The Brink: Ramsey, #4

By James McPike

THE WORLD IS ON … THE BRINK

When a young archaeologist discovers the earliest known cave painting hidden deep within the heart of Africa, she suddenly becomes the target of a sinister organization. They will stop at nothing to keep the truth hidden, knowing it could shatter the fabric of religious order worldwide and rewrite history as we know it.

In comes Vince Ramsey, Israel's top investigator and biblical scholar for matters like these. He must not only protect the archaeologist as they embark on a dangerous journey through Europe's most iconic ruins—but he must help her find a mystical relic with ties to an ancient royal dynasty—one so powerful that it ruled the continent after the fall of the Roman Empire. Can they be the ones to solve a mystery for the ages—or will history repeat itself—once again?

 

"… stuff[s] plenty of non-stop action and cunning plot twists within its pages. McPike has clearly hit on a winning formula with his two main characters …"

—READERS' FAVORITE (5-stars)

• Language: English
• Publisher: James McPike
• Release date: Apr 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201622428

Book preview

For

Lincoln Larry Richard Henderson

ALSO BY JAMES B. McPIKE

TREASURE FEVER: The Hunt for El Dorado

SHIPWRECK ISLAND

FINAL OUTCOME

THE VINCE RAMSEY SERIES

THE EMERALD CAVE

THE LOST PROPHET

REALM OF THE UNKNOWN

PRAISE FOR

THE BRINK

... stuff[s] plenty of non-stop action and cunning plot twists within its pages. McPike has clearly hit on a winning formula with his two main characters ... —Readers’ Favorite (5-stars)

1

BOTSWANA, SOUTHERN AFRICA

Hurry, it’s just this way, their guide told them.

Realizing how close they were, Julie Tiscareno could hardly contain her excitement. It had taken her three long days just to get this far, having trekked through the harshest deserts, sprawling savannas, and wild grasslands, at one point trying to avoid and outrun an angry horde of rhinoceros.

She looked over to the porter, Uzoh, who had been assigned to her from the University of Botswana at the start of this African safari. He was just as excited, like a little kid with boundless energy and enthusiasm, with nothing but hope and optimism for the future. His big ears—something his friends had playfully made fun of back home—even seemed to wiggle with eager anticipation. He had heard rumors of this place, with ancestral ties to the indigenous San people. Finally, with her financing in place from Miami University, in collaboration with Uzoh’s, they had made it happen.

But it hadn’t been easy.

The San people were wary and suspicious of foreigners like her treading upon their sacred land and poking their noses around where they didn’t belong. The outside world was a chaotic mess, full of disharmony and strife, and they wanted nothing to do with it. They knew that opening the door could lead to a potential upheaval of their idyllic isolation and sustained way of life, but they were also generous and God-fearing people, willing to share their cultural gifts and arcane wisdom.

Coupled with the remoteness and inaccessibility of the site in the highly-revered Tsodilo Hills, nobody in her field of expertise had been here for ages, not since the turn of the last century. But as her experience had taught her, no corner of the globe could be lost or hidden forever, could it?

Do you know the last time an archaeologist from another country passed through here? she asked poignantly.

Uzoh didn’t have a clue.

Nearly two decades ago, she explained. But back then the expedition had to be cut short due to severe flash floods of biblical proportions. They were lucky to get out alive.

Wow, thanks for sharing that with me now, he replied facetiously.

Oh, not to worry, she chuckled. No rain in the forecast this week. Just hundred-degree temperatures with no relief in sight. Makes me think twice about my career choice. Maybe I should’ve packed my bikini and hung out by the pool instead.

This time Uzoh showed his magnanimous grin minus a few front teeth. If you did that it might attract every male species around here that was in heat.

She brushed him off with a prudent yet dignified laugh. I’ll pretend I didn’t just hear you say that, but thanks for the compliment anyway.

Their African guide, Kemba, who carried a giant spear—stopped at the top of the ridge, still waiting for them to catch up. An expert hunter-gatherer, he wore a traditional animal hide around his emaciated waist, a colorful beaded necklace, and an antelope headband. He peered back at them with something like bristling frustration—clearly not one to hide his impatience or annoyance. He hadn’t come along on this trip by choice. Only when instructed to do so by the village elders, all in an attempt to appease the university’s outreach program to improve relations with neighboring countries, along with the rest of the world. He had been one of the few locals who had extensive knowledge of the area along with the ability to speak decent English.

But he had let it be known to the elders that he didn’t approve of them being here.

Julie and Uzoh reached the top of the ridge. It was unusual in that it was a large, rugged rock formation, almost in the shape of a stacked pyramid, atop a thousand-foot-high knoll. Nothing like it in the vicinity.

From their vantage point, Julie could see down into the breathtaking valley, see the stark outlines of the trench-like Okavango Delta spawning into the grasslands that eventually gave way to the desert plains of the Kalahari Desert. It stretched as far as the eye could see. A cluster of acacia trees stood out like a solitary oasis, providing the only cool refuge of shade around. A herd of zebras and gazelles were huddling close to the river basin while across the way a larger group of elephants were marching off to the south. The dirt road they’d taken to get here still had remnants of dust clouds stuck in the stagnant air.

The only sign of habitation was the Kazungula village near the horizon—modest dwellings of thatched-roofed huts with patches of dry clay, domesticated animals, and crooked wooden stake fences outlining the perimeter. That was their home base from where they’d departed and where they’d return. The only sign of civilization visible. The last remaining outpost until the next border with Zambia. Before leaving, Julie had participated in a local tradition with the villagers by eating part of a wild tortoise and an ostrich egg, something she’d never forget. It had been a bumpy ten-minute drive to reach the sacred site where they were now, but from here it appeared as though the village was impossibly far, shrinking away into the depths of a distorted mirage.

It’s down there. Kemba pointed to an outcropping of rocks below where a dark crevice revealed the unmistakable opening to some sort of cave. A crude, precipitous, winding footpath carved by animals and humans over countless centuries angled down toward its dark and foreboding entrance.

Julie glanced back to Uzoh. Seems like a good time to start filming. We don’t want to miss a thing, do we?

Uzoh already had his backpack on the ground, digging out the prized digital camcorder he’d stored. The university’s grant required documenting their findings as well with written firsthand accounts later on.

Anxious to keep moving, Kemba expertly navigated the treacherous stone path down to the cave, using his spear like an improvised walking stick along the edge. He stopped short of the cave entrance, still eyeing them in a wary fashion to keep up.

Julie and Uzoh did so, but much more cautiously, following the golden rule of safety first. The rocks were as slippery as shale on loose sand, and there could be numerous pitfalls and unstable erosion unseen to the naked eye. Every so often a small rock or cascade of pebbles would tumble down the cliffside as a reminder.

When they caught up, Kemba nodded to each of them to make sure they were ready to proceed further. The sun was close to reaching its zenith in the scintillating bleached-out sky, but down where they were, surrounded by strange and monstrous rock formations, it made everything appear as though trapped in perpetual twilight. Even the temperature felt like it had cooled down a good ten degrees or so. Which was a godsend.

We’re ready, Julie confirmed, giving a resolute nod while she fixed the bandana fastidiously around her hair. Tiny beads of perspiration had already accumulated along the fine lines of her cheekbones and her exposed neckline. She turned back and signaled Uzoh to start filming as she gave a brief introduction of who she was, starting with her background and credentials, where they were going, and what extraordinary secrets she thought the cave would unveil.

She kept things succinct, not wanting to give a sermon or shut the door on her audience’s imagination too soon, clearly eager to keep moving and explore the interior of the cave.

As she did this, Kemba shifted his spear in a nonthreatening manner, wrapping a filthy rag around the end. He doused it with an accelerant that had been in his canteen before using a match to set it on fire.

Follow me. Stick close, he instructed in his stilted speech. "Treat this as you would visiting a cemetery or place of worship. The spirits are all around us, watching us, so be respectful. Get what you came here for and then we’re gone."

Understood, she wholeheartedly agreed.

Kemba acted as if his instructions had fallen on deaf ears, however, and curtly turned away, his animosity not going away anytime soon. Then, with the torch in hand, he led them through the opening with little warning or pretense. Despite the torchlight, the place seemed formidably darker—much darker than it should—and almost otherworldly, as if stepping foot off this planet and into the threshold of another where fragile human beings were anything but welcome. They were trespassers, invaders in a sense, there was no other way around that feeling.

Other than the hollow scrape of their footsteps and shallow breathing, it was eerily quiet; a place unto its own, full of potential, not yet revealing the full extent of its mystery or true magnificence.

It smelled dank and of the earth, and yet there was something else that was difficult to pinpoint—very faint but present—possibly a decaying animal corpse somewhere.

They proceeded down a narrow, serpentine tunnel that, just for a moment, brought back to Julie adrenaline-fueled memories of being in an enclosed waterslide at an amusement park. You never knew what was right around the bend. You just had to close your eyes and hope and pray you came out the other side.

Then it gradually began to level out. The flame-lit torch played a constant game of ever-changing light and forlorn shadows off the stratified rock walls, occasionally making them see things that weren’t there. Their brains tried desperately to fill in the blanks and make sense of it all between reality and illusion.

Eventually, the narrow cave opened into a striking cavernous space. A twenty-foot-high ceiling with ancient hand-carved alcoves was hidden off in the back, distorted by shapeshifting shadows. Stalactites hung dangerously from the ceiling like fossilized dragon teeth, adding a prevailing sense of dread and unease as if any sudden noise or disturbance might cause one to drop like a javelin and impale the person right where they stood.

Julie spotted something further back that instantly caught her eye. Some sort of primitive rock art—petroglyphs perhaps.

She dug into her pack.

What are you doing? Kemba asked suspiciously with an upturned eyebrow.

Getting a flashlight. I can barely see.

The camera was in night vision mode, there was something more visceral and gripping that way as a documentary filmmaker according to Uzoh. He also made sure to stay clear of getting a direct view of the torch due to unnecessary lens flare. He had big aspirations of going beyond this someday, hoping whatever they’d find could catapult him and he could make a name for himself in the movie industry.

No! said Kemba adamantly. No flashlights! Strictly forbidden!

You’re kidding, right? Julie scoffed. What do you expect?

My torch only. Artificial light is harmful to the paintings and disrupts the spirits. Torches were used by my ancestors and will continue to be used. Nothing else.

Not even the flashlight app on my phone?

No, he was firm again, voicing his utmost displeasure. Those are the rules. If you don’t like it, you can leave.

Julie didn’t like it. It seemed like utter nonsense, purely ridiculous, an irrational paranoia not based on any science or fact. Perhaps the guide was just being a stickler for whatever reason, giving her a hard time, but what could she do? No point in arguing with him now when she’d come this far as a guest of honor, she just had to learn to adapt and be more sensitive to his cultural beliefs.

All right then, since I don’t see any more torches around here, may I borrow yours?

No, it stays with me. Always. Just point to what you want to see, and I will show it to you.

Okay then, sounds fair.

She led the way this time toward the back where she could barely make out the faintest traces of what appeared to be red paint. It instantly made her think it was done in blood. A scorpion scurried off upon her approach, retreating to a safe hiding place beneath a nearby rock. Kemba went step-for-step with her, almost too close for comfort now, shadowing her every move, shining the torch near the wall to great effect.

She was awestruck by what she saw.

Rudimentary inscriptions of animals native to the region were there—giraffes, elephants, and the like. There was something heartfelt and adoring in the childlike familiarity of it to Julie. As if she was a witness to the bridge of time as it simultaneously connected the forgotten past to the present, merging into one, meaningful singular moment.

Human sticklike figures, clearly in the hunter-gatherer stage were interspersed in segments. Most were almost completely faded from age, covered by a dull patina undoubtedly caused by campfires and torchlight over the millennia. These paintings were ostensibly old—and best of all—extremely rare.

Are you getting all this? she quickly asked Uzoh from over her shoulder, her voice flush with shock and electric excitement.

I’m getting it, the Botswanan student assured her, diligently filming behind her, not wanting to miss a thing, knowing this was a stepping stone upon which to stake his career.

These paintings appear to predate anything ever found in Europe, she went on, almost lost in a trance, recalling the paleolithic Lascaux Caves in France as one example. She glided her hand inches away from the wall without actually touching them, knowing that would undoubtedly upset Kemba. She couldn’t afford to be turned away at this point. Those were 40,000 years old ... these are ...

How old do you think? asked Uzoh, peering from behind the camera lens and back again.

Short of radiocarbon dating and thermoluminescence testing, I’d place these at around 70,000 years ago—at the very least. She took a tumultuous breath to let the magnitude of that statement sink in. She knew there was a long line of archaeologists and historians who would kill to be in her shoes. She was so caught up in the moment that she almost forgot the camera was still rolling, recording her every move. That would mean these are the oldest rock paintings of primitive humans on record.

The air seemed to thicken considerably in the room with static electricity at such a spectacular and earth-shattering find.

They are, Kemba told her as if it was a stone-cold fact. My ancestors knew how special and sacred this place was. A sanctuary for the gods. The cradle of all human life started right here.

But wait, what’s this? Julie sounded even more excited as she scooted down. Kemba was a step too slow for her liking—and she quickly urged him to bring the light even closer.

Please! Over here!

She had moved further down to the end of the wall to study something that stood out in particular. It was the last and final inscription in the chamber.

Hesitant for whatever reason, Kemba had enough sense to obey her command and follow her line of sight, shining the torch at the crude drawings. As the light flickered it gave life to the simplistic representations, something that surely primitive mankind could admire and appreciate.

Julie could only imagine how it must’ve been back then.

How many people were here? Who made these paintings? A man, woman, or child? What were they going through? What turmoil or day-to-day stresses of life did they have to endure in order to survive?

There were a bunch of the same sticklike figures, some with spears, others bearing food as gifts—all gathered around something. Clearly a ceremony of great importance. It was difficult to decipher at first what it was by its face alone, worn away by the damaging effects of time, but its swirling body spoke of something all-too sinister. And how it was almost hypnotically drawn gave it away. Like staring at a labyrinthian maze and trying to figure your way out.

A snake? The words tumbled out of her mouth.

Python, Kemba clarified, still holding the torch—but his grip was wavering. Either his arm was getting tired or he was terrified by what he knew.

Uzoh had a shriveled frown. So, what’s the big deal? You afraid of snakes or something?

She mulled it over for his benefit, already knowing the answer. Let’s just say they’re not my favorite of all God’s creatures.

Hey, I’m with you there. I can’t stand the slimy, skin-crawling things. Gives me nightmares. Uzoh shivered just thinking about it. But what’s the significance of it being here? Does this mean—?

"That they worshipped it, yes. Our earliest ancestors worshipped this ... thing. She could hardly believe it herself but the proof was indisputable and directly before her. Something about it was powerful and captivating enough to capture their hearts and minds. It was their centerpiece, their idol. They wanted to make sure they left a record of it to be found. I’d say we just made history for the rest of the world."

Suddenly, they heard a distant boom echo in the distance.

Everyone whirled around to see what it was.

What the hell was that? Uzoh blurted out, sounding nervous and scared. This place isn’t booby-trapped, is it?

Kemba’s face tightened with alarm and bewilderment. No. Stay here. I’ll go check.

Fat chance of that happening, Julie thought. She didn’t want to be left in the dark and was just as curious. But before any of them got the chance, the ground began to tremble beneath their feet as if a minor earthquake was taking place. A slew of boulders tumbled down the entrance, effectively sealing it off. A billowing dust cloud spread fast throughout the room.

Coughing their way through the initial confusion, Julie asked Kemba, Is there another way out of here?

Kemba had nearly fallen to the ground and injured his leg, the torch threatening to go out—but he managed to protect it with his life.

Yes, he finally said, rising to his feet in a fit of rage at what just happened. His breathing was ragged as though a lung was punctured. Follow me while there’s still time!

Hopefully it’s still intact, Uzoh prayed.

Kemba scrambled to an alcove near the back, the torchlight flickering wildly across the dust-coated walls, giving life to imaginary beasts hidden in the darkest corners of the human psyche. There was a space about two feet wide concealed behind the wall that separated itself from the alcove. Without a second’s thought, he somehow slipped his wiry body through, while urging them to do the same.

Julie wasn’t sure she’d fit with her bag full of gear on, so she had no other option but to lose it. In the end, they were things she could live without. She squeezed herself through the cramped space and was grateful when it opened up into another wider tunnel on the other side. She checked behind her to make sure Uzoh was still there—and he was—moving just as fast and frantically as she was.

Together, they raced down the disorienting tunnel behind Kemba, the flaming torch flickering in and out at their brisk pace before relighting the path again in a devilish hue of orange and garish yellow.

Before they knew it, they spotted a spectacle of inviting sunlight seeping through the exit of jagged rocks at the very end. Barreling through at a breakneck pace, they crashed into each other on the other side, ending up in a tangled grove of thorn bushes. The prickly shrubs scratched them from head to toe. Rubble was scattered around them on the ground like an exploded lunar surface.

Kemba straightened up painfully, eyes bloodshot and bleary, staring off toward his village—the place he called home—with a torn look of anguish and grief.

Julie stopped alongside him, her heart lodged in her throat, beyond shocked by the horrific scene she witnessed.

The village was ablaze. No longer recognizable.

Thatched-roof huts where just moments ago multigenerational families had been living their ordinary lives were now burning to the ground. What little food reserves were left were consumed and ravaged by blistering, hellish flames. Spooked livestock fleeing chaotically in all directions, oily black smoke staining the once-serene sky, deathly cries cut off in the distance.

Kemba made a move to go there—not wanting