It was a place she knew that was near inaccessible. And even more so during the height of the comet’s effect, as everything electronic was knocked out — nothing worked — and if you could find it, you couldn’t fly over it; even a compass went haywire.
Emma sat back, staring at the screen for a few more moments. She knew what would happen then — on that mountaintop, the world was turned on its head, as perhaps a snapshot of the first time the comet ever passed close to Earth was replayed over and over again, every 10 years. But it wasn’t just a vision of a long-dead history, but the worlds’ actual primordial past became a reality — then became now; there became here.
That window remained open for just over 24 hours, and when it closed, everything on that plateau vanished back to where it came from, and any visitors still inside that portal went with it. The way she understood it, the primordial jungle was still there, but only there in prehistory, 100 million years ago.
And that’s where Ben Cartwright was now. There was only one way to find out if he was safe, or even still alive, and that was to be there when the window opened again.
She sucked in a deep breath, filling her lungs as she reviewed her list. Last time, they had been dumb kids on an adventure, high on excitement and self-confidence. That had proved fatal.
This time, she’d be ready. This time, she’d have her eyes wide open, and she’d make damn sure that with the firepower and people she took with her, she’d give herself a fighting chance. She looked down at her list again — first things first: firepower.
CHAPTER 04
Emma pushed in through the door and stood just inside for a few moments, allowing her eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. It was two in the afternoon and the bar was near empty — except for one table near the rear wall.
Four hulking men sat there, shots and chasers in front of them — boilermakers. Little early for the hard stuff, she thought, but maybe not if your goal is chasing away demons.
They were dressed in denim and leather, and some might have mistaken them for bikers, except there was stubble but no beard, and their hair was crew-cut short.
The door opened and closed behind her and she ignored it, continuing to focus on the men. To her, they looked exactly how she expected them to look — ex-military on leave, temporarily or for good. She saw that one had a sleeve half-rolled up, and on the brawny forearm, there was a tattoo of a skull wearing a beret with a sword through it — Special Forces.
This is them, she thought, and walked straight up to the table. Four sets of eyes turned to her, appraising, enquiring, amused, but not defensive or alarmed.
“My name is Emma Wilson. I’m a friend of Ben Cartwright.”
The men’s eyes narrowed. “He sent you, did he?” The one with the tattoo carefully put his beer down.
“In a way, yes, he did,” she replied.
“You mean you used to be a friend.” His eyes slid back to her, and this time, his jaw was set.
Emma stood her ground. “No, I mean, I am. I think he’s still alive, and I also think, no, I know, he needs your help.”
One of the other men with a ginger crew-cut tilted his head to her. “Yeah, yeah, I know who you are now. You’re the chick that went down to the Amazon with Big Ben… and was the only survivor of the expedition.” His eyes drilled into her. “Eight walk in, and only one walks out—you. That’s some luck.”
Tattoo guy lifted his chin. “And how is it that a Special Forces guy of the caliber of Captain Cartwright doesn’t make it out, but a little girl like you does?”
“First up, I’m no little girl.” She glared at them. “And second, I’m alive because he saved my ass. I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for him. Bottom line, he got trapped there because he allowed me to escape.” Emma leaned her knuckles on their table. “I swore I’d rescue him, and I damn well will.” She straightened. “But I need some help.”
The men grinned and tattoo man chortled, lifting his beer to sip again. He drained a good third before lowering it. “We all need help with something, darling.”
Emma had been in Ben’s condo over the years and looked through his correspondence, his records, and old photos. And she knew the guys from his old mission team were the closest thing he had to friends.
She folded her arms. “If it was one of you in a jam, he’d be there like a shot to help. He was like that; always had his buddies’ backs.”
Tattoo snorted, but he looked less comfortable now. “Look, Ben was my brother in the field. Woulda died for the guy. But he’s been gone over nine years. I don’t know what happened in there to him, to you, and to all your friends. But you don’t go missing in the Amazon for nearly a decade and then come walking out. Know what I’m saying?”
Emma folded her arms and smirked. “What if I told you that in a few months, there’d be an opportunity to rescue him? That he’ll be there, waiting for us. I know it.”
The men sat and stared for a moment. Tattoo’s face dropped a little. “Give it up, miss, he’s gone.” He sighed. “If there was a chance he was alive… ” He shrugged. “We ain’t got the time for wild goose chases into the heart of darkness.” He looked up. “The Amazon eats people. But you already know that now, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I know it. And that’s why I need you. I expect it’ll be a few weeks’ work, plus some prep time.” She began to grin. “And I know that a thousand bucks a day expenses, for each of you, isn’t bad pocket money for just chasing geese.”
The men looked at each other for a moment, but then she added the knockout blow, “Plus a $100,000 bonus, for every one of you… when we return.”
The redheaded man spluttered and sat forward. Tattoo lifted his beer and drained it, and then slid it back on the tabletop. “Okay, you’ve got our attention.” He stuck a large hand out. “Drake Masterson.” He pointed to the redhead on his left, Fergus O’Reilly, and then to the next man, who was the color of dark coffee and had a lobe missing from one ear, Brocke Anderson, and then to the last, the youngest, but possibly the biggest. The man looked sullen and his eyes burned into Emma with something she thought might have been distrust or maybe animosity.
Drake thumbed toward him. “And last but not least, Ajax Benson.”
The big man smiled, but it was without a shred of humor of friendship, and all he did was momentarily display a silver tooth at the front of his mouth.
She nodded to each man. “Emma, Emma Wilson.”
Fergus reached behind himself and grabbed a chair from the next table. He skidded it up to their table. “We’re not saying yes. But like Drake said, you’ve got our attention. So sit down and tell us more.”
“Of course.” Got ‘em, she thought. She turned to the bar. “Another round here, and I’ll have the same as they’re having.”
Camilla Ortega slid into the bar behind Emma Wilson. She ordered a single scotch and then sidled into a booth at the other end of the bar from the table of men that Wilson was talking to.
She’d been an investigative journalist for over 20 years with Nacional De Venezuela, one of the most prestigious newspapers in all of South America. Nearly half of those two decades had been dedicated to finding out what happened to the Cartwright expedition of 2018.