Authors: Pamela Hegarty
The old man nodded.
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As I told you over the radio,” Gabriella said. “I showed Luna’s map from the armillary sphere to Jairo. Now that we know where to look, he recognized the landmark. What Tristan de Luna called Demon’s Wings the locals call the Rock of the Black Eagle.”
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Donohue eyeballed it from the air. He says that it’s three miles northwest of here, up in the foothills,” said Christa.
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In the forbidden territory,” Gabriella added. “Head towards the Rock of the Black Eagle, which rises above the jungle. He says that legend claims that the eagle clawed away a clearing with its talons. The clearing is long grown over, but that is where you’ll find the entrance to the temple and, from there, the Oculto Canyon.” She fished a folded paper from her breast pocket and opened it.
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We?” It was a detailed botanical drawing of a plant, rendered in colored pencil. It had coarsely serrated, triangular leaves, a hairy stem, and a large flower with four broad, ruffled petals in yellow with a semi-circle of purple where the petal joined the bristly yellow center of the bloom. A cutaway drawing showed a green, bulbous pod, its pinched top crowned with a multi-spoked wheel of lime green.
Gabriella pointed to the sketch. “Jairo described this plant for me. When he was very young, he was too eager to try the ways of the shaman. In gleaning the poison from the dart frog, his finger slipped. The poison entered his system. He was dying. His father was desperate. His father ventured into the forbidden territory to search for the plant that legend says could heal his son,” she said. “His father would not speak of what he had seen there, but he returned with a plant which he and his fathers before him had never seen before. He dared only to bring a few leaves and seed pods from the forbidden territory, but he was able to extract the cure. Jairo lived. The leaves died and the seedlings would not flourish.”
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The antidote plant,” Christa said. “The plant that started all of this.”
Gabriella nodded. “This is the plant we seek. Jairo has seen it nowhere else in the jungle. It must be unique to the hidden canyon’s cloud forest microcosm. His father told him the legend says this plant grows alongside the stream that is the canyon’s blood, that whoever drinks the water in the stream will have life.”
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The Quesada expedition,” said Christa, “Alvaro Contreras gave his poisoned men the water to drink. It saved them.”
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The results should be immediate,” said Gabriella.
Christa took the sketch from Gabriella. “Got it,” she said. As if. She studied the sketch with a sick feeling in her stomach. The sketch was expertly drawn, no doubt about that, but within ten feet radius grew at least thirty different species of plant. The subtle shades of green were dizzying.
Gabriella slid her injured ankle in closer. She tried not to grimace. Percy groaned, as if sensing his wife’s pain. “I’m coming with you, Christa.”
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We don’t have time for this.”
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I’m the expert botanist. It’s my son whose life depends on finding the antidote plant.”
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I will find it, Gabby.”
I don’t know how, but I will.
If only she could truly believe that.
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There are things that you,” she hesitated, “don’t understand. It’s the Breastplate of Aaron. There are forces here, deadly forces.”
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You don’t think I can handle it.”
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You can’t,” she said. “You abandoned Dad. You don’t believe anymore. Not since Mom.”
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Abandoned him? I only stayed with Dad for as long as I did to take the pressure off you,” she said, “so you could be with Percy, start a family. Leave Mom out of this.”
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Haven’t you figured it out by now? Mom is why we are in this. My family might die because we didn’t find the Breastplate first.”
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Yet.” Christa pointed at her. “Didn’t find it first, yet.”
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I can’t give up, not when my husband and son could be dying.” She struggled to stand. Her ankle buckled.
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You aren’t giving up. You’re going to that clinic. You’re getting ready.”
And you’re on drugs if you think I’m going to let you slow us down.
“Believe in me, Gabriella. One last time.” Wanting to believe, it’s what got her into this mess in the first place. Now it might be the only thing that saves her.
Braydon jogged up to her side and crouched. He quickly surveyed Percival’s condition, and nodded to the shaman by way of greeting. Salaman nodded back. “Gabriella Devlin Hunter,” Braydon said. “Remember me? Special Agent Fox.” He shook her hand.
Gabriella narrowed her eyes. His good looks weren’t lost on her. Nor the determination in his eyes. “Fox,” she said. “My daughter’s favorite animal.”
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I was hoping for your sister’s.”
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I should go with you on this,” Gabriella said.
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We will get that antidote, Dr. Hunter. We will save your son in time. We may be at the doorway to Hell, but nothing is going to stop me from getting back.” He gestured to the four men nearby. They double-timed it over. Three of them surrounded Percival, lifted him bodily, one of them grabbing the IV bag. “We’ll complete the mission, double back to the clinic and medevac you two out of the clinic downstream.” They carried Percival towards the canoe. “Donohue’s medic was on the front line in Iraq,” he said. “Percival is in good hands, and that clinic has the equipment and supplies he needs. Christa, you get the intel?”
Christa showed him the sketch. Braydon eyed it intently, as if taking a mental photo. “This is Jairo Salaman,” she said. “He’s confirmed that the plant we need grows along the stream in the Oculto Canyon.”
Gabriella grabbed the canvas drawstring bag from the ground next to her and thrust it at Christa. “Fill this sack with the plant’s leaves, stems, and roots, but, most importantly, the seedpods. They’ll be the round balls on top of the stems of plants not in flower. If this papaver works like the opium poppy, we can extract the latex from the seedpod to make the antidote. Take a live specimen with the dirt intact if you can. It’s unlikely I can propagate it outside the Oculto Canyon microcosm, but it’s worth a try.”
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The entire water system of New York and Princeton is poisoned,” said Christa, holding up the empty sack. “Will this be enough?”
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Contreras only needed a minute amount of the belladonna toxin to poison the water supply. My research shows that the antidote plant will work in the same way. Jairo agrees, and his expertise is unmatched.”
The fourth soldier helped Gabriella to stand and hooked her arm over his shoulder. “Agent Fox,” said Gabriella, “I’ve got a field lab set up back at the village. Jairo and I are ready to quickly process the plant specimen into an extract that can be used as the antidote.”
Braydon nodded. “Donohue and I have got Washington gearing up for mass distribution.” He eyed the distant volcano plume rising into the storm clouds above the jungle canopy. “He’s already got the jet fueled and ready for the trip to the States.”
Gabriella reached for his hand, squeezed it. Christa was aching to do the same. Salaman rose silently and stood next to her.
Braydon turned to go. The shaman grabbed his arm with his wiry fingers. The old man’s words sounded like jibberish, but his urgency was clear. “Jairo Salaman warns you,” Gabriella translated. “The temple is protected by a tribe of spirits. No, the word is more ominous than that. By a tribe of phantoms, of ghosts. This ghost tribe are fierce warriors. They are the descendants of the men that the conquistador, Alvaro Contreras, enslaved to defend the temple. The men had no families to return to. Their wives and children had been killed. They made a pact to become warriors, to protect the temple from any outsiders, so that the magic could not kill again. They may be legend. Or they may be real.”
Like the phantoms she had been seeing, the shadows she had thought were malevolent, but, in talking with Adam, realized might have been helping their cause. This time, the phantoms would not be on their side.
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If these men do exist,” said Braydon, “they are fighting for what they believe will save others. They are protecting their home. Fighters like that don’t surrender, but intruders like us have no right to kill them.”
The shaman spoke. Gabriella translated. “The ghost tribe will never allow the Breastplate to leave the temple.”
Braydon turned to the shaman. “Tell him that we’ll do our best not to engage them, but we have to complete this mission or a Contreras will kill many families again.”
Salaman was a good foot shorter than Braydon. He was shorter, even, than Christa, but his presence was commanding. As he spoke, he gestured toward the El Dorado pendant around her neck.
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Jairo says that El Dorado will serve as a talisman. Perhaps if the ghost tribe sees it, they will know you are not their enemy,” said Gabriella. “But the ghost tribe is not of this village, or, in our way of thinking, of this world. The ghost tribe has its own laws.”
Braydon eyed the pendant. “Thank you,” he said to the shaman. “We will return it to you when our mission is complete.”
Christa took one last look at Percival in the dugout canoe, and hugged Gabriella goodbye. She hurried to catch up to Braydon’s long strides as he crossed the clearing towards the chopper, the stink of volcanic sulfur leading the way to hell.
CHAPTER
64
Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and taste
. The driving beat and ominous words of the Rolling Stones’
Sympathy for the Devil
blasted through Christa’s headset. The tension in the chopper ratcheted up. The men sat stony-faced and silent. The one they called Buck bobbed his head to the Stones’ rhythm. They had been in jungle combat before, bad stuff, special ops. Even they knew they had faced nothing like this.
I was around when Jesus Christ, had his moment of doubt and pain.
She tugged at the harness that Braydon had strapped over her camouflage fatigues. Don’t think about it. Stick to the plan. Focus on that. Trust in the men in your unit. Live.
I rode a tank. Held a general’s rank. When the blitzkrieg raged. And the bodies stank.
Below, the impenetrable canopy of browns and greens blurred into a single hue as the helicopter skimmed over the rainforest. Inside the chopper, an alien force in camouflage came to invade an unknown planet. Like the conquistadors.
But what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game.
No wonder the conquistadors thrived on arrogance, ruthlessness and determination. Humility and hesitation were as deadly as mustard gas in this new world. But what about the next?
Her backpack felt heavy on her lap, her hand numb from the energy emitted by the seven stones inside it. The Breastplate of Aaron, it was real, not just a historical reference in the Bible. More than three millennium ago, God had chosen the brother of Moses, the high priest of Judaism, to wear the Breastplate, to hear directly His word. It was a time when the power of God was a given, beyond questioning, a time of heaven-wrought plagues and parting of the sea.
So if you meet me, have some courtesy, have some sympathy and some taste. Use all your well-learned politesse. Or I’ll lay your soul to waste.
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Holy crap,” Braydon’s voice crackled over the headset as the song faded out. “Any chance of that interfering with our mission, Donohue?”
Christa snapped up her head. The volcano on the horizon had morphed into a terrifying display of pyrotechnics. Although the sky was a cloudless blue, lightning flashed across the black plume of smoke rising miles into the air creating the effect of a living, ominous being. It was the embodiment of an angry, Old Testament God, who would spew out death and destruction to an ungrateful race. Either Him, or the Devil.
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Might knock out radio communication,” said Donohue. “I never like relying on technology anyway.”
Braydon held up Tristan de Luna’s map. It was like looking at a black and white photo, the details were so exact. “Demon’s Wings dead ahead,” Braydon said. “My CCD teacher taught that God had cast Satan into hell. Guess we found him.”
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Or he found us,” said Christa. The chopper slowed. If anything, the jungle directly below looked even more impenetrable and ripe with danger. The only breaks in the canopy were the two curved precipices of granite towering above the trees. At this angle, they indeed resembled the crests of wings, rounded on the top, rivulets or erosion running down the sides forming patterns like feathers. God had cast his fallen angel, Lucifer, here, turning him to stone while the planet was in its infancy. Lucifer, furious but immobile, watched in humiliation as the jungle grew around him, encompassing him through the eons. He waited, excruciatingly hungry, to witness the bloody folly of the men who would follow his evil call. Plenty were greedy to oblige.
Braydon peered at the rocky outcropping. “According to Salvatierra’s letter, this demon has got plenty of dead people in its belly, from the last Contreras who was here five hundred years ago. Baltasar Contreras’s guerillas want us to end up as carrion, too. Any sign of them, Donohue?”
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With this cover, they could be mounting an army down there and we wouldn’t see it,” said Donohue, scanning the jungle below.