The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel (16 page)

Randall
nodded, his color returning. He once again assumed his position near the small
window and, seeing that the hallway was clear, quickly opened the door and
headed out as Sam followed close behind. In a matter of minutes, they were out
of the building and checking for the guards watching the perimeter. Seeing
none, they wasted little time making it back to the safety of the jungle.

Chapter twenty-five

The ancestors had
spoken to Chief
Yupanqui
in his sleep, again, last
night. Their visits were becoming more frequent, and their communication with
him more specific. The main message from the ancestors was that time was
quickly running out for the chief and his people.

Yupanqui
gripped his staff tightly as he
surveyed his peoples’ land. This valley had been their home for generations and
had provided for them for so long. He felt an attachment to this land that
words could not describe. He remembered playing in the nearby forests and
fishing in the river with his friends as a young boy. He recalled the ceremony
and challenges he’d had to endure in his quest to be recognized as a warrior by
his people. This ground was much more than just his home; it was a part of him.

The
visions had started shortly after the whited haired scientist named Randall
first visited
Yupanqui
and his people. Initially, the
Chief had thought they were nothing more than dreams, but he soon realized
there was much more to his nocturnal visits than random visions of past and
current events. The ancestors had foretold of a prophecy in which a beautiful
young woman would help
Yupanqui’s
people reunite with
their brethren in
Vilcabamba
. They had also
instructed
Yupanqui
to accept Randall and his helpers
and to allow them to learn about the tribe’s history. At the time the Chief
hadn’t understood why his forefathers would want outsiders to learn about the
tribe’s secret, but now their guidance was clearly understood.

Through
his dream conversations,
Yupanqui
had determined that
Samantha Randall was the young woman from the prophecy. Although the ancestors
had not specifically told him so, he had sensed a strong feeling in his dream
that she was the one. The ancestors had also warned that forces were at work,
seeking to prevent the reunification. When
Amaro
, the
guide
Yupanqui
had sent to help Randall, returned to
the tribe and told the Chief about the attack on Randall and his people outside
of the sacred temple, the Chief knew the ancestors were speaking of these
attackers.

This
angered the chief on many levels. First, for these so-called warriors to attack
unarmed, peaceful people who posed no threat to them was unthinkable. Second,
their utter disregard for the most sacred place of his people told the chief
all he needed to know about these men. They were his enemies and needed to be
stopped.

The
Chief was thankful that
Amaro
had evaded their
enemies’ detection and had returned to his tribe to warn them. Now
Yupanqui
would have to rely on him, again, to lead his
people against the attackers to help Randall and his daughter.

Yupanqui
decided that it was time for his
tribe to return to the sacred underground city and help Randall face these
savages, even though entering the mountain was forbidden. He prayed for the
forgiveness of his ancestors for breaking the most sacred of rules and in his
defense, he uttered the words spoken to him by Randall years ago. “Desperate
times call for desperate measures.” Surely these were desperate times for his
people.

Chapter twenty-six

Randall and
Samantha finally stopped sprinting as they made their way back into the safety
of the jungle. Sam felt a great sense of relief, but when she looked at her
father, she could see that he was hesitant.

“What’s
wrong?”

“I
need to go back to the compound.”

“Are
you serious? You thought someone saw you when we were there. We were lucky to
get out alive.”

“Mike
might be there, Sam. I can’t just leave him.”

Sam
cocked her head to one side and looked into her father’s eyes. They were filled
with a sad, but resolved resignation. In the midst of the excitement of getting
the medallion back, she had forgotten about Mike. Her father, true to form, had
not.

With
a twinge of selfish guilt, Sam said, “There’s nothing I can say to convince you
not to go is there?”

“Nope.”

“Then
I’m going with you.”

Randall
pursed his lips, and a thin smile returned to his face for a moment. Then the
serious look returned. “I have to go alone, Sam. One of us needs to return that
medallion to
Yupanqui
and his people. If I don’t make
it back, I want you to
high-tail
it out of here and
get back to
Paititi
and give it to the chief. He’ll
know what to do with it. Did you save the coordinates so you can get back to
the village?”

Sam
knew it was futile to argue the point with her father—he was a stubborn
man, and in this case, he was probably right. “Yes, but by now my phone might
be dead. I haven’t charged it for several days. I turned it off after I took
the pictures in the compound. How will I know if you make it out of the
compound, again?”

“Wait
here for 60 minutes. If you don’t see me by then, I’ve probably been caught. If
that’s the case, I want you to find the chief and give him the medallion. Then,
head back to the University and let Francisco know what happened. I’m sure the
chief can help you get there. Maybe if we let the world know what’s going on,
we can still stop
Dumond
.”

“That’s
a pretty thin plan.”

“We
don’t have much to work with, kiddo.”

Sam
grabbed her father and gave him a big hug. He hugged her back and chuckled,
remembering that this was how she had hugged him when she was a child.

“Good
luck, Dad.”

With
a final parting smile, Randall turned and headed back toward the compound. Once
again, the thick underbrush provided shelter from potential peering eyes, but
also made his progress slow. After a few minutes of trudging through the heavy
growth, he once again found himself at the edge of the clearing, staring at the
compound. As before, there was no sign of activity, and once again Randall sat
patiently waiting for the guard to make his rounds. He was shortly rewarded as
the guard came into view and then disappeared to the far side of the compound.
Not wasting time, Randall made the, now familiar, run from the safe cover of
the jungle to the central building of the complex, stopping outside the
external door and pressing his body up against the wall. Slowly he peered
through the small glass window, and not seeing any signs of movement, entered
the building for a second time.

Randall
knew that he was pushing his luck by trying to sneak into the building again,
but his conscience wouldn’t let him leave without at least checking to see if Mike
was alive. Even though Phil and Mike were technically his graduate assistants,
Randall thought of them as his sons—a fact picked up on by his biological
son, John.

Randall
slinked down the long corridor, staying close to the far right wall, prepared
to move quickly if someone exited from one of the rooms. Having made this
excursion once already, Randall had the advantage of knowing that Mike wouldn’t
be in the rooms he had visited earlier. This helped to narrow his focus and,
statistically, made the task of finding Mike easier. This line of reasoning
made the professor grin in spite of himself. Once analytical, always
analytical, even when your life was in grave danger. He approached the first
new door and slowly peered through the open window. Again he was astonished to
find that the room appeared to be empty. From all appearances, it seemed to be
a storage room.

Randall
continued his stealthy glide down the corridor to the next room. This was the
fifth room of six in the building and, aside from the one room that the
soldiers had exited from
earlier,
the other four rooms
had been empty. Unlike the other rooms, this door was solid metal, with a
cylindrical lock on the outside. “Crap, no window,” Randall muttered under his
breath. Grasping the door handle, Randall felt his heart begin to beat more
quickly, his hand becoming cold and clammy. He slowly turned the knob, trying
with all his might to be quiet and inconspicuous. The door was locked and would
not open. Sighing heavily, Randall rotated the deadbolt, which made a
sickeningly loud click when it disengaged from the doorframe. He was sure that
everyone in the building had heard him unlocking the door, and he winced at the
sound. His heart now in his throat, Randall stood at the metal door, unsure
what he would find on the other side. Once again he rotated the knob and
pulled, but this time the door opened, and he peered into the room.

Inside,
he saw what appeared to be a living quarter with a couch and table. As he
craned his neck to get a better look, the door across the hall and to his
right, began to open, causing him to jump. He pulled the door of the living
quarters open and scrambled inside, hoping no one had seen him. He was
hyperventilating now, trying to calm himself as best he could, his hand glued
to the inside door handle. Even though he was inside the room now, he couldn’t
release the death grip he had on the doorknob, and his head throbbed with pain.

“Dr.
Randall?”

Randall
jumped with surprise at the sound of the voice. Spinning on his heel, the
Professor caught sight of a familiar face.

“It
is you! Thank God!” Mike blurted out.

Randall
quickly brought a finger to his lips, signaling for Mike to be quiet. His hand
still on the doorknob, he heard boot steps stop outside the door. Next came the
unmistakable, sickening sound of someone cocking a weapon. His mind racing,
Randall searched the room for a hiding place. There was a closet about six feet
behind Mike. Not enough time to get there. Seeing no other options, he moved
for the only item nearby that offered cover: Mike’s bed. Quickly, he dove under
the hospital bed. As if on cue, the door to the room burst open, and a
black-clad soldier stepped in, assault rifle drawn. He made a visual sweep of
the room, his weapon pointed outward like a dragon ready to spit fire. Randall
recoiled under the bed, pressing his body as far back from the edge of the bed
as possible. Slowly the soldier moved forward, making his way around the room,
gun at the ready.

“Where
is he,” the soldier growled.

“What
are you talking about? By the way, when am I getting some lunch? The room
service here is terrible,” Mike joked. The guard wasn’t amused.

From
his spot under the bed, Randall could only see the black combat boots and lower
ankles of the mercenary. Slowly, they made their way closer to the hospital
bed. Randall forced himself to focus on the boots, to stay alert for a chance.
In one swooping motion, the soldier lowered his head and weapon under the bed,
pointing the barrel directly at the Professor’s legs. Without hesitation,
Randall let loose a brutal kick directly into the gun barrel, which recoiled
back into the unsuspecting mercenary, hitting him in nose. The suddenness of
the blow sent the soldier sprawling onto his backside, the weapon flopping
uselessly to the floor.

Randall
scrambled from under the bed and lunged for the assault weapon. Just inches
from grasping it, he felt a sudden jerk backward, as the mercenary grabbed hold
of his boot. The next sensation Randall felt was a jabbing pain in his back,
the soldier dealing him repeated blows with an elbow to his spine. The pain was
excruciating.

Randall
rolled, his own elbow catching the soldier on the cheek, once again knocking
him off balance. Randall scrambled to his feet, finding the mercenary had done
so as well. The two men faced each other, the mercenary producing a large
serrated knife.

“Get
ready to die, asshole.”

The
two men circled each other, the soldier making a low growling noise. Randall
searched in vain for something to use as a weapon.
Anything
to help keep the mercenary at bay.
He seized hold of a table light,
tearing off the shade. The soldier let out a sick laugh.

“Is
that the best you can do?”

The
mercenary lunged at the Professor, who deftly moved to one side, batting away
the knife-wielding hand with the lamp base. Randall took two steps back, and
once again the circling ensued. Letting out a grunt, the mercenary came at
Randall, full force, knocking him to the ground. The Professor tumbled
backward, the lamp base skidding across the floor. Regaining his composure,
Randall raised his hand just in time to deflect the knife to the left, just
inches from his head. He could smell the soldier’s stinking breath as he drew
his face near.

“After
I take care of you, I’m going to make sure that little bitch daughter of yours
gets it, too. I’m going to enjoy that one, going to take my time and have a
little fun first.”

Suddenly
the soldier’s head jerked up.

“Take
that, you asshole!” Mike said, throwing his boot at the mercenary’s head. He
was standing now, balancing against the bed with his good leg.

It
was just enough of a distraction. Randall hit the mercenary in the side of his
head with his elbow, rolling to the side while he did so. Caught off balance,
the mercenary rolled off, his knife falling to the side. Both men caught sight
of the gun at the same time and lunged for it. The two wrestled on the ground.
Unfortunately for the Professor, the strength of the younger man was too much
for him and the mercenary emerged victorious. Randall stood and held his hands
up, the soldier blocking his view of Mike.

“Not
this time, cocksucker. No prisoners.”

The
mercenary took aim, but once again, Mike threw something at him.

“How
did you like that asshole, want some more?” Mike raised his
hand,
ready to throw the other boot at the soldier, who smiled, pointed his assault
rifle at him, and fired.

“No!”
Randall lunged at the soldier, ramming him headfirst into wall. The mercenary’s
body fell limp to the floor, blood trickling freely from a gash on his head.

Randall
raced to Mike, too late to help. The graduate student lay helpless on the bed,
his shirt crimson with blood and a gaping hole in the middle of his chest. His
eyes rolled helplessly to Randall as he gasped for breath.

“Hold
on Mike, you’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay,” the Professor
repeated, tears streaming from his eyes.

Mike
grasped his mentor’s hand, squeezed once, and went limp. Sobbing, Randall
dropped his face onto the bed next to Mike’s body.

“No,
no, no!” He cradled his head in his hands, gently closing Mike’s open eyes that
stared vacantly at him. For a moment, Randall forgot about everything else, his
heart consumed with grief. He continued rocking back and forth, holding his
friend’s lifeless body, sobbing.

“Excuse
me.”

Randall
spun, ready to fight again. There was someone else in the room, but in his
panic of fighting the guard, Randall hadn’t seen him.

“Who
are you?”

“My
name is George…these guys kidnapped me from my company.”

Randall
just stared blankly.

“We
built four satellites for a project Mr.
Dumond
was
working on, but it turns out he lied about what he was doing. He’s been holding
me prisoner here with Mike and wants me to help him finish his plan. He’s
crazy, and I can’t help him do what he wants to do. Please, you have to help me.”

Randall’s
mind raced between grief, anger and disbelief. Still clutching Mike’s body, he
wiped the tears from his eyes with his free hand.