The young man crouched down low. He looked around. He knew guards would not be far away. His mind raced over what to do.
The young man’s heart sank as he realized he had no options. He knew he could not help this man. He was alone, without any backup, and he could not risk being captured. Not with what he possessed and with the knowledge he had. The journey back was treacherous enough as it was. He also knew that a missing prisoner would immediately result in a search party being sent out. And this prisoner was injured. It was unlikely this man could make the trip back without aid. That would narrow his odds of getting back even further, especially now, knowing that enemies were already closing in.
His big, dark eyes conveyed the deep, heartbreaking regret he felt.
The man, though tied and bound, tried to protest, to beg for help.
The young man’s eyes filled with tears. He shook his head. He mouthed the words, “Lo siento,” to express how sorry he was. Then he did one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. He turned and left.
As he departed, tears streamed down his face. He thought of how it would feel to be tied up, helpless, at the mercy of these men, then seeing another who could help, but chose not to. He could not even explain to the man why he did what he did. He was crushed, but the cathedral cave and those artifacts were sacred to his people, and the danger of having them fall into the wrong hands, severe. He must carry on...
CHAPTER 1
Cuenca, Ecuador, present day
Rick awoke with a start. His heart was pounding and he was drenched in sweat. For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure of where he was.
He’d been haunted by nightmares ever since his foray to the Lost City of Gold in the Amazon jungle. The Mato Grosso was always with him. That ill-fated expedition had taken a deep toll on him. It had been almost two and a half years since he’d escaped that frightening place of inexplicable terrors. It felt like it had taken a piece of his soul.
He got up and stretched. He got a twinge of pain for his efforts.
“Ugh, getting old, Braeden,” he said to himself.
His mind and body were still recovering, in many ways, from his ordeal. He was never very good at sleep either, insomnia was something that he frequently had to contend with. These days were no different. He was feeling his age and then some.
He paced around his small, 400 square foot, one-bedroom, dingy apartment, working out some of the kinks. He walked over to the living room window. The sun hadn’t come up yet. The city of Cuenca, Ecuador was just waking up. The buzz of the night-time world was slowly being replaced by a different rhythm and sound as day prepared to take over from night. He watched as a shopkeeper made his way to his store, getting going early to prepare for the business of the day. A sign of hopefulness that customers would come and money would be made.
Rick sighed, in some ways he was like that shopkeeper, trying to make a life for himself. But unlike that shopkeeper, he was still trying to figure out where he belonged and what his true purpose was.
In the meantime, he’d been content with his life in this picturesque city. He appreciated the beauty of its Spanish colonial architecture, dating back to the 16th and 17th centuries, with cobblestone streets and red Spanish tile rooftops. It was a colorful and charming place, both friendly and low-key, which suited him just fine. He felt at home here. Or at least as much as he’d ever felt at home anywhere.
He’d actually come to this city for a very specific reason. He just hadn’t felt ready or energized enough to face that reason until recently, but now he didn’t want to sit still any longer. He’d wasted enough time licking his wounds and being at the mercy of his demons. He was tired of it. He was craving forward momentum, a way of reaching escape velocity from the deep rut he’d found himself in. It was time to once again try to do something that really mattered to him. Besides, sitting still had never been his strong suit. He always got too antsy to stay in one place too long. His spirit longed to wander, longed for adventure, longed to explore.
He headed for the shower. He looked up at the jury-rigged heating wires attached to the shower head.
“Damn thing’s going to electrocute me one day,” he said to himself, shaking his head.
He stripped off his plaid boxers and got in, washing the perspiration off. The water pressure was lacking, but at least it was fairly clean water. Something you came to appreciate in these parts.
After his shower, he rifled through his meagre wardrobe. He grabbed a torn, dark grey t-shirt off a chair and gave it a sniff. Not the freshest, but it would have to do. It was the cleanest one he had.
“Guess I’d better make my way to the local laundromat this week,” he mumbled to himself, as he donned the t-shirt and slipped on some jeans.
He made himself a pot of coffee and sat down at his small kitchen table. He loved Ecuadorian coffee. It was the best coffee he’d tasted anywhere in the world. He grabbed a local newspaper he’d picked up yesterday. It’d been the catalyst he was seeking.
He leaned back in his kitchen chair and sipped his coffee as he reflected on what had first drawn him
