Primordia: In Search of the Lost World

CHAPTER 01

Benjamin Cartwright stood with his arm around his mother’s shoulders. It shoulda been raining, he thought. Instead, belying the somber mood, the sun shone gaily, and the verdant green lawn gave off a pleasant odor of cut grass and fresh soil. The leaves on the large trees ringing the cemetery quivered slightly as a soft breeze moved through their shimmering leaves.

Perhaps it was fitting, as his father, Barry, was an outdoorsman ever since he was a kid. Being here, surrounded by this forest-like setting seemed, perfect.

His mother sobbed again, and Ben squeezed her slim shoulders and felt her continuing to shudder as her tiny frame was wracked by sorrow. His own eyes blurred with tears momentarily, and he blinked several times to clear them.

It was the surprise and suddenness of it all, he guessed. His dad was only 63, and he had seemed strong as an ox… right up until chopping wood had turned into a clutched chest, and then it was lights out big guy, forever.

Cynthia, his mother, had called him first, telling him that Barry had a bad fall, very bad — that was it. Ben could tell by her voice that it was no simple fall. Both his parents were the type that brushed off trauma as a mere annoyance — even a broken wrist was described as just having a bit of a scrape. So Dad having a very bad fall set off alarms in Ben’s head.

Her voice became tiny then. “I don’t know what to do,” she had said.

Ben felt sick from fear then, but he swallowed it down. Trying to impart calm, he had told her to phone the police or an ambulance, or a neighbor, and he was on his way. He lived in Boulder, Colorado, and even though the flight was just a little over 2 hours, it would still take many hours on top of that to go point-to-point.

“Keep him warm. And Mom, just stay calm, okay? I’ll be there soon.” He checked his watch, blew air through pressed lips, and ran to his room to grab a few things and stuff them into a bag. He snatched up his wallet and phone, and then ran to the door, praying there’d be a flight he could jump on.

He’d phoned anyone and everyone he could think of; sending emergency services, plus Hank the neighbor. His mom sounded disorientated, having only said that Barry was still asleep and that she had placed his jacket over his shoulders to keep him warm.

After the longest 5 hours of his life, he was there.

When he arrived, he thankfully found that an ambulance had come and gone, but Hank from next door had grabbed his shoulders. “Sorry, Ben,” was all he’d said.

He had steeled himself, knowing what to expect, but it still hit him like a kick to the guts.

He trudged up to the house, where a local police chief he remembered from when he was a kid waited on the porch. He saluted Ben and shook his hand.

“Sorry for your loss, Ben. Your father was a personal friend of mine. He was a good man.” His jaw worked for a moment. “Massive heart attack. Probably never felt a thing.”

Ben nodded. “Mom? Cynthia?”

“Inside. She’s okay… wanted to wait for you.”

Ben went past him and into the house. He found her in the family room, sitting on the sofa, just staring at the fireplace. He had sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulder.

“Stupid old man; chopping wood like that,” she scolded, and then collapsed into tears.

Ben felt his own eyes fill. Barry had been the perfect father — happy, strong, always there, and had taught him everything from how to do his shoelaces, to being able to drink from a soda bottle without the backwash sliding back into the bottle.

Guilt nagged at him for not coming back sooner, to have one more laugh, one more beer, or maybe one more chance to tell him he loved him. All gone now.

That all had been just two days ago. Now, family and friends were gathered at his funeral, staring at the polished coffin that gleamed in the sunlight. No one talked, and few even met his eyes after the initial handshake greeting — all bar one — Emma Wilson, a high school sweetheart. She nodded to him, and he gave her a flat smile of acknowledgment in return.

He also turned slightly, hiding the scar on his cheek — a parting gift from a grenade-throwing ISIS asshole in Syria. The line down his face from temple to chin was a reminder of his time in the military. The grenade had been a lucky throw, and landed in the center of five of them — he dived for it, but his buddy, Mad Max Hertzog, had beat him to it, shouldering him aside and covering the frag device with his body.

Then came the madness: the explosion, the smell of burning flesh, the warm wetness that rained sticky blood and flesh onto his face, his hands, and into his eyes and mouth. There was the siren sound of perforated eardrums and the faint shouts of men hauling him up.

There wasn’t much left of Max, blown in half, and another of their team lay on his back with smoke rising from charred and ripped flesh. They were being overrun, and he was dragged away, but not before he thought he saw the dead man’s fingers twitch. He tried to pull away, tried to scream that the man needed help, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

He was later told the man, Henderson, was dead. His head told him that was the truth, but his subconscious whispered that he had left a man behind and those bloody fingers twitching, beckoning to him, still haunted his dreams even today.

The shrapnel had opened his face, but he knew he was one of the lucky ones; he served, and survived, with everything intact. Many others didn’t, or they came home missing pieces.

Ben let his eyes drift again to Emma and didn’t realize his hand had reached up to touch the scar; his mother said it made him look handsome in a brutal sort of way. Others said it just made him look meaner, and that was fine by him.

Ben continued to stare with dark brown eyes that had a hawk’s intensity. Years ago, he and Emma had dated. She was a cute girl then, but now had grown into a beautiful woman, and he wondered whether she had kept in contact with his family, or she was here just to catch a glimpse of him. You conceited ass, he thought, but then, I hope so.

Afterwards, there was a wake planned at the family home, which was agonizing to endure, and then his mother asked could he stay for a few more days to help tidy things up, and to just be there.

He knew what she had meant — tidy things up, meant to pack away objects she couldn’t bear to look at anymore. Of course he would. Besides, Ben was diplomatically termed between engagements right now.

After the grenade, and then the two hundred and fifty plus internal micro-stitches to his face, he had left his Special Forces unit and the Army for good. He had felt like he was running away, and the guilt still hung over him like a shadow. But he knew then that he had seen enough, endured enough, and delivered enough violence to last a dozen lifetimes.

Now, he just wanted peace and quiet, and may even resume his studies to become a vet — animals he loved; it was human beings that were capable of atrocities and that he had walked away from. He was like his dad, and his grandfather, and he guessed all the other Cartwrights who yearned to live life simply and in the sunshine. Even his namesake, Benjamin Cartwright, who died somewhere down in Venezuela in 1908 after trekking into the jungle, was just a dreamer with an adventurous soul.

His mother came back into the living room and picked up an old photograph, stared for a moment, and then sobbed again.

Ben sighed; yep, should be raining.

CHAPTER 02

Ben woke with a start. The house was quiet, and he turned his head slowly, wondering what woke him.

He read somewhere once that if a person dies suddenly it could take days for their spirit to actually realize it. They’d carry on like nothing had happened, wandering along hallways, opening and shutting doors, and even trying to speak to their loved ones.

“Goodbye, Dad. I love you,” he whispered to the still air.

Ben sighed and sat there for a few more minutes; it was late, or rather way too early, and he silently got to his feet. He stepped carefully, trying to avoid squeaking floorboards that might wake his mother who had finally got off to sleep.

He decided to continue with his tidying up and carried a box of his dad’s clothing under one arm and a beer in the other as he made his way up to the attic.

His grandfather, Errol, had made his fortune in mining and left his father a sizeable inheritance and home on a gentle hilltop with 20 acres of surrounding land. The family home itself was impressive with plenty of sandstone and wood, filled with antiques, memories, and things the family had picked up over several generations.

The third floor was all attic space and was filled with boxes, chests, and dustsheet-covered excess furniture. He flicked on the lights, placed his beer on a covered table, and hiked the box of clothing over to the existing pile of chronologically layered personal items.

He still had much to bring up, but the man’s pictures would remain downstairs. He noticed his mother had turned them face down, as if even looking at him would cause her to crumble all over again. Ben figured his dad’s ghost would be in the house for a long time to come.

He pulled a sheet off an armchair and sat down, breathing in the smell of dust, old wood, and aging papers. He put his feet up on a chest and just let his eyes move along the piled towers of their family history — like geological layers, Barry would now have his things added to the piles, joining those that belonged to grandfather Errol, great grandfather Julius, and his namesake, his great, great grandfather Benjamin.

In a moment of feeling his mortality, he wondered whether one day someone would be sitting right here with their feet on his lifetime’s collection of papers, pictures, and old track and field trophies.

Ben shifted his feet on the chest. When he was a kid, his dad had told him that they were all full of treasure. But upon opening a few of them, he had been disappointed to find that there was nothing but papers, old letters, antiquities, and faded photographs. Nothing a kid valued at all.

His dad had just smiled at the downcast look on his face and told him that knowledge and information was the greatest treasure that a person could ever be given. Back then, he wasn’t impressed; but time has a way of changing perceptions.

He lifted his feet from the ornate box and unlatched it so he could lift the lid. The hinges squealed in protest like tortured banshees, and he shushed them.

He clasped large hands together and ran his eyes over the contents. This one belonged to his grandfather Errol and contained thick folders of papers and old books on geology and mining. He dug down; there were even sealed packages in a waxed paper and bound with string. He lifted several free and read the notes scribbled on the front in pencil. Some were addressed to Errol’s father, Benjamin, some to Errol, and some just to the Cartwright Estate, with a few dated as far back as 1912, well before Errol was even born. Another was inscribed 1930 and both felt like books, and both seemed to be from a similar source.

He ran a hand up through his thick, dark hair and left the fingers there, massaging his scalp as he read the notations — they were from the Estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Being an avid adventure fiction reader, he recognized the name and his interest was immediately piqued. He unwrapped the first package dated 1912.

“Whoa.” As he suspected, it was a book — but what a book — an immaculate first edition of The Lost World. The gilt and blue cloth-bound book was heavy in his hands.

Ben didn’t even know Doyle had written the book. He always thought he was well known for his Sherlock Holmes adventures, but thought The Lost World was actually a Steven Spielberg movie.

He lifted it to his nose and sniffed; he detected a slight mustiness, but overall, the dry attic coupled with the book’s wax paper covering had preserved it over the entire century.

But why wouldn’t Errol have opened it? he wondered. Maybe because it came before he was born and wasn’t addressed to him? Or perhaps it had been put away and he hadn’t even known it existed?

Ben opened the book and read the inscription. It was from the great man himself:

Ben smiled wistfully; we Cartwrights had friends in high places, he thought and then sighed. The letter told him that Doyle obviously didn’t know that Benjamin died down in Venezuela some four years before the book was printed.

He carefully began to read pages here and there, picking up the gist of the story — a newspaper reporter, Edward Malone, is sent to interview a professor by the name of Challenger, who claims he knew of a hidden plateau in the South American Amazon that was inhabited by living dinosaurs.

Ben smiled as he read. In no time, Challenger had convinced a small band of supporters to embark on a perilous adventure to find this plateau, where they certainly did discover creatures from the dawn of time.

Well, of course they did, Ben thought dryly. He turned the book over in his hands, admiring the fine binding; he couldn’t imagine what the book was worth, but he’d certainly not let it linger in the old trunk any longer. He partially rewrapped it and placed it on the table beside his beer.

The next package he drew forth was a bundle of letters tied together with age-stained string. He undid the knot and spread them out. He could see they represented earlier correspondence back and forth between Benjamin and Doyle.

Ben snorted softly. So it was true then, he thought. He remembered his father regaling him with tales of Benjamin, the adventurer’s adventurer who went on many expeditions to remote corners of the globe, with the 1908 one being the fatal last. His wife had to organize recovery of his body from some remote village down in South America at the edge of the Amazon jungle.

He opened the first letter dated 1906, prior to his ill-fated trip. It discussed his preparations for the expedition he was organizing. He even invited Arthur Conan Doyle to come along and document it.

He read quickly; there were also meandering discussions about finances, who and what he should take with him, and then the rest settled on more mundane political matters of the time.

Doyle’s response was to express a keen interest in the expedition, but he politely declined to join Benjamin. However, he did offer to finance part of the trip if Benjamin ran into difficulty raising funds.

Ben looked at the dates of each letter and grinned — they were dated many weeks, and sometimes months apart, and the time lapse would have represented communication times between continents at the beginning of last century. Today, talking to someone anywhere in the world was near instantaneous and would have been something so astounding that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle might have only entertained the concept in one of his fiction novels.

Ben sipped his beer again and opened another letter, enjoying immersing himself into the minds of great men from over a century past. In this one, Benjamin described what he hoped to find — he had heard tales of a place of great beasts appearing once every decade during the wettest of seasons. And also of a hidden plateau in an unexplored Amazonian jungle that, in Benjamin Cartwright’s own words, would rewrite everything the world knew about biology and evolution.

“Get outta here.” Ben’s forehead creased — the hidden plateau, South American jungle, rewriting what we know about biology and evolution — he recognized all the basic elements from Doyle’s fantastic tale. He swung to where he left the copy of The Lost World and carefully unwrapped it again. He reread the dedication:

To my good friend, Benjamin Cartwright — your experiences ignited my imagination, and this is the result, Arthur Conan Doyle had written over a century before.

Is that what Doyle really meant? That over 100 years ago, Benjamin Cartwright had actually done what he had only described in his work of fiction? He chuckled as he closed the book, placing it back on the tabletop.

Impossible, he thought, but his interest sparked up more than ever. He reached for the next item in the pile — a single letter on top, once again in the famous author’s handwriting. Ben eased it open and read.

Under the earth? He freaking buried it? Ben snorted softly. “Way to go, Arthur.” Ben placed the old letter aside and lifted the next. This one was a larger envelope, dated 1931, and much more formal looking. It was still unopened and sent to the Benjamin Cartwright estate, just like with Doyle’s last letter, confirming they knew that Benjamin was no more. He carefully slid a finger along the gum-line and the ancient glue easily gave way.

The paper inside was of high-quality fiber. He immediately saw this one was written in a different hand and was from a legal firm representing the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He read down:

The corner of Ben’s mouth turned up as he looked at the dozens and dozens of large chests in the attic. He held up his hands.

“And did you ever go and get it, Great Granddad or Granddad?” He sighed and lowered his hands, looking down again at the letter. His brows knitted as he remembered something that now seemed to answer his question — the letter had been unopened.

“Or perhaps it was never even claimed.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose and let his mind wander. The thrill of adventure coursed through his Cartwright veins and he let his eyes rise to the stacks of trunks, crates, and chests. But there were so many, it wearied him.

Ben yawned. “Nah, more likely there was another attempt at communication and probably somewhere in this museum warehouse is old Benjamin’s notebook.”

He sat in silence for a few more moments, staring into space and watching as the rays of early morning light streaming in through the attic’s dormer windows illuminated dust motes gently floating for an eternity, waiting patiently for the next large body to move through them and whip them into swirling agitation once again. As he watched them dance in the sunbeam, his eyelids began to lower, and lower.

Ben was back in the jungle and running hard. He tried to remember if it was the mission in Thailand, the Congo, or even Colombia, but his mind refused to identify it. The only thing he knew for sure was something was after him — not some one, but some thing.

He barged on as vines tried to snag him, huge palm fronds slapped at his face and body, and he was coated in perspiration, rain, and fear.

Behind him, trees were being flattened and he tried to accelerate but hit a wall of weird tree trunks that barred his way. He spun and reached for his gun — it wasn’t there.

Before him, the trees were prized apart and he finally saw his pursuer — he screamed.

“Jesus Christ!” The sound of the front door bell was like an electric shock and jolted him awake to jump in his chair, beer sloshing in his bottle and onto his groin.

“Ah, crap.” Ben grimaced and quickly got to his feet, put the bottle down plus the pile of letters, and headed for the steps. He checked his watch — full morning already — and he moved quickly, taking the steps two at a time. He didn’t want his mother woken.

On the first floor, the doorbell rang again.

“Argh! Keep your hat on!” He sprinted now, the last dozen stairs to ground floor taken in three giant bounds.

Out of breath, he reached for the door handle and wrenched it open. “Can you please keep it…?”

“Well, someone looks out of condition.” Emma Wilson smiled up at him, holding a cloth-draped box in her arms.

Ben cut off his demand and instead sucked in one last big breath right to the bottom of his chest, flooding his lungs with oxygen. He held it for a second and then let it out in a whoosh. He shrugged. “Yep, and that’s what living the high life will do to you.”

He stood there staring at her, knowing that the grin he wore was a dumb one.

He’d seen her at his dad’s funeral, but up close, she looked even better — luminous green eyes, and her brown hair shone with red highlights in the sunlight. Freckles still smattered across an upturned nose and cheeks, and she wore a T-shirt showing off an athletic figure — very athletic; there were corded muscles in her neck and arms. Whatever she was doing was obviously working for her.

He and Emma had dated for a while and got really close. But he enlisted, their roads forked when he went away, and that was that. Seeing her again, made him feel… good. He suddenly remembered his scar and angled his face slightly.

She held the box in one hand and reached up to his chin. “Did it hurt?”

Her fingertips were butterfly-light on his skin, but he still felt their warmth. He shook his head. “Really, I don’t remember a thing. Could have been worse.” He shrugged.

“Yes.” She dropped her hand. “You kept your looks.” She tilted her head. “I kinda like it. So…” She held up the box. “I made these for your mom; just an orange sponge cake with marmalade jam. It’s her favorite.”

“Her favorite?” His brows rose slightly.

She beamed up at him. “Um-hmm. And she also likes pecan cookies and brownies done crispy on the outside and gooey on the inside.” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “If you got back here more often, then you might…” her smile vanished as she seemed to remember. “I’m sorry, your dad… I didn’t mean…”

“No, you’re right; I should have been here.” Ben waved it away. “Forget it; you wanna come in?”

“Yes, please. But only if it’s a good time.” Emma shuffled in, now looking a little less sunny than when she arrived. “I can come back.”

“Don’t be silly.” He gently closed the door and then led her into the living room. “So, how do you know my mom likes orange sponge cake?” He cocked his head.

“We-eeell, you do know that she does cycle classes down at World Gym, right?”

He shrugged. “I knew she was exercising, but…”

“It’s the same gym that I go to.” She lifted her chin. “We kinda ended up hanging out from time to time.”

“Good for you, the pair of you, and thank you.” He looked her over. “And that accounts for the body of iron I detect.”

She raised an arm, making a muscle with her bicep. “Dude, this is rock-climbing beef. Ohio is home to some of the best climbing faces in the country. I’m rated 5.11, expert level.”

He reached out to squeeze her arm. “I’m impressed.” He grinned. “But I’m afraid mom’s asleep right now. Hate to wake her as she hasn’t been sleeping well of late.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” She held up a hand, while still cradling the box. “I thought I’d drop this off, see how she is. Maybe say hello to the prodigal son while I’m at it.” She looked up into his face as she held the box out to him. “So, how are you holding up?”

He bobbed his head as he accepted the box from her. “I’m good; feeling a bit guilty for not being here, but, good.”

“Don’t feel guilty.” Emma’s eyes glistened. “No one could have expected… this.”

“Yeah.” He scoffed as he stared at the box she had given him. “Like, who knew the guy was even sick? I’m betting he didn’t either.” He pulled in a cheek. “Mortality; one minute you’re here, and then next, you’re not.”

“Big Barry was a great guy. And he and your mom proved that love could stay strong forev…” She looked up. “She’ll miss him.”

“We all will,” Ben said and motioned to a sofa. “Get you a coffee?”

“Sure, cream, no sugar,” Emma said as she eased down on the broad couch.

Ben headed to the kitchen where he opened the box. He was blissfully assailed with the smell of fresh baking.

“Mmm, maybe a slice each as well.”

The coffee had already been made so he poured a couple of mugs and placed two slices of cake on a plate — two small and the other doorstop size.

Emma beamed when she saw him bring the cake. “Good boy. Maybe it’ll become your favorite too.” She took the cup and broke off a small piece of cake and popped it in her mouth.

“So, how long do you think you’ll hang around this time? Ohio, I mean.”

“Hadn’t really thought about it. A few days, I guess. I’ll make a call on it after I see how mom is getting on at the end of the week.” He shrugged. “Maybe longer if she needs me. Not much going on at home right now.”

Emma’s eyebrows turned down, but there was a slight gleam in her eye. “Um, no one at home for you to miss?”

He half smiled. “No Miss Right, and not even Miss Right-Now.” He sipped his coffee. “Since I got out of the military, I’ve been doing some freelance security and advisory work, but I thought maybe next year I might go back and finish my studies.”

“Oh yeah, I remember. The animal lover.” She nodded. “That’s great.”

“And what about you?” he asked as he bit off half the cake wedge and pushed it into the side of his mouth.

“I have a small business running rock climbing classes, adventure tours; that kinda stuff,” she answered.

“You were always the maths whiz. And weren’t you studying economics?” he asked quickly.

“Yeah, but how many economists get to spend their day outside, every day?” She lifted her chin. “Have you ever sat amongst a field of wild flowers in spring? Just the bees and birds talking to you, with the warm sun on your back and the mountain peaks lined up before you?”

He shook his head. “No, but you make it sound like a dream. Seems like its captured your heart. And speaking of that… what about you? Any Mr. Rock Climber in your life?”

“Not really. I mean, no.” She laughed. “Hey, maybe I’ve been waiting for you to come back.” She laughed again, but this time her cheeks reddened.

Their eyes locked for a moment, and Ben almost fell into them.

“Ben, is that you?”

He turned at the sound of his mother’s voice.

“Down here, Mom.” He stood up. “I better…” He thumbed over his shoulder.

Emma also got to her feet. “Yeah, you better.” She brushed crumbs from her jeans and headed for the door. She jammed both hands into her back pockets.

Ben opened the door for her and she turned back to him.

“A few of the old gang are getting together tonight to throw back a couple of beers, have some ribs and a few laughs. Why don’t you come along?”

“Um.” His first instinct was to decline. But looking down into those eyes made it impossible. “Sure, where and when?”

She grinned. “When, is 7pm. Where, is across town; I’ll pick you up at quarter to seven, deal?”

“Deal.” He reached out a hand and she took it. This time, he felt the calluses on her hand and he turned it over. “Oh yeah, these really are rock-jock hands.”

She pulled her hand away. “They can be soft when I want them to be, soldier boy. See you tonight.” She turned and skipped down the steps, a lightness in every bounce.

A car horn honked at 6:45 on the dot.

Cynthia looked up from her book. “Your date’s here, darling.” She smiled.

Ben rolled his eyes. “It’s not a date. Just gonna catch up with some of the old crowd.”

“Emma’s nice; I like her.” Cynthia watched him as he pulled on his jacket. It was tight across shoulders that were more at home on a linebacker.

He nodded. “She sure is. And she makes a great cake.”

“And she’d make a great wife. Not that I’d match-make, you know.” She raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “What? I’m back a few days and you’re trying to marry me off already?”

“Well, you’re not getting any younger, handsome. Barry missed out on seeing any grandkids, and I sure don’t want to.”

“Aw, Mom.” He scowled but couldn’t help the corners of his mouth turning up.

There was a knock on the door.

“And impatient to see you — good sign.” Cynthia lowered her voice. “She often asked after you, you know.”

Ben waved her to quietness and was about to turn to the door when he paused. “Do you need anything?”

She shook her head. “Just for you two to have a nice time.”

“It’s not just us two,” he whispered back. “I won’t be late. Call me if there’s anything you need.” Ben quickly crossed back to kiss her on the cheek.

He then headed back to the front door and pulled it open, immediately smelling wonderful perfume. Emma stood there in a clinging cotton dress, and her smooth, tanned skin, perfect figure, luminous green eyes, and shimmering hair made his heart leap in his chest.

“Wow, you brush up real fine.” He meant it.

“You make me sound like a pair of shoes.” But she grinned appreciatively. “And you look pretty damn good yourself. Even if you could do with some new clothes.”

He opened his arms. “Shabby chic; it’s all the rage in Colorado.”

She nodded. “I believe you; thousands wouldn’t.” She leaned around his large frame. “Hiya, Mrs. Cartwright; need anything?”

His mother waved. “No, and thank you for the magnificent cake. Even though Ben ate most of it before I even got to take a peek.”

Ben raised his hands. “Guilty.”

“I’ll make some more,” Emma replied, beaming.

“You two have a nice night.” Cynthia settled back in her chair. “And no need to bring him back early; he needs a break from looking after an old woman.”

“Aw…” Ben grimaced at her.

“Go.” Cynthia shooed him out and Emma grabbed his arm.

“See ya, Mrs. Cartwright.” She waved and dragged him down the steps, barely pausing long enough for him to drag the door shut.

Her car was an old Land Rover that was covered with dust up to the door handles.

“Whoa, the best of British muscle, huh?” He smiled appreciatively.

“It’s open.” She jumped in and he followed. “Yup; 1998 Land Rover Discovery. Tough as all get out and damned cheap; it also has a V8 engine, four-wheel drive as well as great angling for off-road activities — there aren’t many tracks that I can’t get to in this bad boy.”

“Nice.” He strapped in. “So, where to, driver?’

“You remember that hokey bar and rib joint that all the cool kids used to hang out in?” She started the Rover.

“Ricky’s?” His brows went up.

“Yep, that’s the one. Well, the cool kids still go there; they’re just a little older and less cool now.” She chuckled.

“And some of us don’t need fake IDs to sneak into bars anymore.” He gave her a wry smile.

She chuckled. “Yep, that’s me; Emma the law breaker.” She half turned to briefly flash him a dazzling smile before facing the road again.

Ben enjoyed her company, and they talked like they had never been apart. He was almost disappointed when they arrived at Ricky’s Bar and Rib Joint as it meant he’d now have to share her.

She parked the Rover with a jerk and jumped out. He followed.

“Hasn’t changed a bit.” Ben looked up at the neon sign, still glowing cherry red with an image of sauce-laden ribs on a plate. Through the windows, he saw a few family diners and a group of younger people gathered at one end of the bar.

The door squeaked as he held it open, and she led him over to the group.

“Get outta town, it’s true.” A slim, stubbled young Asian man stepped out, grinning widely. He wore casual, but expensive clothing.

Ben returned the smile. “Mr. Daniel Murakami; you still here?” They embraced and then others swarmed around.

“Nah, I come back from time to time; you should too, buddy. Long time no see,” Murakami chided.

“He’s slumming it.” Another hand slapped his shoulder and Ben turned. The blond man was lantern-jawed, as broad as Ben, and had an easy smile. “Welcome back, big guy.” He stuck out a large hand.

“Steve,” Ben scoffed with a grin. Steven Chamber’s hand felt like wood and leather. He turned seeing another member of his old crew.

There was Andrea Ashley, still as intensely beautiful as she was at school. He distantly remembered that she headed off to Hollywood to find her future. He doubted she was now back in Greenberry just to see him.

“Andrea.” He smiled, and she looked back at him with an appraising eye before stepping in to hug him, and then continue hugging him.

“Jesus, someone throw a bucket of water over them.” Steve jammed a bottle of beer between them and another into Emma’s hand as she also wedged herself in front of Andrea.

Steve then held his own beer aloft. “To the return of all prodigal sons and daughters — saludo!”

“Saludo!” Bottles and glasses were raised and then clinked together.

They spent the next few hours catching up, talking crap, laughing too loud, followed it with ribs and more beer, before finally settling at a corner table to finish with coffee and whisky.

“Bummer about your dad, Ben. He was a good guy.” Steve gave him a glum smile.

“Yeah, thanks. Mom’s still a little messed up.” Ben continued to stare at his coffee.

“And will be for a while; but she’ll be okay,” Emma said. “Those guys come from tougher stock than us.”

Andrea reached forward to lay a hand over his. “It’s good that you came back to support her. Are you staying?”

Ben saw Emma’s lips compress. For some reason, he felt flattered. He patted her hand and then slid his out. “Only for a while. Thought I might try and finish my veterinary studies. Then settle down somewhere… for good.”

“You? A vet?” Dan comically widened his eyes and then grinned. “Suppose it’ll be good to use your brains rather than just brawn for a change.”

“Aw, thanks, buddy.” Ben grinned back. “I’ll make a fortune off rich guys like you; I hear they have houses full of fluffy little dogs.”

Dan nodded and raised his brandy. “And peacocks; don’t forget the peacocks.”

“Hey, Greenberry needs vets too, you know?’ Emma raised her coffee.

“Do they now?” Ben smiled at her.

“So I guess right now you’re helping your mom; anything we can do, just let us know,” Steve Chambers said.

“Thanks, buddy.” Ben looked into his coffee for a moment. “Right now, I’m just getting all Dad’s things squared away. I’ve been picking over the Cartwright ancestor history in the attic.” He snorted. “Hey, want to know something cool? Did you know my great, great grandfather was a friend of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? I even found a first edition copy of a book, 1912, still wrapped in paper — was never even opened.”

“Very cool; which one?” Emma asked.

“The Lost World,” Ben replied.

“No way! That’s one of my favorites; I read it as a kid.” She turned to the group. “It’s where these explorers find a hidden mountain covered in dinosaurs.”

“Something like that.” Ben leaned forward. “But you want to know something really weird?”

“Always,” said Dan, leaning closer.

“What if it was true?” Ben looked up.

“Say what?” Steve’s forehead creased.

“Oh, Ben.” Emma started to giggle.

“No more whisky here.” Dan grinned as he shouted to the bar.

“Hear me out.” Ben cleared his throat. “What if it was true? Seriously, what if it was all true? What if it was never make-believe at all, and that the Lost World was real? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle didn’t make it all up. I believe he was reading about a lost expedition that really happened.”

The group just stared. Emma’s cheeks reddened slightly.

“I found out that my great, great grandfather, Benjamin, actually went to South America and found something amazing.” He opened his hands on the table. “And Arthur Conan Doyle used it as the basis for his story.”

“I believe you, or want to,” Steve said, with a hint of a smile. “But, ah, how do you know that? Know that it’s true, I mean?”

“Benjamin wrote it all down in a notebook; in 1908.” Ben sat back.

The looks went from disbelievingly to quizzical.

“Wait a minute here. You have a notebook that proves all this?” Dan blew air between his lips. “Now, I’m really interested.”

“Can we see it?” Andrea asked.

“Well…” Ben grimaced.

“Here it comes.” Steve grinned again.

“I don’t have it.” Ben sighed. “Apparently, Benjamin sent it to Arthur Conan Doyle, and then according to some old correspondence, when Doyle learned that Ben the 1st had passed away, he kept it, and then hid it somewhere on his estate so it wouldn’t be lost.”

“You mean like it is now,” Dan said. “Good plan.”

Ben then spent the next few minutes giving them a thumbnail overview of what he’d found out. The group was spellbound, especially Dan, who seemed to fully suspend his disbelief and had moved to the very edge of his seat.

When he was finished, Ben sat back. “All I have is a letter from a lawyer verifying that the notebook exists and belongs to me, or at least to one of Benjamin’s heirs.”

Ben sprang forward. “Oh, one more thing; apparently this place in the Amazon can only be found during some sort of weird seasonal thing that only happens once every ten years. And the next year it can be located is…” he held up a finger for a moment, before jabbing it down on the table. “…now, in 2018. In fact, we probably missed it; the window for locating it is in just a few weeks.”

Dan clapped. “Oh man, that is awesome.”

“That notebook’s got to be worth a fortune… if you could ever find it,” Steve said.

“As long as the notebook hasn’t been destroyed, then anything lost can be found.” Dan waved over his shoulder, calling the waitress for more drinks. He then pulled his chair so close his chest bumped the table. “And forget selling it; the value is in its secrets. And by the way, Ben, we haven’t missed anything yet. I say, we need to find the notebook, find this place, and then go there.”

“Nah, gone now,” Ben said. “Wouldn’t even know where to look.”

“Is it? Gone, I mean.” Andrea tilted her head. “I’ve never heard of this notebook or whatever it is coming to light. Have any of you?” She then looked at each of them for a moment before turning back to Ben. “So it might still be hidden. Maybe it’s still hidden there. I bet he left clues. So the million dollar question is, where is there?”

Ben bobbed his head. “In some sort of secret place that only both of them knew.” He sighed.

“That’s it?” Andrea frowned.

“Well, he mentioned it being under the earth in Windlesham Manor.” He hiked his shoulders. “So, buried somewhere there, I guess. If it exists, and if it hasn’t already been found or inadvertently destroyed by the elements.”

Dan put his hands to his head. “Bullshit.” He slapped a hand on the table. “Think positive, man. I say it’s still there somewhere. We can find it. We use science and technology. Like I said, we find it, and then we go there.”

Ben chuckled and lifted his glass. “Not the whisky talking at all.”

“Why not?” Dan implored, his almond eyes now wide. “This is the most exciting and interesting thing I’ve heard of in years.” He turned. “Guys, what do you think?”

“In England, right?” Steve raised an eyebrow. “We’ll just all pop over to England, each of us with a shovel on our shoulders, and start digging. I hear they like Yanks doing stuff like that.”

Dan laughed out loud. “No, smartass, with a little more investigative finesse than that. I can’t believe you don’t see this as the biggest and most exciting opportunity, like ever.” Dan rubbed his hands together, looking like he was warming to his own idea. “I’ll even pay… for everyone.”

“Well, I’d go.” Emma straightened.

“Me too,” Andrea added.

“Now wait a minute.” Ben couldn’t believe how fast this was getting out of hand. “To the United Kingdom? Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah, to start. I mean, the whole shebang — we go and look for this hidden jungle as well.” Dan rubbed his chin. “Windlesham Manor, you say? Tell you what, by morning, I’ll know everything there is to know about it. I’ll have some of my guys do a full search.” He grinned. “I smell a plan coming together.”

“Good grief.” Ben shook his head, but couldn’t help being swept along by Dan’s excitement. “Guys, maybe Dan is keen to waste his money and time, but we should think about this. It could all be a wild goose chase… and a deadly one at that. As I mentioned, the book might be nothing of interest, or it might already be found.”

“You’re right.” Dan eased back in his chair. “And I can find that out as well. I’ll have two-dozen tech guys on it in 20 minutes; we’ll put a search out on the networks, and even the dark web. The traders, collectors, and even the black marketeers would know if something like that has ever come to light.” He grinned. “Let’s rustle a few bushes and see what we scare up.”

“And tell everyone we’re looking for it.” Emma frowned. “Is that a good thing?’

“So what?” Dan said. “Like Ben mentioned; most people don’t know, don’t care, or have long forgotten.” He held a finger aloft. “We’ll also need an in for Windlesham Manor.”

“I know someone who lives over there.” Steve opened his arms. “An English girl, zoologist; she might help us.”

“Done and done.” Dan slapped the table.

Emma and Steve high-fived and Andrea leaned across to hug him.

“Meet back here for breakfast at 9am, and I’ll tell you what I’ve learned.” Dan stood, pushing his chair back and pulling his phone at the same time. He jammed it to his ear, talking rapidly as he headed for the door.

Ben sat with an open mouth grin. “What just happened here?”

Emma sniggered. “I think we just got Murakami’d.”

Later, pulling up out front of his house, Emma switched off the engine and turned in her seat.

“So, do you think any of it is true? I mean, really?”

“Yes, no… maybe.” He grinned. “Could the notebook have existed? Yeah, I think it probably did at one time. But seriously, a hidden plateau where monsters lived? Come on.”

Emma rested her chin on the seat watching him. Ben smiled at her as he went on.

“Remember, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a fiction writer. Maybe there was something Benjamin found that was fantastic. But back in 1908, a lot of things were being discovered and probably seemed fantastic. I’m pretty sure that all the rest came straight from Doyle’s imagination.”

“Well, you know what I think?” She smiled, her eyes almost glowing. “There’s only one way to truly find out… find that mysterious notebook.” She rested her chin on her hand. “Besides, the only thing we’ve got to lose is time. If there’s no notebook, then at a minimum we’ll all get a nice holiday out of it. Be good for the old gang to hang out again.”

“And if there is a notebook?” He looked deep into her beautiful eyes.

“Then it could solve one of your family’s greatest mysteries. And just think; it might even lead to an adventure none of us will ever forget. You’ll be famous.”

“I don’t want to be famous.” Ben put a hand on the door handle and began to turn away but paused. “But I do like the sound of hanging out with the old gang again. Didn’t realize how much I missed you all.”

Ben felt her hand on his arm and he turned back. She leaned forward to kiss his cheek, but managed to catch the side of his mouth. He felt a tingle run all the way through him.

“Did I say you all? I meant, just you.” He lifted a hand to her chin and kissed her on the lips.

They sat back, staring at each other for a moment. “Um, would you like to come in, for a… coffee?”

Emma smiled at him from under lowered brows. “Not tonight.” She put a hand over his. “I like being with you, just you, too. Please say yes to the trip.”

He groaned theatrically. “Oh, maybe.”

He went to turn away again, but she grabbed his shoulder. “Ben-nnn.”

He groaned louder. “Oh, okay.” And pushed the door fully open with a scream of rusting hinges.

“Yay! See you tomorrow; 9am — sharp.”

CHAPTER 03

The hurricane-like winds had died down and an armor-plated Ankylosaurus raised a dull expression skyward for a moment, seeing the clouds part to let rays of brilliant sunshine in through the hole that was widening above its jungle.

The creature was 18 feet in length, weighed in at around 4,000 pounds, and was heavily armored with a horned beak-like mouth. As well as its plated hide, its armory also included a tail that ended in a club of solid, dense bone that it used to great effect on any overly interested predators. It wasn’t invulnerable to attack, but rarely did the carnivores of the land bother it.

The lumbering beast pulled at the hard grasses, chewing down great clumps, grinding them up with its fist-sized molars, and then moving on to the next. Its path led it towards two tree trunks only six feet apart, and rather than go around, it wedged its huge bulk between them and relied on its powerful stump-like legs to pull it through.

The tree trunks and canopies shook, and from above rained down hundreds, possibly thousands, of spindly red ants in defense of their nest. The inch-long insects had spikes on their heads that resembled horned helmets, and upon alighting on the body of the perceived threat to their colony, they immediately commenced their attack.

Formic acid was injected, magnifying the pain from the countless bites, and then the insects began to swarm towards the head where they had learned that the massive, thick-hided beasts were vulnerable. They quickly found the tiny eyes, ears, nostrils, and also the soft inner tissue in the mouth.

The Ankylosaurus screamed with fear and pain and charged forward. Its bulk smashed trees from its path, and its cries reverberated through the jungle, silencing the other chattering, skittering, and squealing inhabitants. Winged creatures took flight above it as it found a watercourse and charged along it.

It was nearly blind when it entered the stream, washing away many of the insects, but the damage was already done. Fear and pain maddened, it blundered on.

Nothing seemed able to stop it, until the impact from above drove it to its knees as something grabbed its neck and shoulders. The grip was large, and the Ankylosaurus felt the scrape of sharp teeth across its armor-plated back.

The teeth couldn’t hope to penetrate its hide, but the grip of the jaws was strong enough to hold it in place. The dinosaur got back to its feet and began to lumber on. But then more of the thing that held it piled down on top of it and started to loop around and under, eventually completely enfolding it.

Once done, the constricting began. Titanic muscles compressed, and then unbelievably, the armor-plated hide began to buckle and crack. The plant eater bleated its fear, but when it did, precious air escaped from squeezed lungs that it could never hope to recover.

A rib broke, and then another, and then its entire chest collapsed as its body was slowly pulverized. Only then did the mouth’s grip on its back shift towards the Ankylosaurus’ head. The long, fanged mouth opened, stretched, and then inched forward, beginning the swallowing process.

As the dinosaur’s head and shoulders were fed into the maw, the coils gave one more mighty squeeze and the great beast’s heart finally exploded.

CHAPTER 04

Edward Barlow’s phone buzzed on the top of his Brobdingnagian-sized, antique oak desk. The cavernous hunting room he was working in had been tomb silent save for the deep ticking of a seven-foot-tall grandfather clock in the corner.

Along each of the room’s walls, mounted heads watched with wild-eyed but eternal glassine stares, and a monstrous polar bear reared up, jaws gaping and paws aloft as if to tear any unwary passerby limb from limb.

Barlow was a hunter. Or rather a collector, and one of the idle rich whose family had left him billions from a mining business he had no interest in. But what he was interested in was sport shooting, and the more elusive, dangerous, or rare the specimen, the more he would seek them out.

Barlow’s great, great uncle had been Douglas Baxter, and he had heard the family stories of his ill-fated expedition with Benjamin Cartwright, and the rumors of them setting off to find a secret place inhabited by fantastical creatures never before seen by modern man.

No matter how much he invested or how much time he spent, he could never find any clue as to where to look or even where to begin to look. He had scoured the Amazon and had even paid a small fortune for satellite images. But in the land of the Boraro, the South American demons, his searches had come to a dead end.

Barlow had always suspected that there was something he was missing or misreading — the clues, the place, or maybe even the timing. He remembered that Douglas Baxter related a sense of urgency about dates and needing to be down in the Amazon during a certain time — rainy season, eclipse, breeding cycles — he never found out exactly what.

His final throw of the dice was a technological one; years ago, he had engaged a software company to lay sophisticated bear traps on the Internet and also the dark web. They used trigger words, and a combination of each would spring the trap: Benjamin Cartwright — expedition notebook — 1908 — Amazon Jungle, and — dinosaur.

Nothing had come of it; nothing ever got triggered.

Until now.

Every online trap they had burst into life as multiple word combinations were being searched for: Benjamin Cartwright, expedition notebook, 1908, Amazon Jungle. It was obvious that someone was looking for a missing manuscript related to the mission to the Venezuelan Amazon in 1908. His damned mission.

Barlow had felt the hair rise on the back of his neck when he had read the report. The technical document also traced the search back to its source. He sat back for a moment, clasping clubby fingers across his belly.

Why now? Why did someone suddenly begin to look? he wondered, but immediately had an answer: Because more clues had come to light, or whatever cyclical event needed to occur was about to reoccur.

Barlow sprang forward, beginning to type on his computer. Whoever this person or people were, they were in the lead. But he had an advantage — he knew about them, but they didn’t know about him.

If they had something that could lead them to the manuscript, he wanted it. And he would have it at any and all costs. He had searched for years, his life, and if anyone were going to find that hidden world, it’d be him.

He paused, thinking. He needed to assemble a team and include people who were prepared to break the law if necessary.

He began to type again; he knew just the man. Someone he had worked with before, someone who was as ruthlessly efficient as they were unscrupulous.

Barlow smiled. As Sir Arthur Conan Doyle once wrote: the game’s afoot.

CHAPTER 05

Ben took a taxicab to meet the gang rather than letting Emma pick him up again; he wanted to think on the way. After getting back home last night, he had spent a little more time rummaging through much of the attic looking for more clues, and maybe the missing notebook. Perhaps rendering this adventure over before it started.

He yawned and rubbed tired eyes; he ended up with only a few hours sleep and no evidence that the notebook belonging to his great, great grandfather was ever found. Wherever Doyle put it, that’s probably where it stayed.

Ben smiled as he remembered Emma’s enthusiasm. Her eyes had lit up just like the kid he remembered from all those years ago.

It was weird how close they had all been, and now being back, if he squinted real hard, he could see them all as they were then.

Twenty-five years ago, he, Dan, Steve, Emma, and Andrea had their own pushbike gang, hanging out at the local park and racing each other on the jogging track. They were normal kids with freckles, braces, and knobby knees. And little Emma Wilson, with her huge front teeth and just the hint of tiny breasts beginning to poke at the front of her loose T-shirt.

He remembered her stacking her bike and grazing a knee. His mom always made him keep some band-aids in his pocket, which he thought dumb at the time, but it meant he could pull one out and slap it on her wound. She pressed on it and then looked up at him. Those large green eyes crinkled at the corners and stared, and he felt his kid heart bump up a notch. No one had even looked at him like that. Well, no other girl anyway.

Then came the hanging out at the mall as young teenagers, and then high school and following that, they all ended up at Ohio State, where he and Steve were picked to try out for the Buckeyes football team; a big honor. Andrea even got to be a cheerleader.

It was an away game and afterwards, he and Steve were to meet Dan and Emma in the car park. But before Ben even got there, he saw the four, big raw-boned young men around Emma and Dan. Perhaps they were Wolverine supporters and had taken exception to the grey and scarlet that his friends wore. Regardless, Dan faced them down, the small Japanese man barely coming up to their shoulders. But he was all heart and refused to step back or take whatever shit they were dishing out.

Dan got punched then. Emma screamed and lunged and was immediately grabbed by the upper arm, jerked hard and thrown to the ground. Ben saw red and dropped his bag and sprinted at them.

Ben’s father had taught him to box when he was young, and he shoved one guy out of the way and then spun the leader around to face him. The guy went to double-hand push Ben in the chest.

Ben’s father also told him that in a street fight to always make the first one count — he did. While the guy lunged forward, Ben used his momentum to throw a straight right into his face, a bulls-eye to the nose.

Blood and snot sprayed, and the cartilage flattened. The guy went down, and Ben spun to the next. He hoped they wanted more; he wanted to punish them all. Steve was now at his shoulder and a few seconds of glaring resulted in the three guys yelling a few fuck yous, and then picking up their buddy and limping away.

Steve went to help Dan, Ben crouched down beside Emma, and she held out a hand. He gave her a crooked smile.

“I’ve got another band-aid if you need it.”

She beamed back at him. “My white knight rides in to save the day again.” Emma squeezed his hand, and he fell into those beautiful eyes.

“Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.” He smiled sappily and hauled her up.

“I need you now.” She still held his hand.

They went steady after that, loving, laughing, and making plans for some perfect future they’d make together.

But life’s roads have bends and turns, and after a while, their worlds tilted and they slid in different directions. And before he knew it, she was gone and then someone else’s girl. And he was left wondering what to do with himself. Maybe that’s why, and when, he decided to leave town.

But now being back made him realize how much he’d missed them all. And maybe how much he needed them all.

The fact was, his mom was more settled now, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t more than a little intrigued by the whole idea of the adventure. Besides, if Dan wanted to pay, then the only thing he stood to lose was a few days time. And for that, he got to hang out with his old friends, Emma, and probably do it all first class — no downside.

“Here you go, buddy.” The driver pulled up at the rib joint. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

“Will do.” Ben paid and stepped out.

In the harsh light of day, it looked shabbier than when it had its neon makeup in place. He grinned; it was the first rib joint he knew that reinvented itself as a diner throughout the day. Good — he didn’t actually feel like ribs for breakfast.

He saw through the window that the gang was there and he was the last to arrive. Emma spotted him first through the window, and he suddenly hoped she had been looking out for him. On entering, she bumped her hip up against Dan, forcing him to move along in the booth. Steve Chambers lifted his chin in acknowledgement and Andrea’s eyes were on him all the way to the table.

Ben snatched up a menu as he sat down. “What did I miss?”

“The eggs, over easy. Plus bacon good enough to make an angel weep,” Steve said.

“Sounds good.” Ben dropped the menu.

“Erk, grease.” Andrea stuck her tongue out.

“A-aaand that’s where the flavor is.” Steve saluted her with his coffee.

“Sad but true.” Ben looked up as the waitress appeared like magic, wrote down his order that included a toasted bagel, and also poured him a coffee. He waited until she was gone, then leaned forward to interlock his fingers on the table.

“I spent a bit of time hunting through more of the attic but didn’t find anything any more illuminating. That’s the bad news, so I guess the good news is, that I found nothing that indicated the notebook was ever returned, or ever found. Wherever Doyle hid it, then that’s where it could still be today.”

“Ditto,” Dan added. “I had my tech teams send out searches far and wide looking for anything that might indicate the Cartwright expedition notebook of 1908 ever came to light — we got nada, zero, zilch.” Dan’s brows waggled. “And that’s good; means we are still good to go.”

“We’ll need anti-malarial shots,” Steve said

Dan nodded. “Good thinking.”

“Wait, what? I thought you guys meant that we were just going to find the notebook.” Ben frowned.

“We sure are… to begin with.” Dan reached forward to grip his forearm, his dark almond eyes intense. “Let me ask you a question: if you went to the hardware store to buy a shovel, are you doing it because you want a shovel, or are you doing it because you want a hole?”

Ben nodded slowly. “A hole, obviously.”

“Exactly,” Dan went on. “So the objective of finding the notebook is not just to find the notebook, though interesting and valuable, but to find out the secrets contained within it.”

“Yeah, I see that. But this is leaping a few paces, or rather miles, from what I was thinking,” Ben replied. “We should take it one step at a time.”

“And we will.” Dan looked earnest. “But come on, man, you gotta admit, this is the most intriguing thing, like ever. Imagine if that hidden place in the jungle actually exists.”

“And every speck of logic says it probably doesn’t,” Emma said with a smile in her eyes. “But then again, just imagine for a tiny second that it does… and you were given a way to find it.” Her eyes gleamed. “And I think your ancestor, Benjamin, would want his namesake heir to be the one to do it.”

Dan opened his arms, sharing his best entrepreneurial smile. “Look around you, buddy. Each of us has an abundance of a few very important things — enthusiasm, youth, curiosity, and time.” He grinned. “What say we use it — strike while the iron’s hot?” He shrugged. “All on my ticket, for all of us, and gold class all the way.”

“Whoa; hey, what do you get out of it?” Steve asked, one eyebrow up.

Dan snorted. “Listen; I sold my tech company five years ago for $180 million bucks. Since then, I’ve been bored, bored, bored. I’ve spent my time parasailing, rock-climbing, deep sea diving and jungle trekking, and I always come back feeling unfulfilled. But this… this, is a real adventure. Something with intrigue, danger, hidden clues, and a purpose; I gotta tell you, I feel alive again.” Dan raised his hands and looked skyward, evangelically for a moment before lowering them flat to the tabletop.

“Me too,” Emma added her hand on top of his.

“Me three.” Steve laid his on the pile.

Andrea raised her hand, smiled, and then slowly laid it on top of Steve’s.

Ben saw the fire in his friends’ eyes. And truth be known, he felt exactly the same. The thought of retracing an ancestor’s steps, and perhaps finding something unique and wondrous, was compelling to the point of being irresistible.

Andrea then placed one thin arm on the table and then rested her chin on the palm. “So, why don’t we just go and knock on the door of this place in England, and get their permission to start looking? After all, you said you have proof it belongs to you.”

Emma shrugged. “She’s got a point, Ben. You’ve got a lawyer’s letter telling you it’s your property. Let’s just knock on the door of Arthur Conan Doyle’s estate.”

Dan held up a finger and waggled it. “Umm, yeah, about that; we did some investigation on the Doyle estate; in a nutshell, it doesn’t exist anymore. His final home, this Windlesham Manor, is a freaking retirement home now.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Steve started to chuckle. “With all that gray hair, there’ll be no resistance to a little onsite digging.”

Dan sighed. “If only it were that easy. Windlesham Manor sits on 20 acres; more than 870,000 square feet. That’s a lot of places to hide something under the earth.”

“Good God, that’ll be impossible.” Emma’s mouth hung open.

Dan nodded, his lips compressed. “We either need more clues to pinpoint it, or we need to have the Manor’s approval to go looking around — and that might take some time.”

Steve bobbed his head. “I’ve got a friend over there, a zoologist, who could get us in. But like you said, the bottom line is we need more clues to narrow our search.”

Ben ran a hand up through his hair. “Yeah, I can have another look through the Cartwright history, but I’m just not sure there’s anything else significant to find.”

“Well, let’s think this through logically.” Dan interlaced his fingers on the table. “You told us that Doyle valued it so greatly he didn’t want it lost. That’s why he kept it rather than simply sending it back to your ancestor’s estate if there was a chance there was no one to either receive it or appreciate its importance. Right?”

“I guess so,” Ben replied.

“So, if he valued it so greatly, he would have wanted it safe, and close. My gut feeling is it’ll be in the manor or real close by on the grounds. I don’t think our search area will be all that big.”

“That sounds a little more promising.” Emma beamed.

“Kinda makes sense,” Ben added.

“Well, doesn’t matter anyway.” Dan grinned sheepishly. “I’ve already booked our flights.”

“Jesus.” Ben straightened. “For when? I still haven’t told my mom.”

Steve chuckled. “What, are you still 12?”

“Two days time, Friday morning.” Dan held his arms out. “Now or never, buddy.” He turned and pointed. “Steve, you contact your friend in England and let them know we’re coming. See if he —”

“She,” Steve added.

“Of course.” Dan gave him a wry smile. “See if she can get us an invite into the Manor. The rest of you, pack, get your shots, and grab your passports.”

Emma snorted. “I suddenly feel like Dorothy being lifted up by the tornado and swept away.”

Ben laughed. “Well, we’ve got a few days, and I think Mom is going to need another cake when I tell her.”

Emma grinned back. “Sure, but she’ll be fine when she knows I’ll be looking after you.”

CHAPTER 06

Out front, Ben inhaled, taking in the mixed odors of car and airplane exhaust, cold mist and an ever-present dampness. He looked up at the leaden sky.

“There is a sun up there, right?”

“No wonder they’re all so pale.” Steve put both hands on the small of his back and straightened it, causing a popping and cracking sound that made Andrea wince.

“Ouch,” she said.

“Yeah, I know, right? Fourteen hours on a plane is murder,” he said to her and then turned to Dan. “And all crammed into business class. Why no first class, you tightwad.”

“Oh really?” Dan’s brows went up. “You ever been in first class before?”

“Let me think.” Steve grabbed his chin for a moment. “Um, nope.”

“It’s overrated. Besides, Chambers, I’ve never seen anyone eat so many little pastries and mooch at the stewardesses so much.”

“Just getting my money’s worth. Oh wait, I mean, your money’s worth. Thank you, Uncle Daniel.” Steve saluted.

“I’m cold.” Andrea pulled her thin coat tighter.

Ben saw that she had dressed for fashion rather than practicality; even though Dan had warned her it’d be cooler, a silk scarf just wasn’t going to cut it.

Dan began to rummage. “I might have a spare pullover you can…”

“I’ve got one here.” Emma pulled a top from her bag and tossed it to the woman. She hoisted her carryall to her shoulder and groaned. “Hey Steve, this friend of yours was meeting us here and now, right?”

“Yep, Jennifer Brock, zoologist who works at the London Zoo.” Steve turned about looking up and down the street.

“The zoo, huh?” Ben grinned. “No wonder she likes you.”

Steve turned back momentarily. “She said I’m a fine specimen.” He pointed. “There.”

Ben turned — a slim, athletic-looking woman with a dark bob haircut waved back. She wore a khaki shirt with a monogram on one of the pockets. She marched straight up to Steve, hugged him hard, kissed his cheek, and then pulled back to stare up into his grinning face.

“All this way just to see me?”

“Of course, Jenn.” Steve turned side-on. “My friends.” He counted each off. “Ben, Emma, Andrea, and Dan our mobile bank account.”

“Thank you, Steve.” Dan held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jennifer.”

“And you.” Jenny took his hand first. “And you, and you…” She then shook all of their hands. “Please call me Jenny, and come on, we can formally introduce ourselves in the van.” She turned on her heel. “Let’s get to the car-park before it sends me broke.”

Jenny had loaded them all into a Ford Transit Kombi van with the same London Zoo logo stenciled on the side as she had on her breast pocket. There were six seats, three in the front cab, three in rear, with plenty of storage for their bags.

Ben immediately smelled hay, with a hint of damp fur, and suspected people weren’t the only things that had been transported in Jenny’s van.

Steve slid in next to the zoologist, and Emma jammed in on the opposite window seat. In the back, Ben slid across to one window, Andrea quickly jumped in next to him, and Dan took the last seat.

As they sped out of Heathrow, Ben hung an arm out the window, watching with a mix of alarm and amusement — New York rush hour had nothing on some of the turnpikes out of the airport ring.

The real difference was that where American drivers would jam a hand down hard on their horns, or lean out of their windows to give you a piece of their mind, English drivers tended to glare or quietly fume in their vehicles.

Jenny half turned. “Tomorrow, I’ve arranged an interview for you at Windlesham Manor. As a background story, I told them you were planning on placing your dear old mother there. I can take you, but it should be only two of you — you guys choose which ones.”

Jenny turned back to the road. “Oh, and dress well; this place is expensive.”

Steve grinned. “Well, I’m out.”

Emma turned in her seat. “Got to be Ben. Only he really knows what to look for.” She smiled at him. “And I can accompany him as I just bought some new clothes. We can pretend to be a couple.”

“Or brother and sister,” Andrea added with a smirk.

“What do we do?” Dan asked.

“Enjoy our hospitality.” Jenny shot back. “I’ve put you all up at Fairstowe House; it’s a bed and breakfast down at Crowborough, so close to the Manor. It’s nice; there’s a traditional English pub down the road, and the place has a lot of history. So while Ben and Emma visit the estate, the rest of you can go for nature walks, exploring, or just sleep off your jet lag.”

“Well, that works just fine for me.” Steve sighed and eased back in his seat.

“Well done, and thank you, Jenny,” Ben said. “How far exactly to the Manor?”

“From Fairstowe House, just a few miles. From here, 50 miles, so sit back, take in the scenery, and get comfortable, as it’ll still take us about 3 hours, with most of that just getting out of this damned city.”

“Well then.” Ben also eased back in his seat. “I’ll be working off my jet lag right now.” He closed his eyes.

The squeal of breaks and a sharp elbow in the ribs told him they’d arrived, and Ben opened his eyes to a scene that reminded him of a cross between Harry Potter’s Hogwarts and the cover of one of his mother’s prized House and Gardens magazines.

“Wow,” Steve said from the front seat.

Fairstowe House had to be 200 years old if it was a day. Its sandstone and dark brick façade was covered in climbing roses, and leadlight windows held glimpses of golden lamps burning within.

“Looks inviting,” Ben observed, pulling back the door on the van. The group piled out and stood in the courtyard, smelling rose, lavender, and a hint of wood-smoke.

“Oh yeah, I could get used to this.” Emma turned slowly, hands on hips.

The front door opened and a woman holding a tea towel wiped her hands on it, and then flicked it up over her shoulder. She smiled, making her cheeks glow even more.

“Jennifer?”

“Yes, hello, Mrs. Davenport.” Jenny strode forward to shake the woman’s hand. She turned. “And my American friends.” She pointed at each, giving names. Ben and the group grinned and waved as their names were called.

Jenny looked pleased. “And let me know if you need help translating. Their accents can be a little difficult.”

Steve laughed. “Wait until she gets a load of our manners then.” He gave the older woman a wry smile. “Don’t believe a word of it, Mrs. Davenport, we’re a well-behaved bunch.”

The older woman smiled warmly. “Well, of course you are. And call me Margaret, please.” She stood to the side. “This way, this way, do come in.”

“Beautiful house, Margaret,” Andrea said, following first. “Looks old, um, I mean, grand and historically old.”

Margaret stopped in the living room. “Not that old; the Fairstowe country house, stables, and even rose beds are all approaching two centuries, but inside, you’ll find all the mod cons.”

The fireplace popped behind her, and Ben smelled burning cedar. Except for the slightest waft of mustiness, Ben loved it — it was warm, comfortable, and they seemed to have it all to themselves.

Margaret beamed. “I have a room for each of you.” She raised her chin. “I was told that you each wanted a single room; was that suitable?”

Dan nodded. “Sure, still all single for now, but we’re working on it.” He let his eyes slide to Ben. Emma glared in return.

“It’s absolutely perfect, Margaret, and thank you.” Jenny then checked her watch. “It’s 4pm now, and we’ll be going out for dinner, so I think we’ll get settled and clean up.” She raised her eyebrows. “What say we then meet down here at 7pm? I know a perfect place for dinner.”

CHAPTER 07

Comet P/2018-YG874 wasn’t a big one by any astral mapping standards. Its designate name was Primordia, and it probably originated in the Oort cloud a hundred million years ago.

To date, there are nearly 6,000 known comets in the inner solar system and many billions more in the outer system. Only about one comet per year can be seen with the naked eye, and most are unremarkable.

Primordia had been travelling in an elliptical orbit in a periodic recurrence of every 10 years. It would approach the Earth, pass by it, and then head back to the inner star where it was grabbed again and then flung back out into the solar system for yet another cycle around the 3rd planet from the sun.

Due to the effects of solar radiation, the small body emitted the usual coma and icy tail, giving it the distinctive comet streak. When a comet finally appears to the naked eye, it is called an apparition.

The Primordia apparition was unremarkable, except for one thing — its comet nuclei, or central core, had a significant concentration of iron and other rare minerals that created a significant magnetic distortion on the surrounding solar geography.

The Primordia Earthly cycle had it passing closest to South America, directly over a vast tabletop mountain in Venezuela. It was only observable for a few days, but in that time, strange distortions occurred on the mountaintop — things became rearranged, reordered, pathways created and doorways opened.

In 48 hours, Primordia’s first magnetic wave effects would be felt. And in Eastern Venezuela, the season was once again at its wettest.

CHAPTER 08

Mateo bobbed his head from side to side as he read the data on the bank of screens before him. “Storm gathering, but centered.” He switched to the satellite images. “Very strange; just over the deep eastern jungle.”

Mateo was fresh from university and armed with a degree in meteorological and climate sciences, and he’d never seen anything like what he was looking at; he didn’t even know of a precedent for it in any textbook. There looked to be a small developing hurricane, but coming out of nowhere. It was tiny and centralized. But strangely, staying centralized.

He cursed under his breath as his computer systems refused to give him the data he wanted. The cloudbank swirled and was so dense that it wasn’t allowing any thermal or even geographic readings over the site. Worse, as he watched, the satellite image started to blur over the affected area as if there was a smudge on his screen.

“Hey, boss, this can’t be right. Look.” He rolled his chair backwards and pointed.

Santiago sighed and also rolled his chair backwards. The slightly portly man was Mateo’s superior and had been in the role for over 30 years. He rolled himself closer, took one look, and grunted.

“Yeah; wet season, and this year, the wettest. It’s rare, but it happens.” He rolled back to his own workspace.

“Huh?” Mateo’s frown deepened. “This is unprecedented. It looks like a hurricane, small, but so dense it’s now almost impenetrable.”

Santiago snorted. “Not everything that occurs within the boundaries of what we collectively group under the term weather is in textbooks. Um… ” He reached up to pull a battered old paper folder from a shelf and thumbed through it for a moment before handing it to the young man.

“Here, see, every 10 years, like clockwork, there is a unique phenomenon that happens in these parts. Only during the wettest of wet seasons.” He shrugged. “The conditions manifest over a single area, only remain for a few days, and then just as abruptly, dissipate and then vanish.” He shrugged. “Theories are that it is caused by an upwelling of thermal activity in the area that alters ground heat, and then the associated humidity and air density.”

“Wow.” Mateo grinned. “And we can’t see anything through that cloud?”

“Mmm, yes and no.” Santiago pointed to the folder. “Turn the pages, there, that’s it. We flew a high-altitude plane over the site twenty years back, and used LIDAR to bounce some laser off the area. Those images are what came back.”

Mateo frowned. He knew of LIDAR; they were the Light, Imaging, Detection and Ranging devices that were used to map areas by illuminating them with a laser light, and then reading the reflected pulses with a sensor — they were extremely accurate.

Mateo frowned. “It can see everything, except for this one large tepui in the inaccessible eastern zone — the top, it’s… not there.” He looked up, open-mouthed. “I don’t understand.”

Santiago winked. “A mystery wrapped in a conundrum, hmm?”

Mateo grinned back. “This is why I love this job.”

Santiago chuckled. “And that’s why they call us the bureau of climate guessology — we only know what’s happening some of the time.”

CHAPTER 09

Next morning, 8am sharp, Ben and Emma met Jenny downstairs. Ben still felt like he was going to burst; Margaret had made them toasted muffins, little sausages as long as his thumb, eggs and bacon, plus hot tea. Ben ate most of it, but stopped short on the bacon — it was floppy and undercooked and not crispy like he preferred it. He found out later that this was the way it was usually eaten here — yech.

Jenny led them back into the drawing room, and Steve, Dan, and Andrea soon joined them. They all flopped down into oversized armchairs and couches.

“What’s your plan, Jenn?” Steve asked his friend.

Jenny had a teacup to her lips and seemed to gulp the remaining contents. Ben was amazed at the quantity of tea that these guys put away; it put American coffee drinkers to shame.

Jenny replaced the cup in its matching fine china saucer and smacked her lips. “Our meeting is set to occur in another hour, and one of the reasons I chose Fairstowe was that it’s only 10 minutes from the Manor. Our cover story is that Emma and Ben are considering moving to the area for work, and will be bringing their elderly mother with them. You’ll be wanting help with her, of the highest standard.” She looked at Ben. “She’s 86, has no real health or dietary issues, but is slightly foggy of thinking, okay?”

Ben nodded. “Got it.”

“You drive the conversation. Don’t get bogged down in your details. You ask the questions and get them to show the pair of you around. Even better if once they’ve given you a quick tour, you’re allowed to do a bit of wandering around by yourselves.” She sat back and sighed. “And the million pound question is, looking around for what?”

Ben exhaled slowly through his nose. It was a question he had raked over his memory many times trying to tease out some clue, but came up empty every time.

“All we know is that the author, Arthur Conan Doyle, hid my great, great grandfather’s notebook at Windlesham Manor somewhere on the estate.” He gave her a wry smile. “And he didn’t exactly say where.”

“Good lord.” Jenny’s brows went up. “Do you know how big…?”

“Yes, yes.” Ben looked skyward for a moment. “I know, huge. This might be damn mission impossible.”

Emma sucked in one of her cheeks. “All we know is it’s somewhere under the earth, in a place that only Doyle and his ancestor knew about.”

“Hmm. This is just like Doyle, a man who liked mystery and intrigue.” Jenny’s eyes narrowed. “But this does mean that your ancestor had been here before. We could have used that, but unfortunately, all connection between the Manor and Doyle has now been severed. So we can’t expect them to give you any good graces in relation to the search.” She grimaced and shook her head. “I don’t like your chances.”

“Me either,” Ben said. “Just hoping that something jumps out at us.” He sighed.

“Might it have already been found?” Jenny asked.

“Maybe, but we think it’s unlikely,” Dan said. “There’s been no mention of it, and this notebook would have rated a mention, somewhere.”

“Unless it was purchased on the black market and went straight into someone’s private collection,” Ben added.

“I still think, no,” Dan said. “There isn’t even a mention of the notebook existing other than in the correspondence between Benjamin the 1st and Doyle. I think wherever it was put, it stayed there.”

Jenny checked her wristwatch. “Well, we got a date, so we better just keep our fingers crossed. Otherwise, at least it will have been a nice holiday for you.”

In 20 more minutes, Jenny herded Ben and Emma back into the van. Dan, Andrea, and Steve had come out onto the front steps to wave them off, and Steve gave them a thumbs-up as they pulled out.

Ben waved back in return, and then began to chuckle.

“What?” Emma nudged him.

“Well.” Ben still grinned. “One minute I’m at a funeral, then you turn up, and suddenly I’m on the other side of the world about to try and trick my way into an old folk’s home.” He looked across at her.

She smiled. “Yeah, and one minute, I’m running an everyday adventure tour business, you turn up, and suddenly I’m swept away by Hurricane Cartwright. See, I could say the same about you.” Her smile widened. “But at least no one can accuse us of having a dull life together, huh?”

He lowered his brow. “You do know I was thinking about moving back home just to enjoy the dull life.”

“And yet, here you are.” Emma jiggled her eyebrows.

“Windlesham Manor coming up,” Jenny said.

The van turned off the main road onto a heavy tree- and bush-lined avenue. The magnificent oak and chestnut trees created a green tunnel for them to pass through before they arrived at an impressive sandstone entrance gate with a single silver pole by the side with intercom. Jenny slowed and lowered her window. She reached out to press the button.

“Jennifer Brock with the Cartwrights; we’re expected.” She turned to wink at them.

They only had to wait a few moments before the gates buzzed, clicked, and then slowly began to swing ponderously inwards. Ben noticed that there were discrete cameras mounted on each of the sandstone pillars.

“Good security,” he observed.

“Hm-hmm.” Jenny eased the van forward. “But I’ll wager it’s more to keep the elderly from wandering away rather than keep intruders out.”

They drove up a winding gravel driveway and pulled up in front of the magnificent house. It was only two floors, but enormous. Climbing fig adorned one wall, and roses bloomed all around its perimeter. Everything seemed so green and lush, and Ben saw under a few leafy canopies there were huge garden umbrellas with wheelchairs pulled up beneath them. Tiny heads of fluffy white hair turned to watch them approach.

In another moment, a woman appeared on the top steps and gave them a friendly wave. She had a powder-blue cashmere cardigan over a silk blouse, and pearls the size of marbles adorned her neck.

She first crossed the lawn to the wheelchairs and chatted to a few of her residents. She patted shoulders, poured tea, and laughed at something one of them said. Then she began to head towards them.

Ben smiled at the perfect pastoral scene. The sunshine was warm on his face, the gardens fragrant, and guests looked happy. Ben turned to Emma.

“Make a note; this is where I want to retire.”

She scoffed. “I thought you were retired now.”

“Ms. Brock?” The woman’s smile was open and honest.

“Mrs. Hurley,” Jennifer responded and stepped forward, hand outstretched. They clasped hands, and Jennifer motioned to her friends.

“The Cartwrights: Benjamin and Emma.”

“Of course.” She held out one firm and dry hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

The older woman’s eyes ran up and down Ben from his hair to his shoes for a fraction of a second, missing nothing.

Ben noticed that the woman’s attire could be described as understated elegance. She was dressed simply, but expensively. And though he and Emma were dressed nicely, it probably told Mrs. Hurley they might just not be in the Manor’s league. Ben only hoped that being from out of town, she might give their casual attire some leeway.

“You’re making inquiries on behalf of your mother, Mr. Cartwright?” Her perfect eyebrows rose.

Ben nodded. “Yes, she’s getting on, and always wanted to move somewhere with a nice climate, and plenty of class. Windlesham Manor was recommended to us.”

Mrs. Hurley nodded as though this would be expected. She turned and started to walk towards the garden beds, talking as she went. Ben briefly looked to Emma, shrugged, and they followed.

She took them in a circuit around the house, pointing out the plantings, a separate building she called the aqua room that contained a swimming pool, aqua-aerobics center and sauna, plus a full gymnasium. Ben wondered what Arthur Conan Doyle would have made of his grand old house turning out like this. Being a visionary, maybe he would have approved.

She stopped underneath a large oak tree. Its wizened trunk was gnarled, heavily aged, but yet they could make out the initials, A.C.D., carved into it.

“Arthur Conan Doyle was here.” Ben smiled.

She tilted her head. “I assume you did some research prior to arriving and would know this was his home and where he wrote many of his wonderful stories.” She waved an arm around gently. “This impressive Edwardian country house was where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle spent the final 23 years of his life living happily with his wife and family.”

“Yes, we did,” said Emma. “We also found that in 1955, the last of the Crowborough estate grounds were sold out of the Doyle family. The remains of Sir Arthur and his wife Lady Jean Conan Doyle were removed and reburied at All Saints Church, Minstead in the New Forest, Hampshire. I guess all that remains now is his spirit.”

Mrs. Hurley gave Emma a cool look. “And perhaps also his memories.” She waved an arm around. “I like to think we’ve done the Doyle legacy proud. The Manor needed significant restoration work, and the grounds were in a terrible state. This tree is the only thing that remains of the gardens as they once were.”

Ben had a sinking feeling. “Even the gardens have been replaced?”

“My word, yes; everything out here has been replaced. Even the soil has been rejuvenated.” She smiled benignly. “It’s why the roses do so well.”

Mrs. Hurley marched back towards the front of the house, and Emma turned to him with her mouth slightly twisted down. “So much for under the earth,” she whispered.

Ben just grunted and followed.

Mrs. Hurley led them up the sandstone steps and in through a waiting open doorway. Ben saw the large men immediately — all dressed in white jackets and dark pants. They looked like a cross between butlers and doormen. Each of them looked formidable and fit. They were obviously male nurses who doubled as security — no wonder the front gates seemed so lightly guarded; the Manor had its own private army.

Ben watched for a moment as the men pushed wheelchairs, polished furniture and mahogany rails, and carried trays up stairs. Every one of them glanced at the newcomers with their eyes lingering on the large frame of Ben and perhaps recognizing another body trained for confrontations.

The next 30 minutes comprised of them touring rooms, the library, dining facilities, and then talking budgets. The annual costs made Ben’s eyes water, and that was for the basic package. When dear old mom or dad needed additional medical care and supervision, the costs went skyward and kept going until you sailed past the moon.

Ben and Emma smiled and nodded, trying to keep straight faces.

“Very reasonable,” Ben said, while Emma turned to him and made her eyes go crossed.

Eventually, Mrs. Hurley began to lead them back down the staircase. The mahogany banister now gleamed, and Ben felt the silken surface still had a touch of orange oil that made it feel like silk and also gave off a faint but pleasant citrus odor.

Jenny was still downstairs waiting for them and he nodded to her. His plan was to ask Mrs. Hurley to be able to wander around unescorted, but didn’t like his chances. Even if the hawk-eyed woman left him, he doubted they’d be out of sight of one or more of the large nurse-butlers.

They came to the last few steps; Ben still trailed his hand on the banister, preparing to lift it over the carved newel post, when he saw it.

On top of the stair post was a carved globe — the planet Earth. Ben nudged Emma and leaned closer to her.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

She turned to him, and then followed his gaze. Her brows knitted for a moment before her jaw dropped into an open-mouth grin. “Could it be?”

“Under the Earth. Not, under the earth,” he whispered. “Got to be.”

CHAPTER 10

The torrential rain abruptly stopped as if it had been turned off at the tap. For many minutes on the plateau top, water ran from treetops, palm fronds, and also ran in rivulets along the jungle animal trails.

Above the treetops, the boiling purple clouds opened in a circular hole, letting in a widening column of light and making the massive lake shine like a blue jewel.

Leathery winged creatures glided from the trees to skim a surface that was lined with motion ripples, popping bubbles, and upsurges as unseen things below got on with the business of eat or be eaten.

Along the far shoreline, a herd of plant eaters grazed on rich mosses or lichens at the water line, their duck-like bills grazing on the protein-rich soft, green growth right down to the water.

A hundred feet out from them in the lake, an enormous dark lump appeared. Bulbous eyes popped open to watch them. After another moment, the lump glided closer, and then slowly eased back down below the surface. Huge muscles coiled.

For one unlucky plant eater, the price of a good meal was death.

CHAPTER 11

“What is it?” Jenny asked, after seeing Ben and Emma’s animation on the staircase.

“A clue, we think,” Ben whispered back. “Keep Nurse Ratchet busy for a minute.”

Jenny nodded and then strode towards Mrs. Hurley who was signing some forms on a computer tablet for one of the hulking male nurses. She looked up and smiled as Jenny approached.

“Can you please tell me about visiting hours and guests staying, if you don’t mind?” She stood where it made Mrs. Hurley face away from the staircase.

Ben grabbed Emma’s arm and quickly guided her closer to the post. He placed a hand casually on the globe and tried to tilt it, turn it, and even press down on it. He rapped on it with his knuckles. Nothing; seemed solid.

Too obvious, he thought.

“Cover me,” he whispered and positioned Emma between one of the nurses and the post and knelt down to untie and slowly retie his shoelace.

He looked at the wooden post; it was unblemished on its carved and buffed sides. He reached around Emma and quickly felt the bottom step — tight, no give in it, no flaps or hidden doors on the riser or step top.

Ben then checked where it met the floor; thankfully, the lower ground had rugs and not carpet, and the floorboards were polished to a mirrored sheen. They also fit flush. There were several screw holes at the base — 3 of them, with the furthest post side being flush against the steps. He put his fingers over the screw holes and pressed — left side, nothing, front, nothing. Then pressed the last, the one at the back — a small panel at the base of the steps popped open.

“Bingo,” Emma said softly.

Ben looked up and grinned, and then quickly looked around for any spectators. He was in the clear, so he reached in, and immediately felt something covered in cloth. He grabbed at it, just as from behind he heard a growing electronic whine. He looked over his shoulder.

Ah crap, Ben thought as he saw the old lady in a motorized chair was wheeling towards him, her pale, rheumy eyes moving from him to the open panel.

Ben grabbed the package and drew it free. It was bigger, thicker, and heavier than he expected. He’d never be able to sneak it out.

Emma kicked back at him, and he looked up to see Jenny and Mrs. Hurley approaching.

Shit. He looked around and grinned as the old lady was now only feet away. She raised one drawn-on eyebrow at him.

“Hi there.” He shut the panel. “Mind this.” He reached out to place the book on her lap, and then quickly turned and stood in front of her.

“Well, this has been most informative.” He forced his smile.

“Did you get everything you needed?” Mrs. Hurley smiled back tightly.

“I think we did.” The corners of Emma’s eyes crinkled.

“Emma and I will talk to mom tonight.” From behind Ben, he heard the whine of the wheelchair and he glanced over his shoulder to see the old lady motoring down the length of the room towards a set of the open doors.

“Well, we’ll be in touch.” He looked around, and at the same time grabbed Emma by the arm. “Thank you for everything; your facilities are wonderful.”

Jenny went to head to the front doors, but Ben held Emma back. “Um, do you mind if we have one last look at your magnificent gardens?”

“Be my guest.” Mrs. Hurley offered him her slim and manicured hand.

Ben shook it and turned on his heel, dragging Emma with him. Jenny was left behind with knitted brows, and he could feel Mrs. Hurley’s eyes on him every step of the way.

Ben headed to the open door, moving quickly.

“What is it?” Emma asked.

“The notebook; the old woman’s got it.” He stopped.

“Which one?” Emma’s eyes widened as they stepped out into the sunshine.

“The one in the wheel…” Ben groaned; there were around a dozen men and women in wheelchairs, all nearly identical, save for the odd book or teacup in their hands. All had nicely coiffed hairdos of cotton-white and maybe a hint of purple here and there.

“What was she wearing?’ Emma said.

“Old lady stuff,” Ben replied, chuckling.

“Great, that at least rules out most of the old men.” Emma exhaled.

“Come on; meet and greet time.” Ben led her forward.

Ben pasted on his most endearing smile, and Emma hooked her arm over his. Together, they walked along in front of the row of men and woman, smiling, nodding, and stopping to chat to a few here and there. Ben wished he had paid more attention when he threw the book at the woman.

He felt a knot of impatience growing in his stomach. They were fast running out of time, and also out of white hair, when Emma nudged him. “Hello, look, over there.”

In the shade of a huge camellia japonica tree, an ancient woman sat staring back at them, a tiny smile on her lips.

Ben craned his neck. “Maybe.”

They approached, and Ben started to feel more confident.

“An adventure is afoot,” she said and her smile widened. She then threw back the shawl that was over her shoulders and lap to reveal the hide-covered package.

Ben crouched before her. “Thank you, and thank you for not telling them.”

“Dare I ask what it is?” she asked.

“A notebook that belongs to my family, to my great, great grandfather, Benjamin Cartwright. It had been held and then hidden away by the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It was to be retrieved by one of Benjamin’s heirs, but it got lost and forgotten.” Ben smiled up into her lively eyes. “I came to claim it; but needed to find it first.”

“And you are?” She tilted her head.

“Ben Cartwright.” He smiled back. “The new one.”

She nodded. “And now the heirloom has been found.” She ran a hand over the oilcloth surface of the package. “Rose Pennington.” She looked into his eyes. “And I’ll tell you right now, when the chance presents, I’m going to look in that secret place myself, and see if there are any other treasures.”

She reached out to grasp Ben’s hand. He felt the small bird-like bones wrapped in the papery soft skin. “Ever since I was a little girl, I loved adventures. But age makes them more difficult to pursue.” She squeezed his hand. “Give me your number. If I find anything else, I’ll call.”

Ben nodded and did so. He held out the scrap of paper and she gripped his wrist.

“And you tell me what you find; I smell adventure, mystery, and danger.” She hiked her shoulder and smiled. “If I was 50 years younger, I’d make you take me with you.”

She handed the ancient notebook to him. “Good luck, and good hunting, Benjamin the 2nd.”

CHAPTER 12

The package lay open on the table before them. For several moments, everyone just stared.

Dan looked up. “I say we go for it… now.” His eyes blazed.

“We’re not ready,” Steve said.

“And how exactly do you get ready for something like this?” Dan tilted his head. “We’re all here, all fit, I have the funds for the expedition.” He pointed at Emma, and then to each. “We have climbing skills, military skills, trade skills…” He looked at Andrea, smiled, and then skipped her to Jenny. “We even have a zoologist.”

“Dan, you don’t trek into the Amazon jungle as if you’re planning a picnic in Central Park. That’s how dumb guys like us vanish.” Ben sighed. “I’ve been there briefly, and it’s one big damn green hell.”

“Well, I’ve been there, several times actually,” Jenny said. “And we even work with the local tribes for animal procurement, habitat advice, that sort of stuff.”

“Yes.” Dan fist pumped. “All objections neutralized.” He sat back.

“Something else to think about; didn’t you say that whatever window of opportunity was going to present itself was only going to be open for a week? And that was coming up soon.” Steve shrugged. “Maybe this once in a generation wet season causes a river to flood that leads the way, or something to drain, or even a certain flower to bloom that points the way. I kinda get excited just thinking about it. And if it’s not going to happen again for another 10 years, well…” He hiked his shoulders even higher.

“Now or never,” Emma said dreamily.

Ben had also placed on the table before them the rare copy of The Lost World, now unwrapped. He clasped his hands together as his gaze went from one book to the other.

Even from where he sat, he could smell the ancient pages of both. The package they’d recovered from Windlesham Manor was now revealed — beneath the oilcloth there had been a layer of wax paper. Once he’d carefully opened it out, the century-old, leather-bound notebook was revealed — it was roughly 12 inches by eight, and a spine-bursting three inches thick. The thing was battered and worn and had been well used in its day. There were even brown streaks marking the leather that he recognized from his military days as undoubtedly being blood.

There were other odors as well; the smell coming from the notebook was of oil, paper, and perhaps the sweetness of some sort of plant resin. There were initials pressed into the cover — BBC — Benjamin Bartholomew Cartwright, his great, great grandfather.

He opened it — the inside had loose pages stuck there, some dried leaves, and even a large butterfly’s wing, still iridescent blue, and looking as fragile as the most silken gossamer.

Jenny had leaned forward, smiling and nodding. “Morpho peleides — the Blue Morpho Butterfly, and sometimes called the sapphire of the Amazon.”

“It’s beautiful,” Andrea said in a hushed tone.

“And so big,” Steve added.

Ben’s mouth curved into a smile. “Long before the days of any sort of quarantine procedures, huh?”

Jenny nodded. “And I didn’t see a thing. In reality, I’m supposed to report or destroy that specimen. I’m just going to hope any potential hitchhikers on that wing are long dead.”

Ben continued his examination. The date and notations told him it was Benjamin’s missing field notes for the ill-fated Venezuelan expedition of 1908. Ben had always been impressed with the writing style of the earlier generations, and how they managed to make their script look both precise and beautifully calligraphic at the same time. While his shabby jottings would look right at home on a doctor’s prescription.

Ben sipped his tea, winced at the bitter taste, and then went back to carefully turning the notebook’s pages. Emma dragged her chair to crowd in beside him on one side and Andrea on the other. Steve, Dan, and Jenny were also craning necks to read alongside him once again.

“These guys,” Emma began, “were all artists. So many skills.”

“Yep,” he replied, looking at an artistic drawing of a steamer boat and a detailed description of the ride he and the trip’s sponsor, Douglas Baxter, took to Caracas on the South American continent. Then they endured weeks on horseback to the small town of Zuata in the interior where they picked up a team of bearers — Pemon Indians, Benjamin had called them. He had added in a drawing of a group of a dozen fierce-looking young men with smooth faces, hair in dark bowl cuts, and daubs of paint on their cheeks.

Ben turned the page, seeing some of the ink had been blurred, perhaps by a sort of sap. “I can’t imagine what the Amazon had been like then, in 1908.” He picked up the words and read, relating the story to his friends.

“From there, they had set off into an area of unexplored jungle in search of a hidden plateau that, in Benjamin’s own words, would rewrite everything they knew about biology and evolution.”

“Hidden plateau,” Dan read over his shoulder. “Oh boy.”

Ben nodded. “In a land, hidden under a permanent cloud — hmm, the rainy season thing, perhaps.” He tilted the notebook towards Emma. “Great artwork.” He had stopped at a pencil picture of Benjamin Cartwright’s hunter friend, Baxter, crossing a river, rifle held above his head to keep it dry. Even in the quick etching, Benjamin had captured a face that was determined, eyes gun-barrel steady and a jutting mustache.

He placed the leather-bound notebook open on the table. “The later editions of Doyle’s story had fewer and fewer drawings. But the first editions contained a lot of hand-drawn ink sketches, copied from the notebook.”

He then carefully opened the 1912 edition of The Lost World and flicked through several pages until he found what he searched for. He laid it open next to the notebook.

It was the drawing, this one of the story character, Lord Roxton, not Douglas Baxter, but exactly the same features, same rifle held aloft. This one was far more stylized for the printing, but there was no doubt the similarities were breathtaking.

Ben turned back inside the book’s cover board to the inscription by Arthur Conan Doyle.

“To my good friend, Benjamin Cartwright — your experiences ignited my imagination, and this is the result.” He rubbed his chin. “Is that what Doyle really meant; that over a 100 years ago, Benjamin had actually done what he had described in his work of fiction?”

“Yes, yes, of course he did,” Dan urged. “And there’s your proof, right in front of you.”

“I don’t know.” Ben noticed a folded piece of paper in the notebook and flattened it out. He looked at it momentarily, before snorting softly. “And what would a modern zoologist make of this?” He slid it towards Jenny.

She peered down at the drawing, her lips curving up at the corners. It was a magnificent rendition of a jungle in the rain, the penciled shading managing to impart dripping fern fronds and vines. But they were just to frame the main subject — through a tunnel-like portal of jungle could be observed a dead creature lying in the mud.

Jenny read the ancient notations. “Unknown dinosaurian.” She looked up slowly. “Un-bloody-known dinosaurian.” She grinned at Dan. “If you guys do go, you damn well count me in.”

“I’m in too,” said Steve.

“Me too,” Andrea said. “This adventure will make me famous.”

Emma raised her hand and grinned sheepishly at Ben. “Don’t know about being famous, but I’d die curious if I was dumb enough to say no.”

“Ah Jesus Christ.” Ben sighed and leaned back. “This could get us all killed. I don’t want to be responsible for —”

“I speak for myself, and am responsible for myself,” Jenny said. “Ben, if there’s even a one in a million chance of this being real, you need to check it out. And if, as you said, there is only a small window every half a generation, then what do we do? Wait until we’re all in our forties before finally making up our minds?”

She folded her arms. “One more thing, the Pemon still exist, are still used as guides, and I can arrange for them to be with us.”

“It’s all lining up, buddy.” Dan’s smile widened.

Emma pushed her dark hair back off her forehead. “The wide-eyed kid in me says, go, go, go! But the adult, the one who’s supposed to be sensible, is asking, do we really think we can find this plateau with just a few notes?”

Ben leaned forward to carefully flip pages again, first of the old edition of the Lost World. He came to a hand-drawn map. Then he did the same to the notebook. “A few notes, and this.”

There was a map, hand-drawn, but surprisingly detailed. There were even longitude and latitude coordinates. He turned a few more pages. “And this, and this, and this.” There were more maps, just as detailed as the first.

“Oh my God,” Jenny breathed. “This can work. It can really work.”

Ben nodded. “The ones in the novel and my ancestor’s notebook aren’t the same. Maybe Doyle decided to keep some things secret, huh?”

“Ho-ooo-ley shit,” Steve said with a broad grin. “He knew it was real.”

Ben sat forward and clasped his fingers together. “If we go, we run this like a military operation. Agreed?”

Everyone enthusiastically agreed.

“I’ve been on jungle missions before; it’s damn hard work. We’re gonna need a plan, and some serious kit.”

“The kit I can take care of,” Dan said. “You just give me a shopping list.”

“I’ll help,” Steve said.

“Me too,” said Emma.

“I’ll make contact with my friends in Venezuela and let them know we’ll need local guides and transportation.”

Andrea smiled. “And I better call my agent. This is gonna be fun.”

Ben sighed and put his hand on the book. “And I need to study this and draw out anything and everything we need to know.”

The group broke up quickly, each excited and eager to get their allotted tasks in motion.

Ben climbed to his room, sat on the bed, and kicked off his shoes. He punched both pillows into a single mound and stuffed them behind his head and shoulders, and then opened the notebook to read.

As he read, the drawings, the words, and descriptions all began to transport him back over a hundred years to that fateful expedition of 1908.

CHAPTER 13

The torrential rain had finally eased back to a greasy drizzle. Benjamin Cartwright raised a hand to his small party. The smell of death was growing stronger. Last night’s storm had passed over, but the ever-present cloud cover remained.

The stories had been true; the once in a half-generation wet season was here, and that meant in this area apparently the sun never shone much above a twilight, rendering everything damp, humid, and like a bottled greenhouse covered in shade-cloth.

They had been following a game trail for days, and still were, even though he knew it was a dangerous ploy in that the smell of carrion usually attracted large predators. But they had no choice. The jungle here was near impenetrable, and it was either hack, hour by hour, through the green morass, moving ahead at only a few feet every hour, or burrow along readymade caves.

In amongst the constant drip of water on large broad leaves, Cartwright overheard the Pemon guides muttering their discontent — coming this far had meant entering lands that were taboo to them. He was now leading them closer to a sacred plateau that rose over a thousand feet from the floor of the jungle and up into the clouds.

It was his destination, and home he had been told of a civilization older than the Egyptian pyramids, and a place of flora and fauna not seen since the dawn of time. As a rising archeologist, he’d be famous overnight. But it wasn’t fame or riches that drove him forward, but a curiosity that had burned within him since he was just a small boy.

Cartwright looked up at the cloud cover. He had wanted to bring a hot air balloon to traverse the jungle and also raise them to the plateau. But the cloud would make navigation impossible, plus the fact that for some strange reason his compass had gone haywire.

He sighed. If they ever found a way up to this secret land, they’d have to climb hand over hand. He’d never done that before but would meet that challenge when it came.

Cartwright rested beneath the huge trunks of trees that defied any known classification — their massive trunks were covered in hair, or the bark that coated them was like wooden scales. They were close; he knew it.

He pulled out his notebook to look briefly at the maps he had made — all crude and sketched from conversations he had with the Pemon village elders. What he sought was something that was at the foot of a sacred tabletop mountain, or tepui — they were called various names from sky lands, houses of the gods, and cloud kingdoms, and all of them were taboo. The unique geological formations were massive flat-topped mountains and were composed of sheer blocks of Precambrian quartz arenite sandstone that rose abruptly from the jungle, and for some that was a half a mile into the air.

But the one he searched for was supposedly so tall it was hidden in a thick cloud cover that constantly masked its roof. The massive vertical walls sealed off whatever was up there from life on the ground, and also vice versa.

Climbing them was said to be impossible, but paradoxically, it was strictly forbidden to even try. According to the Pemon, legend had it that generations ago, a young, foolish man had climbed up, and within a day, his remains were flung back down, missing limbs and head. So, as far as the Pemon were concerned, whatever was up there, having it cut off from them was a good thing.

Cartwright jumped as a hand alighted on his shoulder.

“Goddamit, Baxter, creeping up on me.” He shrugged it off and turned an indignant glare on his friend.

Douglas Baxter chuckled. “So, you step over giant spiders, alligators, poisonous vines, and sucking bogs, but it’s my hand that makes you jumpy?”

Cartwright grinned and pushed his notebook back into the pouch. “Yeah, well, if it wasn’t raining, after eight weeks without a bath, I should have smelled you creeping up on me.”

“Who needs a bath?” Baxter snorted. “And the only reason we can’t smell each other is because of that stink.”

Cartwright’s face became serious as he looked back out to the jungle. “Some sort of big animal, I guess. Dead leopard, maybe? You tell me, you’re the hunter.”

Baxter straightened and also scanned the dripping jungle. He was the archetypical outdoor’s man and adventurer. He was also a renowned game hunter on several continents, and from a wealthy family — it was his family’s money that was financing their expedition — a grand adventure not to be missed, he had called it.

Baxter sniffed deeply. “Can’t place it, but doesn’t smell like game.” He inhaled again. “More like dead fish.”

Cartwright turned back to the jungle. “Yeah, maybe.” It did smell a little like the ammonia corruption of something washed up on a beach at low tide. He looked over his shoulder. “Pemon won’t be with us much longer.”

Baxter crossed his arms, cradling his Springfield rifle, and glanced over his shoulder to the huddled group of natives. “Yeah, I think you’re right; surprised they hung on this long. My friend, if they turn back, we’re gonna have to make a call on it.” He turned about. “Without our supplies, it’s going to be a long trek back… with little food. There’s no damn game.” He nosed towards the jungle. “Other than whatever that stink is from.”

Cartwright sighed. “According to the maps, we should have found something by now.” He turned about. “We’ll try for another few miles, and see how much longer they stay with us.”

“Works for me.” He shouldered his rifle. “Lead on, sir.”

In another 30 minutes of burrowing through the wet, green caves, the smell had become so strong that the very air around them felt like it was coating them in rank oil. Cartwright started to think it might have been some sort of mass death area, like an elephant’s graveyard or the like. It only made him more interested and determined.

He pushed through the curtain of vines and froze. His second guess was that the thing was of such a great size that it produced the massive amounts of rotten gas. And this turned out to be the correct one, as framed in the green tunnel, the thing was revealed.

The creature was, or had been, enormous. It was a small mountain of decaying, mottled flesh. There were clouds of furious black flies crawling over and swarming around the beast, and Cartwright had to shut his lips tight to keep them out. For several more seconds, all he could do was stare.

“Well, holy hell,” Baxter scoffed.

“Hell is right,” Cartwright replied softly.

Curved ribs as thick as tree trunks poked through torn flesh, a long tail trailed away into the ferns, but there were spikes showing from the grasses where it finished. The legs ended in stumps, with three horn-like nails on each and every one of them bigger than his fist.

“Some type of dinosaurian,” Cartwright breathed. He followed the long neck to where it ended in a head that at first seemed equine, but was five times its size, and lined with ridged, flat teeth.

Eager to see more, he pulled the vine curtain back a little further. He now saw there were gouges in the great beast’s side and how the ribs that poked through hadn’t just burst through the skin but looked raked out, as if by huge talons. The thing was a monster, but it had been attacked by something even more ferocious and formidable.

“Attacked and killed,” Cartwright said. “But what would attack that? What could?”

“By the look of those gouges in its flanks, I’d say something bigger and meaner — a carnivore, a hunter. And not sure about that being what killed it; look at the impact crater it’s lying in, and also the neck.” Baxter now held his gun ready in his hands. “It’s broken.”

Cartwright looked heavenwards, but there was nothing but thick cloud above them. “Perhaps it was running away, running for its life, and then fell… from where?”

“You did say we should have found something by now, right?” Baxter grinned. “Then we must be close.”

Huge flies picked at Cartwright’s lips and he held a hand over his mouth and nose. “The stink — can barely breathe.”

He and Baxter turned at the sound of a commotion behind him and expected to see the Pemon preparing to leave. But instead, their leader, a wiry young warrior by the name of Inxthca, was busy issuing rapid orders. His men scurried away, digging out dry tinder and wood.

“Hey, don’t do that.” Cartwright held out an arm.

They ignored him and began to cover the great beast over. Inxthca then called for the firestones to be struck — shards of chert and pyrite that gave a spark and then a flame.

The small warrior drew closer to the pair and spoke rapidly. Cartwright could only speak a little of their language, but he got the gist of it.

“He’s telling us, no; warning us not to go on. This was the place of bad gods, something called the Boraro.”

Baxter snorted. “Then we’re very much at the right place.”

They spun as a horrifying noise from within the flames turned their heads. From the swollen belly of the beast, something burst free, screeching its pain from within the fire. It was a vision straight from hell. Coiling and hissing, the enormous diamond-shaped head split open to reveal fang-lined jaws.

Baxter raised his gun, sighting at the thing. From high above them, as if in answer, came a roaring hiss that shook the very trees around them. The Pemon jabbered and began to drop their packages.

Cartwright spun to them. “Wait!” He knew what would happen.

It was too late. They fled.

Baxter watched them vanish for a moment and then turned back to the flames, thankfully, seeing the hideous thing also consumed.

“What manner of place is this?”

“One of gods and monsters.” Cartwright stared at the fire and grimaced. “Was that thing one of its young?”

“Didn’t look like the dead animal. Might have been scavenging on it… or in it.” Baxter shrugged. “We should get moving.”

“Yes.” Cartwright hurriedly pulled out his notebook and started to scribble in it. “Just… want to… make some notes. Describe the thing.”

“Well, hurry it up.” He looked down at the leather-bound book, with the hand-drawn maps and notes tucked into it. “What are you going to do with all that stuff anyway?”

Cartwright half smiled but kept writing. “I have a friend I correspond with. A famous author actually, a Brit named Arthur Conan Doyle.”

Baxter’s mouth turned down. “Never heard of him.”

Cartwright looked up. “He wrote Sherlock Holmes.”

“Nope.” Baxter just shrugged. “Don’t read that much these days. Action is what I’m interested in.”

Cartwright nodded. “Yeah, well, that reading thing is not for everyone, I guess.” He finished with his notes and shut the soft leather cover, sliding a string over it to keep it closed. He then pushed it into a leather satchel at his side.

He waved Baxter on. “Come on. Like you said, we’ve got to be close now.”

The rain had started to fall again. Heavy drops that drummed down on the broad leaves, their hats, and their shoulders. Underfoot, the ground squelched and sucked at their feet, every step becoming a battle against the mud and their fatigue.

Cartwright, leading, snagged an ankle and fell forward, crashing through elephant ear palm fronds to sprawl onto the slimy, composting jungle floor.

“Dammit.”

Baxter followed and was beside him in an instant, but didn’t bend to help. Instead, he froze and just stared.

“Hoo boy.”

Cartwright wiped mud from his face and eyes and looked up. He saw what had grabbed Baxter’s attention and his mouth immediately split into a grin.

“Oh my good God.” He got to his feet. “Oh my God!”

There was a structure; temple-like, set into the side of a sheer rock face that vanished up into the clouds high above them. Holding it in a muscular embrace were gnarled tree roots as thick as his waist, and the heavy-cut stonework was moss-green with age. Everything about it exuded artistry, antiquity, and spiritual reverence.

“Looks like a church, old man.” Baxter crossed his arms, cradling his rifle.

“It does, doesn’t it? But there’s no religious icons, or at least none I recognize.”

“Could it be Spanish?” Baxter asked.

Cartwright wiped water and more mud from his eyes and took a few steps into the small clearing before the building.

“Well, the Spanish have been here since the early 1500s. But this looks more like thousands of years old, rather than hundreds.” He pointed. “See that dead tree trunk that had thrown roots over the foundation stones? That’s an Acomat boucan tree; they can live to be over a thousand years old, and that huge guy looks to have died of old age.”

Baxter whistled.

Cartwright craned his neck, trying to take more of it in. “It’s not really my field, but looks a little like Mayan, but different.”

“Check out the gargoyles.” Baxter flicked water from his hat and then jammed it back on sodden hair. “Or are they more of your dinosaurian beasts — with two heads?”

Cartwright cast his eyes over the stone statues standing rampant on each side of a huge doorway. They were strange, wrong; they rose up on two muscular legs, but seemed to be wrestling with something — a long muscular body wrapped around them, fangs bared and with unblinking eyes.

“No, not two heads, but two creatures, their gods maybe, or perhaps creatures from a superstitious culture.” Cartwright had done his paleontology subjects at university, and there was nothing like these described in the fossil record. “Usually designed to warn strangers away.”

“Well, no wonder the Pemon said this land was taboo.” Baxter spat rainwater onto the ground.

“Jesus.” Cartwright cringed as a roar blasted out from the clouds above them. Baxter’s arms unfolded in an instant, holding his gun ready. After another few seconds, the hunter relaxed.

“What the hell is up there?” he asked.

“Gods and monsters, remember?” Cartwright straightened.

Baxter looked back and forth along the sheer wall. “No way up.”

“And no way down… unless you fall.” Cartwright turned about. “Undoubtedly a good thing.”

“Well, as a betting man, I’d lay money on someone having been up there,” Baxter observed.

“What makes you think that?” Cartwright tilted his chin at the bigger man.

“Those statues, for one. And I bet this temple, or whatever it is, has clues to find a way up there. We should check it out.”

Cartwright licked lips wet from the rain and felt a knot of tension, or maybe excitement, coil in his belly. “Yeah, we should.”

“Well, let’s go; I didn’t come all this way just to look at stuff.” Baxter gave him a lopsided grin. “There might be a secret passage, or treasure, or adventure.”

“Well then; here’s to adventure.” Cartwright hefted his pack and sucked in a deep breath. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

There were several blank pages, and then when the notes resumed, Ben’s brows drew together as he noticed that the handwriting, word choice, and even grammar changed.

Someone else was now writing — he quickly flicked to the end to find the signature notations. And then, there it was:

Alonzo Borges, Capitán de Policía — El Callao, Eastern Venezuela.

And a date indicating three months had passed. But what had happened? Ben quickly turned the pages back and began again. His heart sank as he read on.

Alonzo Borges watched as the man was stretchered from the jungle. His emaciated frame made it easy for the bearers to carry him. He had a matted beard, rags for clothing, and a face marked by abrasions, rashes, and deep grime. There were also deep gashes along his ribs that had festered. But his eyes still blazed from his feverish face.

Being the police captain, Borges had all manner of problems brought to him, from the town or jungle. But it was the first time a strange westerner had been found wandering alone in the jungle. The stretcher-bearers laid the man at his feet, and the captain crouched beside him.

Borges laid a hand on the poor soul’s forehead, immediately feeling the fierce heat of fever. He guessed he was not long for this world. He clicked his fingers to a small boy watching. “Get the nurse.” He pointed at another boy. “You, water, rápido.”

He turned back to the figure. The man’s pale blue eyes remained wide, and his fever-red face made them stand out like blue lights. In his hands, he tightly clutched a leather-bound notebook. It seemed all he had left.

Borges was handed a cup of water, and he wiped greasy hair from the man’s brow, feeling once again the heat emanating from his skin. Borges spoke Spanish and a little English, but if the man spoke any other European language, then he would remain a mystery.

“Drink.”

He lifted the man’s head and allowed him to sip from the cup, but most of the water ran down his bearded cheeks. Borges gently laid him back down.

“Who are you?”

The man’s rolling eyes fixed on him. “Ca, Cart, Cartwright.” His voice was a croak and he licked flaking lips, already out of breath.

“Señor Cartwright, was there anyone else with you?”

Cartwright nodded his head. “Baxter. He was.”

“And where is Señor Baxter now?” Borges leaned closer.

Cartwright sprung forward, making the captain lurch backwards. The man’s eyes were so wide they looked about to pop free of his face.

“Eaten… alive.”

Cartwright grimaced in agony and hunkered over his mutilated side. Dark blood pulsed out onto the stretcher.

Borges turned. “Doctor!”

The luminous eyes fixed on Borges again and the man held out a shaking hand, holding the leather book. “Get this… to… Doyle,” he wheezed and gritted his teeth in agony. “Arthur Conan Doyle; important.”

Borges took the book and only then did Cartwright lay back. “He’ll know… what to do.”

The pale eyes closed, and a long breath came from his mouth and his body seemed to collapse in on itself. Borges made the sign of the cross over him and imagined that his last breath was his spirit leaving the torn and battered body.

The captain stood slowly as the nurse finally came running. He turned to her and shook his head. “No hurry now.” He lifted the book, opening the string and flicked through several pages, looking over the drawings. After a moment, he shook his head.

“Scribbling of a madman.”

He sighed and closed the book, and turned to head back to his station. Señor Cartwright was off to meet his maker. Now he needed to see if someone wanted to claim the body, and as a dying man’s last wish must always be honored, he would also see that the book found its way home.

CHAPTER 14

Later that evening, Ben sat in his room with the map sketches laid out in front of him. In the military, all soldiers had to learn basic cartography, map reading, and landmark plotting. Bottom line, if you got separated, you needed to be able to find your way home or to a rendezvous point with a map, sun/star positions, or just your memory.

Following his reading of the notebook, he now believed that there was something unimaginable down there; and something dangerous and unique. Benjamin the 1st had a skilled eye for landmarks and mapping, and today, Ben could use modern maps, satellite images, and even photographic libraries to pick up the trail.

He knew that the fateful expedition of 1908 had been somewhere deep in the eastern jungles of Venezuela — that was good and bad.

The good being that it was still largely thick and unmapped jungle, meaning that if there were any secrets, they still might be hidden there.

And the bad being that it was still a thick and unmapped jungle, meaning that if there were secrets there, it’d be damned hard to get there, find them, and also survive.

Ben knew jungles; he’d been to the Amazon, the Congo, and to the jungles of New Guinea. Frankly, the Amazon was the best and the worst of them, as the humidity was at a constant 90 %, the ground cover was as thick as the overhead tree canopy cover, and everything that could possibly slither, creep, bite, nip, and infect you lived down there.

They’d all arranged to get shots for malaria, diphtheria, tetanus, typhoid, hepatitis, rabies, yellow fever, fungal infections, and a half-dozen other shots for blood-borne parasites. He even knew of certain flies, like the chigara, that burrowed into skin, releasing maggots just under the surface to feed on the living flesh.

“We’re all mad,” he mused. Taking a team of novices was lunacy. Most people when they imagined jungles conjured images of lush green plants, rainbow-colored birds, and maybe clear streams with sharp-toothed fish. But he knew they were really hot and wet miasmas that sapped strength, health, and sanity. “I’m mad,” he added.

He went back to the online map of Venezuela. The first major clue he was given was the large river that wended its way into the northeast of the jungle. He groaned as the number of candidates were listed — dozens and dozens, and way too many to explore in their window of opportunity. And as he only had drawings and descriptions of some aspects of the waterway he was looking for, he’d need more clues. But at least he had a start and a good piece of the puzzle.

The notebook described a place of permanent cloud cover, but it also indicated that this cover was an unusual event that only occurred during the wettest of wet seasons. Still, he knew there were several drainage basins in the Amazon where cloud cover could remain collected for months or even permanently, only ever rising slightly and then sinking back depending on the humidity, temperature, and prevailing winds.

There was a small notation on one of the pages. “Must hurry, only days until Primordia returns.”

A ship for their transport? Ben wondered.

He exhaled through pressed lips. He needed to take it back a few steps. There were clues, but he’d need to tease them out. In the notebook, the original Benjamin and Baxter arrived at the edge of the jungle and then travelled east, overland for several days on horseback, before boarding a riverboat. Given that a fully laden packhorse would only travel about 5 miles per hour, travel for about 10 daylight hours and only break for an hour in that entire time, then that should be between 40 and 50 miles per day, before arriving at their river.

Ben went back to his map, using the scale and plotting to where he believed they ended up. He found a promising candidate — the Rio Caura. It emptied into the Orinoco Basin and was termed a black-water river — that meant the water was the color of dark coffee from being stained by all the tannins leaching out of the rotting vegetation. The problem was it split into dozens of tributaries.

Ben sighed as he tried to find names for them — most didn’t have one — at least not to the mapmakers. He checked the renditions in his ancestor’s book again and read the notes.

He smiled. “Benjamin, I’m afraid the sound of drumbeats or an indication of where Professor Challenger lost some specimens is just not going to cut it.”

But there were other indicators more promising — rocky slopes, large plains of tree ferns, low hills, and spongy morass of swamps — they would be something a local should recognize. And then there was the area that was headed, concealed river. Ben knew that places like this existed, where a narrow and remote tributary had large trees on either side growing up over it to meet in the middle. From line of sight, it was invisible, and if you didn’t know it was there or weren’t travelling along it, it didn’t exist.

He stared hard at the map, concentrating on an area of river and surrounding geography that might just suit the profile for Benjamin’s expedition, making notes as he went.

The knock on the door was almost welcome and he sat back and rubbed tired eyes. Ben checked his wristwatch — 9pm — whoa; he’d been staring at maps, old notes, and pencil drawings for hours. Ben got to his feet and crossed to the door pulling it open.

Andrea stood there in jeans and casual cotton shirt, collar up, and unbuttoned down to just show the top of a pair of full breasts. In her hand, she held two bottles of a local dark beer and a pair of glasses. She held them up.

“Nightcap?” She smiled, showing a neat line of expensive white teeth.

“Um.” He wasn’t sure this was a good idea and wracked his brain for a polite excuse without hurting her feelings. “Well…”

“Well, thank you.” She ducked past him.

“Huh?” He watched her shapely figure walk lightly to the small table and two chairs, and then use a napkin to twist the top off one of the bottles, while the tip of her small pink tongue just touched her top lip.

She poured two glasses of the beer that was the color of dark honey. She sat and slid one of the glasses over in front of the opposite chair. “Come on, sit down and tell me what you’ve found.”

Ben checked his watch again and shrugged. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt. Besides, he kinda liked English beer.

He sat and lifted the bottle — Earl of Brixom dark ale. He sipped and immediately got hints of roasted malt, chocolate, and caramel, and after he swallowed, it turned to a slight, black-coffee bitterness. He liked it, but would have preferred it chilled.

He saluted her with his glass. “Good choice.”

She leaned forward to clink his glass with hers. “All they had, but I still accept your compliment.” She sipped, her eyes on his for a second. “Well…” She nodded to the maps. “Anything interesting?”

Ben bobbed his head from side to side. “Yes and no, I guess. I think I know where we start, but at about 500,000 square miles, if I’m wrong, we’ll never find what we’re looking for.”

“The hidden plateau?” She raised her brows.

“Eventually. We’re just trying to pick up the thread to begin with. Like I said, I think I might know where to start, but the bottom line is we’ll need to rely on Jenny’s contacts on the ground. Local knowledge is going to be crucial once we’re there.”

“Once we’re there,” she repeated softly while looking at her glass. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

“You and me both; we must be insane.” He gave her a half smile. “Extremely insane.” His smile dropped the more he let himself think about it.

Ben looked up at her. “So why do you want to go? The Amazon is no place for novices. In fact, it’ll be weeks without shelter, and it’ll be hot, humid and uncomfortable, and not to mention deadly.” He leaned forward. “You, me, we could all die there.”

She sipped again. “You’ll protect me.” Her eyes were direct, but after a few seconds, her face broke into a smile. “But honestly, Ben, I’m 32 years old, and haven’t exactly been getting that many casting calls lately.”

“Seriously? You’re still a very beautiful woman, Andrea.” He hiked his shoulders.

“Thank you, but in a land of beautiful women, you need more. I’m tipping towards invisibility in my agent’s office. The thing is, I’m boring.” She put her glass down with a clunk. “The very thought of this fills me with excitement, curiosity, and hope. I’m going to write down everything we do and see, get a writer to turn it into a script, and then I’m going to take it to a producer.” She leaned forward with a cat-like smile on her lips. “And I’m going to play the lead.”

“Good plan. But let’s not count our chickens just yet, Andrea. We might not even make it there.” He sipped again consciously, struggling not to look down at her open shirt.

She also sipped her ale, her eyes on his. The tiny curve of her lips gave Ben the impression she was reading his mind. She slowly put the glass down.

“Well, I for one wouldn’t want to be the guy who was on his deathbed and didn’t bother to see where this adventure might lead.”

Ben grunted, knowing this to be true for himself. “I never said never, Andrea. I’m not trying to be a handbrake, more a… reality check.”

“A shock absorber will do.” She got to her feet.

Ben walked her to the door and pulled it open. She turned in the doorframe and leant forward quickly to kiss him on the lips.

She eased back, but only a few inches. “Never say never; I like it.” She kissed him again, harder.

Ben’s eyes were open, and he couldn’t help his hand finding its way to her waist. She was soft and firm at the same time, and he felt himself become rock hard between them. Over her shoulder, he saw movement and looked up to see a horrified Emma.

Shit, he thought, and immediately pulled back from Andrea who saw the look on his face and turned. She giggled and turned back to him.

“First come first served.” She looked down at his waist. “Ouch, that looks painful.” She then sashayed down the hallway, nodding to a fuming Emma as she went past.

He turned to Emma, but her eyes blazed and her fists were balled. She turned on her heel and also vanished.

Ben groaned as he shut the door and leaned against it. Good grief, he thought. He seemed to stumble from one thing to the next without being in control of any of them.

He sat on his bed and contemplated calling Emma on the in-room phone, but bet she’d never take his call. Ben turned to look at the table with the two beers, one only sipped at and the other, his, empty. The maps, notebook, and old novel stood open. He couldn’t be bothered resuming his research again right now.

“Tomorrow’s another day.” He stripped down to his boxers and T-shirt and flopped back down on the bed, pulling the duvet up over himself.

In another moment he was asleep.

Ben Cartwright ran, fast and hard, from what he had no idea. He just knew he must not let it catch him.

He put his head down to push harder and suddenly needed to skid to a stop — the jungle ended and he was at the edge of a cliff that dropped away to a ground that was lost in the clouds below. A breeze blew into his face that seemed to come from everywhere at once. He squinted, staring down.

Beneath his feet, the ground shook as something of enormous weight came through the jungle like a truck. The thing that pursued him filled him with a terror he couldn’t even measure.

Ben turned back to the cliff edge as his panic was causing his mind to short-circuit with indecision. Behind him, the foliage burst open and the roar made him cringe with a panic he hadn’t known even when he was under siege by terrorists.

He didn’t want to look back, didn’t want to see, but slowly his head edged around anyway. His teeth clamped together hard and pure horror made the gorge rise in his throat. The thing poured towards him, and he threw his hands up in front of his face.

Ben’s eyes flicked wide open. He was back in the dark of his room, and safe.

But then knew he wasn’t alone.

There was the faintest creak of a floorboard and an impression of movement in the room’s still air. He lay still in the near pitch darkness, listening some more. Ben was sure of it now; there were moving bodies in his room. At first, he was hopeful that somehow Emma had managed to get in and was going to forgive him.

But then he knew different. There was more than one person, being silent as wraiths, and he lay there just using senses other than his eyes. He could smell them then, the tangy sweat of men, musty clothing, and worryingly, gun oil.

Another floorboard complained with only the faintest of sounds, but it told Ben that the men were big and heavy. Anyone else might have wondered if some guests had blundered into the wrong room, but Ben’s covert military experience told him that whoever they were, they knew what they were doing and were determined to be as stealthy as possible.

He heard the soft ruffle of papers — they’re going for the notebook — like hell, he thought, and flew from the bed.

He immediately encountered a large boot to the chest. The room was near total darkness, and it told him his intruders must have been wearing night-vision. This was no casual break-in.

Ben had trained for this and went fast, using memory of the room’s layout to avoid obstacles. If they had night-vision, then light was his ally. He came low, lifted quickly and flicked on a bedside lamp. The glow was low wattage, but after the blackness of the room, it illuminated the scene like a flashbulb.

Ben knew when waiting for eyes to adjust from night-blindness, the key wasn’t to wait for everything to take shape, but to just take in enough and react, and let the brain fill in the gaps.

There were two big men, dressed all in black and with Cyclops night-scopes down over the faces. The light would have near blinded them, but instead of recoiling or fleeing, the pair of men turned… to fight.

Ben came low, intending to take the first intruder down, and then use an elbow to his throat or even bridge of the nose to incapacitate him. It didn’t go to plan.

The guy lowered his chest and took Ben head-on. Ben was big, but this guy outweighed him by a good 20 pounds. Ben was skilled in hand-to-hand combat and had the advantage of reacting first. He dived under the barrel chest, grabbed a pair of trunk-like legs, and upended him, flinging him backwards. He heard the satisfying dull thud of skull against wood and the guy stayed down, flat out.

Within the same heartbeat, Ben spun at the second man, who had now ripped off his goggles. The eyes behind the balaclava weren’t wide with shock or fear, but focused and intense — he knew it — professionals.

The straight-hand punch was aimed at his chin and Ben blocked it easily, catching the wrist and twisting it. There was no yell of pain or even a grunt; instead, the man planted his legs and flicked out a flat-hand strike at Ben’s nose.

The blow was meant to bust his beak and cause the eyes to immediately water. Ben turned his head in time to catch the blow to the side of the face. And then it was on; the pair of big men stood toe to toe, trading and blocking blows that would have felled a normal human in an instant.

Ben ducked under a looping right cross, jabbing up with a flat hand into his attacker’s diaphragm, and heard the breath whoosh out of him.

Got ya, he thought, and came up on his toes, expecting to bring a hammer blow down on the guy’s neck. Unfortunately, the second intruder was now back up and a boot came down against the back of Ben’s knee, forcing the leg to bend forward, and Ben with it… and straight into a short sharp left. Ben saw stars and went down.

Then the chair came down across his neck and shoulders. The thing about being hit with furniture was it’s never like you see in Hollywood — they don’t splinter over your head into matchwood; instead, they usually put a fucking big dent in your skull.

His training took over, and he acted on pure instinct and adrenaline now. He rolled away, still expecting the serious work of a beating to be administered to him, but when he came up, the pair was out the door. He staggered a few steps after them, rubbing the back of his head, but thankfully they were gone.

Ben stood in the doorway, breathing hard, and wiping his face. Shit-damn. He grimaced and flexed his knee a few times — a foot race was out of the question. People started to appear in the hallway — Steve, Dan, then Andrea and finally Emma, who folded her arms, looking at him from under her brows as though he had been having a party.

“They stole…” He briefly turned back to his room. Thankfully, the notebook and novel was still there. But all the maps he had been creating were gone, and with them the copious notes he had been making on landmarks.

His groan turned into a long sigh. “They took all the maps.”

“Ah, shit… those freaking assholes.” Steve quickly pulled on a jacket and went to head down the steps.

“No.” Ben held up a hand. “Don’t.”

Ben knew that Steve was a big and fit guy, but the two people who had been in his room were professional hitters. If they had taken him down so easily, Steve could get seriously hurt.

“But…” Steve turned, brows knitted.

Mrs. Davenport appeared at the top of the steps, tying a cord on her thick, powder-blue dressing gown.

“What’s happening here?” Her face was creased with worry, and the frown deepened when she spotted the blood around Ben’s nose. “Is everyone okay?” She looked from one of the group to the other. “It’s a bit late for all that noise.”

Steve chuckled, and Ben waved a hand to her. “It’s okay, Mrs. Davenport, the party’s over. Good night.”

She clicked her tongue and headed back down the steps. Ben bet that her preconceptions about rambunctious Americans were all coming true. He headed back into his room and was followed by the group.

“Holy shit.” Steve surveyed the damage to the small room. “Jesus, man, who were those guys?”

Ben shook his head and bent to lift a chair back into place. “I’m wondering the same thing.” He leant on it. “I woke up to find them in here.”

“That would have freaked me out,” Dan said.

“Yeah, wasn’t fun.” Ben dabbed at his nose again.

Emma knelt and started to collect up papers. She lifted the notebook. “I wonder if they came for this?” She then picked up the antique novel. “Or this?”

“Well, if they did, they failed. The big guy scared them off,” Dan observed. “Good.”

“Unlikely,” Ben said, wearily.

“If that’s what they came for, how did they even know about them?” Andrea said. “We’re not locals, and I doubt Mrs. Davenport has been chatting to anyone.”

“Oh God, of course.” Steve’s eyes widened comically. “She’s a spy.”

Andrea grinned and jabbed him in the ribs.

“I think they got something more important — the maps I had been making and all the notes,” Ben said.

Everyone’s head turned to the floor, stepping back, searching. After a few fruitless moments, Ben exhaled long and loud. “I guess now we know what they came for.” He put his hands on his hips. “Perhaps they did come for everything, but I disturbed them before they could clean me out.”

Dan’s brow furrowed and he pursed his lips for a moment. “Hey, you know what? This is the best news I’ve heard in… hours.”

“What?” Emma scowled. “Ben could have been hurt, and he just lost all his maps. How is that in any way good?”

Dan turned and grinned. “Because, they came for the map, or map and notebook. Someone actually took the time, effort, and risk to do this.” He kept grinning. “It proves how important it is… and not just to us.”

“Jesus.” Steve put a hand to his forehead. “But you know what else? We just got confirmation this is all real.”

The room was in silence for a few seconds, before Dan’s whooping broke it. “Yes!”

Ben nodded. He hated to admit, but he was right.

“But the map’s gone,” Andrea said. “Can we get it back?”

“We don’t need it; Ben made it and the notes. We have something far more valuable; that wonderful brain of his.” Dan threw an arm around Ben’s wide shoulders and turned to the group. “Plus, we still have the notebook, which is more important as far as the landmarks are concerned. Right, Bennie?”

“Maybe.” Ben’s mind had already turned to the who and how. “Your search, Dan.” He turned to his friend.

“What?” Dan’s eyebrows went up. “My search?”

“Yeah, when you searched for the notebook online, I think someone saw it. Maybe someone has been bird-dogging us ever since,” Ben said.

“Poss-iiiibly.” Dan’s lips turned down. “I mean, you can set alerts, traps, nets, and even alarms on the Internet.” His vision seemed to turn inward. “My searches might have been picked up on a sweep. Unfortunately, there’s no way to avoid that.”

“What do we do now?” Emma asked. “Ben could have been really hurt. These guys were thugs.”

“What do we do?” Dan asked. “I’ll tell you what we do; we still go, but move faster. It seems someone is looking for the same thing we are. This is not just a search, but a race now… and we need to get on the front foot; right, everyone?”

“I hate to admit it, but he might be right, Ben. If you want to find out what really happened to your ancestor, then you need to do it before someone else shuts it all down.” Steve shrugged. “Or else beats you to the punch.”

“We’re not ready,” Ben said.

“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” Steve replied. He raised a hand. “I vote we leave in the morning.”

“Aye.” Dan immediately raised his hand.

Ben saw Emma raise hers, followed by Andrea. He turned to Jenny, who also gave him a half smile coupled with a nod. “Just say the word, and I’ll have guides waiting for us,” she said.

Dan folded his arms. “And I can get us on a connecting flight to South America by midday,” he said. “Go hard or go home, people.”

Ben looked from their faces to the mess of his room. What happened to his great, great grandfather had been a family mystery for a hundred years, and he was dying to get to the bottom of it. But there was something else; now he also wanted to find out who attacked him, and who else knew about that mystery.

He knew he couldn’t do that from here or from home. He decided.

“Let’s do this.”

CHAPTER 15

Comet P/2018-YG874, designate name Primordia, was on its approach to the third planet from the sun. The magnetic bow wave that preceded it caused collisions between electrically charged particles in the Earth’s upper atmosphere, creating an Aurora Borealis effect over the jungles of South America.

In one of the most inaccessible parts of the eastern Venezuelan jungle, clouds began to darken, and in another minute or two, they started to swirl and boil like in a devil’s cauldron, throwing down a torrent of warm rain.

Beneath the clouds, a gigantic tabletop mountain became cloaked in the dense fog, and brutal winds began to smash at its sides and surface. Thunder roared and lightning seemed to come from the sky, air, and even up from the ground.

The first of the bestial roars that began to ring out even drowned out the crash of thunder, and before long, the hissing, roars, and screams rose to be like those from the pits of hell.

It had been ten years since the primordial sounds had been heard in this part of the Amazon, and even the creatures on the jungle floor over a thousand feet below the plateau scurried away in fear.

It was the wettest season and Primordia was returning.

CHAPTER 16

The plane ride from London across the Atlantic to Venezuela took nearly 10 hours. Caracas was Venezuela’s capital and largest city, located in a mountain valley on the northeastern side of the country.

Ben rolled the stiffness from his shoulders and looked down. The city had two million inhabitants and was a modern metropolis nestled in amongst mountains and lush green forests. They were close to the Caribbean Sea, but still separated from the coast by a 7,200-foot range of mountains.

He’d been on longer flights before, and even though Dan had booked them all business-class seats with extra legroom, constant snacks, and movies, it still felt like it was never going to end. Perhaps it was the anticipation, impatience, or maybe even the feeling they were now in a race and speed mattered.

True to her word, Jenny had organised people to meet them at the airport. Following a brief delay at immigration control, they were quickly shepherded to a small and cramped Cessna airplane — destination Canaima.

It meant another three hours flying time, but the only other option was 14 hours by bus, which would have been murder on the narrowing tracks through the thickening jungle.

Canaima was an area that encompassed three million hectares on the border of Brazil and Guyana. It was jungle, thick jungle, and remarkable for its numerous tepuis, massive flat-topped mountains, that rise from the jungle floor and are usually covered in mist.

Once again, Ben looked down as they soared above the canopy that was now so dense there wasn’t a trace of the ground visible below them. From time to time, a reflected shine from a ribbon of snaking river glinted back at him, and flocks of birds soared across the green rooftop that could have been ten feet or a hundred up from the ground. This was the Amazon jungle he remembered — dense, unforgiving, and sometimes damn deadly.

In the seat in front, Emma dozed and made a small squeaking noise that Ben found cute and a little child-like. Everyone else was also pretty wiped out by the amount of travelling they’d just gone through in the past 24 hours. They’d soon land in Canaima airport, and then it’d be a short hop to their accommodation.

Dan had organised an overnight stay at a hotel, and the following morning, they were to meet the contacts Jenny had organised. According to the plan, which he had reviewed, they would travel overland, first by truck, then by riverboat, and finally via canoes where they’d enter areas of the jungle that just fell off the map.

Ben sighed and let his eyes slide to Andrea. She had earphones over her head and read a glossy magazine. He wondered what would happen if she decided she wanted to go home — would they be able to send her back if they were hundreds of miles from nowhere? Would she be safe even attempting that, even if they split the guides?

He doubted it. Once they decided to travel to the Amazonian interior, like it or not, they were all committed. He’d need to impress this on her, and everyone else, before they left — last chance to pull out and all that.

The plane started to drop, and Ben leant forward to peer through the porthole window. He smiled as he beheld the sight of the Angel Falls — the cliff-top river looked like it fell off the Earth. It was the world’s highest uninterrupted waterfall and dropped 3,200 feet from the top of the Auyántepui Mountain. In the air, the powerful watercourse spread and finally turned to a shimmering spray before it made it to the river below.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked back at the massive tepui — this is what he expected they were looking for. The Canaima jungles were in thousands of square miles of national park, but beyond that were largely unexplored wilderness. In addition, the park was renowned for the strange and prehistoric-looking tabletop mountains. These geological wonders weren’t just millions, but billions of years old, with vertical walls rising thousands of feet to almost perfectly flat tops. Most, if not all, had been found, mapped, and climbed. But out in the deep jungle, there could be others. And that’s what they were banking on.

Ben reached forward to grab Emma’s shoulder and squeezed. “Hey, wake up, sleeping beauty, or you’ll miss the show.”

“Huh.” She looked around groggily, turning first to him. Ben pointed to the window.

“Angel Falls.”

She sprang forward to the window, and her mouth dropped into an open grin. “Oh, wow.”

Jenny leant forward onto their seat backs, also looking out. “Those tepuis are amazing.”

“I did some research on them,” Ben said. “They date back to when South America and Africa were part of a super-continent. Some are nearly 3 billion years old.”

Jenny grinned as she looked from the window. “Well done… and they told me you were just the muscle.”

He shrugged and smiled back at her, but then put on a mock frown. “Hey, who’s they?”

She nudged his head. “Something else. The Pemon have an intimate relationship with the tepuis, and believe they are the home of gods and monsters. And also demons.”

“My ancestor, Ben the 1st, made mention of them, and also the Pemon. Same people?” Ben asked.

“Sure, they’ve been here for thousands of years. They have no formal writing, but they have a fantastic inherited knowledge system via stories and songs. If there’s any hidden tepuis out there, they’ll probably know about them.”

“The trick will be getting them to show us.” Emma turned around in her seat and rested her chin on the back of it. “We’re outsiders.”

Jenny nodded. “Yep, true. We’re going to need to win their trust. I’ve worked with them before, so hopefully that’s going to help.” She headed back to her seat.

Emma turned to look at him… and kept looking.

“What?” he asked with a grin.

“I can’t believe I’m here.” Her grin widened. “I’ve never been to a real jungle before. I’ve been to forests, deserts, seashores, and mountains, but never a real, real jungle. But you have.”

He nodded. “And this is about as real a jungle as you can get.” He smiled back. “Emm, they’re no picnic. Quick mud, spiders the size of your hand, bugs that drink blood, or try and lay eggs under your skin. Big cats, caiman alligators, and even the plants can sting you. You really have to respect it, and then maybe it’ll let you walk out in one piece.”

She nodded for a moment. “Thank you for bringing me.”

He laughed out loud. “That’s it?”

She inhaled and let it out through her smile. “I feel so… alive; so yeah. Besides, your experience and expertise will make a difference.”

“Hopefully.” Ben gave her a lopsided grin. “The most important thing we can bring with us is common sense. You’d be surprised how many novices strike their camps on soldier ant nests, or on the banks of rivers where a big caiman lives, or even under trees that a band of monkeys live in.” He grinned. “A few hours of having dung rained down on you clears the sinuses.”

She chuckled. “Well, I’m still glad I’m here… we’re both here.”

He bobbed his head. “I’m glad you’re here, but seriously, I’d prefer you weren’t.”

“Big brother syndrome? Or…” She blushed a little. “Just be free with the advice, okay? I’ll be paying attention.”

“Will do.” He meant it; Ben planned to keep them all safe, but especially Emma.

The plane bumped down on the short runway, veered hard to the right, to the left, and then straightened. The small craft slowed quickly and turned before switching off its engines. There were a few golf-cart-style cars waiting to take them to Waku Lodge — somehow, Dan had managed to find the only five-star accommodation at the edge of an Amazonian rainforest.

Ben would have preferred them all to begin to acclimatize to the new geography, hours, and climate, but he knew that they were all tired, and there was no harm in a last night of luxury before a few weeks of doing it tough.

The plane door was swung open and they clambered out. The first thing that hit them was the wet-heat that immediately made their shirts and underwear cling to their bodies. The second thing was the smells; though they were in a domesticated area of the jungle, there were the suspended odors of plant sap, fragrant blooms, and a hint of rich, composting earth.

Ben caught a whiff of something else — his body odor — a damn shower would be his first priority. He didn’t know what it was about plane travel, but it managed to squeeze a lot of weird scents from the body. He jammed his hat on his head and headed for the vehicles.

In the first buggy, Dan was up front, he and Emma were in the back; Steve, Andrea, and Jenny were in the other. Dan turned in his seat.

“Got someone coming over this evening.” He looked both self-satisfied and conspiratorial as he leaned even closer. “Arranged for some stock for us.” He winked and then made a gun from his hand, jacking the thumb up and down.

Normally, Ben would have called him an idiot and told him to cancel it immediately. But he knew the dangers within a rainforest, and there was also the unknown danger factor of those assholes that attacked him and could well be moving in parallel to them right now. He knew they were armed.

And then the notebook had told them there might, just might, be something at their destination that gave him a strong desire to have more than a sharp knife for protection.

“Good.” He nodded. “Jenny comes too. Her local knowledge will be useful.”

“Okay.” Dan nodded, looking pleased with himself, and turned back around.

“Whoa.” Emma leaned out of the side of their buggy as they approached their hotel. She turned and grinned. “You’re unbelievable, Mr. Murakami.”

“We Japanese have class.” Dan winked at her.

Waku Lodge was done in a tropical grass hut style, but the large buildings in the center of verdant green grass were far from holiday hokey.

They eased to a stop on a glass-smooth asphalt driveway, and the drivers immediately leapt out to shepherd them inside, promising to bring their bags in after them.

“I like it.” Ben nodded his approval. “Grass hut outside, first class inside.”

“Mr. Murakami?” The young woman behind the reception counter flashed them a stunning smile.

“Yo.” Dan raised an arm and almost jogged to the desk. He looked around. “Beautiful place.”

“Thank you.” She beamed.

“Hi.” Ben came and leant on the countertop. “Any other guests?”

“No sir, we —”

“Any booked, or been here in the last few days?” he pressed.

Her smile dropped a fraction at his abruptness. “No, sir, and none for a few weeks; until the tourist season really starts. You have it all to yourself until then.”

“Thank you.” Ben felt relieved. Though he would have loved to administer a little payback justice to his intruders, he didn’t want them using this as their launchpad as well.

Dan had booked them in for the night, and then again for a few more nights later. But it was left as a standing order and line of credit — whenever they got back, everything was prepaid.

They were each shown to their rooms, and when Ben pushed his door open, he just stopped and took it all in. The rooms were each a jungle fantasy — lamp shades designed to look like birds of paradise, bamboo wall paneling, with ceiling fans slowly rotating to move the warm flower-scented air. New porcelain gleamed in the bathrooms, and thankfully, the mini-bar was well stocked.

“Oh yeah, this’ll do just fine.”

His bags were already on the small blanket table beside the bed, and on a side table, a pitcher of fresh pineapple juice. He sat down, poured himself a glass and drank half, before letting himself fall backwards and then threw an arm over his eyes. It was only three in the afternoon, but he could have drifted off then and there. In the past week, he had travelled more in a few days than he had in years. Though he was only 35, right then, he felt about a hundred.

“Anyone home… or at least awake?” Emma grinned in his doorway.

He turned his head. “How can you look so fresh?” Ben groaned as he tried to sit up. “Whatever you’re taking, Ms. Wilson, give me some right now.”

She laughed softly and came and grabbed his arm to haul him up to a sitting position. “What sort of people is our military turning out these days?” She crossed to the side table and sipped at his juice.

“Ex-military.” Ben rubbed his face. “A quick shower, something to eat, and about a weeks sleep, and you watch, I’ll be good as new.”

“Pfft.” She knelt up beside him on the bed. “Come here.” She grabbed his shoulders and started to knead his aching muscles. Then put the point of her elbow in at the base of his neck and ran it down his spine a few inches.

He moaned, feeling like he’d been sent to heaven. “Okay, yep, that’s it, right there.”

She changed hands. “Feels like a stack of knotted wood in there.”

“Thank you, you’re not too bad yourself.” He chuckled and tilted his head back, mouth open.

Emma moved her hands up to his head, and her fingers began to gently make circles at his temples.

“O-oooh boy.” Ben felt like he was floating. He opened one eye. “Knotted wood, huh?”

“Hmm, maybe something a lot more dense.” She sniggered.

Ben felt himself relax, and he breathed deeply. He felt the small movement of the air from the overhead fan as it stirred the balmy, tropical heat. But he also caught the delicate scent of Emma’s perfume, mixed with a slight hint of perspiration. He found it intoxicating.

After another moment she gently slapped his shoulder. “There you go, big guy.”

Ben rolled his neck muscles. “Thanks.” He turned, and she still knelt on the bed. Emma’s eyes locked with his, and they both just stared for several moments. Her eyes seemed to darken as her pupils dilated.

She reached a hand out, and the tips of her fingers gently ran down along the scar on his face. Her hand stayed on his chin, the thumb stroking there for a second.

Ben’s lust rose and he reached out a hand, first to her shoulder, and then to her chin, cupping it. Her eyes never left his as he drew her face to his.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ve waited so long for you.”

Their lips just touched.

“Knock, knock.” The door handle turned and Dan poked his head around the door. “Sorry, hope I wasn’t disturbing anything.” His eyes widened theatrically. “Oh, was I?”

“Wassup?” Ben asked, easing back from Emma.

“Dinner at six, and then we have a date with, ahem, some gentlemen who’d like to sell us some portable self-protection.” Dan waggled his eyebrows.

“I’ll be there,” Ben replied.

“Great; see you at six.” Dan went to shut the door, but paused. “Carry on.” He sniggered as he shut the door.

Ben sighed and looked back at Emma. “Where were we?”

Emma slid from the bed. “Getting interrupted.” She headed for the door.

“But…” Ben groaned, feeling annoyed — primarily with Dan.

She got to the door, but instead of leaving, she locked it and turned, smiling wickedly back at him. “And that fixes that.” She pulled her T-shirt up over her head. She didn’t wear a bra, and two small but perfect breasts jiggled slightly.

“Beautiful.” Ben got to his feet and she crossed to him. He grabbed at her small figure, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply, tasting pineapple as her tongue danced in his mouth.

Emma stepped back and began to unbutton his shirt. She looked up into his eyes with a dusky expression. “I’ve dreamed about this.” She finished his buttons and pulled his shirt open. “Oh wow.” She stood back, admiring his physique. “And now my dreams come true.”

Following leaving the military, Ben worked to stay in shape, and his body was still ripped and powerful looking. The downside was the multiple scars — the burns, stab marks, and surgery scars.

Emma traced one with a finger. “I’m glad you’re not doing that anymore.”

“No.” He enfolded her in his arms. “These days, I’m playing it safe by coming to a deadly jungle to search for a lost world that may be inhabited by monsters. Oh, and with some bad guys willing to bash my head in along the way.”

She smiled and shrugged. “Keeps the boredom gremlins away, huh?”

He kissed her again, and she pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him. Her legs came up on either side of his hips. Ben had never wanted a woman so much as he wanted Emma then. And it seemed she was the same with him.

She moved herself back and forth, grinding down at him; making him so hard it became painful. Emma leant forward to kiss and then nibbled at his ear. “Mmm, I can feel more knotted wood — better take care of that too.” She reached for his belt.

After a dinner of roasted meats, local fruits, and vegetables cooked with way too much precision for a hotel on the edge of an Amazonian jungle, Steve, Andrea, and Emma retired to the bar for a nightcap, and Ben, Dan, and Jenny prepared for their rendezvous.

Having Jenny there was bad enough, but she had to be there. However, it had taken all his persuasive skills to keep Emma out of it. He liked that she was concerned and wanted to be with him, but meeting gun smugglers in the night for a cash transaction has the potential to go wrong in so many ways that he knew he’d need eyes in the back of his head, as well as all the military intuition he could bring to bear.

Ben drove the buggy out into the darkness. Both Dan and Jenny sat in silence, and he could sense the nervousness coming off them in waves. Ben hoped the transaction was going to be fast and uncomplicated. As it wasn’t his money, and Dan had plenty of it anyway, haggling over price was not going to be an issue.

Ben had seen the results of dumb people trying to deal with black market weapon militias before and trying to play hardball — sometimes the militias just decided to keep both the money and the guns, and if they left behind a few bodies, well, then that was just bad luck and the cost of doing business for the patsies.

Dan checked his GPS and then held up a hand.

“Pull in here.”

“Here?” Ben scoffed. “You’re kidding, right?” It was dark jungle on three sides, plus the sound of the falls in the distance masked any potential sound of approach.

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.” Dan grimaced, his teeth showing white. “What do you suggest?”

Ben looked one way then the next. “How long until our meet?”

Dan checked his watch. “I said oh eight hundred. So, in ten more minutes.”

“Got it; stay in the car. I’ll do a quick recon.” Ben went to leap out, but paused. “You guys speak Spanish?”

“Yes,” Jenny replied.

“A little,” Dan added.

“Suficiente para tener una conversación?” Ben said, and raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, well then, no, not really.” Dan grinned back sheepishly.

“Let Jenny do the talking. But first prize is to get them to speak English.” Ben reached into the cart. “And I’ll take this.” He grabbed the moneybag. “See you soon. And remember, be cool.”

“Wait, what?” Dan hissed, but Ben had already slid into the brush.

Ben moved back along the edge of the track, and then did a big loop back towards the vehicle, staying low and quiet.

The sound of the Angel Falls was a constant background roar, so he didn’t need to creep. He pushed bracken out of his way and was thankful the moon was near full; the silver light gave him more than enough vision even though the jungle was raw and thick in this area.

He had worn a hooded pullover and drew it over his head; though his tanned and stubbled face wasn’t that pale and reflective, he had refused to wear insect repellent, as the odor was distinctive in a jungle, and so the only protection he had against biting insects was his clothing.

He heard movement above the background noise in the jungle — it was them. He eased down to watch.

Dan fidgeted in the front seat. “Jesus, I don’t like this.” He looked over his shoulder. “Where’s Ben? I wanted him here, to goddamn be here, not be out there somewhere.”

“Heads up. Company.” Jenny reached forward from the back seat to grip his shoulder.

“Fuck.” Dan felt his heart rate kick up threefold.

“Hola?” The three men ambled from the jungle, each carrying large bags. All had sidearms.

“Hola,” Dan replied, hating that his voice had a tremor in it.

“Buenas noches para los negocios, ¿sí?” The lead man held up a hand.

“Jesus, I have no idea what he just said.” Dan licked his lips.

Jenny leaned forward, whispering. “He said it was a nice night for business.”

“Okay, got it,” he whispered over his shoulder before turning to the men. “Yes, it is. You speak English?” he asked.

He went to step out and Jenny grabbed him. “Stay in here…”

“I got this.” He got out anyway.

“Damn it.” She got out as well.

“A little.” The man’s grin was luminous in the dark. His two colleagues spread out to the left and right, hands hanging loosely over the holsters on their belts.

“You are Mr. Dan, yes?” the man asked.

“Yes, that’s me,” Dan replied. He tried to project a cool confidence, but felt his legs shaking.

“Jose.” The man tapped his chest.

“Nice to meet you, Jose.” Dan swallowed.

“Yes, yes, good to know you too.” He looked about. “Just, ah, you two?” he asked.

“Don’t answer that.” Jenny whispered. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Did you bring the guns?” Dan asked.

“Sure, lots of guns. Not easy to get. Did you bring the money?” Jose had stopped but his two friends walked forward a few paces to stand at each end of the buggy.

“You stay right there,” Dan said.

One of the huge men kept coming in, and then stuck one huge hand out. “Money.”

“Sorry, it doesn’t work that way,” Jenny said evenly.

“I think we will tell you the way it works.” Jose laughed corrosively, and then spoke rapid Spanish to his man.

“Oh shit,” Jenny said as the guy lunged in and put a hand on Dan’s shoulder, grabbed a handful of shirt, and started to drag him closer.

“I haven’t got the money,” Dan said.

There was a thump and a grunt, and the guy who held Dan looked over his shoulder. Dan also peered around him.

Ben was holding the other of Jose’s henchmen from where he had knocked him to the ground. He lifted him and turned the still groggy man around, holding him by the collar.

“I’ve got the money.” Ben’s voice was full of controlled menace. Immediately, the dynamic changed. The guy who held Dan let him go and swung around to focus on the bigger threat.

Dan felt relief wash over him. “My security. Protection against wild animals and all that.”

Jose stood side on and waved his remaining man to be at ease, who now had his hand on his gun. “You are armed, señor? Why don’t you let my friend go and come out where we can see you? All friends here.”

“You think I’d come to this transaction unarmed?” Ben stepped further in, and shook the men he held. He kept his other hand in his pocket.

Jose cursed under his breath. Ben was a big man and obviously immediately had an impression on the smaller Venezuelan.

“Ex-military,” Dan said. “And I’m afraid, very short-tempered.”

“I hope we can conduct a pleasant transaction, and then all go home happy,” Ben said continuing to maintain an edge to his voice. He pushed the man he held forward where he sprawled for a moment, and then got up to crawl forward and rub his jaw.

There was silence for a few moments, and Jose’s colleague looked to him and then back to Ben. After a moment, Jose chortled and waved his hand.

“Sure, sure.” He turned to his men and snapped his fingers. “Poner las armas, rápidamente.”

The two men set to laying a sheet on the ground on which they placed row after row of handguns, rifles, and ammunition.

Dan exhaled with relief as Ben came in closer, and Dan and Jenny came to his sides.

“Flashlights,” he said and kept his eyes on the men, as Jenny and Dan turned on their lights and shone them down on the weapon’s cache. Ben glanced down briefly, his experienced eye running over the cache.

“We’ll take six of the Sig Saur, 9mm semi-automatic handguns.”

“Six?” Dan straightened. “One for Andrea as well? I don’t think she can even shoot?”

“She’ll learn.” Ben eased Dan out of his line of sight. “Also two spare magazines a piece.” He edged closer, looking at the larger weapons. “Nice. I’ll take that M4A1 carbine, and two spare mags.”

“Very good, señor.” Jose grinned. “But not elephants down here.” He chuckled. “Maybe in a zoo.”

Ben grunted. “The zoo, huh? In that case, I better take that Mossberg shotgun as well. Plus two boxes of shells.”

Jose rubbed his hands together. “Excelente.” He waited.

“That’ll do.” Ben stepped back. “Best price.”

Jose blew air through his lips. “These weapons, top of the line, very hard to acquire.” He began to shake his head. “And premium for discretion.” He shrugged. “Fifty thousand, American dollars.”

Ben snorted. “Make it —”

“We’ll take em,” Dan shot back. And turned to Ben, nodding vigorously. “No haggling remember?” he whispered.

Ben hiked his shoulders. “It’s your money.” He turned back to Jose. “Collect them all up into one of those bags, ammunition included for me to do a spot check; then we’re done here.”

Jose had his men separate out their chosen weapons and lay them in the bag. Ben put his hand in, took one of the handguns, snapped a magazine in, and quickly turned, firing two test rounds into a tree trunk.

“Now, I’m armed.” He tucked the gun into his belt. “Pleasure doing business.”

Jose snorted, and Dan handed over several wads of cash. Jose quickly counted it off. He then saluted with two fingers. “Good luck, señors and señorita, with whatever war you intend making in our beautiful country.” He chuckled and then the three men vanished into the darkness.

They watched them go for a moment and over the sound of the waterfall, they could just hear the faint rev of an engine for a moment before that too vanished.

“They’re gone.” Dan exhaled and then slapped his thighs as he bent over. “Je-zuz, was that a rush or what?”

Ben grinned. “Expensive day’s work, Mr. Murakami.”

Jenny smiled. “Oh well, we got the guns, and no one has any holes in them, so, there’s that.”

“Yep. I’m happy with that,” Ben said.

“Now what?” Dan asked.

“We get these home. We leave tomorrow morning, and when we’re in the jungle, we do some limited practice shooting.”

Dan looked in the bag and hefted the Mossberg shotgun. He looked up at Ben. “So, looks like you’re starting to believe there really might be something out in that jungle, huh?”

Ben closed the bag. “Well, as the saying goes, it’s better to have a gun and not need it than need a gun and not have it.” He hefted the bag. “And yeah, this jungle, the Amazon, is a land of mystery and myth. If there’s anywhere in the world where something can remain hidden, this is the place.”

He headed to the buggy. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 17

Edward Barlow held onto his broad-brimmed hat as the helicopter took to the air. The riverbank grasses flattened, and he squinted momentarily as he waited for the whirlwind to abate while the craft lifted away.

He opened his eyes and grabbed his hat to swipe it down his side to dislodge grass, seeds, and dirt. He quickly jammed it back on his sweating head as the sun stung his pate, yet it was still only just past nine in the morning.

Janus Bellakov checked their gear, and already had a rifle thrown over one shoulder with his sidearm strapped to his waist. Bellakov’s two men worked tirelessly; Walt Koenig and Arthur Bourke were experienced hunters and trackers, and both had brawny arms hanging from sweat-soaked shirts. Although, truth be known, Bellakov was more mercenary than hunter.

They had been dropped fifty miles southeast of the Canaima National Park, and well into the uncharted areas of the Amazon. The river here was still free-flowing, but only a few dozen feet in from the bank, the walls of the jungle were like a green cliff face.

Barlow had invested in the best mapping technology money could buy and had used the 1908 notes made by Benjamin Cartwright, as well as his hand-drawn maps, to check the geography at the turn of last century to find his launch position. He also made use of the observations the young Ben Cartwright had made in his own notes, and these too had proved invaluable.

The software had pinpointed this area, and the small clearing was as close as he could get. Further inland, the visibility vanished in thick tree canopy cover and low clouds that obscured everything below it. Somewhere in there were rocky slopes, large plains of towering tree ferns, low hills, and also spongy swamps.

Barlow smiled. Nature hid her secrets well. But he was determined, and unfortunately for nature, now he was here.

Bellakov and his two men hefted the packs onto the shoulders. Barlow just hefted his own considerable bulk. He guessed by now Cartwright would be on the ground.

Barlow knew his job was simple: get there first and claim whatever discovery as his own. His guns for hire would ensure there was no protracted negotiations or disagreements. Of that he was sure. The boys weren’t afraid to dish out a bit of violence when it was necessary. He turned to them.

“Mr. Bellakov, please lead us out.”

“You got it, boss.” Bellakov drew a long machete and headed in.

CHAPTER 18

The boat was about fifty feet long, belched diesel, and probably hadn’t had a coat of paint in too many years to think about. The captain was a round-faced man who smoked like a chimney, causing the teeth on one side of his mouth to be an interesting shade of chocolate brown. He also had a squint that’d make Popeye envious from holding his unrecognizable brand of cigarette clamped between pressed lips.

Also onboard was their Venezuelan guide, Nino Santiago. The wiry young man was someone recommended to Jenny by the local zoo, and who was reputed to know most parts of the jungle on or off the map. He’d been responsible for assisting the zoo in locating many of the harder to find species they needed to stock exhibits, and the expectation was that he could find what others couldn’t.

The boat ride down the Rio Caroni was faster than Ben expected as they moved with the flow. Still, the antique engine chugged hard, and he, Emma, and Steve were up on the front deck, while Dan, Andrea, and Jenny were either below or out at the rear. Nino chatted with the captain.

Hours back, the last of the small fishing boats had vanished, and now only occasionally they saw a canoe or fishing platform, which was little more than a raft of lashed logs. One of the reasons for the growing isolation on the waterway was that as they entered more remote parts of the Amazon, the crocodiles got bigger and fishing became more a high-risk game.

They also noticed the water also got darker, to the color of coffee, and smelled of decomposition and earth, as it was stained by the tannins from all the rotting vegetation that fell into it.

In another hour, the boat slowed and turned towards the left bank. Ben marveled at the captain’s navigation skills as to him the river had been nothing but identical green walls for many miles, but sure enough, there was a side river with three long canoes already waiting and just tied off on the bank.

“Did you call an Amazonian taxi cab?” Emma grinned.

He chuckled. “Hats off to Jenny for her organizational skills — everything’s going to plan so far.”

The big boat turned off its engine and a deckhand scrambled up on deck, lifting a long, slim barge pole to slow them to a stop and then jamming it into the river bottom to anchor them close enough to the shore so they could all jump free.

Once again, Dan paid the man in dollars, and Jenny also handed him a few mini bottles of scotch she bought from the hotel.

“What’s with the firewater?” Steve asked.

Jenny shrugged. “Universal sign of gratitude down here.”

“Remember, señor, we wish the captain to be here when we come back.” Nino agreed. “Or it will be an extra five-day trek back to base.”

Ben leapt to the shore and turned to help Emma down, but she had already landed beside him.

She grinned. “I do this for a living, buster.”

He grinned back. “Then you should have helped me down.”

Dan jumped down and stumbled a little. He righted himself and brushed mud from one of his gaiters.

“Like armor plating.” He grimaced.

“Yep, exactly,” Ben responded.

The snake gaiters were a snake shield worn on the lower leg, from knee to foot, and the ones Ben had chosen for them were constructed from a weave of high-strength ballistic fibers and polyester. They even had a top-of-foot guard.

Dan grinned. “I’m getting used to them. Slowly.”

“You’ll be glad of ‘em when we push in.” Ben scanned the dense wall of jungle. “Down here, they’ve got more venomous pit vipers than anywhere else in the world. Plus a big mother called a Bushmaster — 10 feet, long-fanged, and venomous as all hell, and will actually chase you down to bite you.” He turned back to Dan. “Thank me for that armor plating if you ever walk into one of those.”

“Not complaining.” Dan grinned back.

Ben sighed. Really, they had no idea what they were in for, he thought. As well as the gaiters, he’d also had Dan order them bush knives, rain ponchos, head nets that fit over their hats and hung down to their necks, plus full nets for sleeping, as well as hammocks so if they needed to stay up off damp or insect-infested ground, they could.

Last and most importantly they all got Coyote Tactical Gloves. In a jungle, hands were something you used a lot but were extremely vulnerable. The gloves he ordered were rubber backed, canvas front with leather patches over the meaty areas of the palm. They were tough, durable, and light; you could climb, shoot, scale a fish, and then rinse ‘em out afterwards to be good as new.

Everything they had was impregnated with Permethrin to keep creepy crawlies from sneaking into their packs, or just plain eating them down to nothing.

He saw Andrea wave at an insect that refused to leave her alone. He sighed. “Andrea, have you put on your repellent?”

“Um, just on my shirt.” She walked stiff-legged up the bank in her snake gaiters.

“Put it on, all over you, please, or at least put the netting over your head.” Ben’s mouth set in a line.

“But I read it’s got DEET in it.” She sniffed. “And that’s poison.”

“Sure, but more poisonous to the bugs. It’s military-grade insect repellent, and yeah, it’s loaded with DEET. It’s not something you’d want to wear all the time, but even the CDC uses it.” Ben placed his hands on his hips. “Just don’t spray it in your eyes or get it in your mouth, and you’ll be fine.”

He saw she didn’t look convinced.

“C’mon, Andy, this isn’t Florida in June, this is the jungle,” Steve implored. “If you get bitten down here, you won’t end up with just a tiny red spot; you’re liable to end up pretty damn sick.”

“How about Leishmania parasite?” Ben said evenly. “Spread by sandfly bites. Causes large rotting ulcers on the flesh, and especially likes the nose and mouth.”

Andrea stopped and turned to stare for a moment. “Okay, okay.” Her eyes rolled and she exhaled in a big sigh. “Steve, can you please help me put some on then?”

“Sure.” He trotted over to her.

Ben smiled, watching her work her charm on him. For now, he’d hold back on telling them about everything that could bite, sting, or infest them. But he’d be providing some rapid education as they went.

The packs were still being unloaded and Ben walked a few hundred feet further along the bank. Both the jungle and the water became darker the further in he went. The smell of the water was like a warm heady brew of compositing, loamy earth, bracken, mosses, and then as a scent layer above it there was the ever-present sweet nectar from exotic-looking flowers, with the chemical tang of plant sap.

Clouds of insects swarmed around him but kept their distance thanks to a lathering of repellent he wore. Dan appeared beside him.

“So we turn off the main highway, and head down this side-road, huh?”

Ben nodded. “In Benjamin’s notebook, he mentioned finding a concealed river; I’m not sure this is it, but it gives us a good idea of what we’re looking for.” He pointed overhead. The branches were interlocking, and only filtered light streamed through from above. It actually looked like a green tunnel with water at the bottom and even close by the smaller river would have been near invisible. But then again, most of them were.

“This can’t be it,” Dan said. “Hardly a secret, hidden river if even the captain there knows about it.”

“You’re probably right,” Ben replied. “Their expedition followed a side river for half a day, and then found a smaller tributary they called a river of paradise, in a secret opening. That took them many more miles into the interior, well, as far as they could go anyway. Apparently, they had to take to wading when it shallowed out.”

“Wading…” Dan grinned. “… in an Amazon river? Oh yeah, good plan.”

“Think of it as a dip in a tropical pool.” Ben nudged him with an elbow. “Might be no choice if we’re to find the landmarks he depicted — a large rock on the shoreline that looked to have been carved. And at the very edge, there was the huge trunk of some sort of tree. He called it an Assai palm and it should be hanging out over the water.”

Jenny had joined them, overhearing. “He probably meant Acai palm, but close enough. Problem is, after over a century, don’t expect anything much to be left of a tree trunk. Things vanish in this humidity after a few years.”

Ben sighed. “Then we better keep our eyes peeled.” He pointed. “Looks like our rides are ready to go.”

“Oh boy,” Dan said, chuckling softly.

The canoes were long, narrow, and looked hewn from a single tree. Crossbeams had been added, and there were several inches of muddy-looking water in each of them.

Ben and Emma took the lead canoe, Dan, Nino, and Jenny next, followed by a grumpy-looking Andrea and Steve at the rear. Their boatmen, local Pemon, were all no more than five feet tall, but well-muscled. Their nut-brown limbs were matched by even darker hair that was cut in a bowl-cut and shaved up at the neck.

In the canoe behind, Ben heard Jenny and Nino chatting to their boatman, but he had no idea how to converse. After a moment, he leaned around Emma and nodded, smiled, and his rower returned the gesture.

“English, Español?’ Ben raised his eyebrows.

The man just stared. He had a vivid red stripe running from under his fringe, down his forehead and to the tip of his nose. After a moment, he curled his lip and shook his head. Ben refused to at least find out his name. He touched his chest. “Ben.” Then reached forward to touch Emma’s shoulder. “Emma.”

The small man continued to stare as he paddled but then nodded. He took one hand off his oar to touch the center of his own chest. “Ataca.” He nodded and tapped again. “Ataca.”

Ben and Emma repeated the name, nodding theatrically and repeating the name. Ataca then pointed to the two other paddlers in the canoes behind them. The first paddler had what looked like long sticks poked right through his earlobes.

Ataca pointed. “Ipetu.” He turned, making sure that Emma and Ben understood.

“Ipetu,” they repeated.

Ataca grunted, and then pointed to the last canoe paddler, who seemed the oldest of the three, and by the way his jaw sat, possibly had few teeth remaining. “Mukmet.”

“Mukmet,” Ben and Emma repeated again.

And then that was it for conversation. From time to time, Ataca would lift his arm to point at something or other off in the brush, but after a while, the canopy closed in even tighter overhead, and the jungle got gloomy with only occasional bars of light penetrating through to the steaming, coffee-colored water.

Though the sunlight was heavily filtered, the humidity was not, and there seemed to be a mist threading its way along the jungle floor that was strangely devoid of vegetation. Large tree trunks acted as columns to a canopy a hundred feet above their heads, and giant fingered epiphyte plants clung to forks in trees and knots in the bark to give the appearance of broken, green umbrellas hung up after a heavy storm.

Above them, things moved about, shaking limbs, occasionally screaming their fear or anger at the intrusion. Discarded berries, leaves, and possibly dung rained down, but whether it was a band of monkeys, birds, or some other climbing species, they remained invisible to them.

Emma trailed a hand in the water for a moment and lifted it out to rub her thumb and fingers together. “Like a warm, gritty bath,” she said and went to dip her hand back in.

“Uh-uh.” Ataca waved a hand at her, one finger up. He shook his head. Emma had already pulled her hand back and watched as the native put his hand towards his mouth and made a show of his teeth biting at it.

Ben nodded. “I’m guessing there’s more than just a few goldfish beneath the surface of that soup.”

“Got it.” Emma gave him a thumbs-up and kept her hands in the canoe from then on.

Ataca slowed his paddling, his eyes shining white and round as the darkness closed in even tighter around them. Ben could see he was becoming fearful and remembered what Jenny had told him about the superstitious nature of the locals. But he also knew that the jungle was home to plenty of physical horrors that could take a life in an instant.

At a narrowing bend in the river, they needed to come in closer to the shoreline. The jungle was at its darkest here and below them the water was the shade of ink. Ben looked over the side, and in some of the shallower places, he saw submerged logs trailing slimy, green beards. Tiny things zigzagged below the surface, and he wasn’t sure if they were small fish or some sort of water insect.

Ben squinted into the darkening jungle — some of the tree trunks here were huge, massive columns reaching up to merge with the roof canopy. Others were covered in strangler figs that grew their own lattice up and around the living tree trunks and used their bodies to climb to the sunlight. They eventually choked their host of nutrients and light, and the result was a hollow shell of fig-lattice where the fig survived, but the host tree died and rotted away.

Ben pulled his flashlight from his pack and the others did the same. Shining it over the jungle floor, he saw something the size of a football lump the soil as it burrowed along, never breaking the surface as it searched for food, or hid from the light.

There were also insects and spiders living, hunting, and feeding amongst the matted carpet of debris. Bugs as big as his hand were preyed upon by spiders of even greater size, and he shuddered at the thought of having to break camp at a place like this.

Ben had slept rough in jungles before, and the key thing was to be aware of your environment, check trees overhead and even their trunks, and make damn well sure you were up off the ground. It was surprising how many creatures could burrow up beneath a warm, sleeping body and tap into it for a quick feed.

They paddled for more hours, slowly now, Ataca and the other oarsmen carefully dipping their paddles in, pulling back, and lifting without a sound. Several times, they spotted creatures prospecting on the jungle floor — an anteater, easily seven feet long from pointed snout to the end of its wire-brush stiff tail, probed the leaf detritus. And once, they caused a family of wild boar to pause and stare back with eyes that were way too human.

Ben was tempted to bring one or more down, as he knew that they didn’t have the supplies to last the entire journey and living off the land would soon be a priority. But something made him stay his hand, as the thought of letting loose a rifle shot might alert man or beast to their presence — and it wasn’t the beasts he was worried about.

More hours passed as they sought out the entrance to the smaller tributary his ancestor had called a river of paradise. But the secret opening remained invisible to them.

While they searched, Ben continued to refuse requests to take a break on the bank, hoping that they’d soon come to a more open area or at least a rocky outcrop they could perch upon. Only Jenny agreed with him, as she also knew that the Amazon was a haven for parasites that loved to hitch a ride on their food source.

Burrowing up from out of the soil, from the water, and zooming in from the air, revolting things like the botfly injected the skin with their eggs that hatch into carnivorous grubs that feed on the flesh until they burst free as a fully grown fly, ready to mate, bite, and implant their young into a host, beginning the cycle all over again. But there were worse things that caused permanent damage, such as elephantiasis, where the filarial parasites are transmitted to humans through mosquito bites, causing the limbs or features to swell hideously to gigantic proportions.

There were also flesh-hungry nematodes in the soil that infested internal organs, eyes, and even the brain. All sought out the human body and its flesh and blood as food, as an incubator for their young, or simply as a mobile house.

The canoes bunched up, forming a raft and allowing them all to talk quietly to each other. Nino grimaced. “I have never been this far, and I have never heard of any hidden rivers.”

“What about the Pemon?” Ben asked.

“If they know, they’re not saying,” Jenny said.

“Yeah, we kinda expected that,” Emma added.

“It’s got to be here,” Dan said. “I just feel it.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Steve grinned.

“We push on,” Ben said, nodding to Ataca.

They travelled on all day, and Ben’s GPS told him that they were somewhere about 52 miles from where they had departed. The jungle had closed in again, and the rods of light that filtered down to them were turning to a muted twilight, indicating they were coming to the end of the day.

The last thing Ben wanted was to be travelling in the darkness, or worse, be forced up onto some damp riverbank.

They glided on in silence for another 30 minutes before Emma straightened and pointed her flashlight.

“There!” she shouted.

A huge boulder sat half submerged at the water line, and by the edge of the first rocky outcrop they’d seen for dozens of miles.

“That’s it, gotta be.” Ben grinned.

Beside the huge rock, the rotted stump of tree poked out half a dozen feet. It was a good four feet round and would have been enormously distinctive when it was alive, perhaps a hundred years ago. It could well be the tree trunk his great, great grandfather had remarked upon in his notebook, Ben thought.

“We’ll camp for the night on the rocks.” Ben turned. “Ataca.” He pointed to the shoreline where there were rounded slabs leading into the water.

“Where’s the secret river?” Emma asked.

“Good question.” Ben craned forward but saw nothing, just a line of rushes between some of the thicker tree trunks, ferns, and bushes. He held up a hand and Ataca dug his paddle in to slow the boat. Ben then saw that the rushes actually bobbed and bent gently towards them. He smiled — there was a water flow coming from behind them.

He pointed again and waved them on. Ataca nodded and paddled deeper on one side of the canoe, steering them to where Ben indicated.

As they passed the huge boulder, Ben looked up at its surface — the carving was there, a huge leering face, faint and though heavily time eroded, still unmistakable.

Behind him, he heard Ataca mumbling and holding onto the amulet that hung around his neck as the boat glided up onto the shore and ground up on the rocks for a moment.

Ben stepped out. He held onto the edge of the canoe and pulled it further up on shore a few feet as he looked from the Pemon to the rock face and back again.

Ataca refused to look at it, but he knew Jenny had been right; superstition ran strong in the Pemon, and this meant something to them. Ben looked back at the carved face. Now that he was up closer, it wasn’t human at all, but something with fangs, a scaled face, and slit-pupil eyes.

“Rope,” Ben said, holding out his hand.

Emma handed him a length of rope which he tied to the front of the canoe, and then while he was on the bank, dragged the canoe along the rocky edge until he came to the reed barrier, where he tugged it through — he was right — just behind it there was a small hidden river.

Ben straightened. “We’ll camp here tonight.”

The night was uneventful, and another lathering of repellent plus a healthy fire kept insects, predators, and anything else interested in making a home or meal of them at bay.

Just before they’d turned in, Ben did a quick wide circuit of their camp, looking for anything that might have been a threat to the group. He was as satisfied as he could be, but knew he’d be sleeping light tonight.

Emma had joined him and above them in an opening of the tree canopy, they saw the clouds open momentarily, displaying a dark sky speckled with stars… and something else.

“What is that?” Emma asked, frowning.

Ben quickly pulled out his binoculars and pointed them up at the streak. “Weird; looks sorta like a streak of light.”

“Meteor?” she asked.

“Maybe, but it’s just hanging there.” He lowered the glasses. “It’s right over us. Well, more sort of to the right hemisphere.”

As they watched, the clouds closed over them and the streak of light vanished. Emma put her arm around his waist and they continued to watch for it for a few more minutes before Ben hugged her.

“This whole place is another world,” Emma said softly.

“You got that right.” He kissed the top of her head. “Come on, let’s turn in; going to be a big day tomorrow.”

Dawn found them quickly preparing to embark on the next stage of their journey.

“Ben.” Steve waved him closer to a place near a tree trunk.

“I was taking a leak and saw this.” He pointed at the ground. There was the usual mat of leaf litter, but in an area where the leaves and debris had been kicked aside was the toe print from a large boot.

Ben grunted. “The Pemon don’t wear shoes… or have feet that damn big. I’m thinking the guys who took our map are ahead of us.” He squatted and touched the soft soil. “Maybe less than half a day.”

“Do you think they came by water?” Steve turned back and then craned to try and see further out into the jungle. “And went the same way?”

“Maybe, maybe not. But we better make sure everyone keeps their eyes peeled.”

Steve nodded and went to turn away, but Ben reached out to grab his arm.

“And tell ‘em to keep all noise to a minimum from now on.”

“You got it.” Steve headed back to the group.

Ben turned slowly, peering off into the jungle. The smaller river they were going to now enter was already catching some rays of morning light, and it meant that the tree canopy was opening slightly. It was still largely hidden from above, but the type of trees here were of a different variety with thinner canopies. Thank God, he thought.

By the time they’d packed up and were ready to go, the sun was a little higher, and they could all now see what was before them.

“Oh my God.” Emma put a hand on his shoulder.

Andrea walked forward, her arms out, and turned in a circle. The river here was shallow, of no more than a few feet, as well as being crystal clear. Where the river they had come from was dark coffee, this looked mountain-stream pure.

Unlike the previous river, each bank of the clear stream was covered with mossy rocks, orchids of all kinds and many of a hue that reminded Ben of tiny tropical birds that had come to land on the green, strappy leaves. Palm fronds dripped with dew, green-and-red striped frogs croaked, and dragonflies hummed low over the water’s surface.

“It’s beautiful,” Emma observed and turned to grin up at him. Her eyes were luminous with excitement. “A river of paradise, just like your ancestor said it would be.”

“He was right,” Ben agreed, but then smiled. “At least about this.”

As the sun rose, they took to the canoes again. The sunlight began to stream down in earnest, finding a million holes in the canopy overhead. It made the river and surrounding jungle look like some sort of giant garden pergola and leafy archway wending away for miles.

“It is a paradise; seems there are still a few Gardens of Eden still to be found in the world just yet,” Emma added.

In the canoes behind, he saw Steve holding up a camera and filming Andrea who pouted, posed, and waved for his lens. Ben grinned; seemed the actress was true to her word and was going after maximum exposure from the trip.

The lightening of the jungle made Ben feel more at ease than he had in days. It was easy to forget they were still in the dark heart of the Amazon as they moved up a shallow sandy-bottomed stream that seemed about as dangerous as a manicured Boston garden in springtime.

He let his eyes wander from bank to bank, conscious of the fact that there was another party, and a violent one, out there somewhere. But the visibility was good for hundreds of feet, and even if the stream ended, there were huge areas of meadow-like grass that would have made travelling on foot a pleasure.

Underneath the roof-like canopy, tiny birds shot past them that were like feathered rainbows, and Ben looked at Emma, whose face was lit with wonder. She turned to him and her expression clouded.

“It’s so beautiful, but why aren’t there any people here?”

“Yeah, good question,” he replied. “Hardly an inhospitable place, is it?” He looked briefly at Ataca, but decided the question was way too hard to try and act out with his hands so he leaned out the side of the canoe.

“Jenny, question for our guides.”

She raised her chin. “Ask away.”

“This area — why isn’t there any Pemon, or anyone, here?” He waited as Jenny translated the question to their paddler, Ipetu.

Ipetu spoke softly but urgently in return. While he spoke, he noticed that Ataca’s hand had snuck back to the amulet around his neck. In another moment, Jenny leaned back out to him.

“Taboo; this is a place of bad spirits. Some have come here in the past. But then they never come back home.” She grimaced. “And bad news; sounds like our drivers are starting to get cold feet.”

Ben nodded. “Thank him, and thank all of them for their courage. And Jenny, try and hang onto them for as long as we can. Though walking looks easy here, we’re making good time on the stream.”

They paddled for another few hours, stopped for some lunch, and then rejoined the stream again. Ben looked over the side and after the journey on the dark and foul-smelling main river, he was delighted to see that the clear water here was filled with fish.

Silver torpedo shapes darted close to the surface as they tried to pick off overly adventurous dragonflies. Other fish just hung in the crystal clear water without fear of humans at all.

It didn’t make sense. Taboo, they’d told Jenny. Ben guessed it must have been pretty powerful magic to keep the local population out of a bountiful place like this.

The scenery was exactly like how Benjamin had described it in his notebook, and Ben only wished he could go back in time. He wanted to be standing on the bank and watch the face of his ancestor as he came along this very stream. Would he be open-mouthed in wonder, or so exhausted by now that it was only a respite from all the hard travelling he had accomplished? Back then, there would have been no air travel or luxury hotels at the edge of the jungle. But instead, a hacking, chopping and strength-draining slog every inch of the way.

After another hour or two, the sunlight began to vanish, and checking his wristwatch, Ben was confused to see it was still only four in the afternoon and many hours until sundown. Looking overhead, he didn’t discern any great thickening of the canopy, and also the jungle had gone from its bright gaiety to a more somber silence — even the once ever-present rainbow birds were now missing.

They glided on for a few more moments before he noticed that Ataca had stopped paddling. He clutched at the amulet pouch around his neck and turned about, scanning the bank for a moment before then turning back to meet Ben’s eyes.

He spoke rapidly in his local tongue and then both waved a hand and shook his head for emphasis.

Ben groaned, and looking over the Pemon’s shoulder, he saw that Ipetu in the next canoe seemed to be having the same conversation with Jenny and Nino, both animated as they probably pleaded with him.

After another moment, the man made a rapid horizontal slicing motion in the air with his hand and said with significant force probably one of the only words in English he knew, and one he knew they would understand:

“No!”

Nino turned to Jenny and shrugged, and the zoologist eased back and nodded. She smiled and spoke softly to him, and the Pemon man’s face softened, even though his eyes were still resolute. He nodded and paddled the canoe closer. At the rear of their canoe, Mukmet also brought in Steve and Andrea until all three boats were together.

Jenny reached out for the side of Ben’s canoe and smiled with resignation, or perhaps surrender. “This is as far as they’ll go. This now…” she waved an arm, “… is the land of the boraro, cherruves, and churipuri, you name it; all demons.”

“Oh fucking great,” Dan said softly.

“Yeah, I know, but what looks like a tropical paradise to us, is the start of the wettest season, they call Xincceheka.” Jenny looked up as she worked on a suitable translation for the Pemon word. “Dark Lands.”

“The season of the Dark Lands?” Dan’s frown deepened. “What does that even mean?”

Jenny spoke softly to Ipetu again, who leaned closer to her and whispered in return as if afraid of being overheard. Jenny nodded her understanding. “The elders have told them that this is the time of the demons. In this year, the wettest year, it is foretold that the jungle in this area is not safe.” She half smiled but there was little humor in it. “They have quite accurate calendars.”

Ipetu spoke again, even more urgently, and Jenny frowned as she concentrated. She nodded and turned to the group. “Once every half lifetime, the land here belongs to the gods. It becomes their kingdom.”

“That’s it,” Emma said. “It’s got to be all tied in with what your ancestor wrote about the window of opportunity when the hidden place was able to be found.”

“And when the hidden place can be found, that’s when the demons are about.” Steve raised his eyebrows. “Anyone else thinking of Benjamin’s pencil drawings of the dinosaurian?”

“The kingdom of the gods.” Ben sucked in a breath.

“Sounds ominous,” Steve said. “But at least it tells us we’re heading in the right direction.”

“Yeah, there’s that,” Ben said. “Jenny, will the Pemon be here when we return?”

“Good question.” She immediately began to speak to Ipetu, who looked from Mukmet and Ataca, back to her. He shook his head and Jenny turned to him.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Ben said. “Then ask, no, tell him to leave two of the canoes.”

Jenny nodded and then straightened. She spoke forcefully.

The bickering went on for several moments, with Ataca leaning closer to her and raising a single figure in the air. Jenny shook her head, pleading, cajoling, and then demanding. Finally, she tilted her head and spoke softly. Ipetu looked from Ataca then to Mukmet; both men nodded.

Ben grinned. “You got both canoes?”

“Yes, not easy, and I had to trade.” She shrugged. “Two bush knives, a machete, and… one of the spare revolvers.”

Ben didn’t even have to think about it. “Done; trekking back would take us weeks… if we made it at all.” He looked around. “Let’s pull into the bank and unload.”

In another moment, they were all on the bank, gear beside them. The three Pemon were now in a single canoe and paddled back down the clear river. The other two canoes had been pulled up, safe and dry.

Ben had a strange sinking feeling as he watched them depart — the natives knew something they didn’t, and he hoped it was only superstition. He turned to the group.

“Okay, we’ve gone far enough for today, so let’s camp here, rest, and make an early start.”

Palm fronds lashed his face and sticky vines tried to rope his arms, legs and torso. In firefights in the deserts of the Middle East, Congolese jungles, or urban labyrinths, Ben had feared nothing and no one.

But now, big Ben Cartwright whimpered as he ran — the thing was gaining on him, flattening undergrowth and knocking down trees as if they were kindling.

Where was everyone else? he wondered, trying to remember. Then he did — all dead, massacred, eaten alive, a small voice jeered back at him.

The jungle suddenly opened out onto a cloud-filled vista, and he braked hard, his feet skidding on loose gravel right to the cliff edge. Below, the jungle looked like the tops of broccoli, over a thousand feet below him.

Behind him, a blood-freezing noise made the hair rise on his head and neck, and he turned, eyes wide and teeth showing in a grimace of fear.

Instinctively, Ben’s hand slapped down on his holster — it was empty. The thing burst from the jungle.

“Jesus!”

Ben jerked upright from his bed roll.

“Hey? You okay?” Emma sat up, rubbing her face, and then turned to stare into his. “It sounded like you were, crying.”

“Nah.” He snorted the thought away. “I’m okay, just…” He also rubbed his face and felt his eyes were wet. “Nah, it’s nothing.”

“Nino,” he called.

“Si?” Their Venezuelan guide was already up and fastening away his bedroll.

“Gather some firewood; I’ll try and catch us some of those fish for breakfast.” Ben got to his feet, and then also rolled up his mat. He reached into his pack, took out his mosquito netting, and tucked it under his arm.

“Want some help?” Emma asked.

Ben smiled. “An outdoor woman like you can help kick-start that fire. That’ll help. Also, get everyone up and ready — going to be a long day.”

She scoffed but agreed.

Ben walked up along the bank for a few hundred feet, noticing that the sandy bottom was starting to discolor the further up he went. Also, it began to shallow out even more, and would have made traversing it by canoe impossible anyway. In amongst the shallows, there were still a few pools where brightly colored fish, tiger-striped in red and blue, darted about, all the size of a medium trout.

He laid the netting on the downstream side of one of the pools, allowing a belly to be created in the mesh. He then moved upstream and used a long stick to chase some of the fish towards his trap. In just a few minutes, he had a good haul and dragged them out. He grinned at his luck; if only it was this easy back home, he thought.

Ben started to head back, but then paused, his brows knitting — on the riverbank, there were strange tracks. Almost like from a weird truck tire that had rolled over the sand. They were nearly a foot wide and continued on for a while before disappearing into the water. He crouched, looking at the impressions — they weren’t old, maybe only days.

Rain started to patter heavily about him, filling the tracks. He put two fingers into one, feeling their depth. What the hell made them? he wondered.

Ben looked over his shoulder into the jungle, wary now. When he turned back, he saw Jenny wandering about and raised an arm to call her over. He looked back down at the tracks; the Pemon had said that in the past some foolish natives had come here, but they never come back. He lifted his fingers to his nose and rubbed them together, but there was no scent on them.

“What have you got?” Jenny asked and crouched beside him.

“Tracks, I think.”

She smiled down at the markings in the dirt. “Big fella.” She turned to him. “Probably Eunectes murinus — green anaconda.”

“Jesus, these tracks are from a snake?” Ben blew air through his lips.

“Yeah, they can grow to 18 feet and weigh in at 250 pounds.” She looked around, and then into the tree canopy overhead. “And they lo-ooove water.”

“Dangerous?” Ben got to his feet.

Jenny followed him up. “Not to us, here and now. But if you were weak or sick, and they came across you when you were sleeping, they might try and swallow you… after pulverizing you down to mush.”

“Nice; so not a total paradise here after all.” He gave her a lopsided grin.

“Don’t you read your Bible? There’s a snake in every Garden of Eden, remember?” She winked.

Ben chuckled. “Let’s hope there’s only one then. Let’s go.”

By the time they returned, everyone was gathered around the morning fire. Coffee was being brewed, so he used his knife to clean the fish and thread them onto poles. He handed one to each.

“No silver service, I’m afraid.”

The cooked meat was delicious, if not a little blackened on the outside. They still had some rations left, but this was the first live game they’d caught and eaten. From now on, Ben would try and have them live off the land and preserve what they had left.

In another 30 minutes, they were on their way again following the stream, the bank being a natural pathway. For hours, they watched the stream first shallow, with some grasses threading their way to the surface, and then islands of sand rising in its center. In only a little more time, the stream bottom broke the surface and turned from sand to mud, and then to sludge.

There were no more fish, no more darting rainbow birds, or even iridescent winged dragonflies. The abundant life forms now only seemed to be swarming gnats. Underfoot, the sandy ground had also changed — the bank had vanished and their feet squelched in mud and slid on oily mosses. The air began to steam up with the smell of methane and corruption.

It seemed paradise had come to an end, Ben thought. But it was when the mud became bog that Ben began to worry.

Gas bubbles popped to the surface with an eggy-sulphurous smell, and the humidity made the perspiration run from them in dripping streams that never dried. Added to that, the mud got deeper, and the snake gaiters became traps for pounds of sticky mud that made every step an energy-draining experience.

Dan stumbled and reached out a hand to some vines but immediately yelled his agony. “Jesus.” He went to pull his hand back, but the vine came with him. “Fucking thorns.”

He pulled out his knife and hacked away at it, then had to carefully pick the woody stem from his gloves. Jenny squelched her way towards him and took it from him. She held it up.

“Cat’s claw vine.” She turned to him. “Pierce your gloves?”

Dan grimaced and had his glove peeled down. “Bastards went straight through.”

“Yeah.” She held it out, showing him the half-inch hooks at the base of each leaf stem. “Evolved to stop them from being eaten. But they’re big and sharp enough to pierce boot leather.”

“Okay, spray it, slap a bandage on it, and let’s keep moving.” Ben waved them on.

Dan held up his bleeding hand. “Little sympathy here.”

Jenny quickly leaned in and kissed his cheek. “There, all better now?” She tossed the vine out and away from them.

By late morning, the drizzle continued, and in the spaces between the overhead branches, there was only a thick cloud cover showing. Steve was now taking his turn leading them out. He was also the first one into the heavy bog.

“Crap.” He tried to pull on his legs, but they were mired to the knees. He grunted and managed to lift one leg up, but it forced the other deeper.

Ben was only about twenty feet behind him and came as fast as he could but stopped before the oily-looking area Steve had wallowed into.

“Lay flat,” Ben said. “Might be quick mud.”

“Ah, Jesus.” Steve turned about, obviously not wanting to get coated in the oily sludge. Close by was a tree with one limb hanging out fairly close to him. So instead, he strained to reach it.

“Stop there!” Ben yelled, freezing the man.

By now, the group had hauled themselves closer but also froze. Ben pointed to the man. “Lower your hand, and lay flat, now.” He followed the tree branch up the limb and then higher.

Steve did as he was asked, lying out on his belly. “What? What is it?”

Jenny narrowed her eyes. “Bullet ants… in the tree. Very bad.”

Ben had spotted the machine-like insects on the tree limb — he’d met them before, and Jenny’s summation of very bad didn’t even begin to describe the little monsters. The inch-long ants had enormous jaws and a sting that felt like an electric shock. Their nests were usually on the ground, but they spent their time in tree canopies. Any perceived threat to the ants, the nest, or the trees, elicited an overwhelming and sometimes deadly attack.

Steve was just a head and neck showing now, and he tried to turn to look up at the branch. “Do they —?”

“Yes, and damn painfully.” Ben dropped his pack in the sludge and pulled it open, dragging out some rope. “You grab that branch, they’d swarm down onto you.”

He threw one end to Steve and handed the rest to the team. “Stay flat and swim towards us.” He half turned. “On three, two, one… heave.” They tugged, sliding Steve out of the bog.

The young carpenter got to his feet, coated in the thick, oily mess. “Thanks.” He scowled as he wiped himself down. “Nothing a shower and a couple of margaritas won’t fix.” He held something up that was dripping with mud.

Andrea giggled, and Steve immediately brightened. “What did you find?” she asked.

Ben shook his head. Great idea; take a team of novices into the Amazon — what could possibly go wrong? he thought.

“There was something in there,” Steve said, showing them what looked like a broken bowl.

“Let me see that,” Jenny said, pushing forward.

Steve scraped more mud from the shard and handed it to her. Jenny got her water bottle and splashed some on it.

“Hey,” Ben said sharply.

“Just a bit,” Jenny said, rubbing at the pottery, and then holding it in front of her face. “Old, very old.”

Dan grinned. “You just found yourself a souvenir, buddy.”

Steve wiped more greasy mud down from his shirt. “Yeah, definitely worth it.”

“So, there were people here once,” Emma said.

“A long time ago maybe,” Jenny replied distractedly. “This looks Mayan, but not as stylized. It’s more primitive.”

“More primitive?” Dan scoffed. “I thought those guys were first here about 4,000 years ago. How could it be more primitive than that?”

“Maybe it’s not. Maybe they were here after the Mayans — a separate race.” Jenny rubbed more of the mud from the images carved into the bowl.

Ben came in closer and saw there were small figures, many tied together by ropes around their necks. They were being herded towards some sort of large slit-eyed gargoyle thing.

“Reminds me a little of the carving on the rock face in the stream. Might be the same people.”

“Long gone now, I’d say.” Emma looked around. “Might have been washed down from somewhere.”

Jenny handed the pottery back to Steve. “Well, someone had to be here originally to start all the myth-making.”

Steve took the bowl and went to take his pack off his shoulders, but Ben shook his head.

“Leave it, Steve. You don’t need the extra weight right now.”

“Aww.” He looked at it again. “Might be valuable.”

“And if it is, then our antiquities department will never let you take it from our country.” Nino shrugged. “Sorry.”

“I’ll pay any duties on it,” Dan said. “He swam in quick mud to rescue that; he deserves it.”

“Yep.” Steve searched for a moment and then selected a large tree where he placed the bowl at its base. “I’ll see you on the way back.”

“Finished?” Ben sighed and then waved them on. “Come on, and everyone keep their wits about them, and touch…”

“Nothing,” they said back in unison.

In another hour, Ben broke from the swamp and out into a landscape of tree ferns that reached onward and gradually upward into the distance. He shook off his backpack and gloves, and wiped his brow. Even with his large and battle-hardened frame, he felt a little dizzy with fatigue.

“See here.” Nino crouched just at the edge of the forest. There was a ring of stones, and at its center burned remains of a fire as well as some fish bones. He dipped fingers into the ash and rubbed them together for a moment before standing.

“Less than half a day.” He walked slowly around the stones, contemplating the ground. “Three, four people, all big men.”

Ben pulled out some field glasses and surveyed the distance. There was nothing showing, but even though they were leaving the canopy cover of the jungle, the plain of tree ferns still grew to a height of about 10 feet, throwing out broad umbrella-like fronds.

“This was their camp before they headed off up the slope. We’re not far behind.” He put his glasses back in their pouch. “But means they’re in front of us.”

“Question?” Dan held up a finger. “What happens when we actually catch up to them… or them to us?”

Ben grinned. “That all depends on whether they’re the ones who have my map.”

“Oh yeah.” Dan saluted with a grin. “Then you’re in charge of negotiations.”

The slope became steeper, and the climb more energy sapping. After another few hours, it leveled back out and they took a quick break. Looking back down from where they had just climbed, they could see the near endless jungle from which they had just trekked. As Ben expected, though they had traversed a river and stream for many miles, both were invisible below, and the jungle looked dense and unbroken.

“Hey.” Steve had out his GPS and turned one way, then the other. “Same with my compass.”

“What’s up?” Emma asked.

“Look.” He held out the device. “It says signal interruption. And the compass is just going haywire.”

They crowded around, all offering advice, suggestions, and possible solutions.

“Oh shit.” Ben quickly tried his phone and found that there was no reception, even though he should’ve been able to pick up any communication satellite anywhere with the new phone he specially obtained. “No signal on the phones as well. What the hell’s going on?”

Dan put his hands on his hips and turned about. “I can make a few educated guesses based on spot signal black outs in remote areas.” He turned to face them. “Signal jamming, shielding, or my favorite guess, a meteorite.”

“Huh?” Steve’s brows came together. “Did you say meteorite?”

“Yep.” Dan shrugged. “There’s a phenomenon that occurs sometimes where a large iron-based meteorite or meteorite fragments are scattered about — it can partially, or totally, disrupt signals. All I’m saying is, that maybe millions of years ago, it fell to earth and the entire mass is buried here, creating a slightly magnetic field and disrupting our signals.”

Dan looked up. “You know, if it’s this strong, it’d also cause a grey zone on satellite imagery.” He chuckled. “And that is real cool.”

The rain started to fall again, heavier. Andrea looked miserable. “Why?” she asked. “Why is it cool?”

He turned to her. “Because it means that with satellite blackout, and the remoteness, and the superstition keeping the locals away, and also that permanent cloud cover, means this place simply doesn’t exist on any map. We’re invisible.”

“But it does,” Jenny said. “This place has been mapped before. There are satellite images.”

“It only happens every 10 years,” Emma added. “So not something permanent.”

There was silence for a few moments before Ben grunted. “Maybe not in the wettest months… every 10 years or so.” He turned his head slightly. “In the notebook, Benjamin remarked that there was a window of opportunity when the hidden place was able to be found. Could this weird magnetic thing have any bearing on that?”

“No.” Dan’s mouth was turned down.

“Yes,” Emma shot back. “I think Dan might be partially right.”

Dan’s brows went up. “Oh yeah?”

Emma folded her arms. “What if it’s not a meteorite, but a comet? What if the effects are being felt, but it never actually crashed here, but was just passing by.” She grinned. “Like once every 10 years.”

“Fucking brilliant.” Dan clapped. “That could do it. Especially if this is the absolute closest point on the Earth where it makes its pass, or apparition as they call it. This is the focal disruption point. Maybe it creates some sort of humungous magnetic storm.”

“Passes once every 10 years and generates a humongous magnetic storm, giving this place the wettest of months.” Ben thought it through as something nagged at him.

“Sure, I mean there are hundreds of comets shooting through our solar system. They are swung from the sun, they return, and then head back out after a few days.” Dan’s eyes were bright now.

“Must hurry, only days until Primordia returns,” Ben said softly. He looked up. “That was a notation in Benjamin’s notebook.”

“Yes.” Dan pointed at Ben’s chest. “They give comets two names; a scientific name, and a nickname. I bet Primordia is the name of the comet that returns once every 10 years — he only had days until it was returning.”

“Like it did for Benjamin in 1908.” Ben turned to Emma. “We saw it; the streak in the sky.”

“Oh shit; you’re right. It must have been the comet’s tail.” Her mouth hung open.

“It’s called a coma,” Dan said.“So, it is a comet.”

“And now it’s back again for us in 2018.” Steve held his arms wide. “We’re here at the right time.” He held his hand out, letting raindrops fall onto it. “The wettest season.”

“This is so cool.” Andrea clapped her small hands.

Ben pulled out his long bush knife and slashed it into the trunk of a large tree several times, marking an arrowhead formation. “From now on, we’ll need to blaze a trail. With no compass, GPS, stars or sun to follow, we’ve only got line of sight.” He looked back out at the jungle. “Getting lost in here will be a fast trip to hell.”

After another few hours, the ground leveled out a little more and once again, the jungle started closing in. Andrea continually complained now, of being tired, having sore feet, of her thirst and headache. She also seemed to be turning Steve into her personal servant. Ben smiled. Perhaps Steve didn’t mind at all.

The tree trunks started to get closer together, and once again, the ever-present vines started to slow their progress. Ben turned to see Jenny had stopped to examine a peculiar-looking tree trunk. She squinted at it, and Ben raised a hand to call a halt.

“Jenny?”

She stepped back, craning her neck up the length of the trunk, and then simply pointed at it. “Impossible.”

Ben sucked in a breath and crossed to her. “What is?”

“This.” Her eyes gleamed.

Ben looked at the trunk; it had curious bark that was growing in segments like overlapping shingles. It was about 3 feet around the trunk, and it rose a good fifty feet into the air, where it sported only sparse branches and leaves that were flat and more like grass.

“Never seen it before.” He shrugged. “But then, I don’t think I’ve seen 90 % of the plants down here before. Nino?”

The Venezuelan glanced at it and hiked his shoulders. “No, Señor Ben, never seen it before.”

“You’re right, you haven’t, and neither have I, or for that matter, neither has anyone in modern times.” Jenny took a picture. “I think it’s a Lepidodendron; also known as the scale tree.” She turned to him. “And the reason you haven’t seen them before is the same reason no one has seen one before — they’re Carboniferous Period remnants and been extinct for over 100 million years.”

“So, old, huh?” Steve joined them and put a hand against the bark, and then rapped on it with his knuckles. “Feels soft. Not like wood at all.”

“That’s right,” Jenny said. “Because they weren’t like true trees, and probably more closely related to club mosses or quillworts.” She smiled. “You only ever see these guys now as coal.”

Emma turned about. “There’s quite a few of them here; maybe this is where they survived.”

“Unlikely.” Jenny pulled out her field glasses, but there was nothing to see through the dense foliage and cloud cover. “Modern competition wiped them out. They must survive somewhere else. They reproduce by spores and so probably would have blown in from somewhere else.”

“Or floated down. From where they’ve survived untouched for millions of years,” Dan added with a grin. “We must be so close.”

The rain eased, then stopped as if a tap had been turned.

“Let’s take five while we have a break in the weather. Grab something to eat,” Ben said and found a rock to sit down on. He opened the notebook and leafed through the pages. Emma came and sat beside him.

“What does Benjamin the 1st have to say?”

“He also says we’re close… I think.” He looked up and over her head. “We can’t see much with all this low cloud. But somewhere around here is the foot of the plateau, and also some sort of temple he mentions.”

Emma sighed. “You do know that even if we do find this plateau, it’s going to be difficult to climb. These things are usually sheer faces, and at least a thousand feet straight up. I, you, maybe Steve, could get up there, but I’m not so sure about the others.”

“I thought about that. We also don’t have that much rope, and I doubt Steve and I could do a free climb of that distance.” Ben gave her a half smile. “Best laid plans and all that.”

“Let’s just hope there’s a place that’s not too high and easy to climb.” She smiled. “After all, I doubt your ancestor was an experienced climber.”

“Hope you’re right. But remember, if there were an easy way up or down, then there wouldn’t be any isolation of the things that supposedly live up there — according to Benjamin, it was supposed to have formed a perfect barrier against anything climbing up, or scaling down.” Ben got to his feet and held out a hand.

Emma grabbed it and hauled herself up. “I guess if we find the plateau, that’s something. But if we don’t get to the top, we’ll never know if it’s the right one.”

“We’ll get to the top,” Ben said confidently. “One way or the other, we’re getting up there.”

“Or at least a few of us will,” Emma added.

Ben squeezed her hand. “And no, you’re not going up by yourself.”

“Yes, Dad.” She grinned back.

The group marched on in silence. The rain set in again, and the jungle was thickening with all manner of strange plants that eluded all of Jenny’s attempts at identification. Pushing aside some fronds, Dan yelled in triumph and ran a few feet forward.

“Ha.” He turned and pointed. “The cliffs.”

Like the rest, Ben couldn’t help running through the ferns and vines to break through and see the orange-pink walls just peeking through the jungle. Their tops were lost in the ever-present low cloud, but he couldn’t stop the grin from splitting his face.

“Oh yeah!” He walked forward, looking one way then the next along the impressive sight. To their left, a waterfall tipped water from somewhere high above them to change to sparkling diamonds in the diffuse light. Both ways, the cliffs continued on until they vanished in the distance without any sign of them curving.

“It’s freaking huge,” Jenny said.

“I cannot climb this,” Nino said, looking pale. “Maybe those who do not climb should wait here.”

Ben nodded. “No one has to climb if they don’t want to.”

“That’s right, buddy. Feel free to miss out on all the fame, glory, and whatever amazing things we find up there.” Dan jiggled his eyebrows

Nino frowned. “There will be treasure?”

“No, unlikely,” Emma said. “Don’t listen to him.”

“But we don’t know exactly what’s up there now do we, hmm?” Dan replied. “So, could be treasure.”

Ben turned to Nino. “You don’t have to go up.” He looked skywards. “And frankly, unless we find an easier way up there, no one’s going anywhere.” Ben pointed along the leftward cliff edge. “I think this way.”

“Where to?” Steve asked.

“To an easier way up, I hope,” Ben responded.

Edward Barlow and his men were invisible in amongst the dense foliage. A small smile played on his lips as he eased his head around to watch as Janus Bellakov held small field glasses to his eyes even though they were only a few dozen feet from the Cartwright party as they approached — it didn’t matter as the blunderers made so much noise they masked any and all approach.

Barlow didn’t want any of them hurt; in fact, he needed them. The maps they had been following had now come to an end, and he cursed the bumpkins he had paid to retrieve the information. He had specified the notebook, and they had only brought him the notes.

He sighed; it was so hard to get good help, even in amongst the so-called specialty pool.

He watched as the group moved past, and his eyes narrowed. They needed to take care with the ex-soldier leading them on. Cartwright was a formidable man and only he presented any real problem — even Mr. Bellakov recognized it.

So Cartwright needed to be neutralised first.

CHAPTER 19

“We found it!” Emma yelled and plunged forward.

Ben chased after her, but then stopped dead and just stood with open mouth. There was a structure; temple-like, set into the side of a sheer rock face that vanished up into the clouds high above them. Holding it in a muscular embrace were gnarled tree roots as thick as his waist.

“Shit,” he breathed out. “It’s real.” The heavy cut stonework was moss-green with age, and everything about it exuded artistry, antiquity, and reverence.

“And so, here it is,” Dan whispered, but then threw his head back and whooped.

Ben dragged out his great, great grandfather’s notebook and looked from the sketch his ancestor had made to the prehistoric structure — it was exactly like in the pencil image — everything was there; the massive tree trunk that had thrown gnarled roots over moss-covered foundation stones, the tumbled blocks, as well as the stone guards, acting as a pair of monstrous sentinels.

“Holy crap,” Steve said, walking towards the colossal structure.

“Careful,” Jenny said.

“Huh?” Steve turned briefly to her. “Sure.” He turned back to the statues. They reared up, fanged mouths open. “Hey, no wonder our guides took to the hills; this is some scary shit.”

The ten-foot-high stone statues seemed to be two creatures, sort of intertwined. One was something that resembled a two-legged beast, huge mouth open as if in defiance or pain, as another monstrous creature with a long muscular body wrapped around it. Its fangs were long broken off, but they must have jutted down like twin daggers. It was finished with a pair of large unblinking eyes with slit pupils.

“Some scary shit is right.” Jenny looked skyward; high above them the clouds seemed to be lifting, and hints of green could just be made out flowing over the cliff edge. She smiled. “I’ll bet a month’s salary that up there is where those ancient tree spores came from… and everything else that’s unidentifiable down here.”

Ben had his hands on his hips, following her gaze. “Well then, we better find a way up.”