I, Judas Page 17

  Halfway up, Angelique signaled a halt. “There is something you might want to see.”

  She pulled her machete out of its case and slashed at vegetation that had clawed its way up the rock on the side of the path. “I was shown this as a child and told to let it remain hidden by one of the elders of the Kaiyapo. No one could read it.”

  With several whacks, the greenery fell away, revealing marks etched into the stone itself, clearly some sort of writing.

  “What is it?” Gates asked as he secured the rope around a tree trunk, holding the boat in place for the moment.

  Angelique turned to Hyland who knelt in front of the rock as if in worship. Her fingers ran over the letters. “Aramaic.”

  “And it says?” Gates prompted.

  Hyland read, “’I, Judas the Viracocha of the Aymara, Rule The Land Above These Cataracts To The Mountains That Touch The Sky.’”

  “Well.” Gates didn’t know what else to say.

  “Are you certain?” DiSalvo demanded.

  “Isn’t this why you have me on the team?” Hyland asked, but she wasn’t looking for an answer. “It’s all true.” Hyland kept running her fingers over the markings. “It’s from one of the earliest forms of Aramaic I’ve ever seen. Second century, would be my best estimate. Maybe earlier.”

  “You told me about Viracocha,” Gates said. “Who is Aymara?”

  “Who were the Aymara,” Hyland corrected, but then paused, her eyes unfocused, lost in thought. “But maybe they are still up there.” She nodded toward the water roaring down below them. “If Judas is still there, perhaps his followers are, too.” She turned back to Gates. “I told you that Judas must have come over here by reed boat. He didn’t do that alone. He had to have help. Those pyramids built at Tihuanaco that are similar to those built in Egypt. There’s one seven hundred feet wide at the base and seven hundred feet high. Some archeologists always felt there has to be some sort of connection, as improbable as it seems.

  “There have always been rumors, Angelique, you’ve probably heard of them, of a strange tribe of white people far up the Amazon. They’re called the Aymara. I think they’re the descendants of those who came with Judas from the Middle East, across the Atlantis, up the Amazon, and built Tihuanaco. Then when threatened by the Incas, they fled out of the mountains into this jungle.”

  DiSalvo shrugged. “Now we know our mission is more vital than ever. The Dark One is indeed ahead of us.”

  “Or was ahead of us,” Lee said. “These marks are very old.”

  “He’s ahead of us,” Gates said as Hyland got to her feet.

  “Let’s move,” DiSalvo ordered.

  With some difficulty, they reached the top. Angelique pointed at a well-worn wood block and tackle. “That’s the first lift point. There are two more and then we’ll be through the gorge.”

  She threaded the rope through, then signaled for everyone to get on the other side. Peering over the edge, Gates could see the Zodiac bobbing in the current.

  “Pull,” Angelique ordered.

  DiSalvo still did not take the rope, moving further up the trail, scanning the countryside, the muzzle of the MP-5 following his eyes.

  “He’s definitely expecting company,” Gates grunted as he heaved on the line.

  “I’m surprised we haven’t been confronted already,” Angelique said. “Normally the drug smugglers would have stopped us by now and demanded a token payment. The river is unusually quiet.”

  “I don’t like that,” Gates said.

  “You are not alone,” Angelique said. “I think—”

  She was cut off as Lee tripped, not only dropping the line, but also falling into Angelique, causing her to lose her grip. Gates spun, pinning the line against his hip, while Hyland tightened her hands around the line.

  It wasn’t enough as the line slid, burning and cutting into Hyland’s palms, causing her to let go. Gates held, but it was pulling him toward the precipice. He spun back, letting the line off his body. The free end whipsawed, snagging DiSalvo, or more appropriately, lashing around the sling holding the case on his back. DiSalvo fell backwards, dragged toward the gorge.

  Gates whipped out his knife and sliced the sling, freeing DiSalvo. The metal case flew over the edge. Even above the roar of the water below, they could all hear the solid thud of the Zodiac slamming into the rocks.

  Gates got to his feet and peered down, the others lining up next to him. The Zodiac was impaled on a jagged rock, water rushing over it.

  “We could go back down and get the other boat,” Hyland suggested.

  “How far to the Devil’s Fork?” Gates asked as Lee bandaged her hands.

  “Ten kilometers,” Angelique said.

  “Is there a trail along the river?”

  Angelique nodded. “An animal track, at least to the Devil’s Fork. Beyond that, I don’t know.”

  “We can do that on foot quicker than backtracking,” Gates said. “And how far from there to Judas?”

  Angelique looked at DiSalvo.

  “We estimate another ten kilometers,” the priest answered.

  Gates checked his watch. “Still within mission parameters.”

  “We need that.” DiSalvo was pointing at the case bobbing in a pool about twenty feet from the wrecked boat. As they watched, the case was sucked under. They waited for it to reappear further downstream, to no avail.

  “Anyone see it?” Gates asked. Everyone indicated in the negative.

  “It’s caught under the rock,” Angelique said. “The current has it pinned in place. For how long, I don’t know.”

  “We need it,” DiSalvo repeated.

  “Why?” Gates asked.

  “I told you before that I don’t have to answer your questions,” DiSalvo said. “It’s essential mission equipment. Without it, there’s no point in going any further.”

  Gates slapped his MP-5. “I thought this was the only mission essential equipment we were going to need for Judas.”

  DiSalvo didn’t rise to the bait.

  “Lucky you weren’t handcuffed to it like Kopec was,” Gates said, “or you’d be down there, too.”

  “I can climb down there and get it.”

  Everyone turned in surprise to Hyland.

  “I’ve done a lot of bouldering and some technical climbing,” Hyland said as she shrugged off her battered leather pack. She removed the 120-foot length of climbing rope from the side. “Do you think I was carrying this just for show? I have to do a lot of rappelling and climbing out at sites.” She pulled out several other pieces of equipment, stuffing some in her waist pack. Then she slithered into a climbing harness.

  “What about your hands?” Gates asked as he took the other end of the rope and tied it around the thick trunk of a tree, then tossed the free end over the edge.

  “The doctor did a good enough job.” Hyland popped the rope through the gate on her harness, wrapped a loop around the metal, then prepared to back over the edge of the gorge, left hand on the fixed end coming from her waist to the tree.

  “Hold on,” Gates said. “Buddy teams.” He tapped the link on the front of his combat vest. “I’ll follow you down. Give a yell when you’re on the rock the case is under.”

  “How will you get back up?” Angelique asked.

  “Chumars,” Hyland said. “They clip onto the rope, then allow it through in only one direction. You rest your weight on one, slide the other up, then rest your weight on the other. It’s slow, but we will get back up.”

  “Ready?” Gates asked her.

  In reply, Hyland edged over the side of the gorge. She rappelled down with dangerously long bounds, feet finding precarious purchase on the jagged rock wall as she swung back in, knees absorbing the impact. Twenty feet above the surface of the river she paused and looked over her shoulder, fixing the position of the rock. Hyland bent her knees, bringing her body in close to the wall, then sprung outwards as she released tension on the rope. The nylon slid through the snaplink as she descended, and she
landed directly on top of the rock. She released the rope from the snaplink, then wrapped it around her body.

  “On belay!” She yelled.

  Gates clipped the rope into his snaplink. He went face forward, Australian style, his bounds shorter and more careful than Hyland’s had been. He made the last bound out, landing just in front of Hyland. She grabbed the end of the rope as he unhooked.

  DiSalvo’s voice echoed down from above. “Get the case! Let’s get moving, people!”

  Gates looked up. DiSalvo was waving angrily at them.

  “Do you know what’s in the case?” he asked Hyland.

  “No.” She asked her own question. “Was Kopec a traitor?”

  “A ‘traitor?’” Gates thought about the question. “He was probably serving more than one master. I saw him burst a second transmission last night after he sent the status report to the Brotherhood. DiSalvo probably found out about it somehow.”

  “Did he find out about it from you?” Hyland asked.

  Gates removed his combat vest and proceeded to strip down to just his fatigues pants. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I wasn’t sure what Kopec was doing, and we saw what happens when DiSalvo decides someone has crossed the Brotherhood.”

  “So you didn’t betray Kopec, but you might have betrayed our team by not betraying him,” Hyland said.

  “Let’s focus on the immediate problem.” Gates looked over at the smashed zodiac. “Not good.”

  “What?”

  Gates pointed. “Kopec’s blood. It’s getting washed into the water.” He looked down. The pool where the case was trapped was clear for about two feet. There was no sign of any piranha.

  Gates sat down and pulled off his boots and socks. “Screw it. Let me use your rappel seat rope as a safety line.”

  Hyland untied the rope around her waist and handed it to him. Removing ammunition, FM radio, grenades and everything else from his combat vest, Gates put it back on over his bare torso. He made a loop on the end of the 12-foot piece of rope and clicked it into the snap link on the front of his vest.

  While Hyland held the other end, Gates slid down the rock into the water. It was chilly, still carrying the cold from the distant mountains. He took a deep breath, then dove down, running his hands along the rock, searching for the case.

  He allowed the current to push him, figuring it had also pushed the case to wherever it was trapped. His hand slid into a crevice and his fingers scrambled, touching nothing but rock. He reached as far as he could and the crevice narrowed to a point where he knew the case couldn’t have gone any further. He pulled out his arm and swam to the surface, keeping a grip on the rock.

  Hyland hovered above, keeping the rope taut.

  Gates dove again. He moved to the left, both hands on the rock, his eyes trying to peer through the murky water. Letting the current push him once more, he was pressed deeper until he reached the sandy bottom. There was an undercut, channeled into the rock. Lying on his back, Gates edged in. He saw a glitter of metal ahead. The case was jammed between the boulder and the river bottom. He reached for the case when his rope went taut, then began pulling him backward, despite his best efforts.

  Gates was pulled to the surface, cursing as he broke into the air. “I almost had it!”

  “Get out of the water!” Hyland’s voice was tight, but as insistent as her pulling on the safety line had been.

  Gates didn’t question her, grabbing her outstretched hand. At that moment, a tear of pain screamed up his spine from the middle of his back. Gates was out of the water, reaching for his back. Hyland was faster, ripping the piranha off him and throwing it back into the water.

  “What are you doing?” DiSalvo’s voice echoed down from above. “Did you find it?”

  Gates ignored the priest. “How bad?”

  Hyland checked the wound. “Not too deep. But you’re bleeding. You were right. Kopec’s blood drew them.”

  Gates knew if she hadn’t pulled him out, he’d have been swarmed before he made the surface. He looked over the edge. He could make out dozens of dark figures just below the surface.

  “I saw the case. It’s on the bottom of the rock.”

  “You’ll never make it, bleeding like you are,” Hyland said.

  “No one can make it,” Gates said. “Not with those killers in the water.”

  Hyland was thinking about the Aramaic letters. “All my life I have looked for absolute proof. And here it is. In the last place I would have expected. And if Judas did make it here, then it’s very likely what he wrote was the truth. Not lies. Maybe he wasn’t the Great Betrayer like everyone thinks.” She looked up at DiSalvo glaring down at them. “You were right, Captain Gates. There is much more going on here than anyone knows, least of all Father DiSalvo. Least of all me. But I’ve been carrying a burden a very long time; nowhere near as long as Judas has. But now it’s time to lay down my burden.”

  Hyland unbuckled her waist pack and handed it to him. She smiled. “You won’t have much time.” With that, she ripped the bandages off her hands.

  Gates dropped the pack and grabbed her shoulders. “You can’t.”

  “Let me make my own choice,” Hyland said. “It’s the only freedom I have. It’s all any of us has. Just promise me this. You’ll see this to the end. And you’ll keep your mind open to what you find up river.”

  “No!” Gates gripped her shoulders tighter.

  “And one last thing,” Hyland said as she reached up and pulled off his hands. “Open up your heart again.”

  Then she ran and dove far out, arcing over the swirling piranha into the far side of the pool.

  Gates was in shock, but his training took over. He couldn’t waste her sacrifice. He dove straight down along the rock. He scrambled along the rock, underneath to the sand, into the space. His finger gripped the case and he tugged it free. He kicked hard back up along the rock. There was blood in the water. It was full of it. Something brushed along his leg and he ignored it. He broke the surface and tossed the case onto the rock. Dimly, he could hear firing. Then he scrambled up, even as a piranha took a small chunk out of his left calf.

  Gates rolled onto his back, safe for the moment on top of the rock, the case on his chest.

  Looking up he could see Angelique, MP-5 tight to her shoulder, the barrel smoking. She was aiming at the pool and Gates knew exactly what she’d done, making Hyland’s sacrifice mercifully short.

  New York City

  The skyscrapers cast long shadows to the east as the sun went down across the Hudson River. The streets were mostly deserted, although roving bands of looters and drunks dotted the area. Rooftops held more people as many looked to the northern skies, the glowing orb of the Intruder clearly visible. A collective noise echoed across the city every time there was the flash of a nuclear warhead going off. Twelve had exploded so far, with six more en route.

  Pierce stayed in the darker shadows, not hard to accomplish in New York City. It was going to be a challenge to get the last nukes up in time.

  Not that it mattered much.

  Pierce was walking up Central Park West, the city on one side, and the park on the other. He paused as he spotted a large sphere enclosed in a glass cube: the Frederick Phineas & Sandra Priest Rose Center for Earth and Space. The glass cube was ninety-five feet on each side, and the sphere inside housed the new Hayden Planetarium. Lit by colored searchlights, the sphere inside the glass was a sight that never failed to stir Pierce. He had contributed greatly to the construction of this adjunct to the Museum of Natural History through his subsidiary holdings.

  Pierce stood still for a while, simply looking at the building. He knew the interior upper half of the sphere was the most sophisticated virtual reality machine in the world. The entire sphere was eighty-seven feet in diameter and weighed over two thousand tons. Pierce walked up to the entrance. The door was wide open, the place deserted. No one was taking advantage of the pending apocalypse to view the show, as there was a muc
h better one in the sky above. He had the outside of the sphere to himself as he strolled onto the spiral walkway. Hanging from the ceiling to the gallery’s floor were scale models of galaxies, stars and planets.

  Pierce had seen the show, which played in the upper half of the sphere several times. It was a dramatic journey through the known universe, narrated by Tom Hanks and Jodi Foster. Instead, he went to the lower hemisphere, which contained the Big Bang Theater, a traditional laser light show. He entered and stood above the circular screen, which was automatically playing, right on time. It was showing the origin, expansion and cooling of the universe with a clock keeping track of the millions and billions of years flashing boy. Jodi Foster’s voice echoed through the chamber, but Pierce tuned it out.

  Fundamentalists would have none of this, Pierce knew. His parents wouldn’t have. To them it had been quite simple. God made the world in seven days, tossed man into the Garden of Eden, and the whole thing began.

  At the moment, he felt it quite as absurd that humanity was going to be wiped out by a random fluke of the cosmos. One that even the best scientists, couldn’t explain. As absurd as what his parents had preached to him.

  He walked out of the Big Bang Theater, back onto the spiral staircase. Looking through the glass cube, he could see the American Museum of Natural History. He had first seen it when he was twelve-years-old, on a class trip. The perfect ‘constant museum’ that J.D. Salinger had described in Catcher in the Rye.

  Pierce paused at something that always put him in his place: where a display described that if the timeline of the Universe were a football field long, mankind’s existence on the planet was equal to the width of a human hair. Such arrogance, Pierce thought to himself. Such arrogance we assume among the cosmos.