Lost Voyage by Chris Tucker Page A

blow to his defeated opponent, but Mercer was ready for him. Throwing his feet up in the air, he caught the diving Vigil square in the chest, tossing him to the side like a beanbag. As he landed, he let out a moan.
    Winded, Mercer asked, “Had enough, your Highness?”
    Vigil grunted, “Yea, the throne is temporarily vacant.”
    As the two exchanged a few laughs, a ray of sunlight broke through the cloud cover. Mercer caught a glare in his eye from a flickering object about fifteen feet away.
    Interested as to what it could be, he hopped up and went over to it. As he crouched down, he began wiping the dirt from a silver object imbedded in a rock. It was only a few inches in diameter and with the exception of the area being caught by the sunlight; the surface was as dull as the color of the moon. It took him a few moments to clear the debris from around it. It could have been nothing at all, but being the history buff he was, he was always hoping for that next great find when it came to any sort of antiquity.
    After about five minutes of scraping the ground and finally prying the mystery object from the grip of the rock, he stood up and wiped the face of the item as he stared at it curiously.
    “What is it?” asked Vigil.
    Mercer stood there for a few seconds without responding. Then he looked at Vigil, who asked again, “Well? What is it?”
    He finally answered. “It’s a pocket watch.”
    Vigil suddenly had a strange tone in his voice, as something unexpectedly caught his eye as well. “A pocket watch, huh? Do you think it belonged to him?”
    Confused by the question, Mercer looked at his partner and saw him looking right back past where he was standing. He turned around and saw a ditch just twenty yards away from where he had been digging. Lying in the ditch was a man who looked like he couldn’t have been dead for more than a few days. Next to him was a line of bodies that stretched about thirty feet down to the other end of the trench.
    Mercer estimated there to be about fifty bodies, all of which had been murdered in a brutal manner. One of the bodies in particular grabbed his attention. It was that of a man with a gaping wound in his chest wearing a red polo shirt, which had the letters USGS embroidered on it.
     
    ***
     
    Vallejos had just completed a walk-through of the compound at the cartel’s base of operations. Situated on over a hundred acres of land, the complex resembled a military base. Bunkers and munitions depots covered the landscape, along with hundreds of soldiers and their shanties throughout the wooded area. Secure in the fact all operations were running normally, he made his way back into the main building which housed his office, as well as other administrative facilities.
    The two-story structure sat atop an immense system of tunnels and caves that had been dug out over the years to house prisoners and to provide escape routes should the compound ever be invaded. The interior walls were a burgundy color and accentuated the dark brown furniture that lined the floors and hallways.
    A staircase in the middle of the foyer led to the upstairs floor where his office was located, and even though there were other rooms on the floor, he didn’t allow them to be used as personal work spaces. He was a paranoid man who liked his private space and despised others impeding on his territory. The remainder of his personal staff was confined to the downstairs, where they carried out their day to day operations.
    As he walked into his office, he sauntered over to the window overlooking the compound. The events of the past few days had made him uneasy, and he thought of ways to make the men who were responsible for the death of his soldier pay dearly. He was so enthralled in his emotions that he never heard the tapping sound on the door behind him. It was only after he heard a deep, stern voice call his name that he finally became aware of his surroundings once again.
    “Andres, is everything