The Copernicus Legacy: The Forbidden Stone

  The island must have been all jungle at one time.

  She leaned over to Wade. “If Vela’s hidden in the jungle, our only hope of finding it is to trace every inch of the story from Magellan down to the present.”

  “Before the Order does,” he whispered.

  The driver turned his head nearly around to the backseat. “Sounds like a scavenger hunt! But you should know that what you’re seeing here is not the most dense jungle on the island. The real business is up north, beyond the air base. Ritidian, they call it—”

  “Another truck!” cried Darrell.

  Laughing, the driver plunged off the shoulder as the truck barreled past. “Ten minutes, and we’re there!”

  “If we make it,” Lily whispered.

  They did make it, finally, jerking to a stop in front of a winding driveway. Perched at the top was a modest pink bungalow with a wide, open porch across the front.

  “Call me when you need a ride,” the driver said.

  “Or maybe we’ll call a cab,” Darrell whispered.

  The man laughed. “Still no fatalities!”

  As he motored away, a slender, middle-aged woman with red hair strode down the path from the house, waving. “The university called and told me to expect you. I’m Janet Thompson.”

  Dr. Kaplan greeted her and introduced the kids. “We’re interested in whatever you—or your grandmother—might know about Magellan’s stop on the island in 1521.”

  “I’m sorting through Grandma’s papers right now,” she said. “Come in.”

  They gathered in her open living room, a homey collection of wicker furniture and island art, where she listened as they explained their search, giving her as much information as possible, but bypassing the “relics” or “time machine” or “fall into the wrong hands” business.

  “Something Magellan might have left here.” Janet frowned, then spun around and went straight to the back room of the house. She was back in a few minutes with a pile of books and pamphlets.

  “Antonio Pigafetta was an Italian writer, a member of Magellan’s crew and his friend. He wrote an eyewitness history of Magellan’s voyage from the moment they set sail from Spain. Chapter fifteen is where he describes the landing on Guam. He mentions the crew in several places, including Enrique, the captain’s servant.”

  “We’ve read that Enrique may have brought Magellan’s body here from the Philippines,” Roald said.

  She unrolled a map like the one in the Museo Copernicano, marking the stops on the voyage. “That’s the legend. No grave has ever been found.”

  “If Enrique was a friend of Magellan’s,” Darrell said, “and Magellan died in an attack, I mean, wouldn’t Enrique get his body out of there? I think he’d do everything he could to get it out of there. Wade, you’d get my body out of there if it was me, wouldn’t you? Bro?”

  Wade pretended to think about it. “I would, bro. But please don’t ask me to do that.”

  Darrell grinned. “I probably won’t. But it’s good to know that you’d be there for me.”

  “Pigafetta’s account is a bit sketchy,” Janet said, “but it was always Grandma’s belief that Magellan must have visited the Ritidian caves in the north. Let me get you my best island map.”

  She smiled and left the room, patting the head of a small wooden native sculpture of a warrior.

  While everyone pored over the books on the wicker table, Wade knelt over the map of Magellan’s voyage.

  “Thanks to Becca’s discovery, we know for sure that Magellan was the first Guardian. I’m thinking it’s like this. Magellan carries Vela all the way from Spain, looking for places all along the voyage. I mean, he doesn’t have any idea where he’s going to land.”

  “Plus remember,” said Becca, “Hans says that there had to be clues to the relic’s location in case they needed to reassemble the astrolabe.”

  “Right,” said Wade. “This is where Pigafetta comes in. Magellan tells him to write about each of these hiding places, because those descriptions may be the Guardians’ only clue to where the relic is eventually hidden. So they sail on, Magellan finding hiding spots here and there, and they land in Guam. It might be a good hiding place, but maybe there’s a better one coming up. So fine, he casts off to the next islands, the Philippines. Then, tragedy. The first Guardian is killed.”

  “And Enrique takes his body and Vela to the last safe place they found a hiding spot. Here in Guam,” said Darrell. “It makes sense.”

  Lily raised her eyes from the text. “Enrique disappears from the history a few days after Magellan is killed. Which is perfect, right? Pigafetta has to assume his history might be read by the Teutonic Order. So what does he do to keep the Knights from catching on? He drops Enrique from the history. In a single stroke, both Magellan and Enrique vanish from the story. Vela is hidden safely on Guam!”

  Roald was pacing and reading now. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, good. The clue to its exact location must be in this chapter.”

  “Except that half the chapter is Pigafetta talking about the velas Latinas that the island people had on their boats,” Darrell said. “He even has a really bad picture of it—”

  Roald studied the picture. He stood. “And that’s it.”

  “Dad?” said Wade.

  His father began to smile. “He doesn’t tell the location. He shows it. Look at this drawing, page sixty-two of the paperback. It’s labeled ‘Isles des Larrons,’ which is French for ‘Island of Thieves.’ This is what Pigafetta called the velas Latinas because the islanders stole from them.

  “The island is lumpy and not the shape of Guam at all,” Roald went on, “but that’s not the point. The point is that he’s drawn four rock formations, three in the south and central part of the island, and one in the north. They’re not anywhere near geographically accurate, but they’re not meant to be. He’s giving the Guardians a clue to the relic’s location. His mountains form a very distinct triangle, pointing directly north. It’s the same shape as the lateen sail—vela Latina—and, as if that’s not enough, the rigging of the boat depicted below the island is also a triangle, pointing to the same exact location—”

  A loud gasp came from behind them. “You . . . ?”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Lily nearly shrieked to see Janet Thompson standing in the doorway of the living room, trembling and pale as if she’d seen a ghost.

  Roald stepped toward her. “Is everything okay?”

  Janet stared at him. She was crying. “This is what she meant!”

  Lily couldn’t help herself. She went over to her. “What’s the matter? Tell us . . .”

  “Grandma told me there was something on the island. Something secret that I shouldn’t touch, shouldn’t lose, unless . . . unless . . . someone said a word . . . I heard you say it.”

  Roald tried to get her to sit. She wouldn’t.

  “There’s the famous story of Shoichi Yokoi, a soldier who hid out in the Ritidian caves from the end of World War II until 1972. Twenty-eight years alone in the caves. Grandma met him once. She used the same word you did. She said Shoichi Yokoi was a . . . a guardian.”

  No one moved.

  “Grandma told me that I should only open it if a ‘guardian’ approached me with a key. You said that word. Are you guardians? Do you have the key?”

  Wade was shaking. “Dad?”

  His father’s eyes went back and forth between Janet and him, then he nodded. Wade removed the dagger from under his shirt. When she saw it, Janet put her hands to her face and her eyes filled with tears again.

  “May I?”

  Wade handed it to her. While she examined it, they told her everything as quickly as they could, sparing no detail of their journey, from the email in Austin to Berlin to Bologna, and all the rest.

  Janet listened closely, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and wheeled around to the wooden statue of a warrior on the table by the door. She inserted the dagger carefully into the top of its head and turned it. It didn’t budge. br />
  “Counterclockwise,” Wade said. “Three times.”

  Lily’s heart was pounding hard enough to explode as she watched Janet turn the dagger three revolutions. A small compartment on the back of the statue flipped open and a small photograph fell out.

  “Oh, Grandma,” Janet said.

  At the word Grandma, Lily shook inside. She understood that the mystery of the Copernicus Legacy was all about people, good and bad, over the centuries. Copernicus himself. Hans Novak. Magellan. Uncle Henry. Grandma Thompson. The Teutonic Knights. The creepy lady, too.

  And now, finally, the legacy had brought their little group right here to Janet Thompson’s cute pink house.

  She handed them the photo.

  It was a Polaroid snapshot of a rough stone outcropping near the blackness of a cave entrance. On the wall next to the opening, located about five feet above the ground, was the outline of a small, upside-down hand. It was blue.

  “Grandma discovered many caves, many of them, with native paintings,” Janet said. “The paintings were always in black and red, the color coming from plants. Never blue.”

  Wade gasped. “So that’s it, then. The cave with the blue hand is the one we want.”

  The room was getting more and more quiet, more hushed; then Lily turned the photograph over. And there they were.

  “Numbers.”

  La 13.649323

  Lo 144.866956

  Roald sucked in a breath. “Coordinates.”

  Without delay, Janet keyed them into her computer, then turned back to them, her cheeks still wet. “In the jungle east of Ritidian Point . . .”

  The room went quiet as the sun baked the bungalow, and the light between the blinds turned silver. Late-morning insects buzzed across the lawn and into the fringes of the jungle beyond.

  “After her meeting with Shoichi,” Janet said finally, “I remember stories about how Grandma went into the jungle alone one day. After that she never went back. Her final expedition, she called it. Grandma has been gone almost fifteen years now.”

  Becca’s eyes closed for the longest time, then opened again. “Your grandmother understood that Shoichi must have seen the relic when he lived in the caves. She came back to Guam to make sure. And once she was sure, and the relic was safe, she let go.”

  “She never told me,” Janet said.

  Roald pressed her hand lightly. “I wonder if, in a way, your grandmother did tell you. You have all the pieces of the story. You wouldn’t need to put them together unless . . . well, unless someone was coming for the relic.”

  “That’s right,” Lily added. “Carlo told us that some Guardians don’t know they’re Guardians until they need to.”

  Janet wiped a tear from her cheek. “So you’re saying that Vela, this relic, whatever it does, is protected by the Guam National Trust. And the Trust is guarded by . . .”

  Dr. Kaplan said, “You. You’re a relic Guardian. The current Guardian of Vela.”

  As if the quiet weren’t enough, the air itself seemed to sweep out of the room, and Janet slumped into a chair and covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Grandma! She always told me to protect the caves. I thought she meant for their beauty, but it was so much more . . .”

  Becca realized then the real strength of the relic Guardians. It was based on a kind of love. No matter how strong the Teutonic Order was, no matter how much money or jets or guns they had, this—what she was seeing right now—was something else entirely.

  A bond that couldn’t be broken by evil. She thought of her sister Maggie then and wanted to hold her as close as she had the day she left the hospital.

  “Thank you, Janet,” Roald said, rising to his feet. “This is . . . well, amazing. We never could have put this together without you.”

  “Nor me, without all of you,” she said. “Good luck. Take the photo. I guess this means that . . . you’re the Guardians now.”

  Wade placed the photo carefully into the notebook.

  Becca barely held in her tears. “Thank you,” she said, and they left.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Now Becca wanted to scream.

  No sooner had they checked into their hotel than the room phone rang. Lily dived for it. “Hello?” She passed it to Roald.

  For the next several minutes they tried to read his face. His eyes narrowed, he sat, he stood, and finally he breathed out. “But she’s all right? She’s safe? Yes, thank you.” He checked his watch. “And our guide to the caves? Thanks.” He hung up.

  “Is it Mom?” said Darrell. “What happened?”

  “No, no. It was the university,” he said. “Janet Thompson’s house was broken into. She got out, she’s fine, but what they didn’t steal, they burned.”

  “The Order knows,” said Wade. “They followed us. They’ll find the relic.”

  “Not without the coordinates they won’t,” said Becca.

  It was deep afternoon when an olive Jeep Cherokee roared up to their hotel, an older man with graying hair in a military buzz cut at the wheel. “Sergeant Connor,” he said, “but call me Connor.” Then he went on to say that he used to be a Navy SEAL and knew the jungles backward and forward.

  Becca had heard the term before. Navy SEALs were members of an elite combat group that handled only the most dangerous missions.

  “I hear you have decimal coordinates,” Connor said.

  Roald gave him the numbers, and he plugged them into his GPS. “Ritidian Caves. It’ll take us the better part of an hour to get to the general area. Another hour on foot to the caves. All aboard.”

  “Let’s do this,” Roald said.

  Forty-five minutes later they were off the highway, bouncing over dirt roads and rutted paths into the northernmost section of the island.

  Wade was keeping to himself, his face dark with worry.

  The jungle surrounding them was immense, a sea of tangled green, wet and noisy and hot. Becca tried to keep the claustrophobia from getting to her.

  Just focus on Vela, she told herself.

  “We’re entering an island preserve thousands of acres in size,” Connor told them. “The northern jungle is home to tree snakes, giant pigs, wild boars. Also wasps. There was this one time a family like yours went in . . . well . . . never mind. The point is, be careful of wasps. They’re big and numberless. Also, colonies of bats live in the caves.”

  It sounded as if he had good stories that probably wouldn’t go over so well, so he didn’t tell them. “Another three, four miles and we’ll have to stop and go on foot. Two more miles from there to the cliffs. Two long miles. You can start gearing up.”

  Wade kept looking back over his shoulder at the road behind.

  “It’s old-school now,” Darrell murmured. “A race to the caves.”

  Lily shifted in the seat next to Becca. “As long as we win. . . .”

  “Can I ask what you’re hoping to find in the caves?” Connor asked.

  Roald said. “Well . . . it’s . . .”

  “Secret,” Wade said.

  Connor nodded. “Classified, huh? Understood.”

  The ride, as bumpy and uncomfortable as it was, was over too soon. The breeze stopped when the Jeep did, and a suffocating wet heat took its place. Connor transferred the coordinates to a topographical map and shut off the GPS. When they began the trek on foot, the talking stopped. Even at an angle, the sun was a furnace that burned all the words out of them. The air was silver and stifled breath. Becca’s arms, legs, face, eyes—everything was sweating. A brief wind stole in over the water, and it was just as wet and hot. Then a bank of dark blue clouds moved in the western sky.

  “Is it going to rain?” asked Lily.

  Connor half turned his head. “The word rain doesn’t cover what you’ll see here, miss,” he said, revealing a light Southern accent. “Those clouds there signify that a typhoon is approaching. The Chamorro word for rainstorm is chata’an. But even that doesn’t cover the drenching we’ll get. At most we’ll have an hour before this here becomes
a world of mud and snakes. Our best hope is to get you to the caves before it starts. After that, all bets are off.”

  Just keep moving.

  A little farther on, Connor gestured to the path rising ahead of them. “It gets rocky from here. The ground is exposed coral in some places, so watch you don’t fall. I remember one time this kid . . .”

  He drifted off.

  Using only the map now, they came upon a narrow run of bare ground skirting the cliffs. “It’s straight ahead, more or less,” he said. But the path quickly disappeared into tall grass, prickly brambles, and densely growing vines and trees that Connor had to chop through with a machete.

  Lily slowed, grabbing Becca’s arm. “Shh . . . everyone . . .”

  In the sudden quiet, they made out the sound of leaves whipping not too far behind them.

  “They’re out there,” Wade said, pressing forward.

  Time is running out.

  The Order will find the cave.

  The blue hand. The blue stone. Vela.

  “Hoods up,” Connor said.

  The heat suffocated, the sky blackened by the minute, and after three abrupt turns through some new growth, Becca realized she no longer had any concept of direction. Her skin tingled and her ears buzzed with the unceasing roar of insects. The moisture in the air was already thick and heavy and was somehow getting more so. It made walking seem like swimming and breathing nearly impossible.

  “I don’t like jungles,” she gasped.

  “You just decided that?” Lily said. “I feel like I’m underwater. Seriously, Bec. When we get home, we’re going to Nordstrom. Not to shop. Just to get cool.”

  Becca wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth for fear she would throw up. Everything hurt, her muscles felt sick, and her blood felt as thick and hot as engine oil. And the sight of fist-size beetles scuttling up and down on branches and across the ground, flying from tree to tree, made her more nauseous.