The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel (6 page)

CHAPTER TEN

One by one they
arrived. Some by air, others by boat. Their destination was the island of
Tagomago
, part of the Balearic Island’s chain of Spain. The
small private island, located due east of the Spanish mainland, appeared on the
surface to have all the trappings of a wealthy man’s paradise. Its steep cliff
walls rising out of an azure colored sea were topped with lush green
vegetation, creating a breathtaking view for travelers lucky enough to fly over
the tiny Eden.

As
with most undeveloped islands, a single road running northwest to southeast,
connected the far-flung reaches of the isle with the main living area situated
almost at the dead center of the tiny speck of land. A single harbor on the
east side of the island served those arriving by sea, and a small, but
meticulously maintained helicopter pad north of the main compound, allowed for
the safe landing of the visitors arriving by air.

The
island was home to Frances
Dumond
, the lead member of
the Alliance, an unlikely group of wealthy captains of industry. The names of
the members of this secretive cabal sounded like a
Who’s Who
list from the Forbes 500. Normally, fierce competitors,
on this day, they gathered as willing partners on a venture unlike any other.
Unlike typical board meetings taking place in the financial and industrial
centers of the western world, this group gathered in the sprawling compound
overlooking the Mediterranean Ocean to hear an update on their unusual
partnership.

As
the four arriving members and one guest took their seats at the oval shaped
table, a man with tidy yellow hair and piercing blue eyes entered the room from
a door concealed in an alcove in the
side wall
. He
strode purposefully to an open spot near the center of one side of the great
table, keenly aware that all eyes were upon him. Finally arriving, he took his
time straightening his outfit before sitting.

“Nice
of you to finally join us
Dumond
,” Johan
Kristoph
commented. The founder of
Heimat
Energie
was the oldest member of the group and felt
that he should be the leader (a fact he frequently reminded his junior
partners).

“Good
to see you, too,
Kristoph
,”
Dumond
replied.

The
others present appeared entertained by the icy exchange between the two men.

“What’s
the status of the project?” Margaret
Seivers
, CEO of
Composite Materials Corporation, asked pleasantly, changing the subject.

“It
appears Dr. Randall and his graduate students have disappeared into the ruins.
Colonel
Ackers
reports he and his men are searching
for them as we speak,”
Dumond
replied.

 
“You mean they lost them? How is that
possible?
Ackers
is incompetent. We never should have
trusted him with this assignment,”
Kristoph
complained.

“Patience
Kristoph
.
Ackers
has never
let us down before,”
Dumond
said in a calm voice. “He
also intercepted a phone call from Dr. Andrade to Randall’s daughter. It
appears she has recently departed from the University with a small party to try
and find her father.”

“How
do you know this,
Dumond
?” asked Rheingold Gerhardt,
Kristoph’s
first lieutenant.

“I
have eyes everywhere, my friends. In a game such as this, one cannot afford to
be outwitted by his adversaries. Information is the key to our success,”
Dumond
said.

“These
eyes you mention, Mr.
Dumond
, where else, may I ask,
do you have them?” Alfredo
Reynoso
, President of
Comunicacion
Nacional
, inquired
with a raised eyebrow.

“Gentleman,
we need to concentrate on the task at hand,” Margaret
Seivers
interjected once again, trying to break the tension. “Let’s remember it was Mr.
Dumond
who approached
us
with this idea and he has always provided us with the services
we require. I’m sure he will do so once again.”

Unsatisfied
by Margaret’s reassurances,
Jianyu
Chang, the CEO of
shipping giant Shanxi Shipping Lines, continued the direct line of questioning
generating nods of agreement from others around the table. “Should we have any
concerns about these latest developments?”
Jianyu
persisted. “Are we sure Randall hasn’t escaped and is in contact with the
authorities?”

“We’ve
poured a great deal of resources into this venture, and eventually, we will all
need to show a return for our investment. I’m becoming concerned that your plan
may not succeed,” Alfred
Reynoso
commented.

Trying
to restore order to the meeting,
Dumond
spoke in a
low, calm voice, “My friends, I would remind you that each of you entered into
this arrangement willingly. Each of you rose to your current status by taking
risks that others deemed as unacceptable. Furthermore, you are each poised to
reap tremendous rewards once our project is complete.”

The
room went quiet after
Dumond
delivered his message.
Once again, he demonstrated why, in a group of highly successful people, he was
chosen as their leader.

Dumond
continued his lecture, “As Ms.
Seivers
pointed out,
we
have to
stay focused on the objective at hand. Aside from a few academics, we are the
only people who know about the discovery of
Paititi
and the
ruins which
might lead to
Vilcabamba
.
Without hard proof of their existence, those who support the professor would
never dare to come forward and claim he has evidence that a highly advanced
civilization exits in the rainforest. Aside from this minor setback, we hold
all of the cards. I feel confident that the professor, his colleagues and even
his daughter are no match for Colonel
Ackers
and his
men. Within a few days, we will possess the power source from the ruins and we
will dispose of those who could come forward to expose our plans.”

All
of the Alliance members appeared satisfied with
Dumond’s
assessment…except for one.
Kristoph
locked eyes with
the unspoken leader of the group.

“You
had better be right,
Dumond
,”
Kristoph
said, pushing himself to his feet and striding to the door. His footfalls
clicked loudly on the travertine tiles. With that, the industrialists each got
up from the table and began to follow him out, leaving
Dumond
behind. Johan
Kristoph
and Rheingold Gerhardt walked
together to their helicopter, while the others dispersed independently.
Dumond
watched
Kristoph
and
Gerhardt closely as they walked.
Kristoph
was very
animated, almost flapping his arms to emphasize his point to Gerhardt. For his
part, Gerhardt seemed to look on in subdued amusement.
Dumond
continued to watch until their helicopter carried them deep into the sunlit
sky.

Of
all of the members of The Alliance,
Kristoph
was the
least stable and seemed to be in a constant state of dissatisfaction.
Dumond
found this odd for a man who possessed such great
wealth and power, but then he reasoned that insecurity
can
do that to a man. Despite his enormous empire,
Kristoph
was like a petulant child who became angry when he did not get his way. He had
been unhappy with the choice of sending
Ackers
and
his men to handle this assignment, but the rest of the group had been in
agreement that
Ackers
was the right man for the job.
Dumond
was certain that had it not been for
Kristoph’s
constant grousing, the other members would have
fallen into line much more easily.

Dumond
turned from the huge pane of glass
and walked down the hallway into his office. From there, he checked his
computer for an update about Dr. Samantha Randall and her team. It appeared
that they were on their way to find Dr. Randall’s father. “Good,” he thought.
If
Ackers
could not find the elder Dr. Randall, his
daughter would be a good bargaining chip to lure him out of hiding.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The jungle was an
almost impenetrable wall of vegetation. Sam and her group had spent the
previous day walking through the maze-like structure of the rainforest, and she
had realized that without the elder’s son, they would have been doomed to roam
the jungle in circles until they collapsed from exhaustion. The heat and
humidity were overwhelming, but Sam’s desire was stronger than ever to find her
father. The guide had been moving at a quick pace, but now he stopped.

“What’s
going on?” Monica asked.

“I’m
not sure. Monica, could you…”
Sam was cut off by a sudden
rumbling
, and the earth beneath their feet began to rock. The group
steadied themselves as the earth shook violently. After about fifteen seconds,
the movement stopped.

“What
was that?” Jorge asked nervously.

“It
felt like an earthquake, I think that’s what hit us when we were on the river.
Monica, can you ask the guide if this is common?”

Before
she could ask the question, the guide spoke.

“He
says that this has been happening more frequently, lately,” Monica translated.
“According to his people, this is a sign that the great unification is near.”

“How
often, Monica?” Sam asked

“Every
day.”

“This
is the second one in just a few hours. That’s not good. We’d better keep
moving, I get the feeling we don’t have a lot of time,” Sam said.

Just
as the words exited Sam’s lips, Jorge dropped to the ground in front of her,
his head exploding into a million pieces of bloody flesh. Monica screamed as
pieces of his brain splashed onto her shirt and pants. Before they could react,
Anselmo
, also fell to his knees, his eyes open wide
in disbelief as bullets ripped through his torso. His eyes blinked and his
mouth moved slowly, trying to speak, but the only sounds that came from the
dying man were primal gurgling sounds. Sam grabbed the horror-stricken Monica
and pushed her through a small opening in the overgrown vegetation.

“Run!”
Sam screamed

 
The two women stumbled through the
jungle, nearly tripping over the vines and roots littering the floor of the
jungle. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of gunfire interspersed
with cursing. Sam’s heart raced as her thoughts turned toward a simple idea:
I need to survive
. The thick brush
slapped at her face and arms, but they didn’t dare slow down. They ran for what
felt like miles. Ahead, Sam saw the shapes of two dark-clad figures sweeping
through the jungle looking for them. Sam stopped suddenly and dropped to the
ground, pulling Monica down with her. She covered Monica’s mouth with her hand
suppressing a scream.

They
sat motionless as the figures passed and then moved in the opposite direction.
Just then, Sam heard the sound of a gentle whoosh of air followed by exploding
tree bark. Monica’s screaming commenced once again. Lunging more than running,
Sam pushed herself forward, pulling the interpreter behind her through the
dense vegetation. The sound of heavy footsteps followed closely behind.

Cover, we need cover, somewhere to
hide
, Sam thought. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears and
could feel the adrenaline coursing through her body. Their muscles burned with
fatigue, but the two women kept moving forward through the jungle, bullets
whizzing by them. Their pursuers were getting closer.

Why are they chasing us? What do they
want?
Sam’s mind searched for answers, but there were none.
Just fear and running.
Keep running or
die
,
played like a broken tape looping through her mind.

Sam
listened, intently. The sound of their pursuers had disappeared. She dropped to
her knees, pulling Monica down by her side again. The two women shimmied under
a fallen tree, sheltered at last. Sam tried to calm her breathing. Looking at
Monica, she could see that the young interpreter was catatonic. Sam scanned the
area around them, looking for telltale signs of movement. There was nothing.
She heard a sound behind them. Turning, she found herself looking down the barrel
of a military assault rifle. There was no escape. As if to punctuate the
thought, the two figures that had passed by them earlier materialized from the
brush. They were surrounded.

“Dr.
Randall, I presume?” a grinning figure asked, menacingly.

“Who
the hell are you and what do you want with us?” Sam defiantly responded.

“That’s
not important, professor. Someone wants to meet you. Get up and make no sudden
movements.”

Monica
grasped Sam’s arm like a small child afraid to lose her mother.

“It’s
okay, Monica,” Sam said.