The Ghost of the Rock Read online

  The Ghost of the Rock

  S.K. Epperson

  Copyright 2002 © S.K. Epperson

  All Rights Reserved.

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

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Table of Contents:

  Part 1: Ancient Volcanoes

  Part 2: The Island

  About the Author

  Part 1: Ancient Volcanoes

  Thick black clouds charged with electrical activity roll across the sky above the small municipal airport in Manhattan, Kansas. Wind howls across the runway and driving rain drenches all surfaces while forks of lightning stab at the horizon. A twelve seat business jet sits idle on the tarmac, ready to approach the facility and board the people waiting inside, but a smaller corporate jet blocks its path. Farther down the runway, a Cessna Piper rolls to a stop and a man with a black carryall jumps out and runs for the airport facility.

  Inside the airport, the unhappy ticket holders line up at the windows, watching for activity at the open door of the blocking jet on the tarmac. A deafening crack of bone-jarring thunder vibrates the thick panes of glass as Gerard Brach, tall, toned, badly in need of both a shave and a haircut, steps in from the rain and puts down his carryall. The lights in the building flicker and he glances out the nearest window in time to see an intensely bright pattern of lightning streak across the black sky. His phone rings and he removes it from his pocket. “Hey, Connie.”

  Connie Wells, the graduate student sent to meet him, holds her phone as she enters the airport parking lot. “Mr. Brach, have you been waiting for me? I just arrived. I’m right outside the building.”

  Gerard picks up his carryall. “Good timing. I just got off the plane and I’m headed your way. I'll meet you outside the main entrance.”

  “Glad you made it in all right.”

  “You, me and the pilot.”

  A loud curse erupts from an irate older man waiting to board the business jet. He leaves the window to advance on a nearby airport employee. “You don’t hold up ten other people because of one stupid damned woman! Just carry her ass off the plane and let us board ours!”

  “Mr. Brach?” Connie says in his ear. “Did you say something?”

  “Hold on a sec.” Gerard moves to the windows and sees two uniformed men go in the open door of the corporate plane that blocks the larger jet.

  “It’s being handled,” the airport employee assures those waiting.

  “How? She’s afraid of lightning and refuses to come out of her plane! You said so yourself. Just tell her pilot to move the damned thing!”

  Gerard's head swivels. “I might need a sec, Connie. Just wait for me, all right?”

  “What?” Connie doesn’t understand.

  “I’ll only be a minute or two. Sorry, just go ahead and park if you need to.”

  At the airport’s main entrance Connie ends the call and pulls away in annoyance to look for a place to park her car. “If you had to use the bathroom why didn’t you just say so.”

  Gerard puts his phone in his pocket and approaches the airport employee. “Have you got radio contact with anyone out there?”

  The man looks archly at him and Gerard says, “My name is Gerard Brach. I think I know the woman on the jet and I may be able to help. Can you tell someone to give her a radio?”

  The employee hesitates and Gerard lifts his brows while glancing askance at the angry, impatient passengers. Finally, the man nods and speaks into his headset. “Frank, I've got a Gerard Brach here who claims to know the lady. He wants you to put a radio near her.”

  The employee waits for the go ahead then takes off his headset. “Knock yourself out.”

  Gerard puts down his bag and places the headset at his ear. He listens, frowns when he hears the sound of rapid breathing on the other end. He looks out the window and says, “You really have to stop following me around like this, you know.”

  He waits for a reply.

  The employee’s lip curls. He is not amused.

  “Sutton, it’s Gerard. Can you hear me?”

  Again, he hears no response and his gaze lifts as another fantastic web of lightning illuminates the black sky. A tiny moan from the other end causes Gerard to become serious. “Do you need me to come and get you? I will if you want me to. Just say the word.”

  A dozen peeved passengers mouth affirmatives on Sutton's behalf, but Gerard ignores them. Finally, he hears a male voice in his ear. “This is Frank Ipeg with Security. The lady says she doesn't need you. She's moving now and coming in by herself.”

  Gerard's nostrils flare. He passes the headset back to the airport employee. “She's coming in.”

  A few of the waiting passengers applaud, but the irate man takes out a pad and pen. “I want her name so I can sue the wacko. You said Sutton. Is that her first name or last name?”

  “Her name is Sutton De Berg, of the South African De Bergs.”

  “You say that like it’s supposed to mean something to me.”

  Gerard picks up his bag and walks away.

  The airport employee turns to the irate man. “You've heard of De Beers, as in diamonds? Well the De Bergs are in the same business, with better connections than most third world countries, so unless your lawyer moves in the same circles, you might not want to pursue this.”

  “Then maybe I'll sue the damned airport instead,” the irate man threatens.

  The airport employee remains unflappable. “Knock yourself out.”

  Gerard calls Connie again then exits the airport and looks for her car. A perturbed-looking blonde outside the entrance calls to him. “Are you Gerard Brach?”

  He walks toward her. “You must be Connie. Thanks for waiting for me.”

  Connie shakes his hand and her vexed state disappears with one glance at Gerard’s handsome features. “You didn't give me much choice. I saw a lot of people waiting inside. What happened?”

  “Nothing important.”

  His tone closes the subject to further inquiry. Connie looks at his bag in surprise. “Is that all you brought?”

  “You did say you have a lab here,” Gerard reminded.

  “We do, yeah. It's actually in Lawrence, about an hour and a half away from here.” Connie tries to make further conversation. “So it was a rough flight, huh?”

  Gerard looks at her. “It's not every day I get to fly through a raging thunderstorm in a two-seater.”

  “Raging thunderstorms are pretty standard around here,” she tells him. “If you're ready, I'm parked over here.”

  Gerard indicates she should lead the way, and as they cross the road to the parking area, a large black limousine rolls up to the curb outside the main entrance. A driver jumps out and runs to open the rear passenger door.

  Sutton De Berg emerges from the airport facility behind Gerard. She is impeccably dressed and beautifully coiffed but noticeably strained and shaking, caught up in her own private torment as she strides quickly to the car while holding an umbrella, not allowing herself to look at the sky or the man handling her baggage or anything but the pavement in front of her feet. When she feels Gerard's eyes on her, her head lifts. Their gazes meet before the umbrella collapses and she disappears into the limo.

  “I smell money,” Connie says. “I wonder who she is.”

  “Sutton De Berg.”

  Connie’s brows lift. “Seriously? De Berg diamonds?”

  Gerard looks at Connie. “You mean you didn't invite her here?”

  “Why would we do that? We don't know what we have yet. That's why Mike brought you here, to help us find out.”

  The limo glides past, darkened windows showing them reflections of their own faces.

  “If she's here you might have more than you think you do.”

  In his motel room, Gerard tosses his bag on the table in the corner and opens his laptop. He begins a search then stops himself, shakes his head at the impulse and closes his laptop. He removes a folder of papers from his bag and sits on the end of the bed to study them.

  Concentration fails him and he puts the papers away and reaches for his laptop again. He searches once more then picks up the room phone and waits for the front desk to answer.

  “I need to find someone,” he says when the desk clerk answers. “What's the name of the most expensive hotel in town?”

  “Is there a problem with your room, sir?”

  “Not at all. I told you, I need to find someone.”

  The clerk obliges, Gerard finds the hotel online and writes down the phone number. He dials, using the room phone, and when the party answers, he is direct. “Give me Sutton De Berg's room. This is her brother.”

  Gerard’s surprised when he hears a phone begin to ring. On the fifth ring, she answers.

  “Yes?” Sutton says.

  “It's me. Are you all right?”

  She makes no reply.

  “Sutton, talk to me.”

  She hangs up. Gerard replaces the receiver. Outside the motel room, thunder cracks with a loud boom.

  BOTSWANA – DE
BERG COMPOUND – 18 years earlier

  Sutton walks dejectedly behind her grandmother through a field with tall, waist-high grass. Several hundred yards behind them stands a sprawling house with a long wrap around porch. Still spry in her seventies, Sutton’s grandmother’s movements are agile as she walks along using a stick to push aside the long grass.

  The sky above them grows dark with roiling clouds and Sutton looks up worriedly. “Gran, it’s going to rain. And Salabi and Jumal told us not to go too far from the house today.”

  “They're worried about a sick jackal. I'm not. No crazy canine will keep me inside.”

  The older woman goes on walking, looking, and poking the ground with her stick while Sutton follows. An occasional drop of rain plops down.

  “You still haven’t said what you’re looking for,” Sutton says.

  “I lost my favorite ring out here a year ago,” her grandmother tells her. “It slipped right off my finger. I come out at least once a week to look for it. Time's not right yet, I guess. When it is, I'll find it again.” She pauses and looks at Sutton, her gaze warm. “And what is it you’re looking for?”

  “Me?”

  “You.” Her grandmother walks on, speaking over her shoulder. “Your mother said you didn't want to come home for break. You wanted to stay at the school in Johannesburg.”

  “Daddy made me come home,” Sutton responds. “He says it's time for me to learn the business, just like George and Peter. But I'm not George and I'm not Peter. I’m only seventeen, Gran and I don't know if I even want to be in the diamond trade.”

  Her grandmother glances around at her. “Don't you? Really?”

  Sutton lifts both hands. “I don't know! I'm never going to have the chance to find out what I want, because Daddy's decided for all of us.” She swats violently at the tall, tangled grass around her. “Sometimes I hate him.”

  Her grandmother grins at Sutton. “Me too. Even if he is my son. Blame his faults on his dead father. I do.”

  The older woman winks in mischief and Sutton can't help but smile. “You're bad, Gran.”

  “I am. But I'll talk to him. He can't tell my only granddaughter who to be. I won't allow it.”

  Her grandmother hoots with joy then and bends over to pluck something from the ground.

  “There! I was wrong! The time is right!” She holds up the dirt-encrusted ring in triumph and the second she extends her arm a bolt of lightning snakes down from the sky and strikes her, entering through her head and knocking her to the ground.

  Sutton screams and falls to her knees beside her grandmother’s scorched body. “Gran! Gran, are you all right? Mother! Mother, get help!”

  Her grandmother's eyes remain open and staring, her mouth frozen in a round Oh of surprise.

  After directing the servants to call for help, Sutton's mother rushes from the house. “You need to go back, Sutton, and show them where to come when they arrive. They won't see us out here in the tall grass.”

  Sutton can't tear her eyes away from her twitching grandmother or the ring still clutched in her blistered and blackened hand.

  Her mother shouts at her, “Sutton, go now! I'll take care of her. There's Gerard! Gerard, come quickly!”

  Nineteen-year-old Gerard leaves his Jeep at the gate and comes at a run. At the mention of his name, Sutton rises and turns, and just as she reaches her full height another racing bolt of lightning streaks out of the sky and strikes her mother, snapping her head back on her spine and setting her short, dark hair on fire.

  “Mother!” Sutton shrieks and reels back in horror as her mother teeters. Her mouth opens, a curling puff of smoke emerges. Then she drops to the ground.

  Sutton's breathing stops with a sucking sound. Warm urine streams down her leg. Her limbs become frozen.

  Gerard rushes past her and attempts to help her mother. He pats out the fire in her hair and tries mouth-to-mouth and heart massage.

  “Sutton, help me!”

  She remains paralyzed, her gaze fixed on the sky. Her muscles twitch and her mouth works but she cannot move. Lightning plays across the sky over their heads, dipping, taunting.

  A doctor arrives as if in slow motion. Gerard yells to him and the man soon pushes him aside. Gerard gets to his feet and stands beside Sutton as the doctor goes to work on the two fallen women. Finally Gerard looks at Sutton, sees the glassy stare. “Sutton?”

  She makes no response, and after registering her urine-dampened crotch and twitching limbs, he scoops her up in his arms and carries her to the house.

  Sutton turns her head to see behind them as he carries her, and she watches in renewed shock as white-hot lightning streaks down to zap the ground and blacken the patch of grass where she stood. The doctor jumps away and shouts in alarm.

  Sutton's look becomes one of terror.

  The same dread fills the eyes of the adult Sutton as she watches multiple veins of lightning streak across the Kansas night sky. She forces herself away from the window, closes the drapes, and opens the bottle of Scotch on the drink cart. She pours a glass and downs half of it.

  The phone on the nightstand rings and she picks it up and drops it back into the cradle without answering. Next her cell phone on the bed begins to ring, and heaving a sigh, Sutton answers. “Yes?”

  Edward De Berg, sixty-four, checks his watch and motions impatiently for a nearby servant to take away an uneaten meal. “How was your flight?”

  “Turbulent,” Sutton says. “We flew into the thunderstorm from hell.”

  “Is the plane all right?”

  “It's fine. I'm fine too, thanks for asking.”

  Her father ignores the comment. The servant brings him a glass of brandy and a cigar. “Have you met with Strassburg yet?”

  “I’m scheduled to see him tomorrow morning at nine. Gerard is here.”

  “I know. That's why I called Strassburg to begin with.”

  Sutton frowns. “How? How did you know? Are you tracking Gerard’s phone?”

  “It’s important for us to find out what they've got.”

  Sutton sighs. “I told you I'm not the one to send. I’m just a dealer. You should have sent Peter or George.”

  “Peter is going back to Canada for me and George is still in Russia, trying to salvage what's left of our deal. You're all I have, so suck it up and do as you're told. And before I forget, Paul called again. Call him after we hang up.”

  “I don't think so, no.”

  “Do it,” Edward commands. “The man is your husband. Contact me after you see Mike Strassburg and as long as Brach is there, schedule a dinner with him. I want to know what's down there.”

  “Gerard doesn't work for you anymore. He doesn't have to tell us anything.”

  “He will if you ask him.”

  “Don't use me like that.”

  “I'm not. I'm using him.”

  Her father hangs up and leaves Sutton glaring at the phone.

  It rings again as she holds it and when she sees the name Paul Dubois on the caller ID she simply turns off the phone and finishes the glass of Scotch.

  Inside the geological survey office in Lawrence, graduate student Connie and senior scientist Mike Strassburg lead Gerard through the lab, where smiling reporter Jill Taylor meets them. Connie and Jill exchange thumbs up and soon Jill approaches Gerard. “Hi, Mr. Brach, I'm Jill Taylor from the local paper. Connie and Mike said it would be all right if I listened in today.”

  Gerard offers a polite, noncommittal smile and Jill's mouth opens, ready to go on, when she abruptly jumps and emits a shriek. She looks down and lurches forward as if to kick, but Connie moves in and scoops up the lab's pet, a pink-nosed opossum.

  “Sorry. I forget to warn everyone about Addie.”

  Jill's smile becomes more of a snarl. “It's a possum, Connie. God, I don't think I've ever seen one that wasn't road kill. Are we walking around on possum poop in here?”

  Addie the possum climbs on Connie's shoulder and winds a long tail around her neck. The possum’s black eyes fasten warily on Jill.

  “She's our geological mascot,” Connie says. “Opossums are one of the oldest species on the planet. They've survived unchanged for eons…haven't you Addie?”