The Seventh Stone (20 page)

“
Yes,” Percival said. “Baltasar’s ancestor, no doubt about that now.”

“
Baltasar Contreras is out to finish his family mission,” Christa said. His crazy tirade at the playground was beginning to make sense. “Salvatierra was a priest. The Vatican sent him to stop Alvaro Contreras. Salvatierra destroyed the Breastplate. He ripped out seven of its twelve stones and scattered them around the world. Baltasar Contreras thinks I can get two of them, the Turquoise and the Emerald.”

She pulled the laptop closer and tapped in a website address. She turned the computer screen towards Donohue. “This is an artist’s drawing of the Breastplate, based on the Bible passage.” It depicted a painting of a man dressed in robes, wearing a golden, bejeweled Breastplate. The old, bearded man raised his arms in supplication, his expression of adoration heavenward. “The Emerald ended up on the bottom of the Atlantic when Salvatierra’s caravel sank in a storm. My father has a man aboard the treasure hunter ship that’s trying to locate the wreck. His name is Ahmed Battar.”

Donohue crossed his arms. “Sounds like an Arab Muslim,” he said.

“
Ahmed is a friend,” said Christa, “and our only chance of getting the Emerald that might save Lucia’s life.”

Donohue grunted. “What about the Turquoise?” he said. “Do you know where that is?”

“
Cibola,” she said.

“
The legendary lost city of gold,” Donohue said.

All right, that he knew that was impressive, very impressive. But he didn’t know the whole story. “Back in the sixteenth century, Fray Marcos, a missionary, explored the area. He returned to New Spain with stories of the seven cities of gold and of Cibola, which alone held more gold than all of the Incas. Coronado was sent out, with hundreds of conquistadors, Indian mercenaries and slaves, leaving death and destruction in their wake, almost starving themselves, only to find a rather ordinary pueblo, and no gold. Marcos was spared death at the hands of the enraged conquistadors, but returned to New Spain in disgrace.”

“
That’s why they call Cibola a
legendary
lost city,” Donohue said. He was losing patience.

“
All legend is based on some truth,” she said. “There was, indeed, a lost treasure, of incalculable value. The Turquoise.”

“
You want me to believe that this Fray Marcos,” said Donohue, “really wanted a Spaniard to find not a golden city, but the Turquoise, one stone.”

“
The Yikaisidahi Turquoise. The real goal of Coronado’s quest was a well-kept secret. You won’t find it in any history books,” she said. “A Navajo shaman told me that his ancestors guarded the secret, that the Spaniard brought Yikaisidahi to the people of that pueblo. He warned them to hide the stone away, in the innermost heart of the cliff dwelling. He warned them that the Turquoise held the power to destroy the world. They believed him. The tribe formed a cult, centered on keeping the Turquoise hidden.”

Percival crossed to the bookcase where she had placed the armillary sphere. He grabbed the sphere and held it towards Donohue. “Christa found this in the abandoned cliff dwelling in Arizona. It’s an armillary sphere, an early model of the universe, probably Spanish in origin, sixteenth century. It may be a clue to the location of the Turquoise.”

Donohue narrowed his eyes at it and frowned. “I don’t care if it can align the stars,” he said. “A five hundred year old clue is not going to help. Our country’s security, and your daughter’s safety, is at risk. We need to take action.” Donohue reached into his trench coat, extracted a folded paper from its inner pocket. He opened it and flattened it on the desk. “When Gabriella came to me with her suspicions, I took the liberty of attaining a satellite photo of the Contreras estate. I’ve worked up three attack scenarios.”

This was moving way too fast. Christa knew Donohue’s type, over-confident, hero complex compulsion to save others, recovering adrenaline junkie perpetually on the edge of a relapse. She was one, too. “We don’t need a battle plan,” she said. “We need the ransom.”

“
You got your sister’s findings on the poison?” Donohue asked.

She had no answer for that. “We have until six before he calls,” she said.

“
Wait. Gabby’s botanical sketches,” Percival said. He flipped up the corner of the satellite photo. “From last summer’s expedition.” He gestured towards the sketches on the desk. “She left her work scattered about. That’s not like her. I thought it was because she thinks she found a new species. But even then she acted more frightened than excited. She must have left them here on purpose, for me to find.” He picked them up and searched through them. He pulled one out. “In case something went wrong.”

He handed the sketch to Christa. The plant had a central stem, with oval, pointed, deeply veined leaves, an occasional green tendril and delicate, white flowers with four petals. Most distinctive, however, was the cut-away drawing of the underside of the leaf. It was colored a deep purple. The sketch was labeled in Gabriella’s neat print.
Plant X
,
South American adaptation of Atropa belladonna? How/When introduced? Possibly indigenous?

“
Belladonna,” Christa said. She looked up from the sketch, her stomach roiling at the thought of that capful of liquid Contreras made her drink at the playground. “Belladonna is a deadly poison.”

Donohue gestured for her to hand him the sketch. She did. “Can this poison be weaponized?”

“
It already has,” she said. “Macbeth used the belladonna poison. The real Macbeth, from eleventh century Scotland, not the legend from Shakespeare’s play. During a truce, he poisoned the enemy’s troops. They grew so sick that they had to retreat.”

Percival snapped up her translation of Salvatierra’s letter. “
Whole villages were destroyed, every savage dead
,” he read. He jabbed his finger at the words. “
A mother had strangled her infant child. An old man had bashed in the heads of young women
.”

“
So this form of belladonna poison drives people mad,” said Donohue, “then kills them.” His face flushed with barely controlled rage. “This is the ideal weapon for a terrorist.”

“
But it says in the letter that Alvaro Contreras had an elixir,” said Percival, “the antidote, presumably. He had promised to return to the village and cure them. He lied to them of course. He was a conquistador.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm cloud rolled over Gabriella’s house, pitching the library into an even thicker gloom. Christa’s stomach spasmed. Stress? If only that’s all it was. “At the playground, Contreras had a flask in his pocket. He poured me a capful of the liquid it contained.”

Percival clasped her shoulder. “You didn’t drink it, did you?”

“
I didn’t have a choice.”

“
It may have been this poison.”

“
It wasn’t Scotch,” she said. She crossed to the wet bar. “Speaking of which.” She reached down the bottle that Gabby kept on hand for Dad’s rare appearances.

“
How do you feel?” Donohue asked.

“
Scared to death, not to use the term lightly,” she said. “Other than that, I don’t feel any reaction to the liquid at all. We’ve got to find Gabriella’s research on this new plant species, fast.”

“
You need to get to a doctor,” Percival said.

“
No time,” she said, “not until Lucia and Gabby are home safe.” She poured two fingers of Scotch. “Salvatierra writes that Contreras tempted him to put on the Breastplate.
Stand upon this platform and call God’s light to shine upon you and you will hold the powers of the Heavens in the palm of your hand
.” God’s light. The powers of the Heavens. “He’s talking about the power of life over death.”

“
He’s talking crazy,” said Percival.

“
Dad would figure it out,” she said, “if we could reach him. Contreras wants that Breastplate, to complete his ancestor’s mission. He wants to stand on that platform, and conquer a new world.” He wanted to redeem himself, for his family.

“
A modern-day conquistador,” Donohue said.

“
And look how that ended,” said Percival. “But Baltasar Contreras is only one man. He has no army at his command.”

“
Forty million people were killed in the new world,” said Christa, “most of them not by an army, but diseases for which they had no defense. Smallpox, measles and bubonic plague, all easily spread. It was a deadly battle against an enemy they could not fight.”

“
Because they did not know how,” Donohue said.

Christa picked up the glass of Scotch, the golden liquor swirling with the clear water. “Contreras told me that people should be afraid of something that connects all of us, every day. He used the words l’eau de vie.”

“
The water of life,” Percival said.

“
He used the examples of Princeton and New York City,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense. Contreras wouldn’t poison me. He’s gone through a lot of trouble to get me to track down what he needs.” She raised the glass to her lips.

Donohue knocked it away. “He didn’t give you a poison,” Donohue said. “He gave you an antidote. You’ve already been poisoned. We all have.” Donohue slammed his fist on the desk. “He’s infiltrated the cities’ water systems.”

“
Contreras said the poison intensifies primitive emotions, paranoia, violence and delusions,” she said. “In one week, everyone goes stark, raving mad and murders anyone they think is out to get them.”

“
Like the villagers,” Percival said. “They relied on the river systems of the rain forest. They still do.”

“
That’s why Contreras is after Gabriella’s findings,” said Donohue. “She was working on the antidote. Contreras thinks that she found it. But she knew about Contreras’s scheme. She’d never let him have the antidote and she could hold the only way to stop him.”

“
He doesn’t want to find Gabriella’s journal,” said Christa. “He wants to destroy it.”

“
Mission priority number one,” Donohue said. “Retrieve that journal. Think like her. Where would she keep it?”

“
It might be at her greenhouse,” Christa said, “where she conducts most of her research.”

Donohue checked his watch, worn military-style, clock face on the inside of his wrist. “Christa, double time it to Gabriella’s greenhouse,” Donohue said. “We’ll keep searching here. I’ll get my contact at CDC to test the water and call in my team. Hunter and I will strategize a plan to extract Lucia. If the world was created in seven days, we can certainly save it in that time.”

She didn’t point out that those were the words Contreras used only a few hours ago.

CHAPTER
25

Braydon peered out of his Impala’s window at the Hunter home. His blackberry vibrated in his pocket. Percival Hunter’s front door opened. Christa emerged, slung her pack over her shoulder, and hurried down the walk. The pack was the same one she had in Arizona, but it didn’t bulge out. She wasn’t taking the armillary sphere wherever she was going. She climbed into the Volkswagen, pulled away.

He could tail her or stick with the sphere and this new player, the ex-military guy. He pulled away from the curb and followed her. She turned the corner onto Winslow.

He glanced down at the text message. It was from Torrino.
Prophet kidnapped LH. I quit.

Damn. He was too late. Contreras had his talons on the little girl. Braydon punched the contacts button for Torrino’s phone, risking that Torrino was in a position to talk, or at least answer the call. This might be one of the few times he could catch him alone.

Torrino picked up on the first ring. “What are ya doin’, calling me?” He sounded scared.

“
I take it you can talk,” he said. “Where are you?”

“
Question is, where am I going? Answer is, outta here.”

“
Are you badly hurt?”

“
Like you care. I told you. The Prophet, he’s crazy. I’m not going back.”

“
What do you know about the kidnapping?”

“
Nothing,” he nearly shouted, then lowered his voice back to an angry whisper. “I had nothing to do with hurting no little girl. And I want nothing to do with any of it, no more.”

Christa turned onto Elm Street. Did Christa know Lucia had been kidnapped? Had they been contacted? Braydon could try forcing her to pull over, insist she tell him what they know, but she was the type to clam up rather than give in. Stubborn. A loner. Like him, damn it.

Christa’s bug turned onto Dickinson Street, headed right for the heart of Princeton campus. What was she up to? Had Contreras been bold enough to set up a ransom drop in his own back yard? He was practically a de facto landowner considering how much money his pharmaceutical corporation had donated to the University. NewWorld paid for most of the clinical trials at the University medical center. What better venue to try out new drugs? No doubt Contreras sent his “employees” there, as well, to keep track of their healthcare. Contreras liked control. Torrino was Lucia’s best chance. He couldn’t risk letting him go.