Document 512

By Thomas Lopinski

While vacationing in South America with her father, young Renee Gorman soon realizes that her dyslexic qualities are the key to deciphering the clues in an old manuscript unlocking the powers of a mystical amulet. The symmetrical number or symbol "512" follows her everywhere, beckoning to be understood. Consequently, she attracts the attention of several unscrupulous characters who, hoping to profit from her discovery, chase her through a series of unnaturally carved tunnels that stretch from the ancient ruins of Tiahuanaco to the majestic peaks of Machu Picchu and eventually lead her to the legendary kingdom of Akakor, buried deep in the Amazon Rainforest. Along the way, she befriends a few travelers who help her evade capture and meets an Indian prince who might just be her true soul mate. Together, they unravel the secrets of a hidden world older than civilization itself, where the laws of quantum physics seem to transcend the boundaries we know here on earth. Document 512 delivers a combination of suspense, deceit, adventure, and intrigue that enlightens as it entertains, while making you question who we really are and where it is we come from. Reader Views 2012 Award winning novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Lopinski
• Release date: Feb 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301200153

Thomas Lopinski

Thomas grew up in a quaint small town in Illinois called Georgetown, which had one stoplight, one high school, one square, one lake, one police car and one hundred ways to get into trouble. It was a wonderful place to be a child. In his teens, he picked up a guitar and started playing in local rock bands while holding down a day job. He studied at the University of Illinois and continued his interest in writing music, even though the signs were there that this was not his true calling. His love for music led him to move to Southern California with his wife and daughters to work in the music industry. There he's had a successful career in the Film & TV Music Licensing field with Warner Bros., Universal and the Walt Disney Company. After the birth of his triplet daughters, Lopinski gave up playing out and focused on literature after joining a writer's group made up of his peers in the music industry. In 2012, he self-published his first novel, "Document 512," which won recognition and awards from Reader Views, Foreword Review, National Indie Excellence Awards and Best Indie Books. His second novel "The Art of Raising Hell" was published through Dark Alley Press in 2015 and won Best Young Adult Novel of 2015 through Best Indie Books and was a semi-finalist for Best Literary Novel of 2015 through Kindle Book Awards. Thomas is also a member of the Independent Writers of Southern California (IWOSC). Follow his blog at http://thomaslopinski.wordpress.com/

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PART 1

THE CAVES OF TIAHUANACO

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CHAPTER ONE

THE DREAM

Hurry! They're gaining on us, yelled Renee as she raced down the mountainside jumping from one terrace step to the next. She struggled to maintain her balance between the patches of grass and moss that stumbled out from underneath her feet. The farther down the hill she ran, the farther away from the bottom she seemed to be.

There they are! shouted a voice in the distance.

She glanced back just long enough to see three men on top of the ancient ruins pointing down at her. Two of them shuffled from side to side as they descended the mountaintop, dodging bushes and trees along the trail. The third one was sprinting as fast as he could, barreling over anything in his pathway.

Be careful, said the man running next to her. She turned to see his backpack bouncing wildly on his shoulders. The man's stride was so long that he skipped from step to step with only one foot hitting the grass.

Renee's steps were uneven and unsure. Her shoes were too tight, which caused her swollen feet to ache every time they touched down. The commotion coming from both directions made it hard to concentrate. On some terraces, she took two steps, on others, three. It was only a matter of time before she lost her footing and hit the ground hard.

Ouch!

The man in front of her stopped just long enough to see her roll out of control. When their bodies collided, the force knocked him to his knees and carried them both sliding down the hill until his hip crashed into a boulder.

That's gonna leave a bruise, he moaned as he slowly rose to his feet. Are you OK?

She reached for her leg and rubbed the back of it. I don't know. It hurts—a lot.

The yelling coming from above grew louder as the three men closed in. One of them was now out in front of the others by a good twenty yards. Even with the distance between them, Renee could still make out the tattoos on his biceps flashing black and blue as he moved along. The sunlight danced off his partially shaved head as he leaped like a jaguar from one terrace to another.

I'll carry you. The man bent down and tossed Renee's body over his shoulder as if she were a sack of potatoes and continued on.

At the bottom of the hill was a six-foot-high wall made of stone and mud encasing the last terrace. He eased her onto the edge of the wall and jumped down to the bottom. Renee looked up the hill again at the man leading the chase. She was now able to make out a long scar that stretched from one ear to the middle of his jaw. It looked fresh. He was yelling something in Spanish back to the others. She carefully slid down to the ground and disappeared behind the wall.

In front of them was a thick clump of trees and bushes. Beneath their feet was a gravel path that followed alongside the wall. The man glanced both ways. His first inclination was to go left, but instead he paused and asked, Which way?

She looked from side to side and then at the clump of shrubs in front and said, Go straight.

Go what? he exclaimed.

Go straight into the bushes.

But there's no trail.

I know but you'll find one—trust me.

I've been hearing that a lot lately, and trust is the one thing I'm all out of.

Renee wiggled free from his grasp, careful not to put any pressure on her sore leg. She hobbled into the trees and said, Come on, it's gotta be here. The writings on the rock back there said something about 'hopping and diving.' This must be the diving part.

Like 'diving' into the bushes? he said. That's a new one on me. The 'hopping' part was bad enough coming down that mountain, but who's ever heard of diving into bushes?

I don't know. Do you have a better plan?

She tugged on his hand and guided him into a narrow opening between two shrubs. They zigzagged between trees and branches dodging flying limbs as the undergrowth thickened. The rooted lianas vines looping around the taller palm trees and philodendrons made maneuvering almost impossible. Blotches of red dotted their forearms as thickets of thorny stems and bristled leaves assaulted anything that came near.

They could barely hear the three men in the background arguing. The men had stopped at the edge of the wall and were unsure of which way to go. Finally, the one with the shaved head pointed to the broken limbs and said, "Allí."

The vegetation eventually started thinning out as Renee and her companion continued ahead. There were no signs of the terraces behind them and nothing in front that looked encouraging. Then, without warning, she stopped and said, Hear that?

Hear what?

Quiet. In the distance, they heard a soft, white noise. It sounds like a waterfall. Let's go.

They ventured farther into the woods as rays of sunshine drizzled through the thinning tree branches. Up ahead was a clearing of tall grass and scrubland. A light mist hung in the air and gently announced the approaching falls.

We're here, she said.

Before them was a cliff overlooking a small but deep basin. The opening was a circle no wider than twenty yards in circumference but at least a hundred feet deep. Along the perimeter were several tree limbs and roots drooping saplessly into the hole. Although they did little to provide shade from the humidity and sun, they camouflaged the area completely from the view above. The water from two separate streams plunged down into the abyss at a rapid pace.

They both peered over the edge and spotted a pool of deep blue water. He turned to Renee and said, You're not thinking about going down there, are you?

She nodded. I was wrong about the diving into the bushes part, but this time I know I'm right.

He gazed into the hole again in disbelief. Then something caught his eye. He squinted for a better view as the sun continued to rise in the morning sky. On the other side, the wall began to glisten ever so slightly. Within seconds, it grew brighter and brighter until the rocks reflected the sun's rays in every direction.

Look, over there. See the rocks? They're shining.

Renee didn't have to squint to see it. The reflection on the wall was so bright now that it blinded her. A thin coat of mist sprayed over the crystal-laced spectacle, enhancing its luster even more. Then, before they could say another word, it was gone. The light vanished completely as the angle of the sun gradually changed.

That was totally amazing, said Renee.

Unbelievably amazing, said the man. The Levi's tag on his blue jeans seemed to be absorbing the golden sunlight and glowing. It formed an almost catlike face where the 5 and 2 were mirror images of each other. As she stood there mesmerized by what she was witnessing, the sides of the middle number began to push together gradually until it looked more like a 1 than a 0. Then the man moved and the vision was gone.

Renee regained her composure and removed her backpack. She tightened all of the straps and zippers, making sure that nothing was open or loose. Then she put it on backward, with the bag snuggled against her chest.

That's enough to convince me. Here, do this. She motioned him to follow suit.

I don't like the looks of this one bit, he said as he removed his pack. That's a long jump.

Oh, we can't jump—we have to dive.

You've gotta be kidding.

No, I'm not. The writings on the wall specifically said 'dive,' not 'jump.'

Well, what difference could it make?

She checked the straps one last time and replied, All the difference in the world. How many people do you think have dove into this hole? Like, none—and that's why they've never found the entrance.

You think this is an entrance?

It has to be, she said. It all makes sense.

At that moment, the bark off the tree next to him shattered into pieces. The gunshot sound followed a half a second later. They both ducked down instinctively as another bullet buzzed by and nicked a branch above their heads. Someone was yelling frantically in the distance.

OK, you win by default, the man said. The other options aren't looking very good right now.

She smiled and said, On the count of three, we dive in—and be prepared for anything.

He rolled his eyes and said, God help me.

Renee grabbed his hand. Are you ready?

He rose to his feet and looked over the edge one last time. Then he smiled and replied, No, but I'm willing.

Here we go, then. One, two, three...

CHAPTER TWO

LA PAZ, BOLIVIA

As Renee dreamed of falling deeper into the canyon, glimmers of sunlight crept along her hotel room's plastered walls. The baker had just pulled up on his Moped to open the shop next door. He parked his bike around back in the alley, turned off the key, and cringed as the muffler backfired. The young girl instinctively shifted onto her side and began to stir from a deep slumber.

Her mind wandered aimlessly as it shifted from the chase scene to her hotel room. Images from her past soon weaved in and out of her present as she slowly gained consciousness. She dreamed that her schoolmates were arguing outside her hotel room door over who'd be taking the next shower in the floor's only bathroom. Then her dream moved to a playground where a couple of young girls were jumping rope in rhythm with a haunting chant:

"Cinderella,

Dressed in yella

Peed in her pants in front of the fellas."

The singing twirled around in her head as she twisted in bed trying to avoid an imaginary rope under her feet. Then the stage shifted to a local market in La Paz where teachers greeted her on the street in the same way they'd pass her in the hallway at school. Snapshots of the ancient ruins she was to visit later that morning played like a slide show in her head. Her dreams seemed so brilliant and colorful—and so different from anything she'd ever dreamed before.

Everything about this strange continent was different to her. After all, this was South America: a continent where the snow-peaked mountains stood watch over peddlers roaming the cobblestone streets below; a continent where tiled-roof houses hid generations of secrets deep in the canyon walls; a continent where corruption fed off chaos and chaos fed off corruption; a continent lost in the moment with a history that was begging to be discovered.

The dueling aromas of rotting garbage and brewing coffee were now drifting into the air. A few birds began chirping off in the distance. Soon car horns and flute players would serenade the streets below. As the peaceful stillness of the dawn lingered a little while longer, a click came from the bureau next to the bed. The silence was broken. A cheap digital alarm clock blasted a repetition of irritating shrieks throughout the hotel room.

The screeching went on for almost a half a minute before she reached up and hit the snooze button. She wasn't quite ready to greet the new day. Being four thousand miles away from home and sleeping on a lumpy mattress had taken its toll on her after a long and weary plane trip the day before.

Renee lowered her arm and tucked the pillow back under her head as she opened one eye to look at the clock. What she saw startled her. She wasn't sure if it was just an illusion conjured up by the high altitude, so she blinked a couple of times for good measure. Right before her on the nightstand was the same number that had appeared in her dream just moments ago. It was also the flight number on her plane ticket from the day before. Glowing on the face of the clock and casting a reddish aura over the bedside was the time, 5:12.

It wasn't in the Courier or Times Roman fonts commonly used in books and on billboards. No, this was the typeface only found in the digital world of alarm clocks, coffeemakers, and microwaves. The world where zeros and ones had replaced capacitors and rectifier tubes.

Each individual section of the numbers was made up of the same rectangular block-shaped line. The straight line that created the top and sides of the 5 also created the bottom. The same lines also created the 2. Even the 1 in middle had two identical thin rectangular blocks stacked up on top of each other. The 5 was a mirror image of the 2. No matter what angle you looked at it, whether it was upside down or backward, the numbers were reversible.

While she lay on her side counting the seconds before the numbers changed, another eerie shape came into focus. In the darkened space between the glowing numbers, a crudely shaped cross appeared. It was vague and missing most of the top portion, looking more like a T, but still it was there. She rubbed away the sleep from her eye and the image disappeared.

The dawdling beam of light radiating from the clock left her with a feeling that someone or something was watching her. She thought about opening her other eye to get a better look around but decided to close them both instead.

CHAPTER THREE

TIAHUANACO

The sign at the crossroad read, Titicaca del Lago—25 kilometers. The sign underneath said, Tiwanacu—5 kilometers, with an arrow pointing to the right. As the jeep approached, the driver turned right while downshifting into second gear without losing a beat. The bumpy dirt road heading into the small village of Tiahuanaco was even worse than the pothole-ridden road they'd been on all morning from La Paz. Up ahead, a shepherd hastily tried to move his herd of llamas off the path so the jeep could pass.

The snow-topped Andes Mountains appeared around every bend as they drove higher and higher. A set of nimbus clouds dotting the horizon moved like a pristine white glacier rolling along the heavens. At 12,500 feet above sea level, the monotonous cobalt blue sky would usually lull a person to sleep with its serenity and beauty. That wasn't the case today; between the dust storms coughing up centuries of old ashes and a road with more twists than a wound-up Slinky, the mountain was doing a pretty good job of keeping everyone on edge.

I thought it would only take an hour from La Paz, said Renee's father. Roger Gorman's brown ponytail jumped from one shoulder to the other as he braced himself for the next curve. His khaki shorts and flannel shirt were no match for the bitter winds that battered him in the open jeep, so he grabbed a jacket out of his backpack and put it on. He searched for a clean part of his shirt to wipe off his glasses but quickly realized that his efforts were futile.

The driver didn't dare take his eyes off the road as he swerved to miss a series of seemingly never-ending rocks and boulders. He'd been doing this same thing since picking them up at the hotel back in the city that morning. When a straighter stretch of road appeared, Don Carlos glanced over at Roger and said, "We are at the mercy of The Gods, señor. These mountains will let you know when it is time."

Roger looked down at his compass, which was attached to a chain around his neck. It was moving erratically back and forth from north to west to east.

Look at this. This compass is going crazy up here.

He showed it to Don, who shrugged his shoulders. What can I say?

It can't be the altitude. He stared at the compass for another minute before putting it back under his shirt. Then he looked to the backseat, where his daughter sat clutching the roll bar. With her arm interlocked around the metal pipe, she seemed to be in a trance.

How you holding up?

Renee eased her grip and subtly waved back. She'd been trying to remember the details from her dream earlier that morning. What was she doing running away from those men? And who was the man running with her? It certainly wasn't her father. Then there were the visions of her friends from school. She knew why they were laughing.

The images were so vivid in her mind. It must be the mountain air, she thought.

Having dressed a little warmer than her father, she pulled her scarf up tighter around her neck. She'd researched the area they were heading into and knew that it got cold very quickly. She placed her other arm on her backpack and said, All good here, Pop, and gave him the thumbs-up sign.

I bet you've never been on a roller coaster ride quite like this.

Well, not one quite this long.

Renee cracked a smile as her dad returned his attention to the road ahead. Roger sensed the nervousness in his daughter's voice and wondered whether bringing her along was really a good idea after all. His wife had protested dearly in the beginning. How could he even think of taking their only daughter deep into the backwoods of South America? In fact, most of her friends thought she was downright crazy for letting the young girl go.

Renee's friends were skeptical, too. Even though she was pretty athletic and smarter than most kids her age, she was still a typical teenager. That meant unprovoked streaks of stubbornness, an inability to know her own limits, and, of course, an attraction to boys. But there was one other particular characteristic—or weakness, depending on whom you talked to—that concerned everyone: her learning disability. Her parents tried not to talk about it, but there were reminders every day. Yet when everything was said and done and after seeing the glow in her daughter's eyes grow week after week, her mother finally relented and gave her blessing.

The mountainside terrain was barren and desolate. A few scattered bushes were splattered among the huge boulders that dominated the landscape. Occasionally, a set of eyes popped up from the ground as a startled chinchilla scurried for cover. The wind blew and died down like the breath of a snoring giant. It had been a good half hour since they'd seen another vehicle.

A few minutes later, the jeep pulled into a parking lot beside the site of the ancient ruins. A small billboard written in Spanish guarded the entrance.

"Tiahua-co-na—Elevación: 3,870 m," said Renee. No sooner had she said it than she started to blush. She looked at her father, who'd turned around immediately. While attempting a smile, she said with a surrendering tone, Soooo, go ahead.

He smiled back and said, "'Tiahua-na-co'—or 'Tiwanacu,' as the natives call it."

The meaning of their esoteric exchange was lost on Don Carlos. He wasn't aware of Renee's dyslexic tendencies, nor did he even understand them. Growing up, she'd learned to deal with it pretty well by using little tricks and tools to avoid embarrassment. But the taunting was something else. That, she never got over. The kids at school could be so cruel without even realizing what they were doing. Whenever she wrote something backward on the chalkboard or transposed syllables during reading time, they'd have a field day. She could still hear them laughing four thousand miles away.

The first time it happened was the worst. It caught her completely off guard as she stood in front of her kindergarten class—so off guard that she peed her pants right then and there. Of course, she'd never lived that one down. That's when the chanting started:

"Cinderella,

Dressed in yella

Peed in her pants in front of the fellas."

By the time she'd reached junior high, the kids had moved on and stopped mocking her, at least to her face. They may have matured enough to show her a little more kindness and respect, but in no way did that mean she was fully accepted as normal. She knew very well that they'd never elect her class president or captain of the cheerleading squad. Those titles were reserved for the perfect kids. But with the help of a beautiful smile and a cunning ability to adapt quickly, she was able to manage her disability pretty well. Her father knew this and could only grin with appreciation when she recognized her mistake.

There were only two other cars in the parking lot and no one in sight. Renee's dad scanned the grounds and said to Don, Why so few cars today? Roger stood up in the jeep and cupped his hand over his eyes to get a better look. There are no buses either.

Don Carlos put the jeep into first gear, shut it off, and pulled on the emergency break. "It's a holiday, señor. You are very lucky. A lot of the businesses in La Paz are closed."

What holiday is that? Renee asked as she jumped out of the backseat with her bag in hand.

"Día de los Muertos—'Day of the Dead,' as you might say in English. Don stared into the young girl's eyes with a foreboding sneer and continued, On this day, all of our dead relatives come back to visit—whether we want them to or not. That is why no one comes today."

This last comment raised Renee's eyebrows. Roger grabbed his backpack off the floor and exited the jeep. It wouldn't also have anything to do with the fact that half of La Paz was out celebrating last night and now is hungover, would it?

Don laughed loudly as his double chin wiggled. "You are very right, señor. My apologies for not choosing my words better. He turned to Renee and placed his hand on her shoulder. Don't worry, my lovely chiquita. None of my dead relatives would want to follow me up here to this forgotten place."

For the first time, Renee got a good whiff of the foul body odor exuding from Don's skin. It was overwhelming. Somehow, she managed to refrain from gagging as she returned the smile while holding her breath and nonchalantly moving to the other side of the jeep.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE RUINS

Don Carlos set his backpack on the seat and said, "I must check and make sure we have everything we will need for the socavones."

The caves, translated Roger. Yes, well, maybe we'll have enough time to take a quick look at the sites, too? Roger's voice rose ever so slightly. The six-foot-tall American, whose twig of a body shrank like a wilting sunflower next to the short, fat Bolivian, politely smiled and waited for an answer.

Indeed we do. We have a good six hours before we must think about returning, said Don as he walked away from the jeep. Renee and her father's eyes connected. This is what they wanted to hear. It would be a complete shame to travel all this way from Illinois and not see the ruins of Tiahuanaco up close.

An enigma of speculation, this site's origins and purpose had puzzled researchers for centuries. Some believed that it was the home of an ancient society that died off after some catastrophic event. Other, more eccentric scholars argued that the natives were lured there for some special purpose and then abandoned by their gods, who left them to rot. A few colorful ancient astronaut theorists had even declared that the inhabitants were not from this world at all and just visitors who returned to their own planet after finding what they'd come for. Either way, many believed that this was the oldest city in the world.

The three set down the path leading to the ruins, passing a few mounds along the way. A half-full tour bus pulled in behind them as they walked on. Don, looking a little annoyed as he spun his head back around, said, I guess we are not so alone after all.

After entering the temple site, they headed over to the Sun Gate. This ten-ton gateway was carved from a single block of granite. A large crack splintered through the center above the entrance door. Its upper portion was deeply carved with beautiful and intricate designs of human figures with wings and astronomical symbols.

Renee's dad stopped in front of it and proceeded to lecture the two on the history of the artifact. The legend passed down from the Aymara Indians says that this god rose from Lake Titicaca during the time of darkness to bring forth light. His name was Viracocha. He was the storm god but also their sun god. That's what the crown and thunderbolt in his hands mean. It's said that Viracocha made the earth, the stars, the sky, and mankind. He then wandered the earth disguised as a beggar and observed the people he'd created. Unfortunately, he wasn't very impressed with what he saw, so he destroyed everything with a flood and decided to start over from scratch.

"Yes, señor, maybe the same flood in the Bible, no?"

Maybe, reflected Roger.

I thought the Inca Indians came from around here, said Renee.

Not up here. In reality, the Incas only made up a small portion of the total population in their kingdom. How they managed to rule over millions of other Indians is quite amazing. The Aymara Indians have survived up here for thousands of years and watched over this area. I'm not exactly sure where they are now.

"Oh señor, they have not disappeared. There are still Indians up here who protect the sacred sites from unruly tourists and bad governments, interjected Don. Ever since that book come out back in the seventies, they have been busy."

Roger blushed as he pulled a paperback out of his backpack. He'd read it so many times over that the corners were missing and its cover was so faded that the title was barely visible. You mean this one.

Don looked at the cover and nodded, "Yes, señor. This Chariots of the Gods book has changed everything for the Indians. People come up here looking for souvenirs. Grave robbers trample over the sites and take many things they shouldn't. Now the government does not even care what happens."

That's too bad. I didn't know that was going on. Roger skimmed over the horizon and said, They must keep to themselves.

Ah yes, my friend, they are only seen when they want to be. They have eyes everywhere, so we must respect their customs and history. Otherwise—well, put it this way: there have been many grave robbers chased off by the point of an arrow.

Renee looked up at her father with concern. She knew some of what he'd been through at work with his colleagues and how they'd thought his wild speculations about ancient civilizations were more cuckoo than concrete. Although he'd managed not to show his bottled-up frustration around her, she was still worried that one day it would get the best of him.

Her father ran his fingers through Renee's hair and said, Don't worry, my darling. We're just visiting and doing a little cave exploring. We'll try to stay as far away from the natives as possible. Right, Don?

Don looked to Renee and offered a conciliatory, We can. The wrinkles on his forehead told another story.

She could see in Don a distinct resemblance to her own mother. The same man had fathered them both many years ago. They didn't know they were half siblings until adulthood and not until Renee's grandmother, while on her deathbed, finally confessed to her family the true identity of her mother's father.

A story was told about a handsome South American who came to Illinois to work in the coal mines with his brother in the 1960's. The two men knew very little English and had no relatives close by, but managed to mingle in with the Midwesterners easily. They were hard workers and eagerly welcomed by management. Renee's grandmother was a waitress at a local restaurant. It didn't take long before pouring coffee and taking orders turned into secret rendezvous and a little bun in the oven. The story is a little vague after that, as no one knew whether the Bolivian sneaked away back to South America or was run out of town by her family. Either way, Renee's grandmother found herself at the altar with a more suitable beau just days before the baby was born.

After finding out she had a half brother in Bolivia, her mother immediately went looking for him, much to the chagrin of her