The Pandora Chronicles - Book 1 (A Scifi Adventure Thriller) (10 page)

He made his way down to the teacher’s desk and smiled at Nick.
 

"Interesting lecture, Professor Solomon."

Nick glanced at the other man with him, this one built like a flesh wall; one of those thick, stubby men, almost as wide as they are tall. Nick noticed he had one of those earpieces in his ear—a bodyguard, no doubt.

The first man spoke again.

"Alejandro Astrid,” he said by way of an introduction. When he extended his arms, Nick noticed a fine Italian silk shirt emerge beneath the sleeve of a Hugo Boss suit as well as a nineteenth century cufflink.

"You have expensive tastes, Mr. Astrid," Nick said, shaking the man’s hand. He felt no need to introduce himself—the man clearly knew who he was.

"I can afford it, Professor Solomon," Astrid replied. He fiddled with the cufflink. "Antiques are a particular hobby of mine."

Nick let out a small snort.
 

That type again
, he thought.
 

Ever since he branched out into the authentication business, he'd met hundreds of guys like this one. Rich, well-groomed billionaires, probably an heir or a CEO of an oil company or a chain of superstores, who watched way too many Indiana Jones movies and fancied themselves as collectors. The sad part was, these guys usually had some authentic pieces locked away, stuff that belonged in museums, to be shared with the rest of the world.

"Consulting rates are on my website," Nick replied dismissively.

He began walking away but the bodyguard blocked him in.

"Dude," Nick said. "Seriously not in the mood."

"Forgive my associate, Professor," Astrid said. "I just want to show you something that I think might interest you."
 

He held up what looked like a blackened, silver coin. Nick was about to retort with a very rude comeback, but something on that coin sent a cold shiver down his spine.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, his tone filled with wonder. He opened his case and extracted a multi-tool. Selecting a small magnifying lens, he took the coin and examined it.

It was indeed silver, and very old. The Latin markings placed it around the sixteen-hundreds, towards the turn of the century. Nick could make out the words
entrance
and
order
on the coin, but without sitting down and spending a few minutes with it, he wasn't going to be able to fully decipher the etchings on the side. Most of the engraved images had blackened over the years.
 

What really caught his attention, however, was the carving of a large man holding out a globe. On the other side of the coin were similar etchings, this time of a crowd bowing down.

Those images stirred back memories, reminding Nick of the stories he was taught back home.
 

Nick had been brought up in a cult of sorts, in a large nomadic compound, much like the ones hippies used to live on. Except these people didn’t advocate flower power. Instead, they brainwashed kids like him, telling them stories about monsters and alien gods, and how man is a mutation created by those gods. For that reason, they trained like a militia, and were forced to memorize every major historical detail so as to spot any possible alien presence. Nick remembered how miserable life was, particularly for him.
 

They had told him he was special, that he was chosen by God. Everyone expected him to be super human.
 

No wonder he hightailed it out of there at the age of sixteen.

Bunch of looneys
, he thought, pushing the memories aside.

Astrid loomed over like a hawk.

"Fascinating, yes?"

"Indeed," Nick replied. "I've never come across this particular type of coin. It appears to be a marker of some kind."

Astrid beamed, revealing a set of painfully bright dentures. "Yes. That is a mark of Initiation of the Order."

"The Order? Is that any order, or with a capital
O
?" Nick asked, half-joking.

"Yes."

Nick's eyebrows shot up. "Are you a Tom Clancy fan, Mr. Astrid?"

"I do not see the validity of that reference," the man replied curtly. "The Order was a secret society originating in Europe in the seventeenth century. Spain, to be exact. Right after Columbus's voyage."

Nick Solomon let out a sigh. "Mr. Astrid, I hate to burst your bubble, but there were hundreds of secret societies during that period. The world was changing. People thought the Queen was either God or the Devil. The same went for Spain, France, Holland, and Portugal. The New World, good old America, was full of its own cultures, which then the monarchs generously wiped out. Not to mention the conflicts between the Catholic and Protestants churches. Not exactly stable times.”

"Yes, Professor, I am fully aware of that," Astrid said, extracting a small tablet device from his jacket. He uncovered the flap and tapped the gadget several times.
 

"Perhaps a little documented evidence might persuade you,” he said, handing Nick the tablet.

Nick began scrolling through the images and found himself staring at multiple photographs of the same ledger, one with a red leather cover. The word
order
could be faintly made out on the front. The next images were of pictures of old, faded paper full of handwritten text, each detailing voyages, missions, or a conspiracy. Twice, he caught references to stories of deities coming down to aid mankind, giving us tools and knowledge.
 

They were familiar stories—too familiar.

And then, he noticed it. It was just a fleeting thought, but he knew exactly where it led. This was why he never went anywhere near myths and legends, not anymore. His mind could filter fact from fiction, something which these rich megalomaniacs with “clues” to Atlantis clearly could not.

"El Dorado,” he read. “The Golden One.” He tore his eyes off the tablet and looked Astrid in the eyes, searching for signs of mental instability. “You’re kidding, right?"

"It's a clue, yes?" Astrid asked.

"It's insane." Nick found himself sighing again and handed over the tablet. "Mr. Astrid, let me be straight with you. There are millions of so-called clues and leads to lost cities of gold, and alien civilizations, and crystal skulls, and Arks of the Covenant. But they are all stories, Mr. Astrid. The last genius who had the bright idea of trying to find El Dorado wound up dead with malaria and cholera. They found him years later in the Peruvian jungle. So, do yourself a favor, Mr. Astrid, and forget about this. It’s a legend, that’s all. A bedtime story. Leave it at that."

Astrid's eyes turned into ice before he put on his poker face again.

"Very well, Mr. Solomon," he said. "I thank you for taking the time to speak with me." He extracted a business card and a three hundred dollar fountain pen. "This is my contact address. Should you change your mind, come visit me. We would have much to discuss."
 

And without another word, he spun on his heels and headed towards the door.
 

"Hey, wait,” Nick yelled after him. Astrid turned his head, and Nick held up the coin. “You left this.”

"It is a useless trinket, Professor. I have many more at home. Keep it."

Nick considered that, but he knew that if he kept that coin, it would stare back at him, nudging at his mind. It would poke at his thoughts with that nagging voice, the same voice that told him to accept any expedition, so long as it was
an
expedition.
 

But El Dorado was just a legend, a pipe dream, and it would break his heart.
 

"Hey, Big Guy,” Nick called out to bodyguard.
 

The steroid case turned to glare at him with the same expression worn by an enraged Hulk. Solomon flicked the coin in his direction and the bodyguard caught it on reflex.

Nick grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

***

Secret Government Base, some time later.

Director Stanley Briggs was sipping his third cup of coffee that morning. He hated waiting as much as the next guy, but eight years as director of an agency so secret it would be considered terroristic, had ingrained patience in him. But sometimes, he needed his adrenaline. It would certainly wake him up on this day.
 

Two nights: that’s how long the Spanish millionaire had been on US soil, and that was how long his agency had been on alert.

Today, it looked like his wish for action would be granted.
 

The control room was small and tight, crammed full of laboring tech operators and even more computer screens. Technology was not his favorite thing in the world; it was easy to hide one’s intention behind a keyboard.

“Astrid made contact with Red Target,” one of the operators reported.

Briggs pursed his lips. He remembered reading Red Target’s file—an archaeology and history professor who had caught a lucky break. Nowadays, he fancied himself the Indiana Jones type.

The only surveillance footage they had so far was of a man in his thirties partying like a college frat boy. Briggs remembered his disgust when reading the file—at that age he was still serving with the SEALs and very close to joining the counter-espionage business.

Briggs was a disciplined warrior and something about Red Target just pissed him off.

A dark, predatory smile crept on his lips.
 

“Let’s ruin this guy’s day.”

Chapter 15

For Nick, shopping was always an interesting experience. He preferred getting his own groceries, although often he wondered why he bothered stocking the fridge he had in his apartment when he was hardly ever there.
 

Sure, he slept there, but most of his waking hours were spent at the office. He’d even put a flat screen and a couch in there.

As he walked down the aisles, he picked out items and dumped them into his cart. Despite his lifestyle, he still took care of his body and diet. The way he figured it, if he ate well, then he could handle the partying. Besides, having your own food at the college was a good idea. Anything was better than the cafeteria slop they made students eat.
 

Worse yet, it was organic slop—as if that somehow made it any better.

He waited in line for his turn at the cashier. His lessons were over for the day, but those papers weren't going to grade themselves. Besides, it was Friday, and no way was he going to miss that concert after having saved up for those tickets. Finally, it was his turn, and he quickly dumped a dozen items on the counter as the pretty lady behind it worked the barcode reader. She swiped his card and smiled. Danielle was her name, and she looked like a college student. The first thing Solomon noticed was how cute she was, in a girl-next-door kind of way.

"I'm sorry, Sir,” she said, frowning at the piece of plastic Nick handed her. “The machine keeps rejecting your card."

Nick grimaced at the card and fumbled in his wallet.

"Try this one," he said with a smile that made her blush a little.

"I'm so sorry, Sir," she said after trying again. "This one is no good either."

Solomon took the card, checking it for scratches. He had money in the damn thing, so why wouldn't it work? He made a mental note to call the bank first thing tomorrow morning.

"Let's try this the old-fashioned way, then,” he said, handing her some banknotes.

Once outside, he dumped the bags in the car and extracted his cell phone. No service. He saw a guy walk past chatting away on a Bluetooth earpiece. Clearly,
he
had service.
 

What the hell was going on?

Panic was starting to surface as he got to his car and drove off to his office. Once there, the groceries were dumped on the couch, and he went to his computer. He tried logging into his school account but got rejected.

“Hey, Ty,” he called.
 

Tyrone’s head appeared from the kitchen with a spoon in his mouth.

“I’m outta the system,” Nick said. “Could you do me a favor and log into your account?”

Tyrone put down his pudding cup. “What for?”

Nick considered telling him about Astrid and his growing suspicion that the millionaire had somehow exacted revenge for Nick’s refusal. But he had no proof yet, nothing he could give to the police—just a theory and a myth about a lost city of gold.

“Just try looking me up,” Nick said. “Maybe they got a bug or something.”

Tyrone nodded and tapped at the keyboard. He frowned, paused, and began typing again, his frown deepening with each keystroke.

“Erm… Teach?”

“Yeah?”

“I dunno how to tell you, but you’re out of the system.”

“I know. Hence my asking you to check.”

“Nah, Teach. I mean you out of
the
system,” Tyrone insisted. “Try Googling your name.”

Nick pulled up the search engine and typed in his name, expecting to see the usual articles emboldening his name and National Geographic links detailing his achievements.