The front window was intact. I saw three heads. Two of them were colored crimson and tilted at awkward angles. The third head belonged to Simona.
Abruptly, she stirred. Then she unbuckled her seatbelt. Groggily, she looked around.
Her gaze fell on me. For a full second, she sat motionless, staring down from above. Then her face twisted with pure hatred.
I grinned at her, pouring fuel onto the fire.
Her visage twisted further. Then she froze. Her eyes whipped from side to side. I saw small hints of fear in her pupils.
My vision began to fog up. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. But it wasn’t my eyes that were fogging up.
It was the cockpit.
Instantly, I realized the explosion had ruptured a chemical dispersal system, similar to the one carried by the drones. Now, it was releasing the Miasma aerosols. The cockpit, still in one piece, effectively sealed in the toxic vapor.
Her hands gripped her throat. She gasped for a few seconds, choking in a gas chamber of her own making. Then the grayish aerosols enveloped her completely.
I dipped my head, suddenly feeling very tired. I lowered myself to the ground. I heard footsteps sprinting toward me, but I barely noticed them. Instead, I breathed softly.
My gaze drifted upward. High above, I saw an object shoot across the sky, bright as dragon fire. I chuckled. My chuckle quickly grew louder and before long, I was laughing so hard tears were rolling down my face.
Maybe past generations had built the present. But the future?
That belonged to us.
Chapter 97
My boots splashed into a thin layer of water. I slid out of the harness and gave it a tug. “Your turn.”
Moments later, a second rope appeared. Uncoiling, it fell through the hole and struck the ground.
While I waited for Beverly to climb down it, I looked around. We stood in a new tube, one of the few I had yet to explore. Located east of the volcano, I’d found it a few hours earlier with ground penetrating radar.
Beverly’s rubber soles struck the water. Quickly, she released herself from the harness and pointed a flashlight beam around the tube. “Looks like all the rest of them,” she said.
I adjusted my satchel. “This one’s different.”
“Oh?”
“It goes somewhere.”
Her eyes blazed with curiosity.
After destroying Simona’s fleet, we’d retreated to the HyperMax. We’d stayed at the ready, just in case any surviving Eco-Trek guards came looking for us. Fortunately, they were focused on putting out fires and trying to rescue Simona and her friends from the chemicals.
Within an hour, helicopters were circling the island. Paratroopers dropped to the ground and quickly took charge of the situation. They rounded everyone up for interrogation.
Afterward, the U.S. military had sent Carrie back to Saipan. Then they’d tried to force us off the island. We’d refused. Hooper had come to our aid, calling President Walters on our behalf. A short while later, we were given permission to remain on Pagan for a short time period as well as equipment and supplies to conduct a salvage operation.
A very special salvage operation.
“This way.” Turning northwest, I led her down the long, curving tube. My boots splashed against the water.
Decades ago, the Imperial Japanese Army had constructed an ingenious water trap. It was designed to flood the tunnels with salt water, thus drowning anyone who entered the area.
Simona had found the trap and updated it. And indeed, it had almost worked. Fortunately, the military personnel who came to the island managed to shut off the water and drain it before the tubes — and the research station — could collapse.
“I can’t believe the president is funding this,” Beverly said.
“Why not? He funded everything else on this island.”
“Not by choice.”
While we’d been trying to stop Simona, President Walters had conducted a live press conference on national television. He’d revealed everything about the Columbus Project and a group within his administration known as the Separative.
His opponents, led by Senator Hank Gar, had tried to capitalize on it. They’d issued calls for impeachment, but from what I’d heard, that was an unlikely outcome.
We walked farther. Crumbled concrete lay all around us. It was old and flaky.
The tube shifted and we began walking at a slight incline. Gradually, the water level declined to nothing. We kept walking, twisting to the west. Then we entered a giant cave.
Beverly swept her beam in an arc. Glittering light shone everywhere.
I strode into the space. Cast my gaze at dozens of crates. They were filled with gold bars, silver bars, paintings, sculptures, and many other treasures. A small smile crossed my visage.
I reached into my satchel. Carefully, I pulled out a dark bottle and two plastic glasses. I removed the cork from the bottle and poured some liquid into each glass. I handed one to her.
She eyed the glass suspiciously. “What’s this?”
“Hamron’s.” I grinned. “I owe you a bottle, remember?”
Laughing, she tipped the glass to her lips. “What’s the occasion?”
“Our discovery.” I swept my hand across the room. “Of the Yamashita treasure.”
She gave me a curious look.
“Benigno told us a Japanese General by the name of Yamashita came here in 1944 to oversee tunnel construction. At the time, the name seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it. Well, I did a little research.” I lifted the glass and dumped its contents down my throat. It burned, but in a good way. “During World War II, the Japanese military looted much of Southeast Asia. According to experts, General Yamashita hid the treasure in a series of underground tunnels in the Philippines.”
“So, they had the right idea. Just the wrong location.”
“Exactly.” At the back of the room, I noticed dozens of metal boxes, roughly six feet in length. They were stacked on top of each other.
“What are those?” Beverly asked.
Unlike the crates, the boxes were covered. Even so, I had no trouble identifying them. “Coffins.”
She exhaled.
“According to legend, Yamashita killed everyone who knew the location of his treasure.” I took a deep breath. “I guess the legend was true.”
“So, he put treasure above his own people?”
I nodded.
“How about you?” Adopting a snooty expression, she mimicked my voice. “The reliquary is more important than you, Beverly. It’s more important than all of us.”
“That’s not me.” I pulled her close. Locked her in an embrace. “Not anymore.”
About the Author
David Meyer is an adventurer and international bestselling author. His books take readers across the globe, from New York’s lost subway tunnels to forgotten laboratories buried deep beneath Antarctica’s frozen tundra. To find out more about David, his adventures, and his creative universes, please visit David Meyer Creations.