The Vilcabamba Prophecy: A Nick Randall Novel (8 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Humvee sped along the dusty road,
kicking rocks into the air as it raced towards a destination unknown to Sam who
sat wedged between armed mercenaries. As disturbing as it had been seeing her
colleagues gunned down in front of her, Sam was equally dismayed at being
forced into a military vehicle with weapon toting thugs.
None
the less
, Sam wouldn’t allow her captors to see the faintest sign of
distress. Her eyes were alert, as she scanned back and forth between the
soldiers seated in the Humvee—her mind working on a solution. She glanced
over at Monica who wasn’t faring as well. She seemed catatonic, clutching Sam’s
arm as her only lifeline to sanity. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see
that the lead abductor, Captain Middleton, couldn’t suppress a sickeningly evil
grin, as he contemplated their fates.

The Humvee pulled into a
compound, which more resembled a resort than a forward operating base. Although
the buildings were only temporary structures, to the untrained eye they seemed
as solidly built and as permanent as concrete and steel reinforced buildings
that might be found at any commercial park. The complex was laid out in a
semi-circular pattern with the administrative building in the center and the
other facets of the compound emanating outward. To the east was the small dock
and shipping area with a container ship awaiting its cargo. Near it, was a
small loading crane and container truck of the variety found at commercial
ports. A small warehouse sat at the western end of the shipping area. To the
west of the administration building was a small landing pad with a shiny new
Eurocopter
EC 135 sitting at its center. The beautiful,
luxury copter looked like a large, looming bird sitting with its nose facing
the Humvee, rotors sagging under their own weight. To the north of the
administration building, were the luxury living quarters, complete with dining
facility, staff quarters and command center. Sam mused that it was amazing what
could be accomplished when money wasn’t an object.

The mercenaries led the
academics into the main administration area where their host was waiting.
Dumond
stood in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his
back, a wry smile upon his face. “Welcome to my compound.”

“Who are you, what do you
want with us, and what have you done with my father?” Sam seethed, her eyes
narrowing as she looked into
Dumond’s
.

“Dr. Randall, I’m
offended. Is this the way to treat the man who sponsored your father’s
research?”
Dumond
replied.

“What do you mean?” Sam
asked

“Dr. Randall, Dr.
Randall, Dr. Randall,”
Dumond
said, shaking his head.
“I’m your father’s biggest fan.
 
Why, when he was just a young graduate student giving his lectures and
being shouted down by his peers, I’m the one who helped save his job.”

“What are you talking
about?”

“I heard about your
father through some colleagues of mine and decided to pay him a visit. I heard
him speak about Dr. Drake’s equation for predicting the amount of intelligent
life in the universe and found his theories fascinating. In fact, when I paid a
visit to Dr. Andrade, it sounded like your father was on his way out of
academia. Of course, not by his own choice.”

“You know Francisco?” Sam
asked.

“Indeed, Dr. Randall. In
fact, I made quite a generous donation to the University to keep your father
around. You could say that my associates and I are very interested in seeing
him complete his research here,”
Dumond
said.

“Your associates?”

“That’s right. There’s a
group of us who feel that your father has discovered something very important
here. So you can see, I haven’t done anything with you father. In fact, we
can’t seem to locate him. We were hoping you might help us find him.”

Samantha laughed. “Why
the hell would I do that?”

Dumond’s
expression turned to one of a father addressing a disrespectful child. “Because
you really don’t have
a choice now do
you? As I have
explained, Dr. Randall, I have a great deal of resources invested in finding
what your father is looking for, and I’m willing to do anything to protect my
investment. Even if that means killing you and your friend, here.”

Dumond
stepped closer to Sam, grasping her throat between his thumb and index finger.
Sam’s eyes widened.

“I see you’ve met Captain
Middleton. If you don’t do exactly as I say, he will be the one to carry out my
orders to dispose of you and your friend, and I promise you, the Captain won’t
be gentle.”
 
With that comment, from
the periphery of her vision, Sam detected a disturbing grin from Middleton.

“What exactly is my
father looking for?” Samantha asked, as
Dumond
released his grip.

“A power source unlike
any other, one that could change the face of energy on this planet. Do you
realize what the right person could do with such a device?”

Samantha could see that
Dumond
was excited about the prospect, but she was also
sure that he was about as far from being the right person to find this device
as she could imagine. “In the hands of the right person, this device could
change the political structure of the world as we know it. All other energy
sources would immediately become obsolete, and the man who owned the technology
would become a king.”
Dumond
emphasized the last
words with a nod of his head. Once again, he moved to within inches of
Samantha, his faced virtually pressed against hers.

“So you’re going to help
me find it. Captain Middleton, escort our guests to their quarters,”
Dumond
said.

Middleton gestured for
his guests to move toward the villas, his finger resting on the trigger guard
of his assault rifle. Samantha and Monica walked slowly, surveying the
compound. The living quarters were quite lavish with polished stone floors and
artwork adorning the walls. The room had two overstuffed couches, which looked
very cozy to Samantha, especially in her exhausted condition. As nice as it
was, it was still a cell, and they were prisoners. Samantha was reminded of
this fact as she tried to open the door, only to find it bolted from the
outside. Without doubt, guards armed to the teeth, and aching for a reason to
use their weapons, were stationed just outside the door, for good measure.
Middleton had explained that they were waiting for someone else to join their
group before they returned to the jungle.

Sam wasted no time
searching the room for anything that might help them escape. There were no
windows, or electronics for that matter, other than the lights and a small
cooler with water. Sam plopped herself on the couch, tired and frustrated. She
closed her eyes and rubbed her head, trying to think, but it was no use, they
were stuck until someone opened the door. “If I’m stuck here, I might as well
make good use of my time,” Sam said absentmindedly as she reached for her
backpack. Odd that no one had thought to check it or take it from her. She
removed the medallion first and then her father’s notebook.

“What’s that?” They were
the first words Monica had uttered since the jungle.

“My father’s notebook and
an artifact he found. I think there’s some significance to this medallion, but
I haven’t had a chance to think about it yet.” Sam looked at the medallion and
felt the weight of it in her hand. It was heavy and still had the same odd glow
in the middle of it.

“It’s beautiful.”
Monica’s eyes were fixed on the medallion as she inched closer to Samantha.
“Where did he find it?”

“I’m not sure.” Samantha
handed the medallion to Monica, who handled it carefully, turning it over as
she examined it, closely.

“Do you know what this
writing means?”

Sam noted Monica’s
interest in the medallion. There was something different in Monica’s tone when
she asked, a confidence that hadn’t been there before. Maybe she was coming out
of her shell.

“I’m not sure, but I
think there are clues about it in my dad’s journal. He’s a very meticulous
person when it comes to research, and if he felt this medallion was important,
I’m sure it is.” Sam began flipping through the pages of the journal. There had
to be something in there to help explain why the medallion was so important.
She was missing something, and if she could just find it, everything would be
clearer.

“The detail on this is
incredible,” Monica said. “Whoever made it was an amazing craftsman.” She set
the medallion on the table and walked to the other side of the room.

Sam was engrossed in her
father’s journal. His notes were thorough, and Sam was impressed by the
tenacity of his research. A strange sense of warmth flooded through her as she
read the journal, and memories began to return to her. Her dad had started
keeping these notes when she was young. The pages were dated, corresponding to
different research trips he had taken over the years. Sam remembered
accompanying him on a couple of trips that had turned into “family vacations.”
Only an archaeologist’s family would consider a trip to the Peruvian jungle a
vacation. This thought made her smile and shake her head, understanding how
small threads of her life wove the tapestry that had become the very essence of
who she was today.

At that moment, Samantha
Randall realized why she loved archaeology so much. Her job wasn’t just a means
of employment: it was a part of who she was. A part of her family’s basic
foundation. They were a family formed by her father’s love for the past and
finding the truth. The realization doubled her desire to unravel this mystery
and find her father.

There had to be something
in the journal, something she had missed when she read it in the temple a couple
of days ago. Sam read the journal from cover to cover, but could find no
mention of the medallion. She threw the journal onto the table in front of her,
in frustration. It had to be there somewhere, but her sleep-deprived mind was
missing it. She pushed herself up from the couch and walked across the room to
Monica, who seemed startled by Sam’s sudden appearance.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to
surprise you,” Sam said, sensing Monica’s unease. The poor thing was a very
nervous person.

“Dr. Randall, what do you
think they’re going to do with us?”

“I’m not sure, Monica,
but as long as they can’t find my dad, or this power source they’re looking
for, we’ll be okay. They need us, and as long as they need us, we’ll be fine,”
Sam said, with some trepidation in her voice.

Suddenly, the ground
shook beneath them, and the two women were knocked to the ground. “Quick
Monica, under the table!”

Sam crawled under the
heavy metal table near the wall just in time to see a picture fall from the
wall and crash to the ground where she had stood just moments before—the
edge of the frame gouging the floor. Sam scanned the room, looking for Monica,
who was lying on the floor, exposed. Having been caught off guard by the
violent shaking, she had fallen and smashed her head against the stone floor.
Sam called to her, but to no avail; Monica had been knocked unconscious.

Sam scrambled from
beneath her safe spot and stumbled over to her friend. As she reached Monica,
she could see a large, black and blue lump forming on the right side of her
forehead. Grabbing her by the arm, Sam dragged her under the desk to safety,
just as more debris fell crashing to the floor. She was breathing heavily, now,
partially from the physical exhaustion, partially from the trauma of the
earthquake. Sam’s hands began to shake as she tried to catch her breath and
calm her nerves. As quickly as it had begun, the shaking subsided, leaving her
trembling under the old metal desk.

Finally able to relax,
Sam checked on Monica, who was still breathing and had a pulse. Sam called her
name softly, holding her head on her lap. Slowly, Monica regained
consciousness, groaning and moving her head. As she awoke, she frowned and her
hand went to her forehead, finding the lump. Monica let out a quiet, “Ouch,”
and tried to focus on Sam.

“What happened?”

“We had another
earthquake. You must have fallen and hit your head pretty badly. How are you
feeling?”