The Secret of the Stones (14 page)

Chapter
22

Georgia
Mountains

The
pale glow of the laptop illuminated the corner of the kitchen where Tommy sat.
Frustration and exhaustion were written all over him.
 

He’d
been working on the translation from Dr. Borringer for the last five hours with
little success.
 

Tommy
had relentlessly searched the Internet for clues, cross referencing all of the
words in the translation, but had, thus far, come up with zilch.
 
This riddle wasn’t something for which
Google had an easy answer.
 

The
guards had been trading off every couple of hours, taking turns watching the
computer screen to make sure that their captive didn’t try to send some kind of
rescue email out.
 
Their vigilance
had proven to be without a crack so he’d been forced to keep working, hoping
that something would give.
 

Glancing
down at his watch, he couldn’t believe how late it was.  He’d been awake
so long.
 
His legs were numb from
sitting for such a long time.
 
“Dude, I need to stretch for a second.
 
Is that alright with you?”
 

The
neck-less guard nodded, standing at an angle behind the prisoner.
 
Tommy stretched out his arms over his
head and tried to lean over to touch his toes just to get the circulation back
in his legs for a few brief moments.
 
Break time over, he slipped back into the wooden nemesis he’d been
trapped in for the better part of the evening.
 
The guy with the flat top hair cut remained standing.

The
nocturnal sound of a whippoorwill’s song resonated from the darkness in a tree
outside the kitchen window.
 
As the
hours plodded on, every little noise had become a distraction.
 
Thoughts of sleep entered Tommy’s mind
and muddled his progress.
 
His eyes
kept begging to close as the drowsiness seeped into his brain.
 
Again, the bird whistled its melody,
communicating to another bird in some unseen tree in the woods.
 
He let his eyes turn from the LCD
screen to the glass and beyond.
 
Outside, the night sky was clear and the stars sparkled brightly against
the black canvas.
 
He found himself
standing again, this time with his face pressed close against the smooth, clear
surface.
 
Flat top had a forlorn
look on his face as the other security guy had come back for his shift.
 
For the first time since arriving at
this place, Tommy heard one of the men speak.
 

“What
is the meaning of this?”
 
A thick
accent sounding like Russian made the words sound sharp and accusing.
 

The
other guard didn’t say anything.
 
He just stood sheepishly to the side, eyes averted.

Looking
back to the man who’d just spoken, Tommy said, “He was just letting me stretch
my legs.
 
I’ve been in here working
all night.”

“You
sit down.”
 
Blunt and to the point,
this guy had a severe lack of social skills.
 
He turned his angry gaze at the, apparently, submissive
sentry who had not done his job properly.
 
Whatever was said between the two was in another language.
 
Tommy was certain it was Russian.
 
The exchange was brief and ended with
the previous guard nodding in agreement, a defeated look on his face.
 

“Look,
man.
 
I’m not trying anything
funny.
 
My legs were going numb and
I just needed to stretch for a second.”

“Get
back to work and be quiet.
 
Mr.
Ulrich will be returning soon, and if he finds you standing around not working,
it will not be good.”

For
a second, Tommy contemplated the big man’s words.
 
He looked out the window again at the sky then said, “Can we
please just go outside for thirty seconds?
 
I’m getting sleepy, and I need some fresh air.
 
I can‘t work like this forever.”

The
sentinel looked at the one who’d been standing watch for the last few hours,
still sheepish in the corner of the breakfast nook.
 
Stubbornly, he shook his head again as he would to a child
reaching for a forbidden cookie.

“Listen
man,” Tommy pleaded, “I’m not trying to get away here.
 
And if I was, where would I go?
 
If you guys want me to figure this
riddle out, you gotta give me a little leeway here.
 
I will work much better if I can get the blood flowing
again.”

Contemplating
the circumstances, the guard finally caved, apparently seeing no harm in
letting their captive go outside for a minute or two.
 
“We give you one minute outside.
 
But if you try anything, I shoot you in the knee.”
 
The humorless look on the man’s face
told Schultz he would do it without even thinking.

“Thank
you,” Tommy said with a grateful half-smile.
 

The
three of them left the laptop on the bistro table and made their way through a
picture-laden hallway.
 
All of them
were photographs of places from around the world, some famous and some not:
 
Saint Mark’s Cathedral in Venice, the
façade at the temple of Edfu in Egypt, a Grecian temple whose name he could not
recall, but certainly seemed familiar.
 
Turning left out of the corridor, the group entered a large
ante-chamber.
 
Even in the dark,
Tommy could tell the room was elaborately furnished.
 
The tapestries descended from windows that reached almost
ten feet.
 
In the center of the
room were two high-backed leather smoking chairs placed in such a way that the
sitters could enjoy the view of the hills below while discussing the ups and
downs of the global financial markets.
 

The
submissive guard stepped quickly to the French doors that led out onto a
patio.
 
The cool, autumn air felt
refreshing as they strode across the threshold and into the night.
 

“You
stop here,” the larger guard crossed his arms forebodingly.

Tommy
did as told, stopping at the railing of the large wooden deck they’d come
to.
 
Again, he stretched his arms
and legs, letting the circulation get back into his extremities.
 
Taking several large breaths helped
too, filling his lungs with the invigorating night air.

The
bird he’d heard before must have found a friend because now there were two of
them chirping happily in the dark silhouettes of trees.
 
Tommy’s eyes drifted higher, beyond the
treetops, into the dark sky.
 
Seeing so many stars always gave him a sort of odd peace.
 
With such a huge universe out there, he
couldn’t help but feel small and yet, in his heart he knew that the role he
played in life was a significant part of some grander scheme.
 

He
considered where his friend might be at the moment, hoping that Sean was
looking for him.
 
They had been
through so much together…of course Wyatt was searching.
 
Tommy would do the same for his friend
if the circumstances were reversed.
 
All of these things played through his mind while he continued to scan
the diamond speckled canvas above.
 

Suddenly,
a shooting star crossed the face of the deep beyond, streaking quickly for only
a second before disintegrating into invisibility.
 
Turning to the two guards Tommy said sarcastically, “Make a
wish boys.”
 

They
looked at each other with confusion, obviously not having seen the flashing
meteor.
 
The bigger guard simply
said, “Time is up.
 
You get back to
work now.”
 

Tommy
started to turn around and follow the two hulking men back into the house when
it hit him.
 
He stopped his steps
and turned his head back to the sky.
 
“I’ve got it!”
 
His
excitement surprised even himself.

“What
is it?”
 
The smaller guard asked,
again receiving a chastising look from his superior.

“The
chariots of heaven!
 
Did you guys
see that shooting star?”
 
Tommy’s
exhilaration overpowered his fatigue causing him to sound like a raving madman.

This
time, the larger man grabbed Tommy by the arm and yanked him back to the
house.
 
Even though the guy was a
mountain, he’d underestimated the strength the guard possessed.
 

As
they forced the hostage back through the double doors, he took one last look up
in the sky.
 
Another space rock
appeared, burning brightly as it soared through the blackness, then
disappeared.
 
Being dragged backward
by his arms, Schultz didn’t struggle.
 
Instead, he started laughing.
 

The
whole time that he had spent searching for the chambers, Tommy believed that
the ancient rooms might be located somewhere else in the world, that he’d been
wrong to hope the magnificent find was near.
 
Sure, there were a few clues scattered throughout Georgia,
but surely a treasure of such amazing significance couldn’t be there.
 
Yet he and others, like DeSoto and
Ponce de Leon, were convinced that the entire chambers were located somewhere
in the southern United States.
 
Now, after searching for so many years, the riddle was starting to come
together.
 
And Tommy started
thinking that maybe, just maybe, DeSoto was right all along.
 

There
was only one place that he could think of anywhere that could contain the
description in the riddle.
 
He just
hoped that Sean would come to the same conclusion.

Chapter
23

Cartersville,
Georgia

After
serving the coffee, Joe had left his guests alone in the living room for a few
minutes, not explaining where he was going.
 
When he returned, he had a somber look on his face and was
gripping something in his worn fingers.
 
He opened his hand, revealing something that astonished both of the
visitors.

“Is
that what I think it is?”
 
Sean
couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
 

“It
is.”
 

“But
how did you get it?”

“I
received a package from Frank earlier today.
 
This stone was inside.”
 
Joe carefully handed the disc to Sean.

He
continued while Sean inspected the medallion.
 
“When you told me that Frank had been murdered, I was
initially shocked.
 
Frank and I
have known each other a long time.
 
But if Frank had figured out the code on this stone, it could be the first
step toward finding the most incredible treasure in history.
 
And if someone found out about this
stone and that Frank was working on it, that certainly explains his murder and
Tommy’s disappearance.”
 

Sean
and Allison were both still looking at the ancient medallion.
 

“How
much do you know about the chambers, Joe?”
 
Sean looked up at his friend, trying to piece all the
information together.

Joe’s
lively eyes lingered briefly in thought, then darted up, perched above a wide
grin.
 
“I’d be glad to tell
ya.
 
But first, I want to know what
you know about them.”
 
He wagged
his rough finger at the air in Sean’s direction in a playful gesture.

“Well,”
he replied, somewhat unsure of himself.
 
He took a look at Allyson and then back at the curious face staring at
him from a few feet away, “According to most of the mainstream legends, seven
priests left their parishes in Spain when they came under attack by the
Moors.
 
No one is sure about the
timeframe, but it could have been somewhere between 800-1000 A.D.
 
These priests sailed west and
constructed a city of gold, El Dorado, Cibola, whatever you want to call
it.
 
Again, I’m not sure why.
 
Down through the centuries from around
1150 AD to the present, explorers have searched for the lost city.
 
Francisco Coronado was perhaps the most
famous to try and find it.
 
There
were rumors that Cortez believed it to be Mexico.
 
DeSoto was relentless in his quest throughout the
southeastern United States.
 
Ponce
de Leon was also said to have been trying to locate it.
 
Of course, Ponce de Leon’s more
well-known search was for the fountain of youth, but some say that was only one
of two reasons he came to the new world.”
 

McElroy
smiled at the last statement.

“Anyway,
the lost city was never found, so, throughout history it has simply been
regarded as myth.
 
To most
historians, it still is.”
 
He took a
sip from his steaming cup of coffee as he finished.

“As
well it should be regarded that way.”
 
McElroy chimed in.
 
“Even
though the legend was originally a European folktale, the Indians learned that
by retelling the story and embellishing it, the invaders were pacified, at
least temporarily, by the thought of finding a city of unimaginable wealth.”

Joe
took a gulp of coffee then went on, “There is another story that Tommy and a
handful of others came across that bears a small resemblance, but has different
details.”
 

Allyson
sat quietly, completely out of her element.
 
All she could do was listen; her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Which
is the story that I believe to be far more valid,” Joe added.

Sean
nodded and went on, “A few people, Tommy being one of them, believe the core
part of the story about large quantities of gold in several places is
correct.
 
So, to them, the question
isn’t whether or not the gold exists.
 
It is where and in how many locations.
 
These researchers do not believe the part of the legend that
talks about seven golden cities.
 
They also don’t give any merit to the seven priests sailing west to
escape Islamic persecution or that Europeans even built these mystical places.”

“But
if the Europeans didn’t build them, who did?”
 
Allyson found the topic spellbinding.

“Native
Americans,” Sean answered in a matter-of-fact tone.
 
“But some of the facts became twisted and removed so that
the white settlers would never find the true locations.
 
There were never seven cities built
from gold, but there was a number which Tommy kept coming across in many places
all over the Southeast.
 
Through
the years of his research concerning the lost cities of gold, he kept coming
across the number four.
 
He found
many clues in ancient Native locations that led him to there were four
compartments or chambers.
 
So, it
was four golden rooms built by ancient native peoples, not seven cities built
by European settlers.”

“What
did they use these golden rooms for?” she had to ask.

“That’s
just it, no one really knows,” Sean answered.
 
“There are some ideas, but nothing really adds up.
 
They must have been used for ancient
ceremonies or rituals.
 
Native
Americans did not put a great deal of import on the material value of
gold.
 
It was more of a sacred
metal to them than anything else.”

“Perhaps,
this is where I may be able to shed some light on the story,” Joe
interrupted.
  

Sean
set his cup down and listened intently, glad to be out of the spotlight in the
conversation.
 
He had a feeling Joe
McElroy was about to enlighten them far more than he ever could on the current
situation.

The
older man’s face looked like he was ready to explode.
 
He started by saying, “There are several local legends that
have been passed around for the last fifty or so years that revolve around a
constant theme…Indian gold.”
 
After
pausing for a second, Joe went on, “Now, you won’t find these stories in any
history books.
 
In fact, they’re
probably more like family tales than local legends.” His eyes moved
dramatically from left to right as he spoke, peering at his audience.
 

“Most
of what I’ve heard came from my father, stories he’d heard from friends or
relatives.
 
The first legend,
supposedly took place not too far from here, up in the mountains where there is
a small river that leads to a waterfall.
 
This waterfall is probably around seventy feet high.
 
One day about thirty
 
years ago, some rock climber was scaling
the wall behind the falling water.
 
Not sure how you do that without slipping on the wet rocks, but this guy
did it.
 
When he got up near the
top, he found himself at the lip of a shallow cave.
 
After pulling himself up onto the ledge, he crawled back
into the dark space.
 
His eyes fell
upon something quite peculiar sitting on the ground in the corner of the small
room.
 
What he had found was a
stack of gold bars.”
 

McElroy
let what he believed to be a small climax set in with his audience.
 
“The climber picked up one of the heavy
bars and took it closer to the edge of the rock face so he could get a better
look at what he’d found.
 
Once in
the light, he discovered odd characters carved into the shiny yellow bricks.”

Allyson
and Sean cast each other a surprised look.
 
“What was it?”
 
She asked, mesmerized.

“An
ancient native form of writing that used a combination of symbols and pictures,
much like hieroglyphics,” he replied.
 
“Of course, the man who found the gold was not permitted to keep it
since it was discovered on government land.”
 
His tone had become cynical.

Sean
laughed, “Naturally.”

“Indeed,”
Joe chuckled.
 
“Have to say the Natives
were right not to trust our government.”
 
Taking one last gulp of the coffee, he returned the empty mug to the
wooden surface.
 
“Now, legend
number two spans about two hundred years and contains many fascinating
implications.
 

“Right
around the end of the 18th century, in the 1790s, there was a wealthy Cherokee
businessman named James Vann who lived in the area near Chatsworth,
Georgia.
 
He was a powerful leader
in the Cherokee nation and ran one of the most profitable plantations in the
state.
 
In 1804, he completed
construction of an elegant brick home on his large estate.
 
To this day it is Georgia’s best
preserved historical site.”
 

Joe
stood up and walked over to the fireplace.
 
The flames that had been crackling vibrantly before had died
down to just a flicker.
 
He grabbed
another log from the stack next to the hearth and placed it in the fire before
stoking the coals with an iron poker.
 
The two visitors looked like children sitting around a campfire
listening to ghost stories, so he went on, “James Vann had a charmed life for
an Indian, right up until 1809 when he was mysteriously murdered.”

“Murdered?”
 
Allyson chimed in.

“Yes.
 
Murdered.
 
They never found the killer, and no one knows why they did
it.
 
Oh, sure, there were suspects.
 
Rival Cherokee leaders, jealous white
settlers, even his son Joseph was a suspect.”

“His
son?”
 
Sean asked.

“Uh
huh.
 
In fact, his son stood to
gain the most from the death of his father.
 
When James died, Joseph inherited the entire estate.
 
And over the next thirty years after
the murder, Joseph became even more prosperous than his father.
 
He owned more land and had accumulated
more wealth than any other Cherokee tribesman in the state, and possibly in the
nation.”

Allyson
had an inquisitive look on her face.
 
“So, what does this have to do with our scenario?”

Joe
smiled.
 
“I’m getting to that.
 
In 1838, Andrew Jackson and the federal
government ordered the relocation of all Cherokee Indians.
 
They were forced to move to
Oklahoma.
 
The Creek Indians had
already been removed ten years earlier to separate reservations in the West.”

“The
Trail of Tears,” Sean said somberly.

Joey
nodded, “One of the most appalling things our government has done in our
country’s history.
 
Men, women and
children forced to march through the fierce winter, given little food and even
less shelter.”
 
He looked down,
seemingly touched personally by the thought of the grim tale.
 
“It was such a strange turn of
events.
 
There were around 17,000
Cherokee in western Georgia in the 1830s.
 
John Ross, the principal chief of the Cherokee Nation, fiercely fought
the notion of relocation for nearly three decades.
 
In fact, there were white members of congress who tried to
prevent the removal from happening.
 
Most notably was Tennessee congressman, Davy Crockett.
 
By siding with the Cherokee, Crockett’s
political career was ruined, and we all know what happened to him soon
thereafter.”
 
Pausing in his story,
Joe plopped back down on the couch.

“I
just don’t understand how the United States government could do something like
that,” Allyson’s voice was full of empathy.

“Well,
it was a weird sequence of events,” Joe sighed.
 
“Ten years before the Cherokee were relocated, the Creek
Indians were taken from their lands when one of their acknowledged leaders,
Chief McIntosh, signed the Treaty of Indian Springs.
 
All the U.S. government needed to move the Creek was that
signature.
 
Less than a year later,
McIntosh was found dead, stabbed by one of his own people.
 

“By
1832, there was a division among the Cherokee.
 
John Ross held sway over the majority, but there was a small
contingent of about five hundred Indians that supported three other leaders:
 
Major Ridge, his son, John, and Elias
Boudinot.
 
These three men met with
Congress behind the backs of John Ross and the rest of the Cherokee nation and
signed the Removal Act as representatives of the Tribe.
 
That was all Andrew Jackson and the
Feds needed.
 
Daniel Webster and
Henry Clay, two notable figures in history, pleaded that the act not be
ratified.
 
It happened,
nonetheless, and General John Wool was ordered to invade the Cherokee
lands.
 
Wool was a good man and knew
to do such a thing was morally unjust.
 
He refused and resigned his post.
 
So, replacement General Winfield Scott went in with seven thousand
troops and did the job.