Quest (Dane Maddock Adventures) (28 page)

“I get the impression they think they’re going to keep us here.” Bones kept his voice low so that no one else could hear.

Dane nodded. Yet another reason they needed to retrieve their weapons as soon as possible. But how to do it without coming into open conflict with people they would prefer to protect?

Kennedy stood in the shadows at the end of the tunnel, letting the darkness and the vegetation conceal his presence. He could not make out much from this vantage point, but he could see there was some sort of valley or canyon below them, and what looked like a pyramid in the distance.

“See anything?” Smithson whispered.

“Not much, but there’s at least two men hiding out there, keeping watch. If I can see them, there have to be more of them I can’t see.”

“You think it’s more of those zombies?” Wesley actually sounded eager for a return engagement with the mindless natives.

“I don’t think so. They didn’t seem like the type to hide out and guard an entrance. There’s something else going on here. I think we’ve reached the end of the line.”

“Well, let’s go get ‘em then!” Wesley bobbed up and down on the balls of his feet. His near-death experience in the booby-trapped tunnel had not dampened his enthusiasm one bit.

“Not yet.” Kennedy despised inaction, but he wasn’t stupid. They needed intel. What waited for them out there? How many men? How were they armed? What was the key to Project Pan, and where was it?

“Yes, sir.” Wesley’s disappointment-soaked words were respectful. The man might be a pit bull, but he was a well-trained one. Good thing, too. Kennedy didn’t tolerate men who could not or would not follow orders.

“We’ll wait for dark. Our night vision goggles will give us a major advantage. I’ll take one of them alive if I can, and find out just what’s waiting for us out there. Then we’ll move in.” A grim smile crept across his face. He did not know if Maddock or Broderick had reached this place ahead of him. It would probably be an easier fight if they had not, but somehow, he hoped they were here. He had a bloodlust that needed to be satisfied.

“You should see the pyramid. It’s really something.” Thomas’s speech was clipped and his expression grave. He was moving fast, as if he didn’t care if they kept up with him or not. When they reached the pyramid, he began climbing. “Watch your step.” He didn’t look back as he spoke. “It’s crumbling in places, but if you stay behind me, you’ll be all right.”

Dane wanted to tell him that they really weren’t interested in sightseeing right now, but he sensed Thomas had a purpose behind his actions, so he followed without complaint. When they had climbed about halfway, Thomas stopped, and indicated they should sit down.

“I’m sorry about the climb.” The words were interspersed with gasps as he sucked in air. “It’s steep, but necessary.” Finally composing himself, he drew in a few slow, measured breaths. “Anyway, this is the one place we can talk without anyone listening. Not everyone here speaks fluent English, only the Punics, but the natives all speak at least a little bit, and understand a lot. This way, we can have a bit of privacy, and can also watch to see if ScanoGen shows up. The way in is that way.” He pointed to the ridge on the far end of the valley.

“Tell us the story,” Dane said. “The whole story. We risked our lives to save you, and we deserve answers.”

“That’s why we’re up here.” Thomas would not meet his eye. “Where should I begin?”

“How much have you learned much about this place?” Bones asked.

“Quite a bit, actually. Fawcett is very talkative, and the others are fairly free with information since they know I’m no threat to escape. Kephises was founded by refugees from Carthage who escaped at the end of the third Punic War, just before the fall of Carthage itself. Those who survived the voyage made landfall far to the north, most likely near the southernmost regions of the Mayan empire. The first natives they encountered worshiped them as gods, and followed them into the jungle. Their leader was Hasdrubal, Hannibal Barca’s grandson.”

“That’s one of the things that confused me,” Dane said. “I didn’t think Hannibal had any children.”

“History has been hazy on that topic,” Thomas replied. “I suppose that’s because his only living descendant headed off to the Americas.” His thin smile only made him look more nervous. “Anyway, Hasdrubal was on a mission, given to him by the priesthood, to protect Carthage’s greatest treasure. When they arrived in the New World, he told the others that the gods would let him know when and where it was time to stop. They journeyed deeper and deeper into the jungle, picking up some native followers as they went, but losing their fair share of people along the way. When they finally found this place, he deemed it safe and remote enough to settle.

The tunnel, the Path of Five Steps, and the pyramid all were built over the generations using combined labor of the Punics and natives. That’s why the pyramid is a bit odd-looking. The Barcids wanted something like the pyramids of Egypt, but the pyramid has distinctly Mayan features, which is why I believe their first landfall was in or near Mayan territory.”

“So, the people who live here are a mix of Punics and Mayans?” It bothered Dane to feel like the ignorant half of a conversation with Kaylin’s boyfriend, but he wanted to hear the story nonetheless.

“Mostly. Also local natives, some of whom they collected as they went in search of this place, others they collected over the years. There seems to be something of a hierarchy here, depending on how much Punic blood one has, with the Barcids being the most pure. That’s actually how Fawcett came to find this place. I assume you found Wainwright?” They nodded. “The young man whom Percy Fawcett encountered was a Barcid who wanted to marry one of the low blood girls. That isn’t acceptable in that family. In fact, the only reason Jack Fawcett was permitted to marry into their line was because the husband of one of the women of the line had died. She was of late middle age and thought to be past childbearing years. Anyway, the young man and his lover escaped, and he took with him the secret to the five steps, and he also carved a rough map in stone. I suppose he thought they’d come back some day once they’d had a few children and it was too late for his family to do anything about it. If it hadn’t been for him, this place might still be a secret.” He lapsed into silence, gazing out across the valley.

“You said you weren’t a threat to escape,” Bones said, “are they keeping you here?”

“I’m sure if they let you go, they’ll let me go, too.” Thomas sighed. “Once they understand their secret is out, there’s not much reason for them to keep us here.”

“I’d like to see them try.” Bones grimaced, and his gaze turned flinty as he looked down on the settlement.

“The truth is, unless Salvatore Scano has told the world, which I can almost guarantee you he hasn’t, the only people from the outside world who know about this place are sitting right here.” Tam frowned. “And what’s left of the ScanoGen men, if they survived those zombie people.”

“The Mot’jabbur, they call them.” Thomas looked up at the sky. “The Dead Warriors.”

“Who are they?
What
are they?” Dane asked.

“I suppose you could call them experiments that went wrong, but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate.”

“What
I
want to know is how you came to have any dealings with ScanoGen in the first place.” Kaylin’s voice was white hot rage. “You never told me a single thing. Then you disappear, with nothing but a picture as a clue, and leave killers after us. What happened?”

Thomas hung his head for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, and then stood. “For you to understand that, you’ll have to see the tree.”

He led them around to the back side of the pyramid and pointed down to a clearing, in the center of which stood the strangest tree Dane had ever seen. It resembled a baobab tree in miniature, with a thick trunk and a few root-like branches spreading out at the very top. But the similarities ended there. The bark was silver and gleamed in the orange sunset. The round leaves were concave and glossy like those of a magnolia, but they were dark on one side, nearly black in color, and a creamy white on the other. A single piece of fruit was visible through a gap in the bizarre foliage. It was the size of a cantaloupe, and it, like the leaves, was dark on one side and light on the other.

“Percy Fawcett was on to something even crazier than anyone ever suspected. Much of what he professed to believe was a smokescreen designed to throw people off the trail of what he knew would be an earth-shattering discovery. It took half a lifetime, but I pieced together, and kept for myself, enough evidence to realize what he was truly after.”

Down below, a woman was watering the tree. She glanced up at them, but paid them no particular mind, and went back to her work.

“This tree is the secret the Punics traveled her to protect. It has passed through many hands: Athenian Greeks, Spartans, Persians, all the way back to ancient Israel and beyond.”

Dane turned a quizzical glance at Thomas, but did not interrupt.

“The leaves, when divided, have powerful properties if made into a tea and drunk regularly.”

“What sorts of properties?” Dane asked.

Thomas gazed into the setting sun, as if uncertain how to explain. “The human propensity for violence exists on a spectrum. Some people have such a tremendous aversion to violence that they cannot abide the thought of it, and will only raise a hand to another human being in the final, most desperate defense of their life, or that of a loved one, if then. On the other end of the spectrum are those who will pull a trigger with no compunction whatsoever. Most of us lie somewhere in between.”

“That’s one of the things military training does.” Dane thought about his own experiences. “From the beginning, you are never told to kill the ‘other man;’ everything is referred to as a target, even human targets. There are a lot of other techniques they use as well to try to get you past thinking of the other side as human, because most of us have at least some aversion to killing others.”

“When I was doing some research about an ancestor who fought in the Civil War,” Bones said, “I read that a good many soldiers couldn’t even bring themselves to fire their gun. As soon as the shooting started, they’d hunker down and wait it out.”

“Very true.” The professor in Thomas was emerging. “Those who can kill without thought make our deadliest soldiers, because they don’t flinch in the face of danger, and they never hesitate when it’s time to pull the trigger.”

“They also make for serial killers,” Dane added, “because they have no empathy.”

“Precisely. Imagine a fighting force in which every man is completely without fear, yet preserves his intellect, and is thus able to follow orders and make appropriate decisions without fear getting in the way. It would make a difference today on the battlefield, but think of the effect it had in the ancient world, where all the fighting was hand-to-hand, face-to-face, hacking apart another human being. It was vicious and very, very personal.”

“But an army, even one that was outnumbered, that drank this tea would make for a better fighting force than a larger force filled with frightened men.” The pieces were falling into place for Dane. “Hannibal gave this tea to his troops during the Punic Wars, didn’t he?” Thomas nodded. “And the Spartans must have drunk it before the battle of Thermopylae.”

“Spies stole it right out from under the noses of Xerxes and his so-called Immortals. Took all the leaves and the sole remaining seed. Xerxes apparently intended to plant a new tree in the western half of his new empire. It didn’t work out for him.” Thomas grinned. “It passed from Sparta to Athens, which had the most success in cultivating it. They managed to build up a stockpile of seeds, which eventually fell into Punic hands.”

“So how did Carthage not win the war if they had the greatest general of his day, plus this tea?” Bones asked.

“The supply is always limited. The tree is slow-growing and produces a limited number of leaves every year. The priesthood that tended to the trees could not produce enough to keep up with the army’s demands. Only certain, special units were given the tea in any case.”