The Adam Enigma (17 page)

March 31, 2016
Taos, New Mexico

P
ete and Ramsey got up early and went for an exhausting run along the mountain trails that connected to Pete's house. Ramsey was glad for the chance, since he needed the time to think. Especially since he had experienced a restless night.

He had been wakened by one of the most vivid dreams he ever remembered. In the dream Ramsey was moving from a new house, which was to be where he would raise his family, and then was suddenly uprooted to another one and then to another one and then to another one, never able to find a home. Then in a sudden surreal shift, his father appeared. He pointed to something near the horizon. In the distance. Ramsey saw an old factory, with blown out windows crumbling red brick. In the next breath his father and the building disappeared.

Ramsey knew this kind of big dream was trying to tell him something. This was more than an intuition; it was like a divine message. And he also knew it had something to do with Adam and the New Gnostics. It assured him that he was on the right track and that all the missing pieces would suddenly fall into place if he just remained steadfast, and allowed himself to be guided by the forces pulling him forward. Letting others take the lead in his own fate was something he was loathe to let happen, however. He hadn't become one of the country's leading human geographer in the business world because he handed off projects to others and let them run the show. Taking the
back seat while forces drove his fate felt like handing over control of a car to a teenager on a winding icy mountain road.

He saw Pete's lithe form running ten yards ahead and wondered again if his old post doc buddy was one of those forces. Ramsey chuckled. At least Pete was a grown-up part of the time.

Pete stopped and waited for Ramsey to catch up. He checked his watch. “We still have an hour. Time for another couple of miles before breakfast. Then it's work, work, work.”

“What's happening?” asked Ramsey, bent over and panting.

“Me and my favorite drone are leading a party of DeVere people to what I hope will be the most fantastic diamond pipe the world has ever seen.” Pete furled his lower lip with his teeth. “This could be the life-changing event that I've been waiting for. I'm getting antsy and ready to move on. I don't suppose you have a job for me, old man?”

Finally catching his breath, Ramsey said, “You never know. Am I going with you to experience your grand discovery?”

“Nah. It's all a big secret you know. You'll drop me off where I'll meet the pros from DeVere and then drive Nellie Bell over to Rio Chama. I'll meet you there later.” He frowned. “I don't need to tell you not to mention the diamonds to anyone, okay?”

Ramsey smiled. “Already tweeted it this morning . . . told all my friends and family to invest in DeVere.”

Pete jerked in surprise, then, “Good one.”

With that they took off running again. Ramsey began formulating his plan.
It's not about the shrine. I need to find Adam Gwillt. And I need to get the truth from Myriam. There's so much going on here that I'm not being told
.

After a quick shower and breakfast, the two men got into the Nash Rambler. “In case you were wondering, I named this baby ‘Nellybelle' after Pat Brady's jeep on the
Roy Rogers Show
,” Pete said.

“Trigger and Buttercup were taken?” asked Ramsey.

“The two drones.”

Ramsey laughed.

They drove along back-mountain roads until they came out onto highway 64, north of the Taos Airport. Ramsey saw they were headed
toward Rio Chama. Then he remembered the kimberlite deposits were in the same general area as the shrine.

As if reading his thoughts, Pete said, “There's a logging road that goes into the backcountry on the way to the shrine. I'm meeting my contacts there.” He hesitated. “Look, these guys don't know you from Adam, so just play it cool. I don't want them spooked.”

Interesting choice of names
, Ramsey thought. He didn't think Pete was trying to hint at anything. On the other hand, the man was brilliant and just might be trying to warn Ramsey about something.

A gravel road swung off the highway to the north. Pete pulled onto it and waited. Thirty seconds later a black Escalade pulled in behind them.

“There's my ride,” Pete said.

Six men piled out of the SUV. All of them were dressed in backcountry gear. Pete pursed his lips. Four of the men were burly and carried military issue packs and combat camo-fatigues. They were paramilitary by the way they held themselves alert, checking the road and woods surrounding them. From his picture Pete recognized the tall thin man with pale blue eyes who stood beside the Cadillac SUV. He was Pieter Haas, the DeVere Mining Group's CEO. Beside him was a man Pete didn't know at all.

The military guys approached his car with one man taking point and the others flanking him.
Uh-oh . . . this could be going to be dicey
, mused Pete. He glanced at Ramsey who was studying the situation with great intensity. Pete shifted his attention back to Haas.
He's the brains, the one I've got to convince that Jonathan's nothing more than a friend
.

Pete got out of the car and approached the CEO. He did his best to ignore the four bodyguards. “You must be Mr. Haas. Good to finally meet you,” Pete said, walking over to the SUV. “The DeVere Group security said you'd be the one meeting me. You're much better looking than that picture on the website.”

Ignoring Miami's irreverence, Haas countered, “Good morning, Doctor Miami. I trust you are as excited as I am on this wonderful day when your years of hard work and our money are about to come to fruition.” The two men shook hands firmly. Haas scrutinized Ramsey.
Continuing the charade planned earlier with the Reverend Billy Paul, he said, “I hope you weren't planning on bringing your friend along. We only have room in our vehicle for yourself.”

Pete smiled. “Sorry, this is Jonathan Ramsey. We were postdocs together at Oregon. He's dropping my car off in Rio Chama and visiting the shrine there.” Ramsey waved. Pete looked across the hood of the car at the sixth man. He extended his hand. “Didn't catch your name.”

“It's Hiram Beecher. I came along to protect my financial investment in the DeVere group.” The two men shook hands. Beecher looked over at Ramsey, standing beside the Nash Rambler. The two locked eyes. Each recognized the other by name. For the first time, Beecher was in the presence of the man he had hired at Reverend Paul's urging. For his part Ramsey realized this was the man who signed the contract hiring him to work on the shrine. Neither wished to acknowledge the other beyond the cordial greeting.

Ramsey ended the awkward charade by stepping back behind Pete's car. From there, his eyes flicked from one bodyguard to the next. They were exceptionally fit, the thin air of the high plains desert not bothering them at all, as though used to trekking in the mountains. One word fought its way into his consciousness: SEALs. Only they didn't look American. They all looked European except for Beecher. And then it hit him like a fireball—South Africa, DeVere diamonds.
Shit. These guys are paramilitary
. They are merciless in protecting their control of the diamond market. He kept a stupid look on his face wondering if he should tell Pete about this extraordinary coincidence. But Pete seemed to be handling himself with ease and Ramsey had to believe he had checked these guys out and knew who they were before arriving.
Why else would he ask me to play it cool
?

Instead, he said to Pete, “If you're all set, I'd like to take off. I want to spend the day at the shrine. You know, soak up the healing powers. You be safe.”

“Sure,” Pete said tossing Ramsey the keys. “I'll just get my things out of the back.”

Haas smiled and said, “We'll return him to you at the end of the day. Were you two going to meet some place in particular?”

“At the Rio Chama Café.”

“This evening then.” He motioned the others back into the car. Pete stowed his gear in the back and joined them.

Ramsey watched the vehicle fishtail up the logging road and disappear out of sight over a small rise. He waited for a few minutes before starting the car and pulling out on to the highway. In the rearview mirror he saw a large pickup truck with Hispanic men sitting in the back turn onto the road. He saw they had guns. He swallowed hard, suddenly afraid for his friend Pete, and wondered if he should go after him.
And do what?
He asked himself.
Tell Pete some Hispanic guys are following him? They're probably hunters
.

Even more perplexing and confusing was the question of why a man involved with the shrine was now involved with a group of men from South Africa looking for a diamond pipe?
One more question for Myriam
.

He tapped the Google maps app on his phone, and said, “Rio Chama.” It was forty-three miles away, about an hour along these roads.

March 31, 2016
Taos, New Mexico

T
he Escalade soon reached a secondary road that was little more than a beaten track through the wilderness. Branches and bushes sideswiped the SUV at every chance. Pete watched the driver negotiate the turns and the washed-out, deeply rutted road with an ease that told him these guys were pros.
What does the DeVere Group need with professional military men to confirm a diamond discovery?
Then it occurred to him.
They must think somebody else knows about the diamonds
.

The road ended at a small clearing and the group got out. While the others loaded up their gear, Pete pulled an iPad from his daypack and brought up a three-dimensional topo map of the area. Then he pressed an icon that was the image of a drone. Underneath it was the name “Buttercup.” Instantly the screen was overlaid with the camera feed from the drone. Pete looked up and there it was hovering right over them. It was the length of a bicycle with a wingspan of a North American condor. Made from carbon fiber, it weighed only twenty pounds fully loaded with camera gear. Solar panels in the wings powered the two lithium ion batteries that ran the motor, ailerons, tail rudder, and cameras. Controls on the screen allowed him to not only pilot the drone but direct the cameras as well.

Pointing to the drone, Pete said, “Ordinary GPS can't show us the safest route to where we're going. The drone is our eye in the sky allowing me to pick out the fastest and safest route.” Then he pushed
a question just to hear the response. “It'll also tell us if someone else is out here.”

Hass smiled thinly. “Yes, it would be good to know if there's anyone out here who shouldn't be.”

Using his fingers and thumbs sliding across the screen, the drone's nose camera responded and zeroed in on Haas and Beecher, standing beside the SUV. They were in an intense conversation that ended when one of the paramilitary guys strode up to them. The man's pack was partially open and Pete could see the barrel of an Israeli-made Uzi. The man handed Haas a pistol. In the next instant his hand smashed against the hood of the car as he squashed a wasp with a casual air of brutality.

Pete licked his lips.
Ex-military, weapons, South Africans . . . diamonds. Pete old son, what have you gotten yourself into?

Haas motioned Pete over. “Dr. Miami, if you will please do the honors by pointing out the way.”

Pete nodded. He punched a button on the tablet and the drone proceeded forward. “It's open country for about a mile and then we'll enter the Sangre de Christo Mountains. From there our only hope of finding the kimberlite site is for the drone to pick the least nasty route through the wilderness.”

One of the ex-military men came up to him. He was tall with short blond hair and thick lips. He had the unmistakable air of authority. “My men and I can go anywhere you tell us to.”

“This is Goren,” Haas introduced the man.

“To hell and back?” Pete joked.

“If necessary.” The man didn't smile.

Let's hope it isn't necessary
, Pete thought.

Goren flashed a hand signal at the other men. Two of them dropped back. The team's only black man stayed at point. Goren motioned Pete to go first. “Flint will be right beside you.”

To everyone else he shouted, “Saddle up. We'll break for five minutes in an hour.” He turned to Haas and said, “Sir, when you're ready.”

“Thank you, Goren. Let's move out.”

The first hour was along a well-maintained National Forest Service trail. Rangers had even carved steps in some of the steeper places. At the first hour's break point, the trail veered sharply south, but the drone indicated they move straight ahead.

“The trail will take us way south of the kimberlite location into ancient Pueblo land,” Pete explained to Haas. “We have to stay true as long as we can. According to the drone images, we shouldn't encounter any major obstacles for another five miles. Then there's a steep ravine. We may need climbing ropes to get in and out of it, but that will save us hours compared to going around it.”

By midday they had scaled the cliff and stopped for half an hour to rest and eat. They settled on one side of a wide beautiful valley.

Haas turned to Pete. “We must be close.”

“On the other side of the ridge there is a depression grown over with piñon pines. That's exactly the center of the strongest kimberlite signature. It's less than a quarter of a mile.” What happened next surprised Pete.

Rather than pulling everybody together for the march to the kimberlite location, Haas gestured to his men. “You boys go with Pete and see what he has located. Beecher and I will wait here.” The men gathered their gear.

Pete, recovering from his surprise, asked, “Sure you don't want to come?”

“It's bad luck for me to go. We'll just wait here for the good news. Godspeed.”

Pete ran his hand through his hair. The reason sounded superstitious and Haas didn't strike him as that kind of person. Still surrounded by Uzis and thugs whose arms were bigger than his thighs, Pete wasn't going to argue. He just hoped he got out of this alive.

He ducked under some branches and headed towards the ridge. Hass's men followed. The drone hovered overhead then darted toward the other side of the valley.

Beecher watched them go, uncertain what was going to happen next. Suddenly he felt the strong grip of Hass' hand on his shoulder steering him to a vantage point where they could look out across the
valley. He handed Beecher the binoculars and pointed. “What do you see?”

Beecher quartered the terrain. A long overhang caught his attention. It looked almost manmade. As he adjusted the field of view he saw the telltale architecture of an Anasazi cliff dwelling. Something moved among the ruins. Maybe it was a deer. Maybe a person. Handing the binoculars back to a Haas, he said, “I might've seen somebody. Do you think it could be Adam?”

“Hopefully,” answered Haas. A slight smile crossed his face as he added, “After all, he's the real prize . . . Adam Gwillt the super healer.”

Beecher started at the reverent tone in the South African's voice. “You sound like a true believer.”

Haas leaned against a gnarled piñon pine. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes. “Goren and the others are about half way to the objective.” His eyes narrowed as he studied Beecher. “As I said earlier. You have to choose.”

Beecher's stomach turned over at the sudden chill in the man's tone. “You know Billy Paul asked me to have Adam killed, and that I tried to carry out his orders.”

“Your zeal was misplaced. Luckily fate interceded. Good for us, and I hope you'll come to understand, good for you.”

“You
don't
want to kill Adam?”

“Not at all. I see him as an asset, just the same as I do our diamonds.” Haas laughed, the sound over-confident in the thin mountain air. “You might say he's a very special diamond.”

Beecher's mind was reeling at the news. “I don't get it. Why?”

“A power like his could help gain control of a piece of the global medical economy especially if he could teach others his gift.”

Beecher reflected on what Haas said. The power to heal could certainly make believers out of millions of people.
Zealots more like it. Zealots who would do anything for their master
. He glanced at Haas. “What's your connection to the Reverend?”

“He's a self-righteous fool. We needed him to get to Jonathan Ramsey, to get to you and to your woman Myriam.”

“For what?”

“From what I've learned, Adam knows you and he likes and trusts Myriam. When we find Adam, we'd like you and Myriam to befriend him, talk him into joining us.”

Beecher was so confused he didn't know how to react. Everything was suddenly upside down.
All this time I thought this was about killing Adam. But it's much more than that
. He didn't want to argue with Haas, but he needed information to figure out what to do. Beecher said, “Gwillt's a threat to Christianity . . . The second coming of the devil.”

Haas let the binoculars hang from their leather strap around his neck. “You may have believed that rubbish once, but you've changed. I can see it. And there's a whole larger movement going on based on the power of Adam. The Reverend Billy Paul didn't tell you about that did he? They're called the New Gnostics. It's a new kind of Christianity. Very powerful.” Haas looked Beecher straight in the eye. “Like I said. You have to choose.”

Beecher felt anger and confusion well up in his gut, but he forced it away. He needed time to reconcile what he just heard, so he decided to ask a simple question. “How do you know all this?”

“We know everything that's going on in the area. It's standard operating procedure when we're investigating for a potential diamond mine. Plus we have an insider who knows all about Adam and who for now will remain nameless.”

An alarm bell rang out in the still air. Both men whirled at the noise.

“Where's that alarm coming from?” Haas asked.

Beecher shrugged. “In these mountains, it's hard to say. He peered across the valley. Shadows moved among the ruins. They could have been Goren and the team. It was hard to tell with or without binoculars.

T
HE ALARM ECHOED
a second time throughout the ancient Anasazi cliff dwelling. A young man in his late twenties walked into a ground-level apartment on the cliff. He wore blue jeans and cowboy boots and carried a 30.06 in his right hand. He went into an inner room
and looked down into a chamber dug nearly ten feet into the floor. This was a
kiva
, a circular room built underground where religious ceremonies had been conducted by generations of Anasazi. He clambered down the crude wooden ladder and stood beside a figure sitting on the red dusty floor. He saw no breath or heartbeat. But the face was ruddy colored and looked in good health. He touched the shoulder. The muscle was firm.

“Adam . . . we have to go” the young man said quietly.

A
DRY BUZZING SOUND
issued from Haas's pack. He walked over and pulled out a sat phone. He paused and listened. Beecher watched him carefully. Haas scratched his chin with a well-manicured finger.

“Anything?” Beecher mouthed.

Haas shook his head. There was a pause as Haas listened. Then, he smiled and said, “They found kimberlite . . . lots of it and now they're looking for the pipe.”

Beecher picked up the binoculars and focused on the ridge across the valley. A speck moved above it. He adjusted the lenses and saw the drone circling the Anasazi cliff dwelling. As he watched, its right wing exploded and the drone winged over, spinning toward the ground.

A gunshot from the ridge split the silence.

Haas dropped the sat phone into the pack and pulled out a pistol with his left hand. His other held the pistol Goren gave him. Beecher took it. Part of his brain registered the crash of the drone. The rest of him was settling into a place where he was protected. His eyes scanned the ridgeline opposite and the tree line nearby. He didn't see any movement.