Lost Contact (The Bridge Sequence Book One) by Nathan Hystad (ereader iphone .TXT) 📕

we’d known, the symbol embedded in its center, just as my father had mentioned in his journal. I stared at the dark metallic shape, remembering the entry of this particular find in the book Beverly had given me a few weeks ago.

 

September 17th, 1977

After four years, we’ve discovered the second piece. The trail grew cold for many months, but we managed to trace it to El Mirador. Its icon is strange: three circles within one another. Hardy still doesn’t know how the objects were distributed by the celestial beings, only that they were placed on six different land masses. This one comes with more relief than the first, from Mozambique, but also more trepidation. One item implied something… a mystery. But two… it makes it real. Hardy’s theory of the Bridge is genuine; that much is evident.

Clayton grows weary of the mission and talks of starting a family with his wife. I will continue with or without him, and reinforce that with the funding of Hunter Madison, his children will never want for anything. I think I can convince him to side with me and to continue the search for the third article. There are times I wish S hadn’t left our team, but it was necessary.

We’ll be departing the jungles of Guatemala posthaste, but one thing is clear. The Bridge awaits.

 

The three circles were as he’d described them. Three rings, each smaller than the previous. “The Bridge awaits,” I mumbled.

“What? What’s the Bridge?” Tripp asked.

“Never mind.” I clutched the Token and slipped it into my breast pocket, where I could feel the weight of it against my chest. “Let’s move. Hunter won’t want to delay any longer.”

We had another piece of the puzzle, but I couldn’t help but mirror my father’s apprehension at the discovery.

5

I walked outside, feeling the crisp air brush against my face. Coming from Australia, then to Madagascar, then to Japan in December was a reminder that it was winter in a lot of the world. Japan always felt slightly more like home than most countries. The people were quiet and friendly, the streets clean, and a sense of pride emanated in everything they accomplished.

“Alone time?” Veronica asked from the hotel entrance. I stared into the distance, toward the enormous snow-capped peaks of Mount Fuji in the setting sun.

“Something like that.”

She came outside, wrapping her arms around herself. There was a dusting of snow on the ground, but most of it melted as it hit the pavement. “Hunter seems pleased.”

“He has what he’s been after for a long time.”

“The Token?” she asked.

“Validation.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“I respect him. He believes in a cause greater than himself, and he’s trying to ensure its detection.”

“Mount Fuji. Seems like an odd location to hide something, doesn’t it?”

I watched her looking at the famous peaks, and smiled. “They didn’t hide it there, but it’s kind of brilliant if you think about it. It’s actually thirty kilometers from here, and twenty from Fuji.” I pointed left of the majestic mountain.

“So if anyone discovered the Token might be near Fuji, they’d start there instead? Why this elaborate ruse? Why not dump them at the bottom of the ocean?” A snowflake landed on her nose. She looked at it cross-eyed and blew it away with a puff of breath.

“I don’t have the answers. I can only assume they wanted someone to find them.” Why else leave a trail at all? I had to think it was something Clayton had done. His gravestone had led the way to Venezuela and the Case, as well as the locker, etched with the remaining coordinates. “I’m just following the breadcrumbs.”

“You’re doing a good job. Care for a drink?” Veronica pointed to the doors, and I joined her inside. The lobby was warm. The hotel was probably the finest in Fujinoyama, with clean white tile and ambient lighting.

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Hunter and Tripp are securing a permit. I haven’t seen Marcus,” she told me.

Neither had I, and that was concerning. He was probably just sleeping off his jetlag after the last week of hectic travel. “Shall we?”

The hostess spoke English and ushered us into the bar. It was a weekday, and the bar was quiet in the late afternoon. A couple of businessmen in suits sat talking quietly to one another over beers, and they stopped as we walked by.

We took seats at the marble bar near the far end, where no one could sit behind us. We hadn’t seen any signs of the Believers for a while, but I had a feeling they were out there, still searching for me.

I was underdressed even for this bar, wearing a plain long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, but Veronica wore a hoodie with dark leggings, so we made an equal pair. The bartender approached, a serious expression on his face as he awaited our drink orders. We opted for local beers, and he poured them, setting the glasses on coasters before leaving to serve another guest.

“Cheers,” Veronica said, clinking her glass to mine. “To the next one.”

“To the next one.”

“What’s after this?”

“Well, we…”

“No, I mean after this is all done. Once Hunter has his prizes, and you’re back in Boston.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’ll be preparing for the new semester.”

“Is it tough?”

“Teaching?”

“No,” Veronica said. “Having to return to a tweed jacket and the students after being out here with the world at your fingertips will be the hard part.”

“I guess it is,” I told her. “But I need a balance. I like having a home base, and I enjoy teaching… even if some of the kids are annoying.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Did you go to college?” I asked. I knew next to nothing about the woman beside me, except that she was a daring pilot and didn’t seem afraid of anything.

“Sure did. Art history degree from Columbia.” She averted her gaze, sipping her beer as she looked at the TV screen behind the bar. It was a local news program.

“Art history. Not