The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel (29 page)

“We’re going
down!”

A wide ribbon
of smoke trailed the Sikorsky as it plummeted from the sky. Barely able to
control the descent, Jesse wrestled with the heavy stick, using both hands. As
best he could, he aimed the flying block of metal for a soft piece of earth
with tall grass, hoping the brush would cushion the impact of landing.

Bullets
continued raining down on them; the combat helicopter gunman was having a field
day with his wounded prey. Within minutes, the Sikorsky had lost almost all
altitude.

“Brace for
impact!” Jesse pulled up on the stick with all of his might as the helicopter
approached the ground and, almost magically, the helicopter became buoyant for
a fraction of a second before hitting the ground with a loud thud.

The Sikorsky
had managed to maintain its structural integrity despite the hard landing, but
it was damaged beyond repair. Jesse glanced back at the hovering combat
helicopter, but a ribbon of blood trickling down his face obscured his view.
“Is everyone alright?” Groans came first from the back, then slowly, responses
from each passenger.

“We’re okay,”
Phil answered.

Jesse wiped his
forehead and removed his safety harness. Reaching under his seat, he removed
his .45 caliber handgun. Glancing to the side, he saw a
groggy
Tom trying to shake off the effects of the crash landing. Turning his head in
Jesse’s direction, Tom’s eyes grew wide at the site of the gun.

“I know it’s
not much, but it’s something. Stay here with the rest of them.” With that,
Jesse popped the door hatch and moved outside the smoldering chopper.

Slowly making
his way toward the back of the Sikorsky and using the body as a shield between
the other chopper and himself, Jesse took careful aim and fired several rounds
at the hovering chopper. Almost instantly, the combat chopper pulled up and to
the right and flew out of sight. Dumbfounded, Jesse lowered his weapon, looking
at the smoking barrel. Tom’s voice called him back to reality.

“Jesse, we’re
getting a call on the radio.” Jesse opened the side door to hear the good news.

“November 2115,
this is air traffic control, I repeat, has assistance arrived? Are you still
with us?”

“Tower, this is
November 2115, we’re alright. Hostile aircraft has left the area.” Glancing
through the cracked windshield, for the first time Jesse noticed the three
hovering helicopters, emblazoned with the Coat of Arms of the
Fuerza
Aérea
del
Perú
.

“November 2115,
good to hear your voice. We lost your transponder, are you on the ground?”

“Roger, tower,
I don’t think we’ll be flying this thing back anytime soon. The help you sent
is here, we’ll see if we can reach them on the radio and hitch a ride home. Do
you have a frequency for me?”

Jesse contacted
the hovering military craft, one of which landed in a small clearing near the
damaged Sikorsky. As he watched it land, he felt a large, strong hand land on
his shoulder. Jesse turned to see Tom’s grinning face.

“Nice job
Jesse.”

“Thanks Tom.”

Chapter thirty-seven

Upon arriving at the airport,
Randall and company
were
greeted by armed military
personnel. Word of the strange occurrences at
Misti
had reached the upper levels of government, and the Peruvian army had been sent
to speak to the Americans who were plucked from the side of the volcano only
moments before the eruption. Along with the military contingency were several
emergency medical personnel waiting to take George to the hospital and to treat
the others for their various injuries.

“Where are you
taking him?” Sam demanded.

“Your friend
will be taken to
Clinica
Arequipa for treatment of
his wounds,” the soldier in charge responded.

“I would like
to go with him,” Sam said.

“That will not
be possible. All of you, this way,” the soldier responded.

Sam looked over
his shoulder at
George
as he was loaded onto the
stretcher. He seemed out of it, the result of the pain medication.

“George, don’t
worry, we’ll get over to see you as soon as we can,” Sam said.

George raised
his head slightly and cocked it to one side as if trying to catch her voice in
his ear. Then he slumped back into the stretcher, disappearing through the
sliding doors.

Sam, Phil and
Randall slowly walked down the long corridor, flanked on all sides by armed and
serious young men with short-cropped hair and large black weapons.

“Dr. R, I’m not
so sure if I want to go on your next field assignment,” Phil said, eliciting a
smile from Randall.

“It’s good to
see you smile, Dad,” Sam said, squeezing his hand.

“We’ll be okay,
Sweetheart.”

They sat in the
gray, non-descript room for close to an hour, the door guarded on the outside
by the same soldiers who had escorted them in. Finally, the door swung in on
its squeaky hinges, and a distinguished looking man with tinges of gray in his
hair entered. He was tall and thin with a chiseled, worn face and he carried
himself with an air of importance.

“I am Colonel
Fernando
Acarapi
of the
Ministerio
de
Defensa
. I have some questions for you.”

One by one, the
Colonel questioned them, taking them separately into a smaller interrogation
room. Their stories all matched, and upon returning them to the larger room,
the Colonel left them once again, instructing the guards not to let them out of
the room until he returned. Alone in the room, Sam looked at her father, who
was standing off to the side, deep in thought. She recognized the look as the
one her father wore whenever a difficult problem arose that required intense
concentration on his part. Puzzled, she walked over to him.

“Penny for your
thoughts?”

“Hey
kiddo, just thinking about things.”

“Like what?”

“We’ve all told
Colonel
Acarapi
the same thing, but we left out the
part about
Vilcabamba
.
 
I think he bought it, largely because
most of what we’ve said is true.”

“But?”

“But the part
of the story that he might be able to punch holes in is the part that involves
George. I’m sure they’re trying to reach Francisco, and he’s not going to know
anything about him. I should have thought about that before I told Tom that
Francisco knows him. If I just had some way to contact him before they do, I’d
feel a lot better about our chances of getting out of here instead of facing
more interrogations with government officials.”

The door to the
interrogation room swung open once again and Colonel
Acarapi
strode in with a serious look on his face. Randall’s heart immediately sank.

“Dr. Randall, I
have news for you. I spoke with your friend Dr. Andrade at the University, a
very friendly man, I must say. He confirmed that you and your friends were
conducting fieldwork in the area as you explained. He also said that they lost
contact with you many days ago and that he was very worried about you and asked
me to tell you that he is very happy that you are alive.”

Randall nodded,
waiting breathlessly for the rest of the news.

“I also asked
Dr. Andrade about your friend, Mr. Walker.”
Acarapi
turned to look at Sam and then back again at Randall. “He spoke very highly of
Mr. Walker and his experience working with him. He asked how Mr. Walker was
doing and was concerned for his
well-being
as well. I
explained to him that Mr. Walker’s injuries were not serious and that he is out
of surgery. The doctors expect a full recovery in several weeks.”

Randall exhaled
slowly and felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders. Somehow Francisco had
pulled it off.

“We’re making
preparations to take you all back to the University. You must be exhausted and
happy to have this ordeal behind you.”

“We are,
Colonel, and I appreciate you arranging transportation for us,” Randall said,
rubbing his tired eyes.

“Dr. Randall,
you mentioned that this
Dumond
fellow was in charge
of this facility you stumbled upon. You mentioned that he was French. Is that
correct?”

“Yes, that’s
right. I believe he’s in the energy business, nuclear energy to be specific.”

“Do you have
any other information on him? Any proof to support your claims of what happened
in this underground facility?”

Randall shook
his head. “No, I don’t.”

“But he had
mercenaries working for him and a base located in our jungles, not far from the
mountain?”
Acarapi
asked.

“Yes. We were
all at his base at one time. It’s located somewhere in the area I showed you
earlier.
A rather large base in fact, with a helipad and
multiple buildings.
I’m sure if you sent a helicopter or airplanes to
the area they would be able to spot it from the air.”

A disdainful
smile crept across Colonel
Acarapi’s
face. “We did,
Mr. Randall, and we could locate no such base.”

Randall
realized that he had to contain his emotions and curtail any response to the
Colonel if they wanted to go home. Instead of speaking, he simply nodded his
head while holding the Colonel’s gaze.

“Wait here and
I will have my men escort you to the vehicles that will take you back to your
College.”

“Colonel, what
about George? Will we be able to see him soon?”

He nodded. “He
should be released in a day or two, according to the doctors. Here is how you
can contact him.” The Colonel reached into his shirt pocket and produced a
small note with the name and phone number of the hospital and room where George
was recuperating.

Acarapi
was good to
his word. Several unmarked SUVs sat waiting outside the building, ready to take
them back to the college.

The ride to the
University was uneventful, and Randall was grateful for this small bit of
fortune. Phil slept while Randall looked out the window, once again
contemplating all that had happened. Sam asked quietly, “Are you okay, Dad?”

Randall looked
away from the window, smiled, and took his daughter’s hand. “I am now. How are
you?”

“I’m good, glad
we’re heading back home soon.”

“Me, too.”

“But?”

“I’m just
wondering how Francisco was able to convince the army that he knew George and
had worked with him before. I always knew he was sharp, but this one takes the
cake.” Randall glanced over to see a crooked smile on his daughter’s face.
“What?”

“Remember when
you were spinning your yarn for Tom in the helicopter?” Sam asked.

 
Randall’s brow furrowed.

“I texted
Francisco about George and told him to be ready for a call.”

Randall smiled
and kissed his daughter on the forehead. “That’s my girl.”

Chapter thirty-eight

At the University, Francisco was
waiting for them as the Escalade pulled up in front of the administration
building. Randall could see him standing with his hands folded behind his back,
the top button of his shirt undone, and his tie loose. Randall waived as they
pulled up; Francisco smiled back. As the door of the SUV opened and Randall
exited, Francisco walked up to him.

“Good to see
you back safely, old friend.”

“Glad to be
back. Did you hear about Mike?”

Francisco
nodded slowly, closing his eyes as he did. “I was very sorry to hear about him.
He was a fine young man.”

Randall nodded
in agreement, “Did you contact his mother?”

“I did.”

“How is she?”

“My friend, she
has taken the news as well as she could. As well as any of us could take such
news.” Francisco put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I am very sorry for
your loss, but you cannot blame yourself. These men who accosted you were
trained killers, and I’m shocked that Monica was working with them.” Randall
could hear the sincerity in his friend’s voice, and it offered him some
comfort.

“I’ll call
Mike’s mother myself as soon as I can and make arrangements to pay my
respects.”

As the two men
spoke, Sam slipped out of the SUV and Phil followed closely behind her. They
slowly came up by Randall’s side, not wanting to interrupt the two of them.

“Sam, I’m so
happy that you’re alright!” Francisco said, giving her a big squeeze.
“You too, Phil,” this time extending his hand to Randall’s helper.

“I’m sure
you’re all exhausted, why don’t we go into the lounge? We’ll find something for
you to eat and drink. Come!” Francisco put his arm around Sam and led her and
the others into the college’s administration building. It was Saturday, and the
campus was relatively quiet.

The faculty
lounge was beautifully appointed. Large, overstuffed chairs and couches were
arranged to create intimate meeting spaces. Beautiful local art hung from the
walls, and several flat screen televisions were hung strategically to allow
resting faculty to watch while they ate or sat in the comfortable seating. Upon
entering the lounge, Phil spied the couches and made a beeline for them.

Seeing Phil
speed for a sofa, Sam followed, taking the couch opposite him. Falling into the
soft padding she closed her eyes. The exhaustion was finally hitting her hard,
and as she sat, she wasn’t sure she would be able to get back up without some
assistance. Randall and Francisco walked over to two overstuffed chairs set at
ninety-degree angles to each other. Francisco waited until Randall sat before
sitting himself.

“Tell me
everything. What did you find?”

Francisco was
sitting on the edge of his seat, leaning forward in anticipation. Randall could
see the excitement in his eyes. He looked like a small child waiting to see
what kind of goodies his parents had gotten him for his birthday.

“It was real,
Francisco.
Vilcabamba
was enormous, and the intricate
artwork was incredible.”

Randall went on
to tell his friend about the details of the underground city, and their
incessant battles with
Dumond
, who, Randall
explained, managed to escape from the volcano before it erupted. This fact
seemed to unsettle Francisco, who withdrew into his thoughts after Randall
revealed it. However, his mood quickly brightened.

“And the
inhabitants of
Vilcabamba
, did you meet them?”

Randall sat
back into his chair, a pensive look on his face.

“I’m not sure.
I think I did, but it might have just been a dream.” Randall went on to explain
his meeting with the creatures but how he woke up in the cavern with a lump on
his head and no proof in hand.

Francisco
waived his hand in disregard, “It doesn’t matter,
the
discovery of
Vilcabamba
will still change the way the
world looks at human history. You encountered an ancient underground city with
technology beyond anything we would expect from the time period. You now have
concrete proof to support your ideas and challenge prevailing theories! Once we
publish our findings, everyone will want to fund our research!” Francisco was
on a roll now, his exuberance overflowing his bucket of containment. Randall
hated to burst his balloon, but he had no choice. He had to bring his dear
friend back to earth.

“There’s just
one problem, old buddy. We don’t have a shred of evidence.”

The expression
on Francisco’s face morphed once again, this time into a frown. Deflated, he
plopped back down into the chair.

“No proof at
all? How could this have happened?” Francisco stood up and began pacing the
room. “I realize the eruption probably destroyed or concealed most of the city,
but surely some artifacts have survived. Once the magma cools we can launch
another expedition, this time with armed escorts. We can uncover the remains of
the ruins and bring back proof!” Francisco thrust a finger into the air to
emphasize the point. Glancing down at Randall, he noticed his friend shaking
his head from side to side.

“It’s gone,
Francisco. There’s no way anything survived the eruption and the lava flow.
Besides, without any proof, who’s going to support us?”

Randall watched
as Francisco sat back into his chair, mouth hanging open for a few seconds. For
a moment, he seemed ready to say something, but he caught himself and sat back
once again. His eyes were locked on a section of floor directly in front of
him, his shoulders sagging under the unseen burden that was suddenly thrust
upon them. Randall stole a quick glance in the direction of Sam and Phil. Sam
was now
laying
on the couch, while Phil lay motionless
on the sofa next to her. Both were fast asleep. It was the first peaceful
moment they had had in some time and Randall had no desire to disturb either of
them. He turned back to face his friend.

“Francisco, I
know this must come as a blow, but I’m okay with this. I now know that my theories
aren’t crazy and, more importantly, I got Sam back.

Randall could
tell his old friend was still in shock, “Are you alright?”

With a slow
determination, Francisco pushed himself back into his seat, sitting upright.
His eyes brightened and he nodded, appearing to be having a silent conversation
with himself. He finally looked back to Randall.

“Whatever
happens from here, we will confront it together, my friend. We have been
through rough times before, yes?”

Randall smiled
and nodded to Francisco. “We certainly have.”

Francisco sat
back in his chair and propped his chin on his right hand. Randall could see
that he was deep in thought. Finally he turned to Randall. “We still have
unspent funding from your benefactor. His most recent donation was deposited
about a week ago, and it was substantial. Perhaps your research should turn in
another direction.”

“Maybe, but I’m
not sure I want to use any more funding that came from Francis
Dumond
.”

“Well, this is
a matter for us to discuss later. In the meantime, I’m sure you must be hungry.
I see Sam and Phil have decided that sleep is more important than food at this
time, but would you like something? Maybe a strong drink?” His mouth drew into
a big smile as he finished the sentence.

“Yes to both,
especially the drink. Do you have a blanket for Sam and Phil?”

“Of course! I
will retrieve them, along with that drink. While I’m at it, I think I’ll
fetch
 
something
for myself!” Francisco shot out of the chair theatrically and walked briskly to
the door. As it closed slowly on its hinges, Randall stood and walked over to
his sleeping daughter. Seeing her asleep on the couch brought back warm
memories from a time long ago. Sitting down gently next to her, he brushed her
hair back from her face and gave her a small kiss on the head, just as he had
done when she was small. As he stood back up, he felt a rush of blood to his
head and became dizzy. The lack of sleep and physical exhaustion had finally
caught up with him.

His body tired
and battered, Randall walked slowly and carefully back to the chair he had
occupied and sat down heavily on the cushion. It was a very soft and
comfortable chair, he thought as he slowly found himself losing consciousness.
“Very comfortable indeed.” The words seemed to float into space as Dr. Nicholas
Randall drifted off to sleep.