The Inca Prophecy Read online

  “Ours?” Madalina asked inadvertently.

  “Yes, you idiot. The Black Sun claimed him at birth and there is no goddamn way you will take him from us. He is ours!” she hissed, spitting her blood in Madalina’s face.

  The teacher could not believe her ears, but she was being punctured for a second and third time while she tried to make sense of the woman’s words. Meanwhile the boy was wailing in terror on the other side of the door. She had to do something, or she was going to greet the morning in a body bag. At a loss for any aid, Madalina tried to scare her attacker off with the gun. She pressed it against the woman’s forehead and pretended to pull the trigger by pressing the shard of steel that used to serve as one.

  The woman’s face exploded like a melon, as the deafening clap of the shot affirmed the kill. Stunned in disbelief and horror, Madalina’s eyes remained frozen on the ruptured skull of the corpse that was still straddling her.

  “Jesus Christ!” she shrieked hysterically, yet keeping her voice low enough exude only guttural consonants of the exclamation. “Jesus, no! No! Oh my God, no!” Madalina’s face was covered in fragments of bone, her skin already sticky from the woman’s blood and brain matter. She was horrified beyond comprehension, but during what seemed to be an eternity of confusion, panic, and disbelief, Madalina knew that she had to start moving before anyone arrived at the door. The shot fired had been loud and unmistakable.

  With great effort, she shoved the dead woman off of her, struggling to free herself from the dead weight. The floor was slick, making it almost impossible not to slip, but she knew she would be discovered if she did not get going within the next few seconds. Already she could hear the sounds of muffled voices approaching as people in the rooms nearby emerged into the hallways to determine where the shot had come from. The child on the other side of the bathroom door was wailing in fear, another threat to Madalina’s momentary asylum.

  Electing to keep the pistol with her in molten thoughts of hysteria and movie quotes like ‘no weapon, no proof,’ the teacher shoved the old firearm into her bra and staggered toward the basin to rinse off most of the mess. Before she exited, she put on the woman’s black overcoat to conceal her bloody clothing and slipped her wet arm around the door to switch off the light.

  “Raul?” she whispered in the darkness, following the boy’s whimpers. “Raul, I am not here to hurt you.” She had to think quickly. This was not the time to be held up by having to sweet-talk a child, but he was, after all, the reason for her visit. In her mind, she made herself into a little girl to find a way to persuade him. “Raul, I was sent to save you. I’m here to help you, so you have to come with me, alright? Let’s just leave quickly, before they catch us and keep us here. What do you say, hey?”

  “Who sent you to save me?” he asked through his sobbing. She was elated that she had gotten his attention, at least. The teacher slowly approached him by sound and sat down on the carpet so as not to alarm him.

  “Your angel sent me, of course,” she said softly, sniffling quietly. Madalina was in shock, weeping in panic, but aware that now was the pivotal time that would determine the success of her escape. She had to play it very calm and keep the boy’s sensibilities about the incident tranquil.

  “I have no angels,” he said casually.

  “Of course you do,” she replied. “Could I ask you to turn on the light, dear?”

  “Why?” he asked, his voice still riddled with fear and uncertainty.

  “So that we can see where your shoes are. You know, we don’t have much time before those angry men outside burst in here. We have to go, sweetheart,” she said with as much composure as she could manage.

  “I don’t even know your name,” he reasoned, and switched on the light. The sudden brightness prompted her to pinch her eyes shut. “Are you blind?” he asked innocently. Madalina couldn’t help it; she laughed. She opened her eyes, still bloodshot from crying.

  “No, sweetheart, I’m not blind,” she smiled. “Now, put on your shoes.”

  “Then what’s wrong with your eyes?” he asked, retrieving his loafers from under his bed.

  “Just sore,” she explained, evoking his pity.

  “Oh, I see,” he said. “My mother’s eyes looked like that too.”

  For some reason the statement frightened Madalina. It brought up a myriad of questions about the woman in the bathroom that the boy had revealed was not his mother. She dared not change their fickle understanding at this point, so she had to keep the questions for later.

  “Shoes on?” she asked. He nodded. “Okay, let’s go get some hot chocolate, right?”

  The boy smiled, his face beaming. That alone made it all worthwhile to her.

  It worked! Now make sure you don’t fuck up before you’re in the clear, her inner voice warned. Madalina stood up and dusted off the coat, cringing at the secret it held underneath, away from the child’s eyes. She held out her hand, and little Raul took it with trust.

  Casually she opened the door, acting concerned enough to play into the befuddlement of the other guests of the motel. Her heart raced uncontrollably, rendering her stone cold sober, and she reckoned that hurrying from the motel would only stir up suspicion. For now, the teacher and the small boy walked in the direction of the stairs that would lead down to the main hallway. It would lead them to the street, and hopefully to flight.

  Nobody seemed to have noticed them in the commotion of the frantic searching and speculation between staff and guests, for which Madalina was endlessly grateful. However, her reluctant gratitude was challenged when they exited the motel. A crowd had already gathered outside, many having heard the gun shot from the establishment they all knew to be quite a peaceful place, normally without much incident.

  “Did you see what happened?” a police officer arriving on the scene asked Madalina.

  “No, my son and I were just going in to look for a room when we heard the shot, so we came right back out,” she acted superbly. “I don’t want to stay over in a place where people shoot guns, my God!”

  “Yes, get your son out of harm’s way,” the officer told her, turning towards the other people. “Come on! Get away from here. You want to get shot too?” he shouted at the onlookers swarming around the motel corner doors. “Go on! Get away!” His voice gradually faded in the din of the night traffic of the city as Madalina and her new charge careened through the park and people.

  “When are we getting hot chocolate?” Raul asked.

  “Soon, sweetheart, soon. We are going to the best hot chocolate place, I promise,” she panted, occasionally checking her trail.

  Raul pinched his nose. “Good, because that blood on you is making me feel sick.”

  3

  Kismet

  Solar Eclipse Imminent: 28%

  Purdue breathed in the Mediterranean air, feeling his lungs fill with its saline serenity. It had been a while since he’d abandoned his research into a new metallurgical device for a bit of a holiday. For once his was not an urgent patent or one of his more obsessive projects, therefore he elected to take a week alone with a small crew to test out a new yacht he had purchased from a Belgian company affiliated with one of his business associates. It was equipped with the latest global tracking systems, including sonar and whale tracking technology, which thrilled the white-haired billionaire no end.

  Since the Society of Whale and Dolphin Research had approached him for a possible grant, he had become increasingly interested in this species of mammals that exhibited such a plethora of communication and reasoning strategies. But Purdue did not want to spend his time on the azure beauty of the water researching, or devising, anything. This trip was solely to baptize his new vessel and have a bit of a break from science—as if David Purdue knew the meaning of the word.

  The sun stung his Scottish hide, but he welcomed the mild torment of its attention, not so much for some color, but to take in the much-needed vitamins it yielded. He was far from malnourished, but he reckoned a little sunshine a f
ew days out of the year would combat some of the deprivation Edinburgh afforded him in this regard.

  As the southeastern breeze brushed over the surface of the sapphire water of the Alboran Sea, the playboy sat back with a cold beer, trying to take in this unusual moment of relaxation. He never rested on his laurels just because he was insanely wealthy. On the contrary, Purdue was always working. It was a pleasure to explore, invent, and discover, but these pleasures also took their toll on him when he forgot to rest in between. His white hair frolicked in the occasional high gusts of salty air and he closed his eyes momentarily.

  Purdue’s hired yacht crew was enjoying the clear weather, but they did not neglect their duties while their employer had his eyes shut in a rare recess. The skipper elegantly kept to their course while chatting to the on-board mechanic about good fishing areas.

  Overhead, several seagulls chanted in unison, casting brief flashes of shadow over Purdue’s eyelids. Their rapid movement instilled a strange apprehensive uneasiness in him. At once, his eyes sprang open as if he had been jolted in his seat. For no apparent reason, he felt compelled to look into the water, where at once he noticed a drifting object, small, red, and buoyant.

  “Bring me one of those scanners, Peter,” he called out to one of his crewmen, thinking the red flag as some sort of marker. When Peter looked up, Purdue was hanging, doubled over the starboard, peering into the depths beside the white hull. “The silver and blue one that looks like a compass.” After finding something similar in the billionaire’s hard case, the stocky mariner passed Purdue a small, handheld contraption with which he intended to scrutinize the ocean floor they were sailing over.

  “What exactly does it measure, sir?” Peter asked with interest.

  “Many things, depending on the setting. Right now I’m just checking the depth down to that shipwreck.” Purdue then lurched, putting the device just under the surface of the water.

  “Isn’t that just a fancy variation of a metal detector?” Amelie teased. She was Purdue’s personal cook for the duration of the trip, a personal dietician he had hired to curb his cholesterol and monitor his general high blood pressure problems. High blood pressure was a new ailment Purdue had never suffered before, but he knew he was not invincible. Richer than Midas, yes, but still physically fallible.

  “No, of course not,” she heard him protest from the other side of the railing. “I don’t waste my time with simple snufflers, Amelie, and you know it.”

  “Snufflers,” she grinned, amused.

  Peter chuckled with her. Purdue was especially fun when he had to defend technological advancements against laymen. It was no secret to his close-knit team of technicians and staff that Purdue had no respect for any machine created by basic construct. He was rather a fan of those peculiar creations that aimed at what most would construe as ‘out there,’ the underdogs of invention.

  “Shipwreck?” Peter asked after he stopped snickering.

  “Yes, there is some substantial wreckage lying right beneath us,” Purdue replied casually as he read the electronic screen of the small device. “Comprised mostly of steel, copper, and . . . ,” he hesitated, trying to make sense of the composition presented by the analysis.

  “And?” Peter asked.

  Purdue writhed his tall lanky body back to vertical proportions and gave out a hard sigh of amazement. He pinched one eye shut and looked at Peter and Amelie. “Bone, I think. As far as my knowledge of biological chemical construction holds, at least.”

  “Bone? I’m sure there are bone fragments in all shipwrecks, sir,” Peter speculated. “After all, they do make up quite a lot of independent ecosystems, dead ships. They’re bound to have some whale bone and such down there.”

  Purdue scoffed with a smile and walked over to Peter, holding the screen out to him. Towering over the crewman, Purdue explained the composition to him by pointing out the structural differences. “I understand what you’re saying, old boy, but look, this reading is . . . .” His long slender fingers expertly manipulated the buttons to yield a calculation result that looked more complicated than the first combination Peter had seen. “Human.”

  Peter stared at Purdue in astonishment, yet the billionaire genius only grinned, “A composition of salts containing calcium and phosphate, mostly. Intrigued yet?” he asked Peter. The crewman nodded profusely, his eyes still widened by surprise.

  “I knew you couldn’t just sit back and sip cocktails like other normal playboys,” Amelie sighed. Purdue chuckled as he sauntered toward her, “Oh, come now, dear. Tell me you aren’t just a little curious about this discovery.”

  “I do not contest the excitement of it, Mr. Purdue,” she replied. “All I’m saying is that you even without bringing most of your toys along with you on this trip, you simply cannot do without exploration of some sort. I do find it admirable. Don’t get me wrong. I just somehow knew you were incapable of not wracking your brain over something for the duration of this trip.”

  “Then you know me better than you know my eating habits, dear Amelie,” he gloated, lifting the machine and its intriguing reading victoriously above his head.

  The afternoon sun turned his body into a silhouette with a halo. Amelie just shook her head, still shielding her eyes from the glare with her right hand. Her skin was tingling from the harsh heat of the bright Mediterranean rays, and the untainted blue of the sky was no solace. The lack of decent wind movement on the sea made for a piping hot day, even by the standards of Hellenic or Egyptian measures. Only the lapping of the weak swells against the vessel made for any sound. They were still far away from land, so Amelie retreated to the luxury of the air-conditioned cabin below deck.

  “Human bone, sir?” Peter asked Purdue with no small measure of fascination. “I feel a dive coming on.”

  Purdue nodded happily, but his face appeared to hide more. Peter cocked his head with a twinkle in his eye. “What is it? Do tell, Mr. Purdue, if you please.”

  His employer sighed as he perused the data once more. His light blue eyes shot up at Peter’s as he replied quietly, “The quantity is very interesting, my friend.”

  “The quantity?” Peter asked, joined by Jeff, another crewman who specialized in diving and recovery.

  “There seems to be, according to this, a vast amount of human bone down there. I dare say, a good vault full of dead human carcasses. Now, I don’t know about you gentlemen, but that is macabre to an irresistible level for me. Can we dive in say, an hour, Jeffrey?” he asked the diving expert.

  “Of course, sir,” Jeff agreed, surveying the weather conditions and position of the sun. “If we make it relatively quick, I don’t see why not.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Purdue smiled.

  Upon hearing about the dive, Amelie and one of the ladies on the crew came up on deck. The sun was fast dipping towards the horizon, for a dive at least, and it was going to be hard to cut in such short time. She winced. “It’s so creepy. I hope that reading is wrong.” A shudder shook her body visibly as she considered the possibilities. A room full of bones? People’s bones? The idea made her cringe, and Purdue’s eagerness only affirmed her suspicion that his drive for exploration bordered on the taboo most of the time.

  Still, it was not her place to judge the man. Her only function was to be in charge of his nutrition, but it scared her just a little how the billionaire inventor always had a penchant for the darker finds in archaeology. It had never bothered her this much before, but then again, she’d never before been involved in one of his impulsive excursions. This time it had a direct bearing on her, this unsettling attraction Purdue had to things of the more dangerous variety. But because she was just another person in his employ, she had no right to any opinion.

  Amelie recoiled as she watched Purdue and Jeff ready their diving equipment. Something felt wrong, but she chalked it up to her own insecurities.

  “What are they hoping to find?” she asked Peter casually, as he walked past her to bring the wetsuits to the two m
en.

  “Bones, I suppose?” he answered with equal befuddlement. He shrugged before he retrieved the neoprene suits from the large holding cabinet, groaning, “Honestly, I think a mass grave under the sea is not that far-fetched, given the history of this region and its wars.”

  Before she could ask what he was referring to, Peter staggered over to Purdue, leaving her curiosity unsatisfied. The lady standing in her vicinity was busy putting away some loose lying tie ropes and plastic bottles, but was also listening to the conversation. She lifted a refuse bag to dump the bottles in and sighed, “I think he means the ancient history, the sinking of entire armadas and the battles they never recorded in the official history books.”

  Amelie whirled around to address the other female crewmember. “Wait, what? How do you know this?”

  “My brother,” she rolled her eyes at Amelie, “drove me crazy all throughout high school with that crap. He’s still like that, but thank God I don’t live under the same roof as him anymore.”

  The two women shared a giggle before the woman continued as she worked, “True story. He’d befriended this professor online back then who fed him all this stuff of secret history too sensitive for the world know about it. Almost like a secret . . . ,” she gave it some thought to pick the right phrase, “ . . . pirate pact, or something.”

  “Ooh! Well, you can’t say it’s not interesting,” Amelie remarked.

  “Absolutely,” the lady agreed, smiling. “If it weren’t such fanatical horse shit.”

  A splash ensued while she was still speaking, drawing everyone on board’s attention. “There they go,” Amelie sang emptily. “Brace yourself for the enthusiasm due when Mr. Purdue rears his head back up over that step.” The crew chuckled in concurrence, all familiar with Dave Purdue’s almost undisputable ability to be right about his instinctive suspicions. None of them doubted that he would surface with some success, whether it be the exact thing he was after or something undoubtedly amazing. He would never have made the effort to explore, especially with the great toils of diving preparations, if he had not deemed it worthwhile.