The Map Maker's Quest

 

The Map Maker's Quest

 

Matthew J. Krengel

 

North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

Saint Cloud, Minnesota

 

Copyright © 2014 Matthew J. Krengel

 

Print ISBN 978-0-87839-780-8

eBook ISBN: 978-0-87839-846-1

 

All rights reserved.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

First Edition: September 2014

 

Published by

North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

P.O. Box 451

St. Cloud, Minnesota 56302

northstarpress.com

 

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

 

Prologue

Cradle of the Vanishing One, Northeastern Laos

I
t was March of 1971. Just a few short months earlier an invasion by the ARVN, the South Vietnamese army, had failed miserably. The burned out remains of tanks and trucks were still visible along sections of what the Americans called the Ho Chi Min Trail. Most of it wasn't even a road, just a long series of narrow trails and paths that led from North Vietnam far behind the battle lines of the war. It was a path to bring supplies and soldiers to bear on the softer, easier targets deep into South Vietnam.

Lieutenant Able Timbrill crept through the dense jungle slowly. He stopped and watched for long minutes to make sure he was alone. His senses were on high alert, and he knew they had to remain that way until he was safe at his camp deep in the south. Coming this far into Laos was against the official United States policy. If he was caught, the Laotians would execute him as a spy. Despite the numbers of Viet-Cong moving through the area, the Americans were supposed to stay out.

The jungles of eastern Laos were thick in places, but he had to be careful, there were large areas of grass, if he stepped into them at the wrong time, he would be spotted immediately. The trail he was using kept him low and off the ridge lines and helped shield him from prying eyes. At first the jungles were thick, and Able had a hard time seeing beyond ten feet, but slowly they opened up, and suddenly he was standing on the remains of a stone road.

When he stumbled onto the first of the ancient ruins, he was scouting for the routes the Viet-Cong were using to move troops and materials. It was his job to get into places like this and gather intelligence on enemy movements. He was also carrying four anti-personnel mines. When he found likely spots, he planned to place some around just to keep the enemy nervous.

He followed the road for a while, wondering if the Viet Cong were using it. Oddly he saw no signs of human passage. Plenty of animals scurried out of his path as he crept down the road and re-entered deeper parts of the jungle. The vines and underbrush grew so thick he was forced to crawl at time on his belly to pierce the dense foliage. After another several miles, Able started to see more and more indications of stone worked by human hands. At first it was an open patch of road or a pillar, the corner of a building looking out at him from the underbrush. Suddenly the underbrush faded and Able was standing in a surreal collection of stone dwellings and much larger structures. The trees grew together overhead to block out the sky and he knew immediately why this place remained hidden. He knew he had descended coming into the city so he was in a small valley and with the trees blocking out all view, the ruins were cut off from the outside world. Slowly and nervously, he entered one of the streets and slipped from stone column to crumbling wall, expecting to see enemy soldiers. He was deep into the ruins when a sound from the west drew his attention. Able dove behind a nearby structure and wormed his way into a crack between the stone walls. Spiders and insects scurried away, protesting his entry into their domain, but he flicked them off and waited silently.

Able hunched between the stones in the shelter as a strange short figure walked boldly across the ancient courtyard in front of him. The little man whistled a merry tune as he walked and seemed not to have a care in the world. Able was hidden under the remains of a vast structure covered in vines and overgrown by trees. Half the ceiling was gone, leaving an artificial cave with a pillar in the middle. All around the thick center stone, smaller stones had been lined up like benches, making the place look like an ancient temple of sorts.

To Able's surprise the figure stopped near a thick stone pillar nearly as wide as a Volkswagen and touched it. A piece of stone depressed—a hidden switch! Able heard a grinding sound as a concealed door swung open. He saw a flash of fire when a torch flared to life. Moments later, the figure vanished into the ground, leaving behind a very surprised soldier.

“Maybe this is how they're moving troops behind our lines,” Able muttered. He surveyed the area to make sure it was clear and then hurried over where the door still hung open in the massive stone pillar. It was so cleverly concealed, he almost missed the hidden switch. Finally he spotted the section of the stone carving that activated the door and locked it away in his mind. His training in the Green Berets had left him with the ability to think quickly on his feet. Despite the long hours he spent hiking into the interior without sleep his mind was still sharp, he filed away the opening system for later use. Then he looked down the darkened hole. Carefully he made his way down a long set of steps that fell away quickly under the surface of the city. All around him moss-covered stones rose into the air, bringing a sturdy feeling to the tunnel. He could just barely see the light of the torch far out ahead of him, and he felt his way along slowly, not wanting to stumble upon the person unprepared. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and carefully drew his army issue Colt from his side hostler. In his other hand he carried his combat knife; he preferred the knife in close quarters. Firing the Colt in confined places tended to leave his ears ringing for hours after.

The deeper he descended into the ground the more his eyes widened, the stairs grew larger and the underground chambers were more elaborately decorated. He had never seen or heard of places like this in Laos, and he was unsure what to expect as he turned each corner. Finally the light of the torch in front of him stopped moving and he crept slowly forward until he could see into a wide underground chamber. It was filled with glittering treasure. For a moment he forgot why he was there. Piles of golden coins filled the corners of the vault, dozens of exotic weapons and artifacts were stacked against the coins. Crowns and swords were so encrusted with gemstones they glittered brilliantly in the light of the torch. A rustle of footsteps, and Able's caution pushed his body into a dark corner. He held his breath when the dwarf—it had to be a dwarf—walked by him again, and this time he got a good look at his face. Human-like but his nose was overly large and his ears turned up into small points. His clothes were strange as well and seemed to be sewn by hand. On his feet Able saw a pair of wooden-soled boots that tapped loudly on the paving stones.

Where am I?
Able thought as the figure paused a moment and looked around.
Did he see me?
Able wondered. When the short figure shook his head and continued up the stairs Able breathed a slight sigh of relief. He waited until the torch vanished, and then he pulled his flashlight from his pocket. He walked down the stairs and entered the vault. In a fit of greed, he let his light play around the room and watched as the light sparkled off the treasure. Slowly he walked around the vault, examining each piece and wondering which ones he should haul out first. Then he saw the pedestal and the golden-bound book on it. Immediately he knew he had to find a way to get it out of Vietnam. The book was a masterpiece of artistic skill; hammered into golden circles, the book resembled a series of disks bound together with golden rings. Carved across the surface was a flowing script that he could not read. He knew deep inside that this one item was worth more than the rest of the treasure combined. With this book he could go back to Duluth, Minnesota, and live comfortably for the rest of his life.

“How to get it out of the country is the question,” Lieutenant Able muttered. Slowly he sat down on a nearby stone sticking from the floor and looked at the book.

Click.

Able toppled backwards as his seat gave way and slid into the ground. He scrambled to his feet and leapt back as a small door set in the stone floor slipped down and finally rotated away until it was gone from sight. The space hollowed into the floor was about a foot square, and lying in the bottom of the hidden nook was a leather bound volume. Carefully he reached into the hole and removed the book. Across the cover was a series of symbols that looked to him just like Egyptian hieroglyphs. He nearly dropped the book when suddenly the symbols began to change before his eyes, and English words slowly formed.

“The Golden Book of Knowledge,” Able read aloud. He opened the cover and looked down at the first page, his eyes widened as he read the words written. A small hand-drawn picture of a man with sad eyes looked out at him. When he finished reading the first few sentences he stopped.

“Written in this volume are the memories of Adam and Eve, the first man and woman. Created by God in the Garden of Eden . . .” Able paused. There was a small map drawn in the margin about two inches square. Still, Able realized it was enough of a map that, if he wanted, he could find the actual location of the Garden of Eden. “Fallen from grace and forced from paradise, we have written of the wonders of this world and the things our hands have fashioned.” He stopped reading.

Quickly he paged through the book pausing only to scan short paragraphs every six or seven pages. When he could take no more, he closed the cover and tried to slow his breathing. Pages were filled with drawings and fantastic creature and paragraphs describing what each looked like and where they lived. He held in his hand the location of the mythical cities of Shangri-La and the island nation of Atlantis. The mountain where a creature named Odin had lived and died, drawings of the beings that inspired the ancient Egyptians and the scholars of India.

“Okay,” Able said slowly. He tried to force his hands to stop shaking. The importance of what he held in archeological terms was simply amazing. What he held in his hands was beyond belief. It was a compendium of all knowledge from before the time of Noah. “What do I do with this?”

He had grown up in a small Baptist church in Duluth and read the Bible throughout his younger years. He loved the stories in the Old Testament. When he was drafted into the army at age eighteen, he spent the night praying that it had been a mistake. Still he answered when his country called and hoped God would protect him. So far the prayer had been answered.

What he held in his hands would shake the foundation of everything. He would be persecuted for bringing things to light that the political, religious, and educational establishments had no interest in learning. The colleges were busy indoctrinating a fresh wave of coverts into the anti-war ranks and the military complex was becoming impossibly rich off the war. Able had no use for either of the groups. He was amazed colleges were preaching the core tenants of com­munism while Americans died by the thousands fighting against the same ideas in the jungles of south Asia.

Carefully, he wrapped the book in his spare shirt and tucked it into his pack. He left the golden book where it was because it would be too obvious if it was missing. Instead he went to a far corner and found a small handful of golden coins. These he slipped into his pocket and resolved he would use the money to arrange a hiding place for the book. He would take the volume half a world away and secret it somewhere where no one would ever find it. He picked up one of the coins and turned it over in his hand. It was stamped with the image of a haughty looking man wearing a wreath around his head like the ancient Romans had worn.

He took one last look around the vault as he walked to the entrance and shook his head. He was walking away from unbelievable wealth. Deep in his heart he knew what he was doing was right but he still felt a twinge of greed pulling at him. Slowly he made his way back to the entrance of the cavern, when he finally got there he found the door closed tightly. It took him nearly an hour to find the switch that opened the portal so he could leave. His flashlight was almost spent when he finally found the lever and pulled it. Slowly the door swung open and he stepped out into the ruins of the city. The sun was setting and he made his way northeast. He would finish his scouting mission and deal with his smuggling endeavor later.