The Lost Tribes, page 13
Ben clenched his teeth and studied his uncle through a blur of near tears. Just one more test to humiliate him. It didn’t matter what he achieved, or what he earned, his uncle would always delight in showing him what an insignificant insect he was. He would not show weakness. Not here.
“Ben, go start your homework.” His father’s voice was soothing and gentle.
Ben started to protest when his father cut him off using an unfamiliar tone.
“NOW!”
Once inside, Ben fumed. He’d completely forgotten his mission — to scope out the satellite dish. He glanced out the kitchen window toward the scene on the driveway. Second fight in a week, this time with his father doing all of the yelling. Uncle Henry stood emotionless while Ben’s father — basketball in hand — unleashed a tirade muted by thick panes of glass. He walked in tight circles around Uncle Henry, while bouncing the basketball absentmindedly … and perfectly. His father controlled the ball like it was an integral part of his body. Not once did he look at it.
Ben froze, unable to breathe. His father’s sudden skill set off all kinds of internal alarms. The ball bounced in a slow, rhythmic cadence synchronized with his father’s footsteps on the driveway. Had his father been this good all along? If so, why would he hide it?
Brandishing his finger at Ben’s uncle, his father began slamming the ball to the ground with so much force it deformed into an oval before returning to his father’s palm. The dark cloud rolled over the house, blocking the sunlight and casting a shadow over his father and uncle. Uncle Henry cocked an eyebrow as he tilted his head skyward. The cloud evaporated and the sunlight returned.
Without a word, Uncle Henry turned on his heels and walked away. Ben’s father, his face a mask of anger, walked toward the house. As he neared he tossed the ball over his shoulder.
Ben gasped as the ball soared thirty feet across the driveway, landed dead center in the net and remained there.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Den
“Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.”
Aldus Huxley
Ben tossed and turned until his comforter surrendered and fell to the floor. He hated his uncle. HATED him. But after seeing his father’s sudden basketball skills, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his uncle was the only one telling him the truth. But what was there to be truthful about?
“ … time to tell the children about the family business.”
All through dinner, his father shot weary looks at Ben’s mother who sighed and picked at her food. Whatever was going on, they weren’t trying to hide their feelings anymore.
“ … clock is ticking, Ben.”
His clock read 1:30 a.m. It was already Wednesday. Only one day left and he was hopelessly behind. The girls found a gold disk at a Mayan ball court in Guatemala. The game now displayed three gems, three star charts and three letters which spelled SON. Ben’s first thought was Star Wars. “Luke, I’m your father.” It was as if he were trying to solve a puzzle for which there was no solution.
And what was the point of trying? When he received a 98 on a science test, his uncle asked, “Where’s the other two points?” then followed up with a lecture on Charles Drew and some dead Egyptian guy named Imhotep. When Ben drew a picture of the space shuttle — and earned a first place ribbon at a student exhibit — it turned into a rant about how long it took for NASA to put a man on the moon. And now the crack about basketball not being a part of his future? Carlos was right. He was never going to get Uncle Henry’s approval.
Never.
He punched his fist into his pillow, slipped and hit the edge of his nightstand instead. His knuckle throbbed with pain and cried out for an ice pack.
Slipping downstairs, he spotted a light underneath the door to his father’s den. It was now or never. Time to get answers.
Ben knocked. “Dad?” Hearing no answer, opened the door a crack. His father tilted backwards in a large leather chair, feet propped above the desk and spoke into a wireless headset, his tone agitated. Aris lay wedged in the narrow gap between his father’s shoulders and the chair. His tail flicked contentedly as he purred.
Across the room, a state-of-the-art plasma monitor rose eight feet tall and twelve feet wide. His father had said it was on loan from an overseas funder, very sensitive equipment that wouldn’t be on the market for several years. So test-driving the theater-sized screen with a few action flicks was out of the question.
Ben’s stomach tightened. The monitor began streaming images of large glass boxes filled with hundreds — maybe thousands — of animals: lions, elephants, rhinos and giraffes.
“Consat! Safina ni kamili,” Ben’s father said.
“Askar,” the computer responded as the animals dissolved into thin air.
Ben’s head was spinning but he kept repeating the phrase to himself, so he could look it up later. “ Safina ni kamili. Safina ni kamili”
Stabbing at the keyboard, his father’s voice dropped to a low growl. Satellite data and rotating images of Earth filled the screen. The cursor moved left, to Europe, then zoomed in on the United Kingdom. Ben recognized the outermost island as Ireland but recalling a year-old geography lesson made his brain hurt. A box bisected with crosshairs hovered over the larger of two islands — Great Britain — then moved southeast to …
London.
Soon the screen displayed floor plans and old buildings connected by a central glass dome. Ben’s father barked unintelligible commands at the monitor. African? Russian? Ben couldn’t tell. But each time the monitor responded “Askar.”
The den burst with the same glittery fireworks as the game. Ben gasped and clamped his hand over his mouth before the sound escaped. Although the door was open only an inch or two, he stepped backwards into the shadows to keep from being seen.
A floating hologram opened to the left of his father’s chair and filled with technical schematics. His father scanned through the documents so fast Ben wondered how he could read them. He felt flushed and willed his heart to stop beating triple time.
A second and third hologram exploded out of the monitor. A golden, red-jeweled eagle spun in midair next to two wire-frame drawings. The drawings solidified to form a silver box and a transparent disc.
Ben bit his lip.
His father barked another garbled command. The den transformed into a hologram of the building’s interior. It looked as if he were driving through the rooms while sitting in his chair. He navigated through rooms filled with Egyptian artifacts, colossal stone statues of Pharaohs, sarcophagi, and a statue of a black cat that looked like Aris. A sign near one of the mummy cases read: The British Museum
A beam of light, like the one Ben had seen in Peru, crept over and around everything and everyone in the corridor. The tourists didn’t seem to notice. Box codes similar to the game locations streamed along the walls of the den as Ben’s father scanned sculptures, friezes, tablets and artwork, growling when someone blocked his view. He navigated to a room marked “Special Exhibits.” An object in a glass display matched the one rotating in the holographic window at his side.
“Got it! Second floor, special exhibit. Heavily guarded.”
Ben’s pulse raced and his whole body grew numb. He drew in long slow breaths, careful not to make a sound or give his position away.
“No. I’m not sure it’s authentic,” His father continued. “Can Cheryl get access? She’s got reciprocity and a security clearance.”
Cheryl?
“Yes. Sure. I understand. I forgot about the ritual. We can get it out ourselves. Medie synthesized a duplicate.”
Pause
“No. It would look suspicious if I took another trip this soon plus I’ve got a mound of homework to grade. I’ll put another team on it.”
Pause.
“Bamiyan is irrelevant. There must be a fail safe. A contingency for emergencies.”
Pause.
“I won’t evacuate.”
Pause.
“We’ve got two, I won’t give up until the entire collection is assembled.”
Pause.
“Shan can go without you. Tibet’s a walk in the park compared to London. Too much surveillance. Frank’s back in Peru. I think it’s a dead trail, but he’s positive something’s there. Better to have him in Peru anyway. You know Frank. The clock’s ticking. He’d just blast a hole in the building and take it.”
Shan? Shan Choedon? Cheryl Hightower? Frank Lopez?
The neighbors?
Ben clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp.
“I’ve been working on something,” his father said, “but it will take three agents to pull this off. I don’t want Kurosh to know what we’re attempting. He’s set on aborting the mission …”
Kurosh? Ben thought. Who’s that?
“Ignore his orders!” Ben’s father barked. “This could buy us some time. Take a look at this. I finished it yesterday.”
Two avatars entered the exhibit, walked around the display case and placed clear discs on the corners. Once attached, laser beams shot toward the ceiling creating a bubble around the display case. A third man, an avatar of Ben’s father, entered the envelope. A second later the beams retracted. The glass case was intact, but a golden bird was in his hand, its duplicate now on display.
Ben’s chest muscles squeezed against his ribcage. He blinked hard to keep tears from starting. Now he knew — the family business — Paradise Circle was a community of international jewel thieves.
“Tomorrow then,” his father said.
The hologram retracted. Ben’s father removed his headset, tossed it on the desk, then flicked a rubber ball toward a map hung between two windows. He snatched the ball from the air on its return flight and sent it spinning once again. Each time, the ball hit the same spot on the map — northern Africa — and returned to Ben’s father who caught it … with one hand.
Ben tried to slip away but found himself frozen to the spot and gasping for air. Aris jerked up, swished his tail angrily and hissed. His father turned suddenly, sending the cat tumbling to the floor.
The monitor returned to a screen saver of the university. Ben blinked. The keyboard console vanished.
“Ben! How long have you been standing there?”
“I just got here,” Ben lied, forcing himself to breathe.
His father drew in a longer than normal breath before speaking. “You okay?”
Ben’s heart hammered. He willed himself to say something. Anything. But all he felt was a mixture of fear and confusion. “It’s … umm … late. It can wait.”
“No,” his father said while stuffing papers into his briefcase. “It can’t. Come on in.”
Terrified, Ben took a few tentative steps into the room. But his legs felt like rubber so he leaned against the doorframe instead.
“Ben, I — ”
“Dad, I … I found something in the woods behind the house,” Ben blurted out, cutting him off. “Something weird.” Ben searched his father’s eyes and saw no reaction to his news.
“Like what?” His father maintained eye contact and gestured him into the room. Ben’s feet remained glued to the spot.
“A satellite dish. Carlos said his dad bought one and we found it.”
His father shrugged. “We always knew Frank was a space fanatic.”
“It’s big, Dad. Really big. Like … bigger than a house big.” Ben stretched his arms and made a wide sweep to illustrate the point.
“You sure you’re not exaggerating just a bit?” His father asked, his face expressionless.
Ben bit his lip and nodded. The whole thing did sound crazy.
His father let out a loud sigh. “He does a lot of stargazing. Probably robbing a diamond cartel to pay for his habit. Want me to look at it?”
Ben nodded.
“Okay. It’s too dark to search the woods right now. Let’s go see it in the morning.” His father walked toward him, paused, then turned and grabbed his phone.
Ben heard a vibration coming from the direction of the dish. “Did you hear that tremor?”
His father nodded. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Now You See It, Now You Don’t
“The reality of the other person is not in what he reveals to you, but in what he cannot reveal to you. Therefore, if you would understand him, listen not to what he says but rather what he does not say.”
Kahlil Gibran
6:30 a.m.
“I don’t understand. It was here. It was huge!” Ben searched in and around the stand of forty foot trees. He headed further into the woods and then circled back. “This has to be the spot,” he said, his panicked voice now higher by an octave as he spun 360 degrees. “It was right here!”
“Maybe you’d better start from the beginning,” his father said. “Give me a complete run-down on what you and Carlos were doing.”
As they continued down a path, Ben gave a quick synopsis about losing the basketball, finding the dish and hoping it would pick up sumo wrestling or other fun stuff. He skipped any mention of Casmir arrays, data downloads, and all the government systems they shut down.
“Each time we tried to find a cartoon, a vibration shook the house. I’m sure it was the dish, Dad. It came from behind the garage.”
“Lots of seismic activity around the world these days,” his father said casually. “Minor tremors are common for this area. Don’t worry about the house. It’s built on a rock solid foundation.”
“But the vibrations matched our search for TV shows.”
His father stopped cold in his tracks. After a few seconds of silence, he shrugged. “Did you ever think to just ask Frank about it? You’re not supposed to be in his office. Could have erased valuable research from his computer.”
“I’m willing to take the heat,” Ben said. “The computer seemed fine when we shut it off.”
A flock of birds suddenly flew out of the trees. A squirrel dropped a nut on Ben’s head, jumped to the branch of a neighboring tree, and scurried away. Aris scaled the tree in hot pursuit.
Confused, Ben glanced up the path, then around the woods again to get his bearings. They’d walked farther than he remembered and were now standing at the edge of a steep slope.
“I don’t understand. I climbed it. I touched it.”
His father rubbed his head. “If you say you saw it, I believe you saw it. I just don’t have an explanation I can give you right now.”
Ben studied his father’s expression and found only a hint of sadness. Or was it pity? “Maybe I took the wrong trail. Maybe it was a test model and they took it away.”
“And replaced it with fifty year old trees?”
Ben touched the trees, half expecting his hand to pass through them. Instead, he felt the rough, irregular bark of the Catalina Ironwoods that grew in the area. Moss spread up the south side of several trees. “This might be a clue. Doesn’t moss grow on the north side?”
His father scraped the green plant with his nail. “Usually. I’ll have your mother check it out.”
Ben’s head throbbed and he rubbed his temple. “Dad, I know something was here! Carlos saw it too.”
His father blew air across his parsed lips. “Well, kiddo, there’s nothing to see now and I’m starving. Let’s head back.”
Ben’s shoulders sagged as he surveyed the terrain one last time. There was no trace that anything had ever been there. And his father? Maybe Ben had it all wrong. They were co-conspirators who snuck out for burgers when his mom wasn’t looking. There had to be another explanation. His straight arrow dad had never lied to him.
“And I never will . . ,” said his father.
“Huh?” Ben was startled by the response.
“Never will understand why Frank won’t settle down.” His father raised one hand to his lips and shook his head. “When he gets back in town I’ll have a talk with him. In the meantime, I think you might still be dehydrated from the sweat lodge. I’ll talk to your mother about adjusting your vitamins.”
Ben choked. “Dad, a cheeseburger would perk me up a whole lot better than her drinks.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“And Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“You can stop faking now. I know.”
His father stopped in his tracks. “Know what?” His eyes narrowed and for a split second, he looked like Uncle Henry.
“About basketball,” Ben said. “I know you can play. Maybe even better than me. You’ve been faking all these years to make me feel better. How about we play this weekend and you can give me some real competition. Maybe this time you can show me what you’ve got, Hot Shot.”
His father let out a hearty laugh. “Deal. By the way, I think you’ve got a shot at making the NBA in a few years. You’ve really got game!” He put an arm around Ben’s shoulder as they walked the last few yards of the trail.
Buds for life. This man was not a spy. Just a dad. Ben released the pent up tension that had been trapped in his chest. He was so desperate for an adventure he had let his imagination get away from him.
At the edge of the woods, Ben spotted a satellite dish mounted on the roof of the Lopez garage. Small, gray and no more than three feet across, it had not been there before.
That evening, Ben caught a ride home with a teammate. He climbed out of the car, waved goodbye and walked toward the house. His body pumped with so much adrenaline his hands were shaking. He was off the bench and on the team. Starting Center, no less. Unstoppable. He couldn’t wait to tell someone. But with his mother and April at Girl Scouts and his dad working late, it would be an hour before anyone got home.
He turned off the house alarm and stretched. The oven timer clicked. Whatever his mother was cooking smelled good, but he knew the taste wouldn’t be. A message scribbled itself continuously on the kitchen computer.
