The Atlantis Stone: The Heart Nexus Saga

By Juan A. Estrella II

Nearly five billion years ago the Mystic Maker placed a heart stone deep inside the body of the Great Mother, planet Earth, infusing her with His essence. The Great Mother had the power to create and sustain life. She also had the power to destroy it. If the balance of things was threatened she could unleash her power and restore balance. It was the Great Mother who destroyed the great civilization of Atlantis when they came too close to finding the source of her power. The greatest civilization of its time was decimated when the Great Mother unleashed tectonic movements, hurricanes, tidal waves, and volcanic eruptions on those that threatened the balance of things.

Now, an ancient British organization, established shortly after the Revolutionary War, has found the heart stone and is intent on using it to bring the last super power to its knees and reclaim the lands and riches they believe rightfully belong to them. But will their hatred for America cause the collapse of a super power or destroy modern civilization as we know it?

It is up to a modern day secret agent, Alex Beltran, along with an elite team of Delta Force, the Vatican Holy Warriors, and the full might of the United States Government, to restore the Atlantis Stone to its rightful resting place. Time is running out for the team as the Great Mother prepares to unleash all her power once again to recover that which has been taken from her - the Atlantis Stone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462051038

Juan A. Estrella II

Juan A. Estrella II is a graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point, where he earned a bachelor of science degree in nuclear engineering. A veteran of Desert Storm, he now resides in St. Augustine, Florida, with his family. This is his first novel.

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Prologue

The Great Mother came into being five billion years ago. She was created from swirling stardust, gathered and molded by the guiding hands of the Mystic Maker. This world was to be his greatest achievement, and as such, would be granted the gift of life. And so it was that every grain of stardust used in her construction had been imbued with the essence of creation. Given the right circumstances, life could be conceived from the inanimate. Everything in this world had a purpose—the sand, river flows, ocean waves, and blowing wind, to all magnetic lines emanating from the poles. His life essence put into motion a perpetual, regenerating machine of life, once started, never to stop evolving and generating living energy. The living things were placed there to sustain her; living, dying, and regenerating for the sole purpose of nourishing the Great Mother.

He endowed her with a heart and filled it with his essence, a nexus point from which his living energy could continue to nourish the planet. This nexus allowed the Great Mother to maintain her celestial glide across the solar system in synchronous orbit around his favorite star. The sun had been his greatest accomplishment up to that point, but it lacked purpose. So he tied Mother Earth inextricably to the life-sustaining ether of energy that was light.

The Heart Nexus would be a special stone, the color of the clear daylight sky. The stone was created in the tempest of volcanic eruptions and magma flows with the sole purpose of providing calm and reason to an otherwise violent creation. The Heart Nexus, a perfectly round stone roughly the size of a small boulder, was placed in a cooling magma chamber deep within the belly of the earth. Radiating outward from the chamber in every direction, tendrils of a lighter blue shot out for miles, suffusing the earth with the seeds of life. Through these veins, the Great Mother could also sense the balance of things.

The nexus point was not to be disturbed or manipulated, and that is why the creator gave the Great Mother the ability to protect and repair her body. Through storms made of water, wind, thunder, and lighting, she was able to wash away her pain. Through earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, she could rebuild herself, forming protective scabs over her wounds to both shield and heal. The ability to control the climate and move the earth at will enabled the new world to rebuild and start anew as needed.

As the creator left our solar system to construct other wonders in the universe, he was satisfied and content knowing that the Great Mother had the means she needed to protect the life cycle at all cost.

Chapter 1

Barahona, Dominican Republic

Giuseppi Paluchini and his crew of three made their way slowly through the lush jungle, climbing silently toward the main excavation site. Their assignment for the past three months had been to observe and disrupt the mining operations without calling attention to themselves. The miners were looking for a rare blue stone known to the locals as Lari-Mar. Giuseppi had acquired samples of the stone and been instructed to ship them directly to the Vatican. What was it about this stone or the mining operation that warranted such a high degree of interest and concern by the church? He kept reminding himself that it was not the place of the holy warriors to question, but to have faith in the decisions of his superiors.

Over the course of three months, he had planted four explosive devices within the mine complex, but they barely slowed down the massive mining operation that was taking place in the mountains of Barahona, a small town in the Dominican Republic. The device he carried with him today contained enough C-4 explosive to seal the mountain, hopefully forever. Lives would be lost, but God would forgive him. What he and his brothers were about to do for their church had been sanctioned by the highest authority.

Giuseppi stopped at a ledge overlooking the main entrance of the mining operation and took out his night-vision goggles. He examined his target closely. The goggles amplified starlight a thousand times and displayed the scene in soft shades of green and gray, distorting depth perception slightly. As expected, security consisted of a single sereno, or sentry, walking the perimeter of the camp. He was surprised when the authorization to destroy the complex had reached his Blackberry. The encrypted message, once decrypted, had to be translated using a key he had committed to memory. He had each individual in his team decrypt the message to be sure. The result had been the same and their orders clear: destroy the complex.

The message came soon after his last report, sent just two days ago. Things were moving very quickly now, and Giuseppi and his men got the sense that something very important and pivotal was about to happen. Who better to confront the situation than the Vatican’s holy warriors? Word had gotten out to the locals that a vertical shaft starting at the end of the main tunnel led directly to a huge chamber in the center of the mountain, thousands of feet below the surface. According to his sources, the chamber had walls smooth as glass and housed a large stone that seemed to float in the air at the very center of the chamber. The informant mentioned that his good friend Antonio, the excavation foreman, had overheard the owner of the mine say that they had found the source of the blue stone.

What do you mean the source of the blue stone? Giuseppi had pressed.

How should I know? I dig, I get paid. I give you information. I get paid. The informant also provided Giuseppi with a very detailed map of the excavation site. His group had studied the map and decided that well-placed charges approximately one hundred meters down the main shaft should cause the whole complex to collapse. Together they contrived a plan to sneak into the mine and detonate their devices.

They communicated using mere whispers and hand signals.

One sentry, as expected. We’ll move behind the excavation equipment just south of the cave entrance and wait for the sentry to pass. Brother Anastacio, take him out with your dart gun. Brother Clemente, be prepared to take out any canines that may be close enough to notice us. We’re actually in luck; the wind is blowing in our direction this night.

Brother Giuseppi? chimed in Brother Alberto.

Yes, Brother.

I have a very strange feeling. I cannot hear anything or see anything. But I feel that we are being followed.

We are all a little nervous, brother. But let us not disregard our senses. Take a few minutes to listen and observe our surroundings and make sure we’re alone. Remember, darts only, ordered Giuseppi.

They all turned and, using their night-vision goggles, or NVGs, strained to study the jungle that had enveloped them. They remained immobile for ten minutes, listening and looking for warnings from the dark. Only the sound of insects and leaves rustling in the wind accompanied them on this night.

Are you satisfied, brother? asked Giuseppi.

Yes. I think so. All seems at it should be, although my unease still remains. I am ready for the mission.

Let us move, then. They made their way slowly down the side of the hill and reached the excavating equipment as planned. As the guard walked by, a high-air-pressure pistol shot out a tranquilizer dart with a barely audible swoosh, making contact with its target squarely on the back. The fast-acting drug dropped the sentry two steps later. He would wake up in a couple of hours with no recollection of what happened and a splitting headache, but other than that, he would not be hurt. There were also no dogs to contend with as they made their way into the mine.

At the entrance of the mine, Brother Alberto turned and thought he saw movement behind the excavator. His mind was playing tricks on him, he concluded. All was well. They continued their descent into the mine approximately one hundred meters.

Brothers. Plant the explosives. I am going deeper to take a look around, said Giuseppi, taking out his dart gun. He had heard so much about the floating stone that his curiosity got the better of him. One look, he told himself, and he could report back to his superiors with some valuable information.

He walked deeper into the mine and came upon a mineshaft elevator. He had come too far to stop now, he told himself. He pressed the up button and waited as the man-lift climbed grudgingly up the shaft, squeaking and squealing all the way up until it stopped directly in front of Giuseppi. He stepped into the lift and pressed the down button. The elevator carried him deeper and deeper into the shaft, so deep that he began to feel the walls closing in about him. He became a little lightheaded and had some trouble catching his breath. The temperature in the shaft rose sharply as the elevator descended, and then all of the sudden stabilized, just as the lift started to slow its descent. The lift entered a deep cavern whose walls were made of mirrored glass. The surface of the walls reflected a kaleidoscope of blue hues that shifted and swirled in a rhythmic pattern.

As he exited the elevator, he was greeted by the owner of the complex, Mr. Norman Scott.

Who in bloody hell are you? asked Mr. Scott. Giuseppi reacted instinctively and placed a well-aimed dart on Mr. Scott’s left thigh. He ran to Scott’s side and caught him as his eyes rolled back into his head from the effects of the sedative. He had not expected to find Mr. Scott still in the cave at such a late hour and decided he would do his best to carry him to safety once he’d had a chance to take a look around. As he gently laid Mr. Scott on the ground, the elevator call bell rang loudly and the man lift began to ascend. Something was amiss, so he quickly scanned the cavern with his Blackberry video and hid behind an electronics array that had been erected around the marvelous blue stone. The reports were true. The stone was floating above the cavern floor, radiating the most beautiful blue light he had ever seen or could ever hope to imagine. Every so often, the light in the chamber would intensify and then dim, in a steady rhythmic pattern that reminded Giuseppi of a beating heart. His body tingled and he felt rejuvenated, almost giddy, from the strange, warm energy that seemed to encompass his very being as he stared at the blue stone.

Chapter 2

Giuseppi waited patiently as the elevator made its way down to the immense magma chamber. He had seen magma chambers in the past, but never one as incredibly large. The chamber was the size of a small baseball stadium and had walls as smooth and shiny as polished glass. His overwhelming desire to explore made it difficult for him to concentrate on the elevator making its way down the shaft; his curiosity and desire to explore were a distraction he did not need right now. He prayed for strength and patience, but most of all, focus. He had the advantage, he reasoned: a direct view of the elevator door. He would be able to identify the person or persons in the elevator before the grated door opened, and he could take action if needed. He was beginning to regret his decision to carry only their high-powered dart guns. Even the Lord’s warriors needed protection while in their physical shells. Spiritually, he had been ready for any event.

He heard the gears of the elevator grind to a halt before it entered the chamber from the overhead opening. Suddenly there was a loud pop, followed by a whooshing sound. A metal can clanked its way down to the chamber floor and erupted with a blinding light, enveloping the chamber in a thick cloud of sulfurous smoke.

Burst!

Someone had thrown a concussion grenade into the chamber. Lucky for him, he was hidden behind the electronics array. He was temporarily blinded, and he thanked the Lord for not having been knocked flat on his back. Acrid smoke filled the chamber and invaded his lungs; cutting off his oxygen supply and making him cough and gag as he struggled to suck in precious air. The elevator gears cranked back up again, and he heard the door being kicked open.

Slam.

Trying to buy himself a little more time, he decided to blow his cover and yell out, I have you covered! He coughed. Don’t make me shoot you! Cough, cough! Unfortunately for him, not only had he blown his cover, he had given his location away by crying out. With his eyes full of tears, all he could see were blurry outlines through the smoke, every object an apparition intent on causing him harm. He scanned left and right of the elevator door and cursed himself for not being more careful. There was nobody there. Where could they be? He felt more than heard movement behind him, and as he turned, dart gun in hand, he was struck heavily on the side of this face. He pressed the trigger a couple of times, hoping to hit whomever it was that was attacking him. He flung himself backward, away from the electronics array, and crouched, focusing on a human-shaped outline plowing its way toward him. He let fly his last dart at his unknown assailant, who stopped momentarily, as if hit.

Bloody hell. Bugger. You’ve really done it—now you’ve pissed me off. I hope you’re better trained than your partners. They barely put up a fight. The outline in the smoke took shape. The voice was muffled, probably due to a gas mask, so he could not readily identify the voice. But the accent and the expressions used by his assailant reminded him of someone he had worked with in the past—someone who had died during a joint mission a few years back. As the haze in the cavern began to dissipate, so did the haze in his memory. Only one person to contend with, yet, if his suspicions were correct, the odds were still stacked against him. As the shape in the smoke materialized, he saw a heavily armed man wearing a small canister gas mask. His assailant took his mask off and came close enough for Giuseppi to identify him. Giuseppi noticed a rip in his opponent’s shirt by his right shoulder and prayed that he had been hit by the dart.

It is you. By all accounts you are dead, gasped Giuseppi.

My, my, my. Would you look at this? What, pray tell, no pun intended, is our little Italian friend doing so far away from his sanctum? Taking a little Caribbean vacation? Or are you on another of your holy crusades? By the way, I don’t take kindly to being shot at. Just because we worked together in Milan doesn’t get you a free pass out of here. You’re going to pay, just like your pitifully trained brothers.

Giuseppi’s opponent took another two steps toward him and stumbled slightly, as if drugged. There was absolutely no way he would still be standing if the dart had hit him squarely. By the looks of things, it had only grazed him. Would that be enough to give Giuseppi the upper hand?

You have been grazed by a very strong sedative. I am surprised you’re still upright, commented Giuseppi, hoping the conversation would buy him some time.

No dart is going to stop me from killing you, Giuseppi.

Take one more step and I’ll blow this mine sky high, warned Giuseppi as he took out an electronic detonator from his right cargo pocket.

Not going to happen, mate. I’ve got all your blasting caps. Unless you’ve got a suicide vest, I’d say your mission failed. And isn’t suicide against your code?

Giuseppi didn’t have a suicide vest. Committing suicide was a sin—an unforgivable sin. His air gun was out of darts, and all he had was his hunting knife or his bare hands. Knowing that you were grossly outmatched was not a comforting thought, although the drug might slow his opponent down enough to better his odds of survival. He stood and unsheathed his knife. He had to make his way out of the complex and figure out how to blow the mine some other way.

I know what you’re thinking. I seriously doubt divine intervention will get you out of this mess. I was going to give you a chance to fight your way out, but I’ve changed my mind. With that, the assailant pulled out a silenced Glock 350 and shot Giuseppi in his right kneecap with a .40-caliber hollow-point bullet. The hollow point shattered the kneecap and ripped through tendon and muscle as it corkscrewed its way through the leg. Giuseppi collapsed from the excruciating pain.

You coward! screamed Giuseppi, gritting his teeth.

I’ll give you another sixty seconds of life after you answer my questions to pray to your God. Any hesitation and you’ll never get the chance to ask for his forgiveness, you got me?

What have you done with my men? Are they still alive? I won’t answer any questions unless I know their status, he grunted as he held his leg.

You see. That’s exactly why I should be asking the questions. The fate of your men was sealed the second you got involved in our operation. Now, why is the Vatican so interested in stopping the mining operation?

Giuseppi began a silent prayer to help calm and center himself. Even though the pain was excruciating, he was able to slow his pulse and steady his breathing. He envisioned Jesus Christ nailed and bleeding, physically and spiritually, on the cross. Jesus begged his father to forgive his tormentors, for they knew not what they did, and found peace within. Giuseppi would do the same.

I forgive you, he said to his tormentor. In his name, the Lord Jesus Christ, I forgive you Timothy Lloyd. You are misguided and will someday have to answer for your sins at the feet of the Almighty. He closed his eyes, resigned to his fate but more resolute in his belief and conviction that in death he would achieve blessed life for all eternity alongside his God.

May God forgive you, Timothy, for what you have done and for what you are about to do. But it is you who will have to accept him in your heart in order to enter through the gates of heaven. Giuseppi did not want his last act in life to be one of hate or revenge. Instead of throwing his knife as his assailant, he opened his palm and let it drop to the ground. He closed his eyes and asked the Lord to forgive him and accept him into his realm. He began to pray the Lord’s Prayer.

Wrong answer, Giuseppi. See you in hell. Lloyd took quick aim from about four feet away and shot Giuseppi twice in the forehead. Blood streamed back toward Timothy and splattered him from head to toe. Giussepi’s body crumbled to the floor and lay very still as Timothy kept his pistol trained on the holy warrior. I don’t need your forgiveness, he whispered. I don’t want your forgiveness! he screamed at the top of his lungs. Lloyd emptied his clip into Giuseppi’s heart and kept pressing the trigger, willing invisible bullets into the holy warrior. He heard a rustling behind him and whirled around, ready to strike at any poor bastard unlucky enough to be in the cavern with him.

Dr. Norman Scott leaned against the electronics array and stared at Lloyd from a distance of a few feet, wide-eyed and scared. Lloyd was his organization’s enforcer—the most dangerous man ever to be employed by them. Scott had not realized how unstable Lloyd was until today. On a very distant level, Scott understood that their enemies had to be eliminated. That part of the business was always a footnote in their meeting minutes. He never expected to witness murder. His whole life he had been insulated from the reality that was murder and assassination. It was so much easier voting on the decision in the comfort of his office than actually partaking in the act of elimination.

Doubt crept into his mind. What his organization hoped to accomplish with the stone would most definitely go beyond the loss of a single soul. In all likelihood, it would bring apocalyptic destruction to the world, not just to their sworn enemy. Did he really want to be a part of that anymore? Was their cause worth it or even justified in these modern times? Their original charter had been crafted hundreds of years ago against a fledgling nation. Why keep pursuing an enemy across time that had proven to be the staunchest of allies to the British? Their motivation was not economic, since every member of the group was rich beyond imagining. It could only be English pride that kept this group together for so long—the same English pride could also be their ultimate undoing.

The stone had been revered by the ancients for its healing properties, but it was also known for its capacity for destruction. If his research proved correct, it was the stone that had brought about the ultimate fall of the lost culture of Atlantis. Could it lead to the fall of modern man? There was no denying that they were now in the possession of a weapon powerful enough to confront the last superpower on earth. The stone would help them reclaim what they still considered a British colony—what they all considered rightfully theirs.

Chapter 3

2500 BC—Atlantis

They gathered on a desolate, sandy beach, at the mouth of a river that flowed south into the pristine and crystal clear waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The storms had abated, and the ground had stopped shaking only to reveal a land no longer recognizable by the few survivors. Those who had survived the destructive forces unleashed on their culture by the Great Mother were divided into four groups. The main group was to stay on the island and protect the secret location of the blue stone. The other three groups would sail to the three known directions carrying warning tablets to all known civilizations. One group would attempt to cross the Atlantic to the east and meet with the jungle dwellers of the Dark Continent. Another would sail south and meet with the Indians that ruled the mountainous regions of the large landmass just southwest of the island. The third would travel northeast to meet with the seafaring bearded ones in the lands of the white powder and the rough seas.

The stone tablets detailed the fall of an empire and issued a strong warning to all who may pass by the island from now through eternity. You see, the Atlantians mined precious stones, metals, and ores. On occasion they would find a small pebble, chip, or flake of the blue stone floating in the river. These stones were valued more than any precious metal, due to their incredible magical properties. People who wore the stone close to their heart suffered no ailment, and those that kept the stone near them gained power and influence in their society. Intoxicated by the prospect of mining the stone and harnessing more of its apparent magical properties, King Hamulteclupec ordered the source of the blue stone found and mined for the good of the empire, and for the enrichment of his family line. While digging deep into the earth, they unearthed a vein of their most treasured and sought-after dark blue stone. Unbeknownst to them, they had started chipping away at one of the main veins leading to the Heart Nexus. No longer were they harvesting the gifts released to the surface by the Great Mother; they were taking that which had not been granted.

Great Mother retaliated, and in an effort to stop the mining, she unleashed a series of escalating natural disasters, bringing to bare her healing wrath of destruction to the Atlantians. To repair what had been undone, she would have to destroy and renew.

What was once a vast empire built upon a chain of islands connecting East and West was decimated. Volcanoes, dormant for millions of years, awoke and spewed forth superheated ash, poisonous gas, and rock in mighty pyroclastic displays. From the air, Mother Earth unleashed a series of spiraling storms never before seen or recorded in the annals of human history, with winds so strong that stone foundations were dislodged, toppling architectural marvels to the ground. The siege continued from the sea, in the form of towering tidal waves, large enough to engulf whole islands. And finally, from far beneath the surface of the ocean, tectonic plates shifted and tore the very foundation of the island nation.

Islands once rich in human culture, architecture, and technology were forever immersed under the cold waters of the Atlantic. The survivors chronicled the fall of Atlantis to warn those who would mine the blue stone. The ground around the source was sacred, warned the message, and mining the blue stone was forbidden. Beware the wrath of the Great Mother.

The stone is only found in one place on earth because he made it so. One heart, placed in a remote island, where peace and serenity would help calm the earth as she evolved through the millennia. The Great Mother had protected herself often and as needed during her evolution and she would do so again until balance and harmony were restored to the Living Earth.

Chapter 4

1776 AD—Great Britain

In 1763, Britain found itself overextended in colonial America. The nobles and elite class of England, as well as her supporters in the colonies, invested large sums of their fortunes in the name of colonial expansion, but only because the king had promised great returns on their investments in the form of interest, colonial lands, influence, and titles of nobility. Unbeknownst to the American loyalists, the upper crust of English society would be the only ones benefitting from the arrangement. The king had decided long before accepting financing from the colonies that only those of noble blood would be allowed to make claims to the spoils of war and colonization. He and his advisors sought to reward their supporters in a timely fashion by levying a tax on stamps, claiming that the collection was needed to finance the continued occupation of America by British troops. The tax applied to all colonists, including the colonial elite upper class. The Stamp Act of 1765 enraged the colonists and planted the seeds of separation in their hearts and minds.

The elite upper class in America, on the brink of losing everything they had worked for, organized riots and insurrection, inciting the gentile class with the now famous No-taxation-without-representation cry. Violence escalated, and Britain rescinded the tax. Under growing pressures from his nobility, King George III moved more soldiers to America and enacted a tax on tea consumption. Shortly thereafter, representatives from twelve of the thirteen colonies attended the First Continental Congress, urging colonists to boycott all British goods.

By 1776, the American Congress had voted in favor of independence, sparking a war that would ultimately lead to Britain recognizing the independence of America in 1782. The territory stretching east to west, from the Atlantic to the mighty Mississippi River, once promised to British nobility, was evacuated by British troops. With the ratification of the treaty, the investments and fortunes of many British nobles disappeared. High-ranking positions were filled, and new titles were granted back in England, but the gold and silver, the land ownership, and the bounty that the New World promised was lost to them forever. Or so they thought.

The king had no option but to cede the colonies, Lord North pleaded with the nobles assembled at the king’s request. Never had he seen these men argue so ardently, making demands of the king they all knew he could not keep. The king had already granted nearly half his land to the gentlemen assembled at his court as well as sinecures, titles, and stations of court. What else could he do? It was no secret to all assembled that the king had overextended his finances and had sought to pay off debts by taxing the colonies to the point of revolution. And it was no secret that Lord North had influenced the failed strategy that now found them in such quandary.

I invested half my family fortune on this venture, stated Lord Barrymore. Vermont was promised me, and you stand there, asking for calm, thinking a small country chateau outside of London would be enough compensation? Why isn’t the king here? He should be the one attending our needs and requests, not his minister.

Here, here, exclaimed those present in the room. As the king’s minister, Lord Frederick North had exceptional influence and power, but under the circumstances, he guarded his words and ceded the floor. The men assembled here could very well be his undoing, and he wasn’t ready to give up his position or status. He eyed his greatest threat to position seated quietly at the end of the large table: William Pitt the Younger.

The Americans must be dealt with. They partake of what is rightfully ours. Where is the king? commanded Lord Cornwallis.

Lord Cornwallis had been defeated in battle by the militia and continental troops, and his embarrassment and pain still hung heavily on his shoulders. He still insisted that, had more troops been made available, Britain would still be in control of the colonies. His troops, honor bound to fight in their rigid formations, stood no chance against the shoot-and-run tactics employed by the colonials, especially after the Americans began employing cannons. He had begun employing these same tactics, but too late in the war to make a difference. Out of all the nobles assembled in the room, he had been most affected by the loss, for he was the only one forced to dismount his charger and hand over his colors and sword to General Washington while the others boarded ships headed for home. His hate for the Americans was so profound that it seeped from his every pore, and vengeance would be the only way to douse his hatred.

The king overheard every word. He sat behind the concealed entry way just behind a thick wall-hanging decorating the back of the court. What a disaster. Not only had his elite British army been embarrassed with defeat at the hands of brigands and criminals in the American colonies, he now had to bend to the will of his nobles. His power base diminished, he had no option but to assuage his nobles in every way possible. Any attempt to detain the nobles or imprison them for acts against their king would most certainly end in insurrection here in England. He would have to keep this band united; and the glue that would bind them together, as well as keep them at bay, was the one thing they all had in common: their hatred for the Americans. He stood, walked out of his concealed nook into his personal chamber, exited, and marched toward the meeting hall. His personal guards came to attention from the ready stance as he marched down the hallway.

Open the doors, he commanded his guards. They threw open the high double doors and announced his presence in a smooth and practiced ritual. His Majesty, King George III. He noted who stood promptly and who, in a form of protest, barely acknowledged his entry. Lord Cornwallis came to attention. He will be my staunchest supporter in the scheme I am about to propose, thought King George. For in the end, Cornwallis is a professional soldier and his service is to his king.

Gentlemen, I apologize for not getting here sooner. I was detained with important matters of court. He purposely stopped behind each noble seated in the chamber as he made his way around the court and continued his discourse. We sit here, ashamed and humiliated by the unfortunate defeat suffered at the hands of the American colonials and French interlopers. The venture in the New World has been a costly one for all of us. The king reminded each and every noble that every person in the room, including the king himself, had lost large sums of capital as well as power with the defeat. I have done everything in my power, through the treaty process and personal sacrifice, to compensate you. Now I know this is not enough, but if I could guarantee you a satisfactory outcome, maybe not in our generation, but in our future, would you stand by me? As he looked around the room, he could tell he had their attention. These nobles had amassed their fortunes over hundreds of years, and they quarreled not for their immediate misgivings, but for their legacy.

Good. Gentlemen, no matter how long it takes, no matter the cost, we will have our revenge on this upstart nation, and in the end, we will reap that which is rightfully ours. His words resonated in the hall and none doubted his conviction.

What about the French, my king? asked another member of the group.

The king spat on the floor, his mood soured even further, and he grimaced as he addressed this last inquiry.

The French have dabbled into our affairs for the very last time. They will not go unpunished. I swear to you on my soul that the French will suffer for their transgressions. I will personally see to that, Lord Scott.

Chapter 5

1982—Don Salvador’s Plantation, Dominican Republic

Esmeralda was elated. Her husband, Juan Antonio, had finally taken some time off from work and decided to take the family on a picnic along a scenic river that flowed down from the mountains near the town of Barahona. Her husband made ends meet by delivering peanuts from the big manicera, or peanut factory, in Santiago. He knew every stretch of road in the country and had made many friends along his delivery route. One of his friends offered to share his summer home for the weekend, and that is where they found themselves now. They sat on large wooden rocking chairs rocking back and forth, lazily swatting the flies away with paper fans. They watched the meandering flow of the river that traveled through Don Salvador’s land just a couple of hundred yards away from the cabin, listening to the endless supply of stories that flowed just as readily from his mouth.

This river used to be called el Rio de Oro in the old days, said Don Francisco Salvador. Flakes of gold were so abundant that the water would shine like a brilliant golden chain, snaking down from the montañas toward el Caribe. Not anymore, though, he sighed. But I’m still a very lucky man, said Don Salvador, looking out beyond his patio to the lush and verdant forest that surrounded his cabin. The soil was healthy and the land bountiful, even if he could not scoop flakes of gold from the river with his bare hands. I own two hundred and fifty acres north and south along the river on both banks, and we have some beautiful natural pools where we can swim and catch fish or go crabbing. I have six acres planted with yucca and platano, and my small casa de campo is surrounded by dozens of beautiful fruit trees, so we can never go hungry.

I heard you have a small waterfall on your land, Francisco, inquired Esmeralda.

Yes. Yes. About a half mile up river, there is a small saltadero with a beautiful natural pool. One of my favorite pastimes as a kid was turning up stones and catching the river crab around that pool. He looked toward Esmeralda’s children, Alex and Marisol, stopped rocking, and leaned toward them with a big smile on his face.

You know, there is an old legend about the funny blue markings that the river crab have on their claws? Would you like to hear the story? he asked the children.

Alejandro was just six years old, and he sat on his mother’s lap, wide-eyed and mesmerized, rocking back and forth and listening to the stories told by Don Salvador. Marisol, his sister, was eight years old and also loved the way Don Salvador made it feel like they were actually part of his wonderful tales. As Don Salvador told his stories, Alex would stare toward the river and swear he could see the gold flakes shimmering in the water as the river made its way to the coast past the farmhouse.

Alex and Marisol laughed and begged him to tell them the story about the blue markings on the crab claws. Juan Antonio and Esmeralda looked at each other, smiled, and held hands. It was good to be together, just relaxing.

Okay, kids. Apparently, before Christopher Columbus set foot on the island of Hispañiola, even further back than anyone can remember, a great sorcerer created a beautiful blue stone with magical powers. He used the stone to control the powerful huracanes that ravaged the island every season. As the years passed, the stone cracked, and small pieces of the stone would float down the river. Anyone lucky enough to find a piece of the stone would have good luck and never get sick.

Do you think I can find one of these stones? asked Marisol.

Of course you can, chiquilla. But you better be careful. Because the sorcerer, upset that his stone was cracking and falling into the river, created the river crab to protect the little pebbles. To this day, when you lift a river rock, you never know whether you’re reaching in for a piece of the lucky blue stone, or if a crab is hiding under the rock ready to pinch you with its claw. Don Salvador inched closer to Alex and pinched him on the stomach as he finished telling his story. Alex and Marisol laughed and squealed with joy and jumped up and down begging to go to the saltadero.

Esmeralda looked at Salvador and asked if he had ever found a blue stone or knew of anyone who had. He mentioned that he had gotten his fingers nipped hundreds of times while checking for river crab, but he had never seen nor heard of anyone finding the stone.

For all we know, the story is just a legend passed down generation to generation. But the crab, they definitely exist; and once steamed, they are even better than crab found in the ocean! he exclaimed while licking his chops.

Either way, Francisco, I will say a prayer by the saltadero. I will pray that we find this stone so that my son can be healed, concluded Esmeralda.

Juan Antonio looked at his wife and then at his son. Ever since Alex was born, the poor boy had suffered innumerable trips to the hospital. To those who knew the family, the fact that Alex was still alive at the age of six was a miracle. To this day, Juan believed his son was alive due to the sheer will and strength of his wife. Esmeralda had spent half the boy’s life either in the hospital or roaming the countryside for healers, priests, and doctors to keep her little boy alive. He was so frail, yet had so much life in him. She would do anything and everything to keep him alive. There were many reasons to love his wife and many more reasons to