Thief (35 page)

“She says she's had a vision,” Santos said.

“Out of the blue?” Monarch said. “Just like that?”

“Evidently. And evidently you were in the vision.”

“Okay?”

“She misinterpreted you the first time.”

“So I'm no longer the destroyer?”

“No,” Santos said. “You are the demon slayer I told her you were.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You're going to save the Ayafal from demons.”

“I'll be on the lookout,” he replied with a wry smile.

But Monarch's thoughts were not on demons as they set off on the march north for the third time in as many days. He was trying to figure out how long Sister Rachel had been in captivity, and it took him awhile. As Santos had said, despite the Ayafal's obsession with the phases of the moon, there was a timeless quality to the canyon and its people that was seductive and impossible to ignore. After a day there, he'd stopped wearing his watch. For reasons he couldn't quite describe, it just felt like the right thing to do.

Increasingly, however, the idea of stealing the secrets to the Ayafal's longevity seemed the wrong thing to do. But what would happen if he didn't? Hector might kill Sister Rachel out of spite alone. That firmed his resolve. Stealing the secrets of the canyon
was
the wrong thing to do, but he was absolutely going to do it.

And even though it now felt wrong to him to use a satellite phone in the canyon of the moon, he was going to do that as well.

An hour later, when they'd made it to the clearing, he told Santos to go on ahead. He wanted to sit awhile and admire the falls. When he was sure he was alone, he got out the satellite phone and called Gloria.

“Where the hell are you?” Barnett demanded.

“In the enlightened Stone Age,” he replied. “You?”

“Buenos Aires,” she said, and then got him up-to-date.

“Which drug cartel does Reynard work for?” Monarch asked.

“Colombians, and Mexicans. Zullo got us Reynard's credit card and debit card numbers, and we're monitoring them. So far nothing.”

“Tell Claudio to find Jesus Rincon. He'll know how to contact Tito.”

“Jesus Rincon. Got it.”

Monarch told her about Dokken and the mining company putting GPS bugs on the rafts, and how he'd lost them.

“Dokken and Vargas coming back into my life at the same time says coordination to me,” the thief said.

“Agreed,” Barnett said. “I'll make some calls, see if anyone in the FBI or CIA kept tabs on Dokken after he was released.”

“And find out more about the mining company.”

She promised she would, and Monarch almost signed off. But then he said, “They've had her almost two weeks, Gloria.”

“She's a very tough woman,” Barnett said. “You've got to believe that.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, choking up. “But still. Two goddamned weeks.”

“I understand completely. Any closer to finding the fountain of youth?”

Monarch looked at the waterfall and the pool, said, “Maybe.”

“Really?”

He told her about the lunar calendar and the DNA and environmental samples the scientists were taking.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Once I've got the age-defying source confirmed, I'm going to steal what I need and get the hell out of here.”

“Well done.”

“Once I've got it confirmed,” he emphasized. “I'll let you know.”

“And I'll leave a message if we find Tito or Reynard.”

“Watch yourselves. Tito's slippery and the cartel guys are vicious.”

“But we're professional and unpredictable.”

They said their good-byes. Monarch hung up and was lowering the satellite phone's antenna when he heard a branch snap close by in the forest. He peered in through the branches, trying to spot the source of the sound. But he saw nothing, and heard nothing more.

*   *   *

Another day passed. The moon overhead was in its last waxing toward full. While Santos processed the cave painting and tattoo ink samples, Carson and Rousseau and their assistants were out in the field gathering water and plant samples for their research.

Monarch helped and watched the tribal members go about their daily lives. Men chopped wood, foraged for food in the jungle, carried water to the settlement, and built things. Women were in charge of the collective kitchen. Others spun that crude fabric they all wore with fibers harvested from the stalk of what Rousseau said was yet another unnamed jungle plant. Other women wove mats from rushes and reeds that grew downstream of the waterfall pool.

The Ayafal were hardworking, but not obsessive. After a few hours work, they lay around and talked. They loved to laugh. All of them. And they did a great deal of it.

Monarch never saw any of the children misbehave or get reprimanded. They appeared free to roam about seemingly without restriction, but spent long periods of time in their parents' arms, even the adolescents.

The tribe also understood that filth led to disease, and they took great care to dig latrines in the limestone areas where their organic waste would be filtered and purified. The thief found all of it fascinating, but he was just biding time.

Midafternoon, Santos came to Monarch. She was beaming. “We're in a special, special place, Robin. A miraculous place.”

“You've got proof of the ages?”

“I think so,” she said. “My first round of tests show a strong correlation between the age of the paint on the cave wall, and the tattoo ink, and the age they claim to be based on the moon charts.”

“How strong?”

“Plus or minus two years,” she said. “But with the right equipment, we might get even more precise.”

“So now what? Repeat the tests?”

“I'll do that back in the lab. I'm going to switch to the DNA samples.”

Before they could talk more, Carson and Rousseau and their assistants returned with their own samples, and began their own testing. Santos returned to hers as well. By evening, they knew that the water in the pool at the base of the waterfall had an alkaline pH of 7.4, putting it somewhere between salt water and distilled water, which Carson said would be expected from a limestone-based source.

“There's a lot of science out there to support the importance of keeping the body slightly alkaline in nature and longevity,” Carson said. “There are also vital minerals in the water in almost optimal dilutions for human performance, and several trace minerals I haven't identified. If someone could bottle this stuff, they'd make a fortune.”

“No one's bottling water here, ever,” Santos said, looking horrified.

“Well, I most certainly am taking the plant samples and seeds back and growing them in my greenhouse,” the botanist said. “From what Fal-até says, there are four very powerful ones here that she claims can cure all sorts of illnesses. And the more I study that
K-nay-afal
plant they use on full moons, the more I'm convinced it's in the cannabis family, except that it's got an unbelievably high concentration of cannabinoids in it.”

His assistant Les Cailles nodded. “Off the charts.”

“Translation?” Monarch said.

Rousseau said, “Cannabinoids inhibit certain neurotransmitters in the brain, especially in people with seizure disorders, and has shown promise as a cancer treatment. The plants could be part of why the Ayafal seem to rarely get sick, and their minds remain so agile into old age.”

The botanist also said he thought the drug on the dart was a mutation of the curare plant. That was remarkable because in its raw form curare usually kills a human.

“There's almost too much to catalogue here,” Rousseau said. “A lifetime of work could be done in this canyon.”

Later, after the others had gone off to sleep, Monarch and Santos sat on a log a few feet apart, looking at the fire.

“You guys will get the Nobel for something like this, won't you?” he asked.

The lead scientist laughed, shook her head. “Not for simply finding people and testing them.”

“No?”

“No,” she said. “I'd have to figure out why they live longer and then scientifically prove it, which could take years. Decades.”

“You up to the task?”

Santos smiled, “Yes. I think I am.” She hesitated. “You've never made a pass at me.”

“That right?”

“I think I would know.”

“You would,” he said. “But sadly that's not going to happen.”

“No?”

“Conflict of interest,” Monarch said.

“So you have a woman in your life?”

“I do.”

“What's her name?”

“Rachel.”

“I think, for the record, that Rachel is a lucky woman to have you.”

“I'll tell her that,” Monarch said.

“You introduce me someday?”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

 

48

MONARCH AWOKE AFTER DAWN
in that same long hut thinking that the dart drug might come in handy someday. But how would he get some? Steal Rousseau's samples?

He went to the bamboo ladder, looked out into the weak light, and saw Santos pretty much where he'd left her. She sat on a log in front of the fire, head down, staring at her computer, seemingly oblivious to the four or five Ayafala children who were gathered around the back of her, staring in awe and excitement at the glowing screen.

“You sleep at all?” he asked.

The lead scientist seemed not to hear him for several seconds, and then came out of whatever place her brain had taken her, and looked up at him.

“Not a wink,” she said.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Just a bit in shock,” Santos replied.

“Why's that?” he asked.

She blinked twice, shook her head once, and said, “It shouldn't happen this way. I mean you hear about these things happening, but…”

The scientist's eyes went far away again.

“Earth to Santos,” Monarch said. “What's happened?”

“I think I've got it,” she said. “I went on a hunch, and ran a few tests on the samples we gathered yesterday, and, my God, I think I'm right. I'll have to test them all, of course, and the kidnapped girls to know for sure.”

“Know what for sure?”

“Why the Ayafal live so long,” she replied. “At least a major contributing factor.”

“Wait, didn't you say figuring that out would take years?”

“If not decades,” Santos said, nodding in bewilderment.

“So what do you think it is?”

Her expression turned dazed at that point. Monarch thought she might faint and keel over right there. “I don't feel right,” she said.

“Because you haven't slept or eaten or probably had a thing to drink,” the thief said, propping her up.

“I
could
use some sleep,” she said, popping a flash drive from the USB port, and hanging it around her neck before closing the laptop and hugging it to her chest. “When I wake up I'll be able to tell if I'm right about this, or delusional.”

As Monarch helped get her standing and walked her over to the long hut where she'd been sleeping, he kept a close eye on her computer. If Santos
was
right, the key to freeing Sister Rachel had to be on that computer and that flash drive. All he had to do was grab one and go.

Santos yawned, said, “Thank you, Robin. Can you hold this while I climb up?”

She handed him the computer, climbed up the short ladder onto the platform, and then turned and held her hand out expectantly. Monarch gave it over without hesitation.

“You're a good person, Robin Monarch,” she said as she turned to go inside. “Your Rachel is a lucky, lucky girl.”

Monarch walked away, sat on the log, looking at her long hut. The secret, or part of it anyway, was within his grasp. But how would he escape? How had the Ayafal gotten them in here?

Before he could begin to figure that out, the other scientists awoke, ate, and went back out into the field. He never mentioned what Santos had told him. The thief stayed within range, hoping Santos might give him an opportunity to steal the flash drive, or even better, her computer. But through the morning and well into the afternoon, there was no sign of her.

Monarch noticed, however, that there was more activity and more people than he'd seen there before. Indeed, there seemed to be a stream of Ayafal men and women coming in from other settlements in the canyon. Twice the ordinary number of women were cooking and preparing in the communal kitchen area. Some men were carrying loads of dried firewood. Others toted large gourds that seemed heavier than they looked.

Everyone was happy, excited, except the younger children, who glumly watched the frantic preparations. Monarch could not communicate other than through rudimentary sign language, so he had no idea what was happening.

The other scientists returned midafternoon.

“Are you ready for it?” asked Carson.

He had come up behind Monarch, and was watching the now frantic preparations with happy eyes.

“It?”

“The full moon celebration,” Carson said. “The highlight of Ayafal culture as far as I'm concerned.”

“What happens?”

He laughed. “Honestly, I don't want to spoil it for you. It's something you just have to experience the first time.”

“But you had a good time?”

He laughed again. “Hell, yes. It's impossible not to.”

“Then why are the kids all so sad.”

“You've got to be fifteen or older to participate,” Carson said. “If I were you, I'd take a nap. You're going to need the energy.”

Monarch had other plans, but knew they were impossible to execute at the moment. He considered faking an illness, letting everyone else leave the village for the celebration, and then steal the computer drive.