Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) Page 5

  “What’s in this?” Marcus asked, setting the box on the kitchen table.

  “Shoes,” I reminded him.

  He rolled his eyes and took off the laced boots, tossing them to the entrance. He ditched his jacket near the door, and I groaned at his taste in attire. It was nearly impossible to see Marcus in something other than a comic book or science fiction t-shirt.

  Marcus was digging into the books, flipping through the empty one. “What’s a Bridge?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out. I need you to locate someone named Hardy.” I sloughed my jacket off and rolled up my sleeves.

  “Hardy? Never heard of him. Where do I start?” Marcus opened his laptop and starting making quick work of the search.

  “My dad mentions it in his journal. Hardy had theories about a Bridge. Something with a symbol. They found the first Token, and it mentions five more in existence,” I told him.

  “We know there are six. We’ve chased down every angle from your dad’s records and come up empty-handed each time. Do you remember this summer?” he asked. “The AK-47s ring a bell?”

  I placed the food order on the app and cracked a couple of beers, passing one to Marcus. “Here’s what we have. Dad and Clay knew there were six of these Tokens. What if they collected all six? Used them to create this… Bridge.”

  “Then what?” Marcus asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. That’s why we have to find Hardy. He was ahead of them, so he had more details than Dad did. They were using his leads, which tells us he had a theory on the Bridge.” I took a sip of the IPA, my tongue tingling at the hops.

  “Locate Hardy, find out what the Bridge is and where it leads.” Marcus smiled, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Not seeing much on Hardy. But I’ll run it through my database; should get a hit if there’s ever been mention of him in any collegiate-published papers or museum archives.”

  Marcus was a genius at information gathering, and he held more research details on his personal server than anyone else I’d ever heard of. He liked to keep it low-key, not often sharing the resource with anyone but me.

  By the time the noodle delivery guy arrived, we’d drunk the first beer, and his program beeped, indicating there were over two hundred hits. Most of them were references to a man from the eighteen hundreds, Jeffery A. Hardy. His work had revolved around the study of migrating Neanderthals, and that didn’t seem like a match.

  “How’s the food?” Marcus asked, slurping a noodle. It spilled on his keyboard, and he wiped at it with a napkin, shrugging.

  “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever had. Who’s next?” I asked. “Anyone from the sixties or seventies?”

  Marcus’ eyes grew, and he clicked over a search result. “Brian Hardy. He worked at Columbia for a few years in the late sixties. Says he was let go after an incident, but the file was redacted.”

  “You got all that from your server?” I was surprised at the level of detail this kid was able to access.

  “You think I half-ass anything? It’s why I was your favorite student,” he told me.

  “‘Favorite’ might be a stretch. How about ‘most determined’?” I smiled at his frown.

  “Same thing. Brian Hardy. This has to be the guy.”

  I leaned over his shoulder, staring at the screen. There was noodle slop dripping from the top of it, and I used a sleeve to wipe it. “For someone so invested in his computers, you might want to take better care of them. Where’s Brian now? And don’t tell me he’s dead.”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Marcus said.

  He paused, wagging his eyebrows for suspense. “Cut it out. What’s so special about him?”

  “Him? Not a lot. Looks like he never took another teaching job after Columbia, but he’s done work for some pretty powerful collectors.” Marcus switched browsers, pointing to the website.

  “Hunter Madison…” The man was a billionaire eccentric who was into collecting anything and everything involving ancient cultures, particularly those centered on visitors from the stars. Not many people outside the circle knew of it. On paper, he was an investor, owning majority shares in at least seven Venture 500 firms. I was aware of him because my father had worked for the man. From what I could gather, most of his expeditions had been funded by Madison.

  “You know this guy, right?” Marcus asked.

  To say I knew him was a stretch. I knew he’d been at my father’s funeral service, and apparently had a heated conversation with my mother. I heard my uncle had intervened, and Madison had left in a flurry, tearing away in a black Lincoln limousine. “We met when I was a kid. Where’s he living?” I asked.

  “Last known address is in New York. Once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker,” Marcus said.

  I laughed and went to the fridge, taking out two more beers. “Didn’t you used to live there?”

  “I’m the outlier,” he replied.

  “Ain’t that the truth. Mark it down. We’re making a road trip,” I told him.

  “Now?”

  I glanced at the clock. I was beat after the weekend, not to mention, I’d had a drink, and the holiday traffic was going to be insane. “Tomorrow.”

  “I think you’re forgetting something.” Marcus started cleaning up the Styrofoam containers, tossing them into the empty garbage can under my sink.

  “What’s that?”

  “You know, that thing you do during the week. You wear patches on your jacket, probably chew a pipe, try not to gawk at the hot third-year students twirling their hair around their fingers, asking you for some ‘personal attentive at-home studying’.” He said the last making air quotes with his fingers.

  My job. He was right. “Damn it. Finals are soon.” I couldn’t wait two weeks. “See if you can reach this Brian Hardy and make the appointment for Friday. I have class in the morning. We’ll go after.”

  “What if I have plans?” Marcus asked. He was a freelance research assistant, and from the sounds of things, work was skinny these days.

  “Do you?”

  He lost his grin. “I’ll set it up. What if he won’t talk to me?”

  “Then he’ll have to turn us down in person. Either way, we’re going to New York this Friday.”

  “There was something else, right? An important discovery you couldn’t wait to share with me? Now would be a good time.”

  “The rubbing,” I said, slapping a palm against the table. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten it.

  Marcus turned to face me, raising his hands. “Rubbing? I don’t like the sounds of this…”

  “Quit kidding around.” I went to the box, picking out the folded paper cemetery map, and opened it, smoothing it on the table beside Marcus. “I found this on Clayton Belvedere’s gravestone. They’re numbers.”

  “I can see that. Why haven’t you ever thought of this before?” he asked, his lips moving as he recited the digits at a whisper.

  “I haven’t gone looking. How was I to know there would be some secret message engraved on the tombstone?”

  Marcus shook his head and shrugged. “They don’t make sense. There are no degrees or directions listed.”

  “Wait, what about decimal degrees?” I asked, and he frowned while sipping his beer.

  “The decimal is near the end. I don’t think that’s it.”

  Puzzles. Why did everything have to be secretive and hidden from plain sight? Who else would have been desperate for coordinates on some obscure treasure hunter’s gravestone in a nowhere city a couple of hours from Boston, unless it was meant to be a message for someone?

  “That’s it!” I stood up, bumping into the table. My bottle fell over, spilling on the map. I picked the paper up by the corner, the liquid running over the rubbing. It was fine.

  “Now who’s the messy one?” Marcus asked before grabbing the paper towel. He dabbed it gently. “What has you channeling Archimedes?”

  “He must have set this up before he went missing. Clayton knew the message
would eventually be put on his grave’s marker. They’re coordinates, Marcus. This is the big break we’ve been waiting for!”

  I could hardly contain myself. I’d been chasing ghosts for so long without the hint of a real trail, always coming out with less money and fewer answers. This could be the moment everything changed.

  “They’re not. I’m telling you…” Marcus stopped and stared at the sheet. “Unless the numbers are reversed.” He opened the computer again. Clicking on the mapping app, he keyed in the digits as they were. It didn’t work. He started with the first string, adding the last number at the beginning, then a decimal, and the next six numbers from right to left. He repeated it with the second string on the rubbing, and his finger hovered over the search button.

  “Would you quit being so dramatic? Hit it,” I told him, and he obeyed.

  I slunk to the chair as the map displayed the location. It was the middle of nowhere in Venezuela, four hundred miles south of Caracas. From what little I knew of the region, I wasn’t overly keen on making the trek.

  “What the hell are we going to find there?” Marcus asked me, but I really had absolutely no idea.

  “I couldn’t begin to guess.”

  “I’m sure you have a few theories.”

  I considered the statement. “Why was it on Clay’s grave? That implies my father didn’t want anyone revisiting his trail. Maybe Clay did this without my dad’s knowledge. He hoped to leave the breadcrumbs for his daughter or someone willing to follow. It was his out. Or maybe he just wanted someone to eventually learn what happened.”

  “You don’t think they died in a collapse on an underground site, do you?” Marcus leaned away in his chair, and we both stared at the satellite image of Venezuela.

  I shook my head and tapped my finger on the table. “I know that’s the widely acknowledged hypothesis, but there wasn’t proof to corroborate that. We think they were brought to Portugal by boat, but that’s where the line runs dry.”

  Of course, no one had truly put a real investigation into their disappearance, not to the level that would have been necessary to track them. I’d done my best when I’d graduated college, spending a summer backpacking every site possible in Portugal and Spain, attempting to learn any bit of information that might help. I’d returned with my tail between my legs and zero job prospects.

  Marcus’ eyes had that excited glint in them, and he finished his beer. “When do we go?”

  “To South America? I don’t have the money to fund an expedition like this,” I admitted. “Do you have any idea how much it’s cost me this last decade? Not to mention paying you for your time.”

  “A man has to eat, even if it is noodles.” Marcus patted the screen. “This could be the answer you’ve been waiting for. There’s no way you can ignore it.”

  I was at a precipice. My career was going well, and I loved teaching. This school was becoming prestigious, a real step up for my resume. If I stayed long enough, did a great job, gained tenure, I could teach on panels, publish a few more papers, and build up my name in the community. No one knew who I was, since almost everything I’d done so far had been self-serving. There was also the offer to teach at Harvard, and despite my misgivings about the nepotism, I had to take Richard seriously.

  But this was important. My dad had traveled to all these locations. He’d gathered the six Tokens, and one day, when I was five years old, he’d vanished. What was the Bridge he’d spoken of? Brian Hardy was our lead.

  I made the decision on a stomach full of ramen and beer. I glanced outside, seeing the window cracked open. Snow had begun falling, and I closed it, staring across the street at the park. A father and son walked by, wearing matching jackets, their English bulldog sniffing a No Parking signpost.

  “We’re going to New York Friday. We’ll figure the rest out later,” I told Marcus, and could almost hear his smile from across the room.

  “You need funding? I think I know someone interested in this kind of venture,” Marcus said.

  He didn’t have to tell me who he was referring to.

  5

  “Will this be on the final?” Luca asked. I glanced at the clock, trying not to make it obvious I was ready to escape the school week.

  “Luca, assume everything will be on the final,” I told him.

  This elicited a petrified gasp from Cassie. “Professor Walker, are you suggesting there won’t be a study guide?”

  Study guide. I almost snorted, thinking of my Ancient Civilizations professor’s expression when I’d asked the same question of him all those years ago. He’d nearly had a heart attack at the mere idea of making a final exam easier on his students. It was a good thing for Cassie and the others that I wasn’t a bitter old divorced man with a gambling problem.

  “I’ll have it ready next Wednesday,” I assured her, and the class made an audible sigh of relief. The bell rang, and I sat on my desk, saying goodbyes to the students, wishing them a good weekend. It was gloomy out, the sky shrouded in thick gray clouds, and it had drizzled rain instead of snow since the temperatures had climbed just enough to avoid winter weather. I preferred snow over the incessant icy dampness the winter rainstorms carried with them.

  I wandered into the halls, exiting the building and moving toward the professors’ lounge. It was lunch time for most of them, and I spotted Jessica near the coffee maker, heating up leftovers.

  “Rex, how are you doing?” she asked.

  “About as good as you can on a rainy December Friday. And you?” I wanted to cut the banter and make a direct line to my SUV. Marcus was probably at my place, waiting for me already. He was a lot of things, but tardy wasn’t one of them.

  Jessica smiled, and under different circumstances, I might have been persuaded by her charm. “I’m fine. Any plans tonight?”

  “I…”

  Her hand settled on my forearm, and she stepped closer. “I have tickets to the Boston Pops. I know how much you like Bach. They’re playing his most memorable sonatas, and I happen to have an extra seat.”

  She was coming on to me. I hadn’t expected this, and my response would seal my fate. The last thing I wanted was a scorned boss. I had to assume there was an important human resources rule she was sidestepping. “I’d love to, but I’m actually off to visit my uncle in New York. I’ll be staying the weekend.”

  Her hand lifted, and she had the grace to keep smiling. “Another time, perhaps.”

  “That would be great,” I told her, not elaborating. I exited as quickly as I could. I must have been crazy. She was definitely attractive. Marcus would harass me for weeks if he ever heard I turned a date down. I needed new friends.

  As expected, Marcus was on my front step when I pulled up, a backpack slung over his shoulders as he hid near the door from the downpour. “About time. You know, I could have driven us. Grabbed you from the school.”

  I reached for the door handle and found it opened without my key. “Marcus, were you inside?”

  “No. If I knew it was unlocked, I wouldn’t have been standing in the rain.”

  I pressed the door open and stepped slowly, lifting a hand to keep Marcus on the front steps. I listened for signs of any intruders and found silence. “Stay here,” I whispered to Marcus, and he nodded, finally cluing in that I might have an unwanted visitor. He took his phone out, ready to make an emergency call.

  My shoes clipped against the hardwood as I strode for the office to the right, just before the staircase. Using a code, I tugged open the locked desk drawer, gripping my P229 Sig Sauer. I walked through the entire condo, finding no traces of an invader. Five minutes later, I returned to the entryway and motioned Marcus into my home.

  “What the hell are you doing with a gun? You know that most people get shot by…”

  “Save me the dramatics. It’s for my protection. Our protection.” I ensured the safety was on and considered bringing the weapon with me on the road trip.

  “Maybe you forgot to lock the doors. Tell you what, I’m going
to hook you up with one of those smart locks, so you can secure it with your phone,” Marcus told me.

  I hardly heard him. There was no chance I’d forgotten to lock my house. I thought about the armed men tracking us in El Mirador and the black car trailing me from my sister’s. Now this. Was someone really after me? All of my dad’s notes and possessions were hidden beneath the floorboards in a secret safe beneath my office desk, and I checked it, ensuring nothing had been taken. I hesitantly returned the gun to its lockbox.

  “Rex, are we going to New York?” Marcus asked, already holding my luggage.

  “Sure.” There was no sense in worrying the guy. “You’re probably right. I forgot to lock it.”

  He grimaced as he carried my bags to the SUV. “What’s in this? You know we’re only going for a couple days, right?”

  “My suit jackets weigh more than your Spider-Man underwear, Marcus,” I joked, trying to deflect from the possible invasion. Maybe he was correct, and I was overanalyzing things. I clicked the deadbolt shut, and we were off for the four-hour drive to Manhattan.

  “What did you learn about Hardy?” I asked Marcus once I was outside of Boston, heading south.

  “I tracked him to an upscale townhouse near the Park. He’s ancient. Like, ninety-two years old.”

  “But he’s alive?” We’d been through this earlier in the week, but I liked to comb the details with Marcus to make sure we had everything in a neat row. He knew this about me and had given up arguing the merits of my ways.

  “As far as I can tell. No R.O.D. or memorial in the papers.”

  “Good. Were you able to make an appointment?” I asked.

  Marcus shook his head and flipped open his laptop. It shone brightly against his face. “He doesn’t have a business to call, and there was absolutely no number listed in his name.”

  “I was hoping to visit him tonight, but by the time we arrive and check into our hotel, it’s going to be too late, especially for a man that age. We’ll regroup and head over first thing in the morning.” I imagined Brian Hardy would wake up with the crack of dawn, probably reading the newspaper with a cup of coffee and a hodgepodge of medication.