers patting my skin. I rub at my shoulder and it goes away for a few minutes at a time, but it keeps coming back. Would you wait for an explanation?”
“Um, probably not,” Anlon said.
“So, spill. What’s behind all this? What have you found?”
“I don’t know, Skipper. I have some theories, but I’m a long way from anything conclusive.”
“I don’t believe that for a second, but, okay, let’s start at square one. The Stones are magnetic, correct?”
Anlon nodded.
“And the Stones are not natural, meaning the Munuorians didn’t just find them lying around like magnetite?”
“No, definitely not,” Anlon said. “The Munuorians had an ability to manipulate magnetism that was lost to the ages.”
“Manipulate how? I mean, it’s easy to turn a metallic stone into a magnet, but these Stones are way beyond that.”
“No doubt,” Anlon said. “The scientific knowledge and imagination required to conceive the tools, let alone craft them, is beyond remarkable. And to do it ten thousand years ago? Hell, I did a little research into the evolution of magnets. The first ‘modern’ magnetic tools didn’t appear until after Columbus sailed…a little over five hundred years ago!”
Antonio scoffed. “That can’t be right. What about the lodestone compass?”
“Yeah, I looked at the lodestone. You’re right, it was around well before Columbus. The earliest mention I found was around 500 B.C.E. But the lodestone was child’s play compared to what the Munuorians created. I’m not even sure I consider the lodestone technically a tool,” Anlon said.
“What do you mean? You touch a needle to magnetite and the needle points north. Always. It has guided many a ship home over the centuries. How’s that not a tool?” Antonio asked.
Anlon said, “I’m talking about permanent magnetic tools. The lodestone isn’t permanent. You take away the needle, and magnetite can’t guide you home on its own. And the needle itself isn’t magnetic. It becomes temporarily magnetized by touching the magnetite. Once separated, the needle quickly loses its magnetic properties. By contrast, the Munuorian Stones have been lying around for millennia, and as you’ve seen for yourself, they’re still incredibly magnetic.”
The skeptical engineer edged forward while lighting another cigar
. “Okay, point taken. It’s a very impressive feat, but how can you be sure about the dating? What’s to say the tools weren’t made much later?”
“You’re joking, right? You know anyone on the planet today with the brains to create something like the Sinethal?” Anlon asked.
Antonio stared out at the horizon as vibrant colors began to burn away the gray cloak surrounding the lake. Stroking the stubble on his chin, he relented. “No, no way.” After a brief pause, he said, “But…I don’t think the little hockey puck is a stone.”
“Why? Because it feels hollow?” asked Anlon.
“That’s one reason. The missing polarity on one side for another reason. That’s just not possible for a solid magnetized object,” said Antonio. “I’ll tell you what I think it is. I think it’s stone on the outside and it’s got two things inside. There’s a magnet, might be another stone, and there’s some material that blocks the reverse polarity on one side.”
“Certainly possible,” Anlon said, “but that doesn’t mean the Munuorians didn’t make it.”
“It doesn’t mean they did, either,” said Antonio.
“Skip, you’re not making sense. If the Sinethal was made by them, and it only works with the Naetir — no other magnet can activate it, I’ve tried —then it had to have been made at the same time. Right?”
“You’ve got a point. But, Anlon, to make the kind of tool I’m talking about, you’d have to cut stone, shape it, then split it open, carve out the insides, plunk in the backing and the magnet, close it back up and then heat the bajesus out of it to seal it without any seams. You’re trying to tell me these people could do all that?”
“I think so.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the rising sound of an approaching engine. Both men glanced over their shoulders to spot a small fishing boat heading for the cove.
When Antonio turned back toward Anlon, he asked, “So, what’s your best guess? How’d they do it?”
Race for the Flash Stone (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 2) Page 18