I’d destroyed artifacts before. But even when I found it necessary, it still didn’t come easily. My entire professional life had been devoted to saving the past. Doing the opposite just felt wrong.
Graham passed the satellite images to me. Quickly, I flipped through them. Pagan actually consisted of two islands, topped by stratovolcanoes. A thin strip of land, less than half a mile thick, joined the islands together.
Everything about Pagan exceeded my imagination. Its hills rolled in all directions, like waves in the ocean. Its cliffs looked impossibly steep. Dense forests, colored a rich green, covered many parts of the island. It was truly a magnificent place.
“What’s the status of these volcanoes?” I asked, directing my question at the cockpit.
“The big one, Mount Pagan, is the more active of the two,” Milt Stevens replied in a southern drawl. “But they’ve both experienced mild eruptions over the last decade. There are quite a few solfataras — those are cracks in the crust that emit sulfurous gases — on the island. There’s also at least one boiling hot spring and several steam vents. So, more eruptions seem like a sure thing. I suppose that’s why no one lives there anymore.”
Stevens looked more like a fashionable professor than a seasoned pilot. A blue polo shirt and neatly pressed slacks covered his wiry frame. Keen green eyes stared out from behind a pair of thick glasses. His floppy black hair looked stylish, no matter what he did with it.
“Except for Eco-Trek employees,” Beverly said.
“I was referring to the locals,” he replied. “After the 1981 eruption, the islanders were evacuated to Saipan. A group of them — they call themselves Pagan Nation — has been trying to return for years. But the authorities won’t let them. Too dangerous, I suppose.”
“If that’s the case, why’d they allow Eco-Trek to build a research station on the island?”
“Beats the hell out of me. But from what I hear, the locals had no say in the matter. It was a federal decision.”
“When’d you last come here?” I asked.
“Honestly, I don’t remember.” Stevens shrugged. “Saipan gets its fair share of tourists, but most people want quick helicopter tours. They don’t want to spend all day flying over the ocean.”
Looking out my window, I stared over the waters. They appeared dark, forbidden. We were a long way from Saipan. Hell, we were a long way from pretty much anywhere.
From Jerusalem, we’d flown to Saipan. At roughly forty-four and a half square miles, it was the largest and most populated of the Northern Mariana Islands. After some searching, we’d met Stevens. He’d agreed to fly us some two hundred miles to Pagan — no questions asked — in exchange for a large sum of cash.
Now, we hovered in the air, high above the ocean. The two closest islands to Pagan, Alamagan and Agrihan, were each about forty miles away. Since they were also uninhabited, we — along with Eco-Trek’s employees — were the only people around for miles.
“I see it.” Shock filled Beverly’s voice. “It’s … it’s …”
“It’s ugly as hell,” Graham said.
A sharp breeze struck the helicopter. The chopper twisted in mid-air. Looking out my window, I saw a landmass. It was definitely the island depicted in the satellite images. It possessed the same rolling hills, the same steep cliffs. But Graham was right.
It was ugly as hell.
Leafless forests took up much of the island. Even from a distance, I could see the denuded tree trunks were thin and sickly. The grass, what little of it remained, was colored brown. Patches of plants, also brown, were sparse in number. Clearly, death and dirt had taken over the once-fertile island.
“Holy crap.” Stevens blinked. “What happened?”
“A drought,” Beverly said. “A severe one.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“We’re sure,” I replied. “Take us close to shore. We’ll deploy our raft and make the jump. Then you can fly back to Saipan.”
“How will you get home?”
Graham grinned. “Don’t worry about us.”
I studied the island. It looked a little like a barbell. A large building rested on the northeastern half. An airstrip led away from it, crossing the thin strip of land toward the southwestern half.
A thin road circled the building. At the back, it veered northwest toward an area known as Pagan Bay. Several large boats filled the bay.
“Aircraft,” a soft, feminine voice buzzed from the helicopter’s radio. “This is Eco-Trek Research Station. You’ve entered restricted airspace. Please identify yourself. Over.”
“Crap.” Stevens gave me a nervous look. “What should I say?”
I racked my brain. “Tell her you’re leading a sight-seeing tour to Agrihan. Your instruments malfunctioned and you flew off-course. Tell her you need to land in order to fix them.”
“What if she doesn’t believe me?”
“She will. Just stick to the story.”
Stevens pressed a button on the dashboard. “Eco-Trek, this is Boomerang Eighty-Eight,” he said in a hurried tone. “Requesting permission to land. Over.”
While we waited for the woman to reply, I looked at Graham and Beverly. “While Milt works on the instruments, we’ll sneak into the research station. We’ll mix in, get lost in the crowd.”
“How are we going to find the reliquary?” Beverly asked.
“It won’t be hard. The station is a glorified airport hangar. I bet it’s wide open on the inside.”
“Don’t be too sure about that.” Graham pointed at the northeastern end of the station. “That looks like a loading bay.”
“So what?”
“So, an airport hangar doesn’t need a separate loading bay. In other words, that building is more than just a hangar. There might be offices, rooms, even laboratories.”
“Permission denied.” The feminine voice crackled over the radio. “Please exit this airspace immediately. Over.”
“We’re experiencing instrumental failures,” Stevens replied. “Must land now. Over.”
A few seconds passed. “Negative, Boomerang Eighty-Eight. Eco-Trek is a high-security facility. Absolutely no one is allowed on the premises. Reroute and shoot for Alamagan. Over.”
Stevens frowned. “Now, see here—”
Static erupted from the radio.
“That little jerk.” Stevens exhaled deeply. “Well, I guess that settles it. I’ll just swing—”
“Hold it,” I said.
Stevens gave me a look. “You heard the lady. That’s a high security facility down there. We can’t land.”
“It’s a research station. What’s the worst they can do to us?”
Stevens relaxed his hands. The helicopter hovered for a few seconds while he mulled over my words.
Dark clouds appeared overhead. The wind started to rush. A bolt of lightning shot across the sky. Others soon followed it. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Rain started to fall, slapping the helicopter’s metallic sides. Peering out the front window, I watched the life-giving raindrops head for Pagan. But curiously enough, the soil and brown vegetation remained dry.
“What the hell?” Graham muttered under his breath. “The water … it’s not hitting the ground.”
“The air must be too dry,” Beverly whispered. “It’s absorbing the rain, turning it into vapor.”
I leaned forward. “Does anyone see that?”
A shadowy figure crested over a hill, roughly halfway between the station and the northeastern volcano.
“It looks like …” Graham frowned. “Hell, I don’t know what that is.”
Another bolt of lightning appeared. It seemed to materialize from the island itself, before stretching through the air.