Track of the Beast: A Brock Stone Adventure

“Not really. But there have been two in this area recently. Three, counting your friend. It’s strange. Neither one of them was the sort to run around or take off.”

Alex leaned in close, lowered his voice. “Do you think the lumber camps could have had anything to do with it?”

Milton tensed and his eyes shot toward a table in the corner where two large men in flannel shirts sat. The pair were staring in their direction. “Best not to talk like that in public. Even quietly. But maybe. I don’t know.”

Alex nodded. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything at all?”

“No.” Milton shook his head. The mention of the lumber camps had flipped his personality on its head. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“Please! Did Trinity speak with you?” Constance asked plaintively.

Milton nodded.

“What did you tell her?” Constance laid a hand on Milton’s arm. “She could be in danger.”

Milton’s shoulders sagged.

“She was interested in stories about the Lewis and Clark expedition. Nothing factual, mind you. She wanted legends and conspiracy theories.”

Alex nodded. Growing up in the D.C. area, he’d heard a few tall tales surrounding the expedition. “What did you tell her?” he asked.

Milton took a drink, thought for a moment, then launched into his story.

“Thomas Jefferson had big dreams for the West. He expected Lewis and Clark to find everything from gold mines to woolly mammoths. But the craziest thing he wanted them to find was a lost civilization of white men.” He paused to enjoy the looks of surprise on their faces.

“That’s a story I want to hear,” Constance said.

“It’s a strange tale. In 1170, a Welsh prince Madoc set sail for North America on a voyage of discovery.”

“Did you say Murdock?” Alex asked.

“I think he said Maddock,” Constance said.

“Anyhow, Madoc,” Milton said loudly, emphasizing the long A, “returned years later with glowing reports of his discoveries. Among the things he brought back was a breastplate made from a precious metal he called orichalcum.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Constance said.

“That’s because it doesn’t exist,” Alex said. “It is a metal that, according to ancient texts, was mined in Atlantis.”

“Well, Madoc believed it was real, and so did his father, the king. Madoc returned to North America at the head of a fleet of ten ships, intent on exploring and establishing a colony. They were never heard from again, but people across the Midwest have found what they claim are markers left behind by Madoc and his followers as they journeyed across America. Legend holds that they settled somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. Hunters and trappers in the region would report encounters with light-skinned natives, many with blue or green eyes, whose language included a handful of Welsh words.”

“I take it Lewis and Clark didn’t find them,” Alex said dryly.

“Or maybe they did, and that’s why Meriwether Lewis was murdered.”

“But he committed suicide,” Constance said.

“He was shot in the chest and then the head. Doesn’t sound like any suicide I’ve ever heard of.”

“What would be the motive?” Constance asked.

“Lewis was on his way to meet Thomas Jefferson when he died. Maybe he was ready to spill whatever secret he’d been keeping, and somebody couldn’t let that happen.”

“Like who?” Alex asked.

“Some say the Illuminati helped Jefferson get elected. He was thinking about breaking ranks with them, but the murder of Lewis was enough to shut him up. Same reason he never acknowledged his colored family, but that’s another story.”

“What would Lewis and Clark have found out here that the Illuminati would kill to cover up?” Alex asked.

“Lower your voice,” Constance hissed. “The lumberjacks are staring again.”

“I’ve said too much,” Milton said. “Thank you for the drink.”

Constance reached out and grabbed Milton’s sleeve as he rose from his chair. “Do you have any idea where Trinity went?”

“She might have gone to talk with Harold Moss. I told her to ask him about Ape Canyon.” With that, he hurried out the door.

“Well,” Alex said. “This gets stranger and stranger.”

18- Tracks in the Forest

Stone turned and strode out of the camp. He took his time, meeting every eye that turned his way. He fixed each man with a serene yet determined stare he’d refined over the years. No one met his eye for long.

“What’s our next move?” Moses asked.

“I’m not sure,” Stone said. “I want to do some scouting around. You head on back to the truck, let them believe we’ve blown the joint. I’ll meet you there in bit.”

Moses seemed to know there would be no point in arguing. “See you in a bit, then,” he said. He turned and headed down the well-worn track that led to the dirt road.