The Inca Prophecy

13 Road of Hell

Nina was to be on the first flight to Madrid to find out what had happened to her two friends. She awoke in the hospital, and after being given a bit of aspirin for her hangover, she was discharged. Her heart was broken, no matter how positive she tried to be about the terrible news she’d received via the news channel. She packed two blouses, a pair of hiking boots and two pairs of jeans only. A pashmina and a fedora completed the contents of her suitcase and, after she booked her flight, she had a quick shower.

Nina tried not to cry at the thought of the tragedy, but the sorrow kept her feeling sick. All she wanted to do was to find out what had happened and to confirm that Sam Cleave and Dave Purdue were indeed dead. If they were missing, she was going to look for them, even if she had no idea where to start. Because of the nature of her trip, she elected to leave her laptop and other usual items at home, bringing only her cell phone as technology.

Her dissertation had to be put on hold, so she did the proper thing and sent a message to the academy to extend her due date. They would understand, given the circumstances. Without waiting for a response Nina left for the airport. Of all the options, she had to pick the quickest, even if she had to relinquish some comforts. Glasgow would be the best choice, and then to Madrid via Dublin. It would take her about a day, maybe more, to reach the airport of Málaga-Costa del Sol. From there she would have to navigate the coastline by charter to engage in her search.

As she left the house her phone rang, but Nina ignored it. There was no time to waste and she was adamant not to be distracted by anything less important than Sam and Purdue. Once she hit the highway, driving south towards Glasgow, Nina started weeping uncontrollably. It wasn’t that her romantic relationships with both men had tenderized her feelings like a pregnant widow, but the fact that their deaths made her keenly aware of her solitary existence. For all the love she received from the townspeople who finally accepted her, for all the praise and accolades she had garnered from the academic establishment as a renowned historian and lecturer, in the end she was still alone.

Purdue and Sam were her only close friends, the only people who have ever saved her life and checked up on her when she was silent for too long. Without them she would survive just fine, but without these two men Nina’s throne room would become nothing but a vast mausoleum to wander through. They were always there, even when the three of them had no contact for months on end — the fabric of true amity. Nina’s eyes rained tears just as the skies outside sent down a shower of water, the force of which challenged her windshield wipers while clattering like pelted rocks. All traffic had to move extra carefully along the A82 for the next few miles at least, perhaps for the entire two-hour drive.

She could not help but wonder what had happened in Spain, why Purdue had needed Sam to come to him while at sea. It was a puzzle she was sure could be solved by some kind of wild chase for some relic somewhere, but it did not soothe her notions of the terrible death they must have suffered.

The only hope Nina held fast to as she trudged through the frustration of having to drive slowly, was the fact that they had not been found yet. In a sense, them being lost at sea, or missing for God knows what reason, was better than the definite knowledge that they had indeed perished. But just to be sure, Nina had her car radio on to keep up on any new developments concerning her friends. Most stations only covered local news, but both Purdue and Sam were celebrities in their fields, which would merit coverage, she thought.

For over an hour Nina traversed the long, winding main road with tears still lingering in her eyes, hoping not to hear the newscast she dreaded. In her head her demons tormented her in the perfectly eloquent voices of reporters. ‘The bodies of two missing Edinburgh men had been found after a two-day rescue effort on the Alboran Sea just off the coast of Spain.’

“No,” she frowned, protesting aloud.

‘David Purdue, noted explorer and billionaire businessman, and his associate, award-winning investigative journalist Sam Cleave, have been missing since Tuesday…’

“No!” she repeated, trying to drown her thoughts.

‘… when the helicopter occupied by Cleave collided with Purdue’s yacht in a failed emergency landing. Divers recovered the remains of Cleave minutes after Purdue’s body had been discovered floating in the water near the wreckage.’

“Nooo! NO! Jesus, no!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, dampening the clanking of the hard rain on her car. “Shut up! Shut up!”

Motorists behind her saw her tantrum, as did those passing. Most laughed, but some just shook their heads. Violently, Nina reached down between the seats and fumbled madly in her purse. From the zipped up compartment she pulled her flash drive and shoved it hard into the input of her radio. There was no preference for a specific artist. It just had to be loud. Nina turned up the volume and unleashed some good old Fear Factory through her car speakers, the only aggression she had, loud enough to beat the devil.