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

wound. White dots floated in my vision again, but the bandage was clean.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Veronica said, her voice chastising me.

“Like I wanted this,” I muttered. “Tripp, if I haven’t said it enough… thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. Just doing my job.” Tripp had Hunter’s journal in his hand, and he rifled through the pages.

“Where are we? I’ve been so out of it. What did Hunter leave us at the house?” I sipped my coffee, hoping the jolt of caffeine would help me focus through the muddle of drugs in my body.

Marcus answered. “Hunter told us to fly to Porto. Wine country in Portugal. Looks incredible. He owns a place there, off the record, so no one should be aware it exists. He’s paid some locals to maintain it for a couple of decades and hasn’t shown his face there for the entire time.”

“He was playing a patient game,” Tripp said.

“I wish he was alive to see the Tokens together,” Veronica whispered.

“What else? Do we have the location of the Bridge entrance?” I was more curious about that than anything.

Tripp bobbed his head: not quite a no, not quite a yes. “Sort of. He described it but failed to leave coordinates. He really didn’t want the cultists to find it.”

“How do we track the cavern?” I asked.

“It’s clear it’s within twenty miles of his house. He says as much. We just need to use his clues to locate it from there.” Marcus brought up a map, showing the location of the home.

“Are those satellite images?” I asked, seeing the grids and intense detail. This was no web browser software at work.

“Apparently, Tripp still has access,” Marcus said. “I think we’ve partnered with a real live secret agent man.”

Tripp grunted but didn’t deny anything. “Glad to help.”

“What does his description say?”

Veronica laughed, a bright sound over the plane’s humming engines. “Where the water flows, the pathway glows. Seek a star’s flight on a cloudy night.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I was tired of the games. “Can’t someone for once tell us a fact? Like, it’s located two-point three kilometers northwest of my house. Can’t miss it. Valley with a giant waterfall. A tree that looks like a bird.”

“Then where’s the fun?” Marcus asked.

“Fun? This stopped being fun the moment someone died. Marcus, you were slashed with a knife in the catacombs, and we’ve both been shot.”

“Don’t forget you were clipped in the face with a gun,” Veronica reminded me.

My hand went to my cheek, and I felt the puffy skin. “With the gaping hole in my stomach, I’d almost forgotten about that.”

She watched me from across the seats, next to Tripp, and I grinned back. We’d faced the barrel of the Believers’ gun and had somehow lived to tell the tale. That was something that would bond us forever, or as long as we lived—which, considering the dire circumstances we were under, might only be days.

“Let’s break that down, Marcus. What do you see with water in the area?” I asked.

“The most obvious is the Douro River, but it’s twenty-two miles at the closest juncture of his property. According to his message, that makes it improbable.”

“Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe he measured it differently,” I suggested.

“Have you known Hunter Madison to screw something up?”

Marcus made a good point, but I had one counter to that. “Francois. He had a Believer working beside him for years. That’s a pretty big mistake.” I didn’t take solace in that fact.

“How was he to know? It’s easy to trust someone once they’ve built that relationship. I don’t blame him in the least. Plus, these cultists are organized. They know exactly what they’re doing.” Veronica removed her straps and stepped by Marcus, peering at the laptop’s satellite image.

“Okay, take out the river. What else?” I watched as Marcus zoomed in, using the program to create four quadrants originating from Hunter’s property. They formed a circle, with twenty miles as the farthest reach on any edge. His place was north of the city of Porto, quite remote, with no apparent neighbors for a few miles. From this vantage point, it appeared like he owned a vineyard, with rows of grapes lining the fields and valleys behind the home. It was classic Hunter.

“The mountains aren’t huge, but over here”—Marcus directed his finger to the top right quadrant—“there’s a small lake, and if you look, it runs downward toward this valley.”

“Where the water flows, the pathway glows. What is this pathway, and why would it glow?” I pondered the riddle left by the dead billionaire.

“There have to be markings. Like, Hunter made a trail.” Marcus tilted his head to the side, raising his eyebrows.

“Could be. But what about Seek a star’s flight on a cloudy night? How do you see a star on a cloudy night?” Veronica asked, but none of us had the answer.

“Save that. I think you’re onto something with the location in the mountains. We know it’s a cavern, which means peaks or a hilly range.” We continued to scour the images and pinpointed another four locations that might work for his puzzle.

“There’s more,” Tripp said once Marcus finally closed his laptop. I saw my sister was still asleep, with the kids lying sideways on the seats. Fred’s eyes were open, but he was just gazing toward the bathroom.

“What is it?” I glanced at the journal in his hands. Marcus and I had pilfered it from Brian Hardy’s place, and now he was dead.

“Hunter had been in the midst of translating the book.” Tripp handed it to me, and I curiously scanned the pages.

I saw the symbols for the Tokens etched into the margins, and finally clued in. “He’s been working on their positioning. I’ve been so caught up in getting the Tokens, I hadn’t considered utilizing them in any particular order.”

I glanced at the bag across the seats, and Tripp dove into it, pulling the Case free. It felt smaller than when I’d pulled it out of the mine’s underground