An Exclusive Look at Doug Casey's Brand-New Novel, Part II
Editor's note: As we explained yesterday, this weekend we're sharing a special preview of Casey Research founder and New York Times bestselling author Doug Casey's brand-new novel, Speculator.
If you missed the first part of the story, you can catch up right here. Below, we get back to our hero, Charles Knight, and his deadly predicament...
An Exclusive Look at Doug Casey's Brand-New Novel, Part II
By Doug Casey
The rush of the river's water overwhelmed all sound other than the throb of blood surging through his head. He slipped further, abrading his chin and the tip of his nose. Grit from the rock crunched between his clamped teeth. He found a dangling vine, grabbed it, and strained with ferocious intent to postpone his demise. But neither his arm nor the vine could suspend him for long.
His father had advised him against this trip, just as he had advised a skinny and ambitious twelve-year-old Charles not to build a tree house in the high branches of the backyard oak. The consequences of that endeavor included the scar near his elbow, glistening white in the bright sunlight against his dark tan.
His father had cleaned the wound, laughed, and said, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
That lanky teen had grown into an athletic young man with a permanent glint in his determined yet playful blue eyes. And his uncle's challenge a decade ago had turned into a mission of ever-greater personal interest. He always assumed he'd have time to complete it.
Now, however, confronted by a plunge into a literal abyss, he regretted that his quest would go unresolved. Life really was short.
His eyes scanned the weathered limestone conglomerate, its quartz crystals and mica shards burrowing under his nails as he clawed with his free left hand.
He glanced up at the remains of the ledge. Through a conspiracy of fate, physics, and recent rains, the outcrop had collapsed just as he completed collecting the rock samples that now inconveniently weighed down the pockets of his cargo pants.
These rock samples represented the gold-bearing formation that had drawn him to this country. The subsurface structure lay exposed here, revealing the mineral composition of the whole area. No expensive drilling equipment was needed to gather the rock. Instead, he had impetuously risked his life for it. Two minutes ago it had seemed like a good idea.
He had twenty feet to climb, if he could move at all. But as he struggled, the vine that tried to save him released its hold on the tree far above. An unexpected serenity enveloped him as his free fall began. Maybe the overdose of adrenalin relaxed him.
Perhaps he should not have tried this particular career path, he thought.
A single root of the vine, the only one that had managed to infiltrate the subsurface rocks, proved just strong enough to jerk him to a wrenching stop. He dangled in the open air. There was nothing to swing to, nothing to push off of. His forearms cramped.
Okay, now came the fear. He let out a yell from his diaphragm to the cosmos at large. "Hold on!" He meant to encourage the root of the vine, or his hands, or nature as a whole. The yell increased his strength and courage. But his voice just echoed back at him from the shadows of the cliff four feet in front of his nose.
The vine bled through its cracking bark. It was just as near death as he was. His mind flashed to the trivial nature of his existence. He wondered if he'd feel it when he hit the rocks below. It's said that people feel little pain when mauled by bears or tigers. Perhaps his end would be the same?
It made no sense to exit his existence immersed in fear and panic. Those base biologic responses were simply too degrading to consume the rest of his life, all twenty seconds of it. At least his life would conclude with an adventure in an exotic place. But had he led a good life, to the very end? He thought Uncle Maurice should have the chance to learn.
Perhaps the cosmos agreed, because just then a thick rope fell from what could only have been the heavens. It slapped against the rock ledge above and dangled to his left. Charles's bloody fingers grabbed at the man-made miracle. He transferred his weight to the damp rope just as the vine sheared through, his left hand burning along the harsh manila. After securing his grip, he released the broken vine from his other hand and, with a passing appreciation, watched it undulate down to strike onto the sharp rocks below. Then he adjusted his grip, wrapped his ankles around the rope, and shinnied to the top of the cliff.
"Hey, kid. What were you doing down there?"
Charles looked up as wiry arms reached under his shoulders and dragged him from the edge of death and onto horizontal ground. The rock samples in his pockets dug into his thighs. He rolled over on his back and stared at the sky, exhaling a loud sigh of relief, fatigue, and gratefulness. His body broke into a cold sweat despite the humid heat of the jungle.
"Thanks for the help..." He paused for an exhausted moment, looking at his savior. "Mr. Winn, isn't it?"
The frail-looking man wore small spectacles balanced low on his nose so that he peered over the top of them. A broad-brimmed boonie hat sat low on his ears, with long strands of grey hair emerging from under it. A soft grin formed on his weathered face and in eyes as blue as Charles's own. This stooped-over, gimpy-legged, and seemingly beaten-down old Dutchman was named Xander Winn.
Charles had steered clear of the man earlier on the tour for reasons he could not quite understand. Something about Winn just didn't add up.
Winn pointed over to where the rope was tied to a Caterpillar amidst miscellaneous machine parts, spares, and other mining equipment. "If you wanted to explore the canyon, the rope was right in that pile of gear. It would have been wiser than pretending you're Tarzan." He chuckled.
Charles's heart raced, his arms ached, his chest pounded, and sweat soaked his clothes. He was covered with abrasions and bruises and blood. A minute ago he had almost died. And this man joked about it. You had to respect that. Maybe Winn was okay after all.
Winn used his cane to get to his feet. "We should rejoin the others."
Charles luxuriated in the heavy air, its feeling on his skin, and the overwhelming joy of living another day. He could continue on Uncle Maurice's quest.
He would remember to treasure each minute of life, for a miracle had happened, in the form of a hunched-over Dutchman and a rope.
Editor's note: The adventure is just getting started. As Charles continues on his journey, he'll face deception, violence, romance, and more as he tries to seal his investment in the greatest gold discovery ever.
Our own Dan Ferris raved about Speculator. As he wrote in an Amazon review, "Reading this book makes me want to be a better person. It reads like a Dan Brown novel, except that you don't have to forgive it for being loaded with conventional nonsense, the way I do with almost every other novel... I can't tell you how grateful I am that the book is so well-written... I started reading Speculator and couldn't put it down... I plan to buy a bunch of copies and give them to friends and family."
To find out what happens next, make sure to purchase your copy of Speculator right here.