"To be honest, I'm not discounting the possibility, particularly since I'm convinced someone must have imparted a great deal of knowledge to the ancient Indian tribes who lived in South America several thousand years ago. All you have to do is visit a couple of Mayan ruins. The Aztec, Mayan and Inca architecture speaks for itself. I am convinced the primitive Indians had to have had some help in building their fabulous cities."
"You mean like Ingregil?" Chris asked.
Eric nodded his head. "That's why my father went into the jungle to try and find the lost city of Akakor. You see, the Ugha Mongulala Indians were supposed to have occupied that city and others like it. Father wanted to find irrefutable evidence that the Star Walkers had really existed. Unlike the Indians, my father didn't believe they were gods."
"Who did he think they were?" Chris asked.
"He wasn't sure whether the Star Walkers were from this world or some other, but he was convinced they must have possessed extraordinary powers. Actually, father's hypothesis makes sense. According to legend, the Star Walkers could perform superhuman feats. That's why the ancient Indians believed them to be gods. But in reality, they might not have been gods at all. Maybe they just possessed a technology far superior to the times that made those Indians think they were gods."
Chris walked over to the refrigerator to help himself to another beer. "If your father didn't think the Star Walkers were gods, then he must have believed they were biological entities from another world."
"I never told anyone this, but Jonathan Shade was often ridiculed or scoffed by a number of scholars. And I know why. I'm the kind of guy who has to see it, smell it, and then touch it before I'll make the claim that it exists. But not my father. That's because he always worked outside of the box." Eric paused. "Actually, my father's premise wasn't all that far-fetched. You see, Chris, in many ways it's easier to believe that these so called Star Walkers weren't gods at all, but a race of people either from this planet or some other who were much more advanced technologically than we are today. In fact, I recall a story that makes my point:
"In World War II an American fighter pilot crash-landed in a Brazilian rain forest where he was discovered by an isolated tribe of natives. Impressed by his descent from the sky, these primitive Indians elevated him to the status of a god. They even created a religion around him. The proof of their religion consisted of a series of artifacts hanging from tree branches, including items such as a broken plane engine, a cigarette lighter, and a rusting pocketknife. To an educated man, these artifacts are not proof of the religion itself, but rather proof of an actual event that had occurred and was misrepresented."
"I see what you're saying," Chris said. "Any sufficiently advanced technology can be perceived as a miracle-and people in those days thought only gods could perform miracles."
"That's exactly my point! If these so called Star Walkers had really existed, what do you think happened to them?" Eric asked a rhetorical question that he answered himself. "No one really knows. Some say they left this world because they became disenchanted with the frailties and weaknesses of mankind. Others claim they are still here and live deep beneath the earth. The truth of the matter is at this point it's all pure conjecture. As I told you earlier. I have to see it before I believe it."
"Well, one certainly can't knock success," Chris said. "You and your father found Ingregil."
"Yes, but that happened a long time ago. My father knew how to speak Quechua. Not only could he read Korubu, but he could also read and write in a number of other native languages. He used to listen for hours to the stories the natives would tell him. What he loved to do more than anything else was chase myths. If an Indian were to tell him the Star Walkers were actually the three wise men who followed a moving star to the birthplace of Jesus, he'd probably believe the story."
Chris's eyes widened. "Really?"
"No. Talk about being gullible!" Eric stood up. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to catch some shut-eye."
CHAPTER 9
Phillip Nash was a creature of habit. On the day before Catalina was to arrive from Manaus, he woke up from his afternoon nap at precisely four o'clock. After throwing on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, he ran five miles in the hilly terrain that surrounded his Bel Aire two-acre estate. After his run, he headed for the steam room.
Phillip was a rich man, and he owed a large portion of his wealth to his parents. When they died, they left him twenty million dollars plus fifteen acres of prime oceanfront property north of Malibu, California. In time, he received clearance from the coastal commission to subdivide the land into half-acre parcels. He could have sold the land to developers, but decided to improve the property himself. He hired an architect and a contractor, built thirty luxurious oceanfront residences, and sold them when real estate values were at an all-time high. He took the profit plus his initial investment and purchased oil leases. By the time he was thirty, Phillip's net worth was well over one hundred million dollars. Since he had so much money that he no longer had to worry about finances, he placed all of it in a trust, and drew two million dollars a year, which was all he needed in order to maintain his extravagant lifestyle. That's when he became interested in South American artifacts.
Phillip thought it ironic that even with all of his wealth, he was unable to have a normal sex life. While still a teenager, he discovered he was unlike other boys. In the beginning the doctors had told him he was suffering from post-traumatic stress. They had assured him that over a period of time, once the vivid recollection of his parents' death was a fading memory, he would be able to function normally. After he had completed college, he spent a fortune on psychiatrists and when they couldn't help him, he purchased every aphrodisiac he could lay his hands on, but nothing worked.
He never forgot the humiliation he experienced during his last year of high school. His classmates told him that one of the most beautiful girls at the school had a crush on him. He finally decided to ask her out. On their first two dates, they talked and laughed and had a great time. On their third date, she asked Phillip if he wanted to come by her house and take a dip in the pool. When he went over, she told him her parents had left for the weekend. "Why don't you go out to the cabana and put on your swimsuit," she had said coyly. "I'll meet you there in a few minutes."
Phillip recalled the events that had taken place as if it had happened yesterday. He watched her from the cabana spring off the diving board in the nude. She waved to him when she surfaced. "Come on in, the water is great." When he hesitated, she came over and stood stark naked in front of him, dripping wet. When he just stood there not knowing what to do, she took him by the hand and led him back inside the cabana. "Take off your trunks," she had said. "They'll only be in the way." When he didn't respond, she had reached into his swimsuit and began to play with his penis. When he didn't get an erection, she accused him of being gay. Word got around quickly that he couldn't "get it up," with a girl, and he quickly became the laughingstock of the entire school. The experience had devastated him. That was the first and last time Phillip had ever been out on a date.
When he entered college, he chose not to make friends, rationalizing that if he acted aloof and unapproachable, no one would ever suspect he had a problem. Over the years, he had developed an impenetrable fa?ade, which he used as a defense mechanism. In the beginning, Phillip had to work at being unpleasant. At first, he found it difficult to be rude, but in time, it became second nature to him. Having friends would mean he would have to share feelings and emotions, and this was something he was not willing to do, preferring to live the life of a recluse.
Phillip employed a large staff, which included a number of gardeners, a cook, a couple of maids, and a chauffeur. With the exception of his personal butler, no one stayed with him longer than a year. Because he didn't associate with women, he was always afraid one of the help would come to the erroneous conclusion that he was gay. He would give them a monetary incentive to seek employment elsewhere.
&nb
sp; But that was before he met Catalina. He wasn't sure if Catalina was a blessing or a curse. Maybe a little of both.
In the beginning, when Phillip had started to collect South American relics, his purchases had been modest, particularly when one considered his enormous wealth. However, money had not been the issue. It was his distrust of people that had made him cautious. He was always afraid of getting ripped off. Once Catalina received her doctorate, she had quickly shown an aptitude for buying artifacts at or below market prices. Once he trusted her instincts, he let her purchase exorbitantly expensive one-of-a-kind items.
He still marveled at what she had managed to accomplish. Although most of his possessions were of museum quality, prior to her involvement, there had been little if any semblance of order to his artifacts. Within a short period of time, Catalina had re-arranged his entire inventory. She catalogued and displayed textiles, ceramics, militaristic, and religious objects as well as important Spanish documents that related to the conquest of the Inca Empire.
Once Phillip discovered how indispensable she was, he hired her to work for him. By giving Catalina a job, he rationalized that this would be a way to hold on to her, and Phillip was certain of only one thing. He would never let her go.
As he was getting dressed, he looked out of his bedroom window and saw a young bird that had apparently fallen out of its nest onto a ledge. It stretched its wings to fly, but either it was too afraid or unable to. For some reason, the injured sparrow reminded Phillip of the day his limousine had run over Catalina. He'd never stopped blaming himself for the accident. To this day, he wished he could take back the words he had spoken to the chauffer:
"Hurry, will you? I don't want to be late for my appointment."
"But, sir. The road is wet and visibility is poor."
Phillip recalled how angry he had become. "I don't pay you to think. I pay you to follow my wishes. Step on it!"
No sooner had the chauffeur obeyed than he felt the big car swerve. He had even heard the thud when Catalina's body connected with the limousine's right bumper. He had immediately jumped out of the car into the pouring rain. The scene before him was indelibly seared into his memory. The image of the bleeding, semi-conscious girl still haunted him to this very day. He quickly saw the futility of trying to staunch the blood flowing from her mouth. He waited at the scene until an ambulance and the police arrived. They asked some questions and then told him he could go. He was due to fly back to L.A., but his conscience bothered him so much that he cancelled the flight. Phillip went to the hospital. It was there that he met Marcelo, the girl's grandfather. He told Marcelo it was his driver who had hit her. He remembered sitting in the hospital with Marcelo waiting to hear what the doctors had to say. He was relieved when they told him she would live; however, they made it clear that her injuries were extensive.
After seeing Catalina, he talked Marcelo in to allowing him to fly her to a hospital in Los Angeles where he had assured him that she would receive the best of care. Marcelo came, too. He stayed for a while, but once he was convinced Phillip's doctors would nurse her back to health, he returned to Manaus.
Phillip picked up Catalina's picture, which was prominently displayed on his bureau. He had taken it shortly after she graduated from college. He ran his fingers over the frame. She was as tall as his mother had been. He didn't think the picture did justice to her eyes. They were emerald green, the same color as his mother's. Her jet-black hair was naturally full of curl. She was the only woman he knew who didn't require makeup. Her complexion was the color of fine bone china, the contrast of the purity of her skin and her dark hair made her appear all the more striking.
At first he had sensed Catalina would welcome his advances. He was definitely attracted to her, but his fear of not being able to perform and of the scorn that would accompany it caused him to shy away from a romantic relationship. The memory of ridicule still fresh in his mind, he vowed he would never again place himself in a position where his vulnerability could be used against him.
Phillip called for his chauffeur. Within minutes he entered the sleek, black Rolls. "Drive me to Cartier's and hurry," he told the driver. As the car sped toward the famous jewelry store, Phillip replayed what he would say to Catalina the following evening. He'd been toying with the idea of proposing marriage, but thus far, hadn't broached the subject. The more he thought about it the more convinced he became it wasn't such a bad idea. Lean and muscular at thirty-eight, Phillip was as fit as a man ten years his junior. He knew he would have to tell her the truth about his condition, but if she cared for him, and he felt sure she did, would it really matter? Hopefully, the lack of a physical union wouldn't make that much difference. Maybe she could help him overcome his impotency, and in the meantime her acceptance of a marriage proposal would be the only gratification he would require.
When he walked into one of the most exclusive jewelry stores in Los Angeles, Phillip noted the time. It was four minutes to six.
"I'm closing, sir," said the man behind the counter. "I was just getting ready to lock up."
"What time do you have?" Phillip asked sternly.
"Six o'clock."
"My watch is extremely accurate, and I'll have you know it's not six yet."
The clerk gave Phillip a phony smile. "I'm sorry, sir. My mistake. What can I do for you?"
As usual, Phillip was direct. "I want to buy an engagement ring."
"Certainly, sir. I've put away most of the inventory that had been on display. May I ask what you'd like to spend?"
"Price is of no concern. I want to buy something extraordinary, not the stuff you normally keep behind the counter. I want to purchase the most expensive diamond engagement ring you have."
The shopkeeper began to stammer. "Our finer jewelry has been locked in the safe for the night. The safe has a time lock and can't be opened till tomorrow morning. Would it be possible to come back tomorrow?"
Irritated, Phillip said icily, "You didn't answer my question."
Well, the most expensive diamond in Cartier's inventory retails for two million six hundred thousand dollars. It's six carats and virtually flawless, a very rare diamond indeed. We have loose diamonds at our New York store that are more expensive, but the ring would have to be made to order. If you want one of those, it would take a minimum of?.?.?."
"I'll take the one you just mentioned. Someone will call you with a ring size in the morning. Have it ready for me by tomorrow afternoon." Pulling out his checkbook, Phillip glanced at the clerk whose mouth was wide open. "What's the total with tax?"
"Don't you want to see the stone first? What if you don't like it?"
"I'm not buying it to wear on my finger. Besides, what's not to like about a two million six hundred thousand dollar ring?"
CHAPTER 10
Since Phillip was already a patron and benefactor of the Getty Museum in L.A., Catalina placed his name on the shipping label and sent the aryballos to the museum. She did this for two reasons. She was afraid if she took it with her on the plane, she might damage it. Also, she didn't want to have to lie to a custom's official if he were to ask her questions about the artifact. Catalina rationalized she wasn't exactly being dishonest sending it to the museum since Phillip had stipulated that upon his death, most of his South American artifacts were to go to the Getty.
On the return flight, Catalina could hardly wait to unseal the aryballos, hoping Phillip would be just as pleased with the purchase as she was. Ah, Phillip. I wish he wouldn't make life so complicated. When they first met, he was thirty, she only nineteen. Although nothing had ever been said, Phillip, always the gentleman, had maintained his distance. In the beginning, he had acted more as a surrogate older brother, always tending to her needs. In those days she didn't realize to what extent he controlled and manipulated her. Catalina was very much aware that, with the exception of Phillip, her life was devoid of people. Once she started college, she'd asked Phillip if a male classmate from school could visit, and although he hadn't verba
lized any objections, his facial expression showed his displeasure. She never asked him again.
Catalina tried to recall when their relationship had started to change. She guessed it was after she had completed her doctorate degree. That's when Phillip seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in showing her off. Even though she would have been quite happy wearing a pair of jeans, he insisted she wear the latest fashions and started to buy her chic clothes from the smart dress shops that lined Rodeo Drive. They would go to the theater, the symphony, fine restaurants, and, once in a while, to a party that one of the many charities he donated to would sponsor.
She wasn't naive enough to think that people didn't talk, but their relationship had always been platonic. In the beginning, Catalina had been disappointed that Phillip had never made any romantic overtures toward her, but as she matured, she suspected he had only wanted to convey to others the impression that he was sleeping with her. But if that were the case, why didn't he? As generous and considerate as he was, he often left her with the impression that she was nothing more than one of his many acquisitions. Even though he'd shower her with expensive gifts, there was always this undercurrent of emotional detachment. For the life of her, she couldn't understand why.
It was shortly after Phillip had frowned on her having male companions that he hired a private masseuse. She could still visualize the young Italian. His fingers were long and delicate much like a woman's, and they performed miracles on her body, relaxing her totally. When Phillip hadn't made any advances, she'd fantasized about having a relationship with a man closer to her own age. Catalina recalled when she was a junior in college, an attractive classmate struck up a conversation with her. She had agreed to have a cup of coffee with him after class, but when he asked her out, she'd lied, telling him she was already spoken for. She instinctively knew that although Phillip was not interested in her romantically, he wasn't about to share her with anyone else. Catalina was certain that had Phillip discovered she was dating someone, he would have felt betrayed.