“What prophecy are you talking about? Why do you need me?” Javier asked plainly.
“The Inca Prophecy of the Lost Cities,” Dr. Sabian answered. “We are bound for a great change in the status quo of the modern world. We are the midwives of this prophecy, you see. It cannot come to pass without a little help from its believers.”
“Its believers?” Javier pried.
“The Black Sun prophets,” Dr. Sabian boasted. His smirk of defiance had now changed into a smile of adoration as he exalted his cause. Veneration dissolved into reality and Sabian realized that Javier was procrastinating. “Now, get dressed. We have a few hours’ drive.”
Javier could not let Sabian get to Madalina. He hated to admit to himself that he didn’t really care what happened to the little boy as long as his sister was safe. She was the one Javier was going for, but he had no idea how to warn her, even less how to foil Sabian’s sick plans, whatever he had in mind.
Across town, Pedro Sanchez, chief of the local police precinct, picked up the details through the bug he had planted in Javier’s watch. Looking decidedly impressed with himself, he saved the twenty-minute sound clip of the conversation between the prominent psychologist and Madalina’s brother. His wife was kind enough to leave him alone during his remote stakeout, but when she saw his face change into an expression of victory and contentment, she announced, “You are leaving, aren’t you?” Lira knew her husband well enough to know that he was about to go on a chase based on the information he no doubt obtained through his headphones.
“I have to,” he answered, beaming. “Madalina Mantara is alive. She made contact with Javier, but they are both in trouble they cannot handle. I have to find them.”
“I know,” she smiled. “Just please, please, be careful.”
Sanchez minimized the active reconnaissance feed and started searching the internet for what he believed was a cult, by the sounds of it. Several links presented themselves, none of which featured anything about ‘Black Sun’. However, the police captain’s eye was drawn to something similar.
“This looks close enough,” he murmured to himself. “A dissertation on secret societies functioning today? The Order of the Black Sun — Clandestine Chronicles of Madmen still perpetuated by Modern Society by Dr. Nina Gould, c. 2012.”
Sanchez tried to open the thesis, but it required university credentials as password protocol, and he was left unsatisfied and desperate to find out more. He sat back on the couch, looking frustrated. “I have to leave as soon as possible and I cannot access the important details I might need for a bit of background on what this Sabian lunatic may be involved with. The university site won’t let me see this paper, for fuck’s sake!” He was vexed.
As always, his wife had some insight. “Who wrote the paper?”
“Dr. Nina Gould, MA Hist. Edinburgh University, blah, blah, blah,” he read out.
His wife shrugged. “So, Sherlock, look her up and ask her yourself.”
18
The Inca Prophecy
“Before this gets ugly, let me shed some light on our presence there,” Purdue offered.
“We know why you were there, David,” Vincent roared, “because you simply had to bring up the remains before we could safely take them to El Dorado. I know who you are, David Purdue. Maybe you should remember that rat bastards like you, who defile tombs and ravage sacred history for financial gain and celebrity, are the enemy of the Children of the Sun!”
“Then why did you save us?” Sam growled, trying to subdue the fury in his veins.
“We did not save you,” Vincent scoffed. “We removed you from the Coast Guard, so that they will report you as ‘presumed dead’ and be done with you. That way we can kill you in any way or anywhere without repercussion, you naïve sods!”
“We didn’t even know about the ship!” Hannah chipped in, defiant of her place in the current hierarchy. “Mr. Purdue found it on a bloody sonar scanner or something. Jesus! Calm down!”
Vincent was furious. He turned viciously, but stopped short of slapping the insolent woman. Some unseen barrier appeared to block him from her — reason. “What?” he asked with a bit less anger.
“She’s right, Vincent,” Peter affirmed. “Mr. Purdue was on a pleasure cruise, a maiden voyage to celebrate the purchase of his yacht. I swear to God it’s the truth.”
“Then why did he send for Sam Cleave?” he bellowed at Peter. Spittle webbed on Vincent’s beard as he addressed the white-haired Purdue. “Those of us in the relic trade know all too well about your collaborations, David. Once Sam Cleave gets involved in your innocent trips, they always consist of some official capacity that becomes a full-fledged excursion to rape and plunder antique sites,” Vincent fumed. “Why is Sam here?”
Purdue did not have a favorable response to this. Actually, all that Vincent was spewing at them was true. “At first, we were just cruising to test the yacht, Vincent,” Purdue explained calmly. He was a wizard at diplomacy, and now more than ever, Sam hoped he had a good line to spin. “When we tried to make contact with you on numerous occasions, you did not identify yourselves. Am I correct?”
Vincent did not like being confronted with a valid counter. He didn’t want to answer, proving Purdue right, but he had to. Reluctantly, he nodded his silent verification.
“So how were we supposed to know that you had laid claim to what we detected under our hull?” Purdue asked in a civilized tone of voice. “Had you identified yourselves as marine salvage, or even just informed us that we were intruding on your obscure demarcation, we would not have interfered. But you ignored our identification request, so we assumed you were out of range or simply did not care to answer.” Purdue leaned in to Vincent across the small nook. “Now what would you have done if you were me? Would you have passed up on exploration?”
Again, Vincent had to concede that he would have done the same. “No.”
“Precisely,” Purdue said, closing his argument, his hand resting on Sam’s shoulder. “After we could not establish radio contact with you, we went ahead with the documentation of our discovery, obviously, which entailed my summoning Sam to record our progress.” The air was tense in the cabin. Vincent’s crew gathered along the interior of the cabin like a chain of villains. Purdue, however, was far from being timid while defending his own. “This was not an act of hostility on our part, Vincent. If anything, I would be happy to bow out of the find if you could just assure us safe passage to the nearest port.”
“Aye,” Sam agreed.
“I just want to go home,” Hannah said softly, still admiring the golden prayer stick at a distance while she elected to drink herself into ignorance of the looming peril. Vincent noticed her wandering stare, but he understood her infatuation. His men stood in place, unmoving, yet their eyes were fixed on the strangers intently. Vincent sank back into his chair with a long sigh. A long silence followed, during which most just took to their glasses to spare the room the sounds of quarrel.
Vincent finally spoke. “Whatever is down there corresponds with this object,” he declared, holding the dog-bone-shaped artifact up. “The German ledger I have, along with these papers from the unknown author I read from previously, state that the twin ship to the one off the Peruvian coast, is the one you found, David.”
“I take it whatever is down there will direct you to a treasure of sorts? Gold, perhaps?” Sam asked for clarification. He wanted to determine their short-term fate.
“No, Sam,” Vincent answered as his thick fingers traced the bumpy texture of careless gold smithy from centuries long gone. “Gold is good, of course, but this is so much bigger. Whatever matches this relic, and there is a twin for this, will complete the key to El Dorado, my friends.”