Race for the Flash Stone (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 2)

by K Patrick Donoghue

  Pebbles appeared alongside Anlon and said, “You said earlier that she was desperate, that she was running out of options. What did you mean?”

  “Her time is coming to an end; enjyia only sustains life for so long, as I myself am learning. It is what pushed her to seek Devlin’s help.” Foucault paused while Henri finished wrapping his hands, then said to Anlon, “I don’t know if your uncle intended to help her, or if he was duped into it, but he did help her.”

  “How?” Pebbles asked.

  “She gave him Malinyah’s Sinethal,” said Foucault. “And your uncle used it to make a map.”

  “How can you be so sure?” asked Anlon.

  “Because I know Muran stole Malinyah’s Sinethal from her Maerlif,” Foucault said. “She pulled the Sinethal and Naetir from her hands and left two things in their place: Alynioria’s tunic, and a lock of her hair.”

  “Oh, my God!” said Pebbles, covering her mouth. “Malinyah knows, doesn’t she?”

  “I presume she does,” Foucault said. “Muran would not have resisted the opportunity to inflict one final injury…one she knew would never leave Malinyah’s memory.”

  “Right,” said Jennifer. “And she screwed herself when she did that, didn’t she? There was probably no chance Malinyah was going to show her the map anyway, but after flaunting her daughter’s death? Hell, no!”

  “So, she needed someone else to get the map for her,” said Pebbles.

  “Précisément,” Foucault said with a nod. “When Devlin wrote to me looking for a Naetir, it shook me. I called him. Asked him why he was looking for such a common-looking stone. He wouldn’t tell me. Instead, he asked me about my Waterland paper. That’s when I began to suspect Muran was behind his inquiry.”

  Cesar interrupted, “When we discussed Ometepe, and we mentioned Devlin’s interest in the statue and volcanos, you said it confirmed Muran lives. Why?”

  “It told me one of two things, señor. Either Devlin was searching for a Taellin, another ingredient Muran lacks, or he discovered he was being used and went in search of the truth. I like to believe the latter,” Foucault said.

  Anlon concurred. “I want to believe it, too. Devlin was a rascal, but he was a good man. I can’t believe he willingly helped a murderer.”

  “Nor can I, Dr. Cully,” said Foucault. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have another urgent matter to attend to, and I must check on Christian. I offer you one final piece of advice. Leave the Painted Lady to me. I have laid a trap for her, and without a Tuliskaera, the scent will soon be too strong for her to ignore.”

  “We better get a move on, too, Anlon. Navarro, remember?” Jennifer tugged on Anlon’s arm.

  “I would not worry about Klaus Navarro, Mademoiselle. I don’t think he will bother you again.” Foucault turned and instructed Henri to start up the helicopter.

  “You know him?” asked Pebbles.

  “I make it my business to know everyone interested in the Lifintyls,” Foucault shouted over the helicopter’s waking engine. Leaning forward, he removed the gold medallion and gave it to Pebbles. “This belongs with Malinyah. Please tell her Mereau says, ‘Aeh el sulous.’ She will understand the meaning.”

  As the helicopter began to rise, with Foucault seated comfortably inside, he cupped his bandaged hands around his mouth and shouted, “Dr. Cully, about the Galápagos…Isabela. Wolf. One thousand feet up. North side. With a clear view of Cassiopeia.”

  Route 34, Jaco, Costa Rica

  When the gush of cold water splashed over her head, Margaret twitched and yelped.

  “Again,” a voice called out.

  Another icy blast plastered her face and chest. This time, water shot into her nose and open mouth. She rocked back and forth on the floor, heaving and coughing.

  “Wake up, Warrior Princess,” mocked the voice.

  The familiar words echoed in her ears as she tried unsuccessfully to move her arms and legs. While rolling on the floor, she coaxed her eyes open. Immediately, she cringed and quickly squeezed her lids shut.

  “Are you a ghost?” asked the voice. “Or maybe a zombie?”

  Shivering, Margaret tried to twist away from the puddle surrounding her. She raised her head from the floor and was greeted by throbbing pain from the knot on the back of her skull. As the pain awoke her other senses, a flurry of snippets from Finca 6 filled her mind.

  “You tried to kill me, you little bitch!”

  Cracking open one eyelid, Margaret craned her neck and squinted in the direction of the voice, but her vision was too hazy to make out anything but a white blob in the dimly lit room. She lowered her head back to the concrete floor and sighed.

  “Pick her up!” Navarro said.

  Rough hands gripped her arms and yanked her torso off the floor. While her legs dragged behind, they guided her to a chair and shoved her onto the seat. Woozy from the sudden movements, she teetered and started to slide from the chair. The hands dug into her shoulders and steadied her against the back of the chair. Head drooping forward, she felt another hand grip her soaked hair and yank it up.

  She opened her eyes once more and came face to face with her tormentor: tan shirt, white slacks and a panama hat draped over his knee.

  “You tricked me,” she mumbled.

  The observation drew a gruff sneer. “If only your brain was as big as your mouth.” Turning away from Margaret, Navarro beckoned one of his men. “Bring the phone to me.”

  A prick of anger raced through Margaret, and she lurched forward to escape the hands clutching her shoulders. The beefy mitts slammed her back into place with little effort, but the brief struggle sent a rush of blood to her head. Shaking away the last of the grogginess, Margaret took stock of her surroundings while Navarro awaited the delivery of her cell phone.

  The cinderblock room appeared abandoned at first, but as her eyes adjusted to the low light, she could see disorderly piles of tires against the far wall and two closed bays to her right. Her view to the left was blocked by one of the guayabera quartet, who stepped forward to hand over the phone.

  Navarro snatched it and demanded the password from Margaret.

  “Go f—— yourself.”

  A hand pulled from her shoulder and slapped her across the face. Navarro pressed again for the password; Margaret clenched her teeth and awaited another blow. When it came, she spat at Navarro and cursed again.

  He shook his head and said, “We both know how this will end, Margaret. You will fight, and I will hurt you. You will fight harder, and I will hurt you more. It will go on and on like this until you either tell me what I want to know or you die.”

  She said, “You’ll kill me whether I talk or not.”

  He waved off the suggestion. “Who put you up to this?”

  “What? Trying to kill you?” she laughed. “You have the balls to ask me that after what you did to me?”

  Navarro slid his ponytail over his shoulder and stroked it. “You received help. Who was the man on the phone?”

  Margaret didn’t budge. Holding up Foucault’s treasured blade, Navarro probed, “Whose knife is this? Does it belong to whoever found you in the Amazon? Did you double-cross me, Margaret? Did you tip someone? Did they follow us?”

  She didn’t answer. Admiring the cleaned weapon, Navarro said, “This is ancient, you know. I’ve never seen anything like it. The blade was made from a meteorite, that I can tell. But it wasn’t pounded like flint or other rocks. No, this one was forged. Who gave it to you?

  “No answer? You know, Drummond found the site. But when we blew it open, it was empty inside.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Your accomplice found the Flash Stone in the Amazon, didn’t he? The one in the picture used to bait me here?”

  “You’re delusional,” Margaret said.

  “Am I? We’ll see. Sooner or later, your friend will try to reach you, and then we’ll see. At least I know now the map is genuine. I will find the Stone eventually, with or without your help. And I will bur
y your friend next to you.” Navarro raised himself out of the chair, knife clutched in his hand.

  A hand came off one shoulder and yanked her head back. As Navarro approached, Margaret flailed to free herself, then suddenly relaxed. She spat one last time at Navarro and laughed. “You’ll never see him coming. You won’t stand a chance.”

  EPILOGUE

  Juan Santamaría Intl. Airport

  San Jose, Costa Rica

  September 8

  Sunlight streamed through the arching glass panels onto the concourse below. The rays bounced off the polished marble floors and splashed prisms of color in every direction. Every surface seemed to glitter with color: glass walls, chrome fittings and even the suitcases of queued passengers.

  Tucked away in a corner, far from the swarm of tourists and business travelers, stood Cesar Perez. Engrossed in a phone call, he began to pace back and forth, nodding while he listened and gesturing while he talked. With bags checked, Anlon, Pebbles and Jennifer sat nearby and waited to say farewell to Cesar. When his call ended, he smiled. “It is all arranged. I will start next week.”

  The others stood and Anlon said, “Great, I can’t thank you enough, Cesar. For everything.”

  “It was my pleasure, Anlon. I admired your uncle greatly. I’m proud to help you bring his discovery into the sunlight.” Cesar motioned at the glittering surroundings. “And I thank you for agreeing to help me with my own little mystery.”

  “Huh? What mystery?” asked Pebbles.

  “Uh…I’ll tell you about it later,” Anlon said. “We need to go, security line’s getting pretty long. Cesar, be well, my friend. I’ll call and touch base next week.”

  Hugs and handshakes were exchanged, and then the trio headed for their flight.

  After Jacques Foucault departed Indio Maiz, Anlon had asked Pebbles to seal the Maerlif with the remaining Munuorian Tyls inside. In the fading sunlight, Pebbles had raised the Breylofte and summoned her howler choir. No longer afraid of the tree dwellers, Pebbles pushed the entry slab back in place, then climbed the hill to serenade the monkeys good night.

  Trekking through the jungle with flashlights and machetes, they returned to the zodiac boat and slipped down the misty Cano Negro on their way to Greytown. After long showers and a hot dinner, the crew relaxed in the lodge’s cantina. Aided by a late-night bottle of tequila, they rehashed the day’s eventful discoveries long into the night.

  Although Pebbles was sad at first, she was also relieved to finally know the source of Malinyah’s anguish. The Munuorian’s painful memories still found their way into Pebbles’ mind in quiet moments, but they were softened by memories spurred by the gold medallion gifted by Foucault. The physical reminder of Malinyah’s warm spirit felt at home dangling over her chest.

  The following afternoon, the four explorers had embarked once more for Indio Maiz. Declaring he’d had his fill of river guides for one trip, Anlon chartered a helicopter for the return visit. Once there, Pebbles sat beneath the ceiba, Malinyah’s gold medallion around her neck, and coached Jennifer through the steps to reopen the Maerlif. As Jennifer hummed on the Stone, the howlers returned to the tree. Most perched on branches, but several of the crooning monkeys sat alongside Pebbles.

  While Anlon and Cesar waited patiently for Jennifer to wedge open the entry stone, Anlon wandered to the charred remains of the Tuliskaeras. Attracted by a bright glitter in the stack of rubble, he bent down for a closer look. Pushing away blackened chunks of olivine, he found twelve oblong diamonds scattered on the ground. Anlon examined them briefly and then slid all but one into his pocket. The last he presented to Cesar. “This, my friend, is the source of the Tuliskaera’s power.”

  Inside the Maerlif, they had catalogued the contents of each chest, withdrawn a sampling of the Tyls to take with them and replaced the chest lids. All the while, Pebbles stood vigil with a Breylofte in case Navarro showed up. Despite Foucault’s assurance, Pebbles wasn’t about to let her guard down. False confidence had cost them more than once in the past.

  Before leaving Indio Maiz, Anlon and Cesar had discussed plans for the site. Cesar agreed to do a formal survey of the Maerlif and its artifacts and claim the discovery on Anlon’s behalf with the Nicaraguan Bureau of Cultural Affairs. Cesar suggested Anlon consider founding a private museum in Greytown to house the Tyls. He said an investment in the local economy would go over well with the bureau and lessen pressure to relinquish all the discovered artifacts.

  Anlon embraced the idea on the spot and within days had formed the Alynioria Foundation. Its charter — to preserve and protect the art and technology of the forgotten Munuorian civilization. The Greytown-based museum would be the first of several museums dedicated to the memory of Devlin Allen Wilson and his rediscovery of the ancient star watchers.

  Over a candlelit dinner the night before departing Costa Rica, Anlon had shared the plan with Pebbles and he asked her to lead the foundation and oversee the construction of the museum. It would mean giving up bartending at Sydney’s and a fair bit of travel, he had said, but he couldn’t think of a better person for the job.

  “No one understands and cares for the Munuorians more than you,” he told her.

  Pebbles accepted the position with a high-pitched squeal and exuberant embrace that nearly toppled them into a couple seated nearby. Mistaking the impromptu public display as an engagement proposal, the restaurant’s maître d’ had stopped by with a bottle of champagne for the happy couple. With confused looks they stared at the maître d’ until realizing the impetus for the restaurateur’s gesture. Blushing deep red, they tried to dispel the impression implied by their embrace, but the maître d’ just winked and uncorked the bottle anyway.

  They toasted to Malinyah, Alynioria, Mereau and Devlin. Afterward, while strolling hand in hand back to their hotel, they laughed about the maître d’s misinterpretation. Anlon jokingly asked her if she could imagine such a thing. Pebbles replied with a kiss, “I can think of worse ideas.”

  The morning of their departure, Pebbles performed her first act as the newly minted leader of the Alynioria Foundation. She convinced Jennifer Stevens to come aboard. The job offer, hatched over coffee and bagels in the hotel lobby, was met with puzzlement.

  “What do I know about museums?” asked Jennifer.

  “Hello! Bartender here! We’ll figure it out.”

  “Geez, I don’t know…”

  “Come on, what’s not to like? You get to stay in Tahoe…I’m sure Griffin will like that.”

  “Hmmm…”

  “You’ll get to use all your detective skills hunting for more Tyls, and God knows I’ll need your help managing the museum construction.”

  “I guess…”

  “It’ll be fun! We’ll make our own enjyia, I’ll kick your butt with the Breylofte. Ooh, we can learn to zap each other with Dreylaeks, too!”

  “Uh…”

  “Look, Anlon said I have a blank check for anything and everything I need…and I need you. So, I’ll give you one of those blank checks, you write in how much you want, and let’s get to it! Easy peasy!”

  “It sounds lovely, except the zapping part,” said Jennifer. “What’s Anlon going to do?”

  “Oh, he’s all ‘mad scientist.’ He said he’s going to try and figure out how each of the Stones was made and try to recreate them. He’s already emailed Antonio, and this guy Dylan who works with Antonio, to help him out.” Pebbles said. “I’m sure he’ll help us out when we need it, but he said it was my show to run.”

  There was much to like about the offer, Jennifer thought, especially given her current circumstances. While the Nicaraguan police decided against pressing any charges, news of her involvement in the Indio Maiz confrontation had quickly reached the Massachusetts district attorney — the same man who levied Jennifer’s current suspension.

  It didn’t matter to the D.A. that Christian Hunte mysteriously disappeared before giving a statement. The mere potential of a scandal involving the shooting of an unarmed
man by one of Massachusetts’ finest was enough for the D.A. to press for Jennifer’s termination. Though the police union and Captain Gambelli vowed to fight the demand, Jennifer knew it would be a nasty fight. And for what? Lawfully defending herself and friends?

  As much as Jennifer enjoyed her profession and the close-knit group of detectives with whom she worked, it wasn’t worth the hassle, or the overhang that would follow her if she was exonerated.

  Plus, Tahoe had grown on Jennifer, much as it had with Pebbles. After less than two months staying with Anlon and Pebbles, she’d come to think of it as home. The perception was fostered by the friendship shared with the trio and by the not-so-subtle wooing of Griffin Taylor.

  “Okay, I’m in!” said Jennifer. “On one condition.”

  Pebbles shared the news with Anlon while the four were on the way to the airport. Anlon was ecstatic and congratulated Jennifer.

  Pebbles said, “There is one caveat, though.”

  “What’s that?” asked Anlon.

  “She’s going to move out and get her own place. She thinks you and I need ‘alone time.’”

  Throughout the days and nights between Indio Maiz and their return to the States, there had been much discussion among Anlon and the others about Muran and Devlin. The conversation was most uncomfortable when discussing Muran, because the implications were too hard to believe.

  As the group slogged through the long security line, Jennifer asked, “What should we do about Anabel?”

  “You really think she’s Muran?” asked Pebbles.

  “It fits, don’t you think?”

  “Sweet, little Anabel?” Pebbles asked again.

  “Look, she lied about her knowledge of the Tyls and the map. She lied about the statue. She was with Devlin at Zapatera. She gave me freakin’ enjyia to drink. And she had one of these on her kitchen counter,” Jennifer said, holding up one of the egg-shaped Terusaels. “Not to mention her trying to lift the Naetir at Stillwater.”