The Inca Prophecy

12 Children of the Sun

Purdue and what was left of his crew were guests on the boat called Cóndor, a Spanish vessel owned by a multinational company that ran several sea-based businesses across the Mediterranean and West-African waters. When Purdue checked his plastic hard case, he was relieved to find that his tablet was unharmed by the water and still in working condition. It was, however, not a discovery he felt like sharing with his hosts, especially after he realized that they had already sailed well away from the wreckage, foiling any attempt for Purdue and his people to be rescued by the authorities.

Hannah had recovered somewhat from the physical toil of her ordeal. She was still, however, rattled by what she’d witnessed in the water a few hours before. Peter was cordial, but it was clear that he was done with maritime careers for good. Purdue overheard him telling one of the crewmembers of the Cóndor how shaken he was at the whole incident, how he just wanted to go home.

“I understand completely, old boy,” Purdue told Peter. “I’ve been regrettably numbed to even the most heinous events by having already been in countless deadly situations during my excursions. Still I must tell you, what happened to us today will not be easily swept back into memory.”

“You know, I love working for you, Mr. Purdue. It’s not your fault, what happened. I get that. But you see, this is personal. Personally, I can’t deal with these types of things too well,” Peter confessed. “And I don’t want to ever put myself in a likely situation again. I suppose you don’t need a formal resignation, hey?” He smiled at his employer for the first time since the disaster. He had known Purdue for a year, having accompanied the billionaire on two previous cruises before, but he had never seen him like this.

“No, a verbal rebuke will be sufficient,” Purdue replied lightly. Behind his smile, Peter saw that Purdue held a dreadful sorrow aching to come to the fore, but he could not let it consume him.

“None of this is your fault, Mr. Purdue,” Peter remarked awkwardly. “You must know that, no matter what you think you did wrong. We all know you feel responsible, but you should let that ship sail. Please.”

Purdue tried to distract himself from Peter’s words by eavesdropping on the crew around them, but he could not lift the yolk of guilt he felt. None of what he was thinking could be said, because if he told Peter and Hannah that he did not feel half as bad for them as he did for Sam, they would rightly see him as a bastard. He needed to grieve the loss of his friend, but he couldn’t, not here, not in front of these people.

“Thank you, Peter,” Purdue sighed.

“So, the lady tells me that your friend was on that helicopter,” Vincent said bluntly as he walked over to Purdue and Peter. Naturally, the clumsy skipper would choose the worst subject at the most unkind moment. Purdue felt his chest burn, holding a torch of lamentation for his friend, but he maintained his pose for the sake of his companions.

“That’s right,” Purdue snapped a little. He was in no mood to discuss the horrid event, least of all the parts where it was his idea for Sam to come. It had been his charter that had hired that pilot and that machine. “He was one of my closest friends, Vincent, and I do not have more than a handful of those in all the world.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Vincent replied with a softer tone. “It must be a real sore spot for you, and here I bring it up just because I was curious why you would bring a man here on a helicopter instead of just mooring at the harbor and getting him to meet you there.”

Purdue looked up, his eyes ablaze, but Vincent pretended that his blow was unintentional. He sat down with a bottle of wine and motioned for one of his men to bring glasses.

“I don’t want to drink, Vincent, thank you,” Purdue informed the skipper of the Cóndor without much reservation on being polite.

“But you have to drink with me, David,” Vincent insisted. “In fact, I would like all of you to join me in a little libation for the sake of the story I want to tell you.”

Looking utterly disinterested, all three of Vincent’s guests gracefully declined, asking to just be allocated places to sleep. The latter was not a viable idea, according to Purdue, for he dared shut his eyes even if it meant his death. Sometimes, he reckoned, you just have to trust the devil long enough to rejuvenate yourself. But his host would have none of it.

“You will be shown to your bunks as soon as I have told you this story. I promise,” Vincent pressed with absolutely no consideration or grace. He was like the tide that rocked the boat under them — unpredictable and seeming to harbor some really slimy predators behind his tranquil blue eyes.

“Listen, Vincent, really,” Purdue answered, rising from his chair, but Vincent raised his voice. “Sit down!” A boisterous bark leapt from his mouth that made Hannah jump and slam her hands over her eyes. Purdue obeyed. Vincent looked at Hannah, rubbing her upper arm in contrition. “My apologies, madam. I just hate having to repeat myself, especially when I really have something to divulge.”

“David,” he said, turning to face Purdue with a sneer that made him look like a clear-eyed demon in the low light of the cabin. His own men looked tense as well. “I’m trying to share something with you, so please, do not provoke my rage without reason. As it is, I’m already trying not explode at the smallest provocations.”

Some of his men exchanged glances between them in agreement, although they did it so subtly that the captain would never have noticed. Hannah could see the tension in them because she knew what to look for. Purdue shrugged, looking down at the table in disinterest, tapping his fingers on it. Vincent cleared his throat, “Call him up.”

One of the crew went downstairs into the sleeping quarters. When he emerged, Vincent poured the wine into the glasses set out for them. “Now, let’s drink.”

There was an extra glass for the shadow that bent on the interior of the cabin as he ascended the stairs. Hannah was terrified and she shifted closer to Peter, pretending to make space. When Purdue looked up, he dropped his glass.

“My God! Sam!” he shrieked unashamedly and propelled toward Sam to embrace him.

“Easy, easy!” Sam said too late. The billionaire had his good arm around Sam in a tight grip. He chuckled into Sam’s borrowed coat, “You certainly know how to make an entrance, old boy. My God, I can’t believe it! You’re alive!” Purdue ceased his raving abruptly. He pushed Sam away to have a good look at him. “How, in the name of all things holy, did you survive that impact?”

The tall, dark journalist was as handsome as ever, apart from obvious bruising and a considerable gash across his brow above his left eye. His lip was split in two places and his right cheek swollen a bit, but for a helicopter crash these were very light injuries.

“I could never have survived that impact. Are you daft?” Sam asked. “I had to hide. Hide! I climbed through to the back and hid in a small luggage compartment, hoping the fucking thing would not have a lock seal. Bad idea, but the best I had. I didn’t have to go to Davey Jones fucking Locker, Purdue. I had my own locker for the long stay at the bottom of the Mediterranean! Christ! Felt like the worst thing you can do in a falling chopper, bound for the water!”

“Except to stay in your front seat and wait for the collision to kill you,” Hannah muttered to herself. But they all looked at her at once, while Sam pointed at her with a rigid finger to accentuate her valid argument. “Perceptive,” he told Purdue. “I had that same opinion at the time, but I tell you, it did not make the escape painless. I had to haul my ass out of the flooding, burning fuselage before it reached the compartment.”

Purdue patted him on the back, looking greatly satisfied. “Well, I am beyond delighted that you managed to escape a most horrible death.” He gave Sam a long stare, while the skipper poured more wine. “So, what caused the crash, then?”

Vincent’s blue eyes instantly shot up to the two men, and his hand slowed the pouring of the wine as he listened intently. Sam swallowed hard, searching for a way to formulate the lunacy that caused the crash. Feeling very self-conscious, he finally shrugged, “The pilot went insane.”

“Ha!” Vincent scoffed, and promptly resumed his task of filling everyone’s glasses. Purdue and Sam both looked at Vincent, waiting for more, but he simply shifted the glasses to each in turn and gestured for them to sit down. “I believe you, Sam,” he said, almost smirking. “This area is worse than the bloody Bermuda Triangle, but nobody has ever made a public report of what happens here. You see, that is exactly why we are here.”

Purdue leered at Vincent. He did not trust him or his word, but he kept that to himself for now. He wished to hear what the skipper was going to use as a front for whatever devilish reasons he had to be lurking around here. Once more Purdue cast a quick glance at the madly flapping flag of the boat, the ominous and all too familiar insignia of the sun he knew all too well. Granted, it was a variation of the symbol of the Order of the Black Sun, but it still did not justify its presence on a Spanish fishing trawler.

Sam had to have noticed, he thought to himself as he watched the others lift their glasses. We don’t have a choice but to play along, but I hope Sam shares my suspicion, at least. I hope he is as wary of Vincent as I am.’

“Why?” Sam asked sincerely. “Why are you here? Tell us, then.”

“Alright,” Vincent agreed eagerly. “This region has a very sinister lore attached to it, but it’s a reputation only known by devoted mariners and scholars of arcane history.”

Sam wondered if the term ‘arcane history’ had just given Purdue a boner, though he chose to hold in the urge to tease the billionaire about his passions. But he held his tongue and pondered if Purdue had noticed the symbol on the vessel’s flag.

Vincent took a sip of wine and cleared his throat. His shaggy hair gave him a look of madness and eccentricity, the coiling raven tresses only accentuating the unnatural azure of his eyes. “Did you notice the symbol of the sun on the flag?”

“Aye,” Sam answered, at the same time confirming what Purdue was pondering.

“That is our pride,” Vincent said, to the repugnance of both Purdue and Sam. “It represents us and what we stand for, to the full.”

Hannah did not move in her chair to partake of the wine offered to her, but she casually linked into the conversation, negating the opinions of the two Scots in one sentence.

“The Children of the Sun.”