The Grotto's Secret: A Historical Conspiracy Mystery Thriller (7 page)

21

26 April 2010, Andalusia, Spain

Gary Wade puffed up the steep incline. Slivers of sweat trickled out of his cycling helmet, down his nose and through his panting lips, leaving him with a salty mouth.

His good leg cramped and strained to reach the top. Strange how his other leg spun around effortlessly, despite it only being half a leg.

He had set himself a fifty kilometre ride for the day. Nothing too severe, yet not too gentle either with a manageable gradient and a couple of climbs to get his heart monitor beeping. Strapped across his chest, it sent his distance, speed and heart rate, as well as the route’s incline and decline, to his watch.

On the four-hour ride, he’d set a good pace, keeping in high gear as often as possible but still enjoying the countryside rolling past him.

Gary glanced over his shoulder. Around them green rolling hills meandered through the Guadalhorce Valley between Malaga and Marbella.

As usual Mark had shot ahead. His friend may be better up hills, but boy, oh, boy, Gary would punish him on the straights.

Now Gary had committed to do the charity cycle for
Help for Heroes
, his school friend was a good buddy to join his training programme. They’d always been fit, but this trip around Andalusia would make his legs stronger.

As he powered up the hill, he grabbed a few mouthfuls of water. A few sips were better than large gulps. He unzipped his cycling top to allow as much air as possible to cool his overheating body as he made the ascent. Gary concentrated hard on his breathing. Nearly at the top.

He glanced at the tall ladder of bizarre limestone formations towering over the landscape. Despite its steep rock faces, El Torcal plateaued on top into a vast labyrinth of rocky crevices. Sierra del Torcal was next on his fitness hit list. They were hiking it tomorrow before they returned home for the charity ride.

Mark had planned a perfect send-off in the mysterious monastery
Abadía de Torcal,
clinging to the cliff edge, which now served as an exclusive spa retreat. Their famous hot stones treatment apparently worked miracles. He couldn’t wait to feel the effects on his gammy leg.

It had long been his dream to climb the 1,300 metre elevation to check out the spectacular pinnacles and spires in the geological curiosity. Another field-test to spur the new leg into catching up with his body and mind. El Torcal wouldn’t beat him. No-one would. Never. Not even the Afghan who’d launched the rocket that blew off his leg.

His first prosthetic was a basic model from the UK’s National Health Service, which allowed him to stand and walk, but was nothing special. The stump made him feel as if he was walking on stilts with his phantom foot constricting as if it had been glued into his shoe.

He’d consulted specialists and now his legs were designed to crack most sporting activities. This particular leg could pivot at the ankle and included a robust shock absorber that could endure heavy drops when walking down steep hillsides.

With his family by his side and a growing pile of new legs, he had so much to look forward to. He loved this. The freedom of riding in the country and exploring a new culture. Totally awesome.

In a burst of exhilaration, Gary started the incline, all plans driven from his head. Blowing hard, he concentrated his eyeline at a point four metres in front of the bike, keeping his pedal rhythm steady. Now and then, he flicked his eyes at his watch to check his heart rate was holding a steady one-fifty-sixty rate. With his cardiovascular coming under pressure, and his quads starting to burn, he preferred staying in the saddle rather than standing on the pedals, forcing himself to accept the pain. The more he increased his endurance capabilities now, the better he’d cope during his Lands’ End charity ride. Even though he was gasping for air, a thrill flooded through him.

As he reached the brow of the hill, he glanced over the other side. Mark wasn’t even a speck of dust in the valley. Gary frowned, hoping Mark hadn’t taken a wrong turn and got lost. Sure, the place was out on a limb, but they’d gone over the Guadalhorce route a few times so he should be on track. Maybe he’d gone into the bush for a leak.

Gary bolted over the brow and the road fell away dramatically. Gathering speed, Gary’s mountain bike hurtled down the hill at forty kilometres an hour. As he raced down the treacherous descent, he clung to the handlebars. While he tried to maintain balance, he corrected the bike’s desire to drift towards a steep cliff on the side of the road.

Suddenly his front tyre hit rubble and veered to the left. He corrected the steering, but couldn’t stop it gunning into a gully along the rocky verge. Gary’s heart raced. Sweat saturated his armpits.

The wheel took on a life of its own.

The front tyre crashed into a crag and rammed between two huge boulders, wedging itself like an arrow into bark. Gary jettisoned forward, his arms and legs flailing, automatically preparing to cushion his landing. Instead, he somersaulted and his left shoulder smashed into the bedrock. His cycling shirt ripped on a jagged point, tearing his skin beneath. A sharp blast of pain bit into his arm.

As the back of his helmet struck the granite wall, Gary lost consciousness.

22

Gary’s eyes fluttered open. It seemed as though a pneumatic drill hammered in his head, as if builders were digging up the dirt road right behind him. He tasted copper in his mouth and knew he’d bitten
his tongue.

For a moment, his memory blurred. Within seconds, he became aware everything ached. It felt as though his hip was smashed. Thankfully, his left side had taken the brunt, but he wasn’t sure how much his right could endure with a third of it missing. Slowly and carefully, he wriggled his toes. Then he flexed his joints, from his ankles to his neck. Nothing bust.

Instant relief swept through him. Abrasions, criss-crossing his palms and elbows, left blood smears across his clothes. Suddenly, a vision of his daughter stood in front of him, her thin cotton shirt billowing in the fresh mountain breeze.

‘Annie? Is that you, pumpkin?’ he croaked, blinking his eyes to focus on the silhouette blocking the sun. No, it couldn’t be Annie, this angel was much older than his at home.

Gary smiled and raised himself onto his shoulder. ‘
Buenos días
.’ As the movement sent another flash of pain through his upper body, he grunted and bit away the agony.

‘
No se mueva
!’ The girl repeated herself in stilted English, ‘Don’t … move.’

From the corner of his eye, he saw a long, bloody gash almost slicing his bicep in two. He shifted his flank and jabbed his other elbow under him. Leaning on his right side, he glanced at the girl. She knelt at his side.

Long tendrils of dark hair fought to escape her riding helmet while her bronzed skin glowed with a sheen. The sun was warmer than earlier, so he tried to shake the pain from his head, but it refused to budge.

The girl pointed. His eyes followed her finger. In the field to his right a horse grazed happily, its ebony coat gleaming. He snorted, his glossy mane shaking off the flies.

‘Can I?’

Gary looked back at the girl kneeling beside him. Her slim, bronzed hand dipped into a leather pouch and came out a slimy green. Without asking again, she smeared the green slime down his torn bicep.

Amazed at the girl’s self-assurance, Gary watched and tried to guess her age. Probably twelve or thirteen, but with her self-confidence she could easily pass as a young adult.

The cool, damp paste instantly relieved the needles of pain piercing his muscle. He frowned and peered at her fingers massaging the jelly-like seaweed into his wound. His nose wrinkled. It smelt like a dirty fish tank. The dark oozing blood faded from a ripe cherry-red to a military green. He gaped as his blood was absorbed into the slimy jelly and disappeared, taking with it the dull ache of his bruised shoulder.

‘Gee, that looks and smells yuck, but it feels great.’ He was going to say it was gold dust, but he’d learnt not to use slang with Spanish people, as most of it got lost in translation.

She laughed and said in perfect English, ‘Yes, it’s gross, but it works
a treat.’

‘Hey, you’re English.’

‘Bit of both.’

He watched in shock as the jagged flesh seemed to knit together. A shout tore his attention away from the wound. Down the track, Mark’s legs gyrated, biting on traction to get to them fast. Again, Mark yelled out, ‘You okay, buddy?’

Gary waved. ‘I’m in good hands. This little angel saved the day.’

The girl grabbed Gary’s water bottle lying near him with its lid open. She tilted it upside down and a drop leaked out. She emptied the rest of the slime from her pouch into the bottle. Only then did he notice the strange symbol branded into the leather. A curly X with equally strange motifs scrolling beneath it.

‘What the hell is that?’

She shrugged and grinned. ‘It works for Midnight.’ She inclined her head to the elegant pony nuzzling dried grass in the field.

There was a skid as Mark’s brakes crunched gravel and chewed up dirt. Mark called out, ‘You loafing again, Wade?’

The girl stretched out her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Wade.’

‘Wait. Don’t go. I want you to meet my friend.’ He didn’t want to frighten her off by saying he wanted to find out more about the stuff and where she’d got it.

As Mark strode towards them, removing his helmet, the girl ran off, waving and calling out, ‘One more should be all it needs to heal.
Hasta la vista
.’

He didn’t even know the young angel’s name. Gary stared at the symbol, fixing it in his mind. Maybe that would lead him to the source. Again, he stared in amazement at the pesto-like paste on his arm. He couldn’t see underneath the slime, but the wound had stopped bleeding with a strange tightening sensation. He may have to tone down his story of what happened. Mark would certainly give him stick about stinking like a pond. If it could be successfully tested, it might give him a hike in salary. That would make Stacie happy. She refused any help from Kelby.

Thank goodness the girl had left him a sample. He didn’t want to go back with stories about his arm being injured — with nothing to prove it.

Then he’d
really
be without a leg to stand on.

23

Gary stared at Gorden. Why on earth was he reacting that way? By now the slime paste reeked even more than it had a few weeks ago in Spain. The beer fridge in his man-cave shed at home stunk to high-heaven, but he wasn’t going to give up his last sample without some kind of commitment from MG.

‘The test results are confidential.’

‘But
I
gave you the stuff.
Surely
you can give me an idea of how things are going.’

The sounds of cars revving and taxi horns vying for their space in the bustling London traffic outside didn’t do much to steady his nerves. Mark had told him he didn’t have the mettle to stand up to a global conglomerate such as MG. But he dug his heels in deeper. He wouldn’t let Gorden get the better of him. No way.

‘You expect us to believe some girl gave you this paste which healed the wound. You don’t know what it’s called or what it does, but it healed your arm super-fast — though you can’t prove it.’

Gary nodded, agitation rising from his stomach. The thought of a potential pay rise had disappeared with the results of the wound on his bicep. This gunk was incredible. It had to be seen to be believed. All he wanted was the promise of doing the right thing, but the whole story had started to stink, more than the sample.

‘What are you expecting? Miracles?’ Gorden scoffed.

Gary stood his ground. He wasn’t stupid; he’d done his homework. ‘I checked with the scientists. They told me they’d found something amazing.’

Gorden’s face froze. ‘Oh, they did, did they?’

Suddenly Gary realised he’d put his foot in it. His only sodding foot. He didn’t want to get the fellas in trouble.

‘Let’s make a deal. You tell me where you
really
found it and I’ll show you the test results myself.’

‘I told you, I didn’t get her name.’ They didn’t buy his story about a young girl healing his arm and their questions had made his hackles rise. Without mentioning any of this to Stacie or Kelby, he had done some nosing around of his own. Getting cosy with the scientists had upped his ante. Even better, finding out about an ancient secret remedy had given his story strength. But listening to this crap wasn’t cutting it with him. He estimated what this would be worth on the open market, but he had hoped the company would work with him. It might not help amputees grow back their limbs, but the potential to speed up other forms of healing sparked his interest.

‘What if we flew you there to get more samples? Would that do it for you?’

‘Gorden, I’ve already told you, I have no idea where the girl came from. But, sure, flying me over to scout around could help me find her and get more of the stuff.’ He flexed his bad leg.

Gorden slumped back in his chair and locked his fingers around the back of his head. Gorden’s gaze was meant to disarm his adversary, but Gary wasn’t rattled. ‘Before that I want your written assurance any more samples will be openly tested and findings will be shown to the UK and EU drug testing councils or whatever they’re called.’

Gorden gave a discreet cough. Gary stiffened. Damn, he should have looked up the name of the drug testing place. Being armed with that kind of info would have given him more kudos with Gorden.
Damn, damn, damn!

What did Kelby say? Forearmed is forewarned. She said those who know something is coming are better prepared to face it than those who don’t know. He could kick himself, despite having only one foot. Paying attention to that kind of insider info would have allowed him to be one up on Gorden. More importantly, it would have allowed him to prepare for trouble.

‘Listen, Wade, if you’re buying time to get MG to offer a big payout, forget it.’

‘What?’

‘And don’t even think about trying to sell it on the black market, either. You’ll get yourself buried in shit.’

‘Hey, I don’t need this crap. I brought you something I stupidly thought would interest MG. It seems I was wrong.’ He spun on his good heel and marched to the door. Under his prosthetic foot, the floor squeaked and released a faint smell of pine floor cleaner. For a strange moment it reminded him of the hospital where Annie was born.

‘Wait! You’re our only link. We’ll send the scientists with you to Spain. They’ll support you in any way possible.’

Gary swivelled his head and eyed Gorden. ‘And you’ll make that promise?’

‘Yes, I will. You’re a decent bloke, Wade. I can see that now. You’re only interested in getting the benefit out to the world.’

‘What did you think?’

‘Sorry, I should’ve trusted you from the word go.’ Gorden rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Start over?’

Gary hesitated, but decided to trust Gorden.
Who else would believe his strange story?
He strode back to Gorden’s desk and shook his hand.

‘What would you like to do first?’ Gorden asked softly.

‘I have a tiny bit left at home in my shed. Why don’t you get the guys in the basement to start processing it while we head to Spain to see if we can find the girl?’

‘Not downstairs. We’ll do further tests in 42A.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Under lock and key.’

‘Why?’

‘Some people will kill to get their hands on this.’