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“Does the Atlantis go to the island?”
“No. Like me when I fly in supplies or people, the Brit captain brings a boat from the island. I’ve been ordered never to go past the drop zone, but I remember the first time, I hung around to see what would happen.”
“What did you see?”
“One minute there was simply nothing but water all around, the next this island with a volcano in the middle of it. It was like magic, scary magic. I hear talk the El Creador is some sort of mad scientist. But of course I can’t ask how he does this magic since I wasn’t supposed to ever see it. You do believe me, don’t you? I mean, you won’t shoot out my knees?”
Mike said, “We believe you, your knees are safe from us.”
Nicholas said, “One last thing. I want you to ask the airport manager if there was a man and woman with the Kohaths. Prisoners.”
“I was told there were four people. Does this help you?”
Nicholas said, “Go ask the airport manager to describe them to you.”
Rafael trotted to the hangar and was back again in a couple of minutes. “Alfredo said the two of them were tied up. Both of them were dirty, beat-up, but you know what? Alfredo said they still looked dangerous, both of them.”
Mike asked, “When are you due to fly in the next shipment?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Rafael, you’re going to make that delivery today. Call them up, make an excuse. You have to get it to them now. However you communicate, do it. Don’t forget your knees, your ten thousand dollars, your forever in the United States with your wife, and your daughter in Miami.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll call them now. I speak only to the British captain. Once I set up a drop, then what?”
“Then—” Nicholas smiled. “Then, Rafael, you will fly us out there.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
The Bermuda Triangle: October 1, 2015, a 790-foot cargo ship, the SS El Faro, reported a tropical storm hundreds of miles away suddenly dashed toward them and circled the ship. Communications went dead.
The hurricane was later reported going back from where it had originally been, once again a tropical storm. Weeks later, El Faro was finally located sitting upright in one piece at a depth of fifteen thousand feet. No trace of the thirty-three man crew.
The Bermuda Triangle
When Cassandra had visited Grandfather’s island for the first time as a child, she’d expected tremendous heat, even brimstone, and her grandfather lighting his cigars in the burning lava, like a god, or the devil. Shortly, they would prove he was no god, or the devil, only a relic who’d outlived his usefulness, lost his courage.
Soon it would be her island. No brimming lava, no sulfurous brimstone, instead, the smell of rocks, and that made her smile.
Rocks were one of her mother’s favorite things, and hers as well, of course. Earth was forever, Helen would say, and rocks marked the time.
Cassandra hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her mother since they’d found the cherubim’s wing and the note, about what might have happened to her, about spending the rest of her life without her. She could still listen to her mother’s voice, though. Cassandra had offloaded several of her mother’s voice messages. Sometimes she played them, to listen to her mother’s voice, like lovely British bells.
She wouldn’t think of her mother now, she couldn’t afford to because she knew her mother wouldn’t approve of what she and Ajax were going to do. But there was no choice, it had to be done or everything would fall apart. And after Grandfather was dead, her focus had to be finding the Ark.
Sometimes, when she opened her mind, she fancied she could feel the Ark under her fingers, she could see her hands raising the lid, she could taste the power it would bring, feel its promise, a light in the darkness. She would become one with it and then it would hit her like a bolt of lightning, and then she’d be omnipotent. And Ajax, would he be omnipotent as well? Somehow, Cassandra couldn’t imagine Ajax sharing in the glory that would be hers, alone.
Cassandra walked into the perfectly camouflaged concrete structure, built, Grandfather believed, by the Russians. It was covered with ivy and vines, and gnarled bushes with huge twisted branches and birds nested there. The entrance wasn’t noticeable unless you knew where to look—just in case, her grandfather had always said—just in case.
She walked through the security gate, knowing one of Grandfather’s X-rays was looking at her to the bone. It came to her then, a memory from when she was nineteen, and he’d told her and Ajax about their mother being lost in the Gobi. She’d asked him then if he had her notebooks. She remembered clearly now that he’d shaken his head, said, “Your mother’s notebooks are not for you.”
And why not? But she hadn’t asked, she was too grief-stricken. Maybe her mother’s notebooks were in the vault.
Cassandra felt a spurt of excitement as she nearly danced into the inner sanctum. She wasn’t at all surprised to see her grandfather seated in his chair, sipping a cup of that disgusting coffee he loved so much.
Jason said without turning, “I saw you come in. Why are you here, Cassandra?” His voice sounded scratchy and old—no, ancient, unused.
She said gaily, “We haven’t seen you for too long, Grandfather. We missed you.” Should she hug him, kiss him? She didn’t move.
