The Mayan Resurrection Read online

  Dominique’s heart races as she thinks of the structure … and the alien vessel buried beneath its foundation.

  For nearly a week, Dominique had remained at Evelyn Strongin’s home in St. Augustine. But after her initial contact with the spirit of Maria Rosen-Gabriel, the energy force had shut down, refusing further communication. This ‘silent treatment’ caused Dominique to have doubts about the validity of the first message … and its source.

  ‘No offense, Evelyn, but how can I be sure that was really Mick’s mother who spoke with me?’

  ‘Who else would it be, child?’

  ‘Maybe it was you, pretending to be in communication with your sister. Or maybe you weren’t even aware of what was happening. My background is in psychiatry. Over the years, I’ve seen some pretty bad cases of schizophrenia.’

  ‘The energy source was Maria’s.’

  ‘If that’s true, then why hasn’t she spoken through you again? It’s been days since the last communication. I can’t hang around this town the rest of my life. You’ve succeeded in freaking me out to the point where I’m seriously considering an abortion.’

  ‘Choose that route, and you not only condemn Michael, but humanity’s future as well.’

  ‘So says you. I need real answers, Evelyn, not riddles.’

  ‘Dominique, Maria senses your fear, and this is why she’s ended communication. Fear is one of humankind’s strongest negative emotions. Negative emotions create negative energy, and negative energy attracts negative spirits. Communicating with the dead is not like placing a phone call. Anyone can answer, including demons like the Abomination, who is as powerful as it is cunning. Sensing your fear, Maria felt it best to end the communication rather than tip our hand to the enemy. The success of future sessions will depend upon your ability to control your negative emotions. But first, you must fully commit to the journey.’

  ‘Again with the journey. What journey? How can I commit myself to something I don’t even understand?’

  ‘You do it by acquiring knowledge. Study the Mayan Popol Vuh. Familiarize yourself with its story of Creation. Seek answers from those you trust.’

  ‘That’s just it, I don’t trust anyone. I’ve never felt so scared and alone in my life.’

  ‘Julius and Maria felt the same way when they began their own journey, and I’m sure Michael shared these feelings. At times they lost sight of the path, and yet they continued on, their resolve strengthened by faith, knowing they were following their destiny.’

  ‘What would Mick do if he were me?’

  ‘He would seek answers from those who know. He would return to the land of the green lightning.’

  Dominique turns into the entrance of Chichén Itzá. To her surprise, the parking lot is deserted, the front gates sealed, guarded by a platoon of heavily armed American soldiers.

  Captain Luke Magierski leaves his station and approaches, his hands resting on his M-16. ‘Sorry, miss, Chichén Itzá’s closed.’

  ‘Actually, I was looking for the local vendors who used to sell inside the park.’

  Magierski stares at the attractive woman with the long ebony hair and high cheekbones, her looks vaguely familiar. ‘They’ve set up shop on the grounds of the Mayaland Hotel. It’s about ten minutes from here.’ The soldier removes an identity scanner from his belt. ‘I need to scan you, it’s standard procedure.’

  ‘Of course.’ She extends her left hand out the window.

  Magierski’s device snaps Dominique’s digital photo as it scans her open palm.

  SMITH, A NDREA M.

  RESIDENCE: WELLINGTON, FLORIDA.

  NO OUTSTANDING WARRANTS.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Smith. You have a nice day now.’

  She waves, then drives off.

  Magierski stares at the photo. Wait a second, I have seen her before. Removing his Palm Pilot, he scans his old e-mails. Locates the People-First.com website. Checks the photo against the one posted. Holy crap, it’s her!

  Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching, he e-mails the photo of Andrea Smith to the political party of Peter Mabus.

  Dominique pulls into the grand entrance of the Mayaland Hotel and parks. A farmers’ market has been set up across from the parking lot, allowing the local villagers to sell their wares to tourists.

  She scans the tables, counting fewer than a dozen visitors among the vendors. The park’s closing’s hurting everyone. Approaching the first booth, she is immediately swarmed upon by children, all pulling at her skirt in an attempt to lure her to their table.

  ‘Jade necklace, señorita? Only ten dollars, American.’

  ‘Come, señorita, we have beautiful rings. Five dollars.’

  ‘Señorita, you must buy a silk hammock. We give you a very good price, eh?’

  ‘Okay, okay, tell you what, I’ll buy from the first person who can tell me where I can find the elder known as Ocela.’

  The children back away. ‘Don’t know this person, señorita. Maybe you should go, eh?’

  The children abandon Dominique for a Canadian couple and their teenage daughter. ‘Bandanna, señor? Two dollar.’

  Captain Magierski stares at his Palm Pilot as if he’s just hit the lottery.

  SUBJECT VERIFICATION CONFIRMED. ONE-MILLION WILL BE WIRED UPON PROOF OF VAZQUEZ CAPTURE, BALANCE DELIVERED WHEN TEAM ARRIVES THIS EVENING. DISCUSS THIS WITH NO ONE. CONGRATULATIONS AND THANK YOU FOR SERVING YOUR COUNTRY.

  Dominique moves from table to table, stopping occasionally to check out an obsidian letter opener or an ornamental jaguar. ‘Excuse me? How much?’

  ‘Thirty dollars, señorita. For you, twenty-three.’

  ‘I’m looking for a man named Ocela.’

  Eyes avert. ‘No man by that name here, señorita.’

  She looks up as an Army jeep enters the Mayaland parking lot, its tires skidding across gravel as it comes to a stop, blocking Dominique’s rental car.

  Captain Magierski scans the tables using a finger-size telescopic lens.

  Dominique ducks behind a shelf stacked with wool Mexican blankets, her heart racing as she peeks out at the soldier. Something’s wrong, he’s definitely after me. Where the hell are those Homeland Security guys when you need them?

  Magierski jumps down from the jeep, striding toward the marketplace.

  ‘Psst! Over here!’

  Dominique turns. A curly-haired Mayan man motions at her from behind a fruit stand.

  ‘Come quickly!’

  ‘I know you, don’t I?’

  ‘Elias Forma, I’m a friend of Mick’s. You were at my home. Quickly—’

  Magierski pushes through a throng of children, moving from table to table. ‘The American woman, where is she?’

  Elias Forma shrugs. ‘No habla inglés.’

  ‘Maybe you habla this.’ Magierski raises his M-16, pushing the barrel of the gun into the Mayan’s face. ‘Now where’s the goddam girl?’

  Elias says nothing, his dark eyes returning the soldier’s glare as the other Mayans crowd around them, whispering.

  Magierski grabs Elias by his shirt collar and drags the vendor out from behind the fruit stand, tossing him to the ground. Cocking his weapon, he fires a circle of bullets around the terrified local. ‘Listen up, Dominique Vazquez, you either come out now or I’ll blow his fucking head off!’

  ‘Hold it!’ Dominique climbs down from the slanted roof of the fruit stand. She approaches the soldier, her hands out at her sides, her blouse unbuttoned to her navel. ‘All you had to do was ask.’

  Magierski’s heart pounds faster as he stares at her tantalizing cleavage.

  Dominique winks. ‘I’m into handcuffs. Do you have any?’

  ‘Definitely.’ He removes the shackles from his belt, snapping them around her offered wrists. ‘Looks like you and me are gonna spend a few hours alone together.’

  ‘Sounds like fun. Think maybe we can get a room at the hotel? I’m hot, and I want to get out of these sweaty clothes. If you’re good, I’ll let you
handcuff me to the bed.’

  Magierski smiles. ‘Tell you what, how about if I—’

  Whomp! Dominique’s right foot snaps off the ground like a cobra, the tip of her shoe driving high into the man’s groin. As the soldier drops to his knees, the ball of her left foot smashes into Magierski’s face, snapping his head back.

  The soldier collapses in a heap.

  Elias searches Magierski’s belt for the handcuff keys. He tosses them at Dominique as three Mayan vendors drag the unconscious soldier’s body into the high grass.

  A dozen more push the jeep off the side of the road and into a ditch.

  Salt Lake City, Utah

  Peter Mabus lies back in the dressing room chair, allowing his makeup man to finish dabbing at the dark circles beneath his eyes.

  A knock and the dressing room door opens. Joseph Randolph enters, followed by a slight, gray-haired Caucasian in his late sixties. The nerdy-looking man wears wire-rimmed glasses and is dressed in a wool suit and black bow tie.

  ‘He’s had enough primping.’ Randolph ushers the makeup artist out and shuts the door. ‘Pete, this is Solomon Adashek, the man I was telling you about.’

  Mabus sits up, his piggy eyes taking in the visitor. ‘No offense, Joe, but he looks more like my goddam CPA than a hired assassin.’

  Solomon Adashek remains expressionless. ‘It only takes the strength of a child to pull a trigger, Mr. Mabus. The key to eradicating one’s target is to get close without arousing suspicion. If you’d prefer to hire a goon, I’ll take my services elsewhere.’

  ‘No, you’ll do. The girl’s in the Yucatán, I’m sure Joe’s briefed you. I want her and the soldier who found her eliminated without a trace.’

  Solomon nods, then leaves the dressing room, quietly closing the door behind him.

  ‘Creepy little shit, ain’t he?’

  ‘What’s important is that he’ll get the job done without complications,’ Randolph says. ‘Guy’s former CIA, as cold and unfeeling as a reptile. Spent a lot of time in the Soviet Union as a mole. Returned home after the Cold War ended and wigged out. Torched his mother’s home, killing her and her live-in nurse. Served six years and was released on parole. Bit of a pedophile, but he’s calmed down over the years.’

  ‘Maybe we ought to send him after Chaney?’

  ‘One step at a time, my friend. One step at a time.’

  Chichén Itzá, Yucatán Peninsula 10:17 p.m.

  The nocturnal jungle is alive with humidity, and chirps, and the ghosts of the dead. Dense brush cuts Dominique’s ankles and lashes out at her neck. Mosquitoes buzz her ears. A flutter of wings takes the air overhead beneath the canopy of trees.

  The heaviness of the woods presses in on her, whispering into her ear. She grips Elias Forma’s hand tighter, afraid she will lose him in the darkness. And yet she feels safer here than she does in the real world, knowing that someone out there wants her dead.

  Like it or not, you’re Alice in Wonderland, chasing a rabbit down its hole, and there’s no turning back now.

  In time they come to a clearing. Dark-skinned Mayan elders squat around a campfire. Dominique recognizes the H’Menes, the same men who helped her and Mick climb down into the sacred well in Chichén Itzá six weeks earlier.

  A lifetime ago …

  The wise men are descendants of the Sh’Tol brethren, a sacred Mayan society that escaped the wrath of the Spaniards back in the fifteenth century.

  Elias greets the frail, white-haired leader of the group with a hug. ‘Dominique, this is my grandfather, Ocela, the man you seek.’

  Dominique extends her hand. ‘Hope you remember me, I’m a friend of Michael Gabriel. I need to speak to you about the Creation Myth.’

  Ocela takes her hand in both of his, then speaks to Elias in a language she cannot comprehend.

  ‘My grandfather says he will do all he can to assist First-Mother.’

  ‘Now see, that’s why I’m here. Who’s First-Mother, and why is he calling me that?’

  Ocela smiles a toothless grin, then touches her stomach. Yaya ba’l.

  Oh, God, he knows I’m pregnant, too? Did somebody send out notices? Dominique feels light-headed. The sounds of the night dissipate into the snapping and popping of the campfire as she swoons in the humidity.

  Elias and the old man lead her to a log poised at the edge of the clearing. She sits, the other men gathering around. One offers her a flask of water, another a wooden bowl filled with fruits and berries. She drinks and eats, feeling a little better.

  Still holding her hand, Ocela looks into her eyes and speaks, Elias translating.

  ‘The Creation Story is the most important lesson recorded in the Popol Vuh. The hero of the story is One Hunahpu, a brave warrior later revered as First-Father. One Hunahpu’s great passion in life was to play the ancient ball game known as Tlachtli. One day, the Lords of the Underworld, Xibalba, challenged One Hunahpu to a game, at stake—the future of his people. One Hunahpu accepted and entered Xibalba Be, the dark road that leads to Xibalba, said to have been the mouth of a great serpent.’

  Dominique shudders, recalling the image of Mick entering the orifice of the alien being.

  ‘But the Lords of Xibalba had no intention of actually playing the game. Using trickery and deceit, they defeated One Hunahpu and decapitated him, hanging his head in the crook of a calabash tree as a warning to others who might challenge them.

  ‘After a great many years, a brave woman named Blood Moon ventured down the Dark Road. Approaching the tree to pick fruit, she was startled to find One Hunahpu’s head. The warrior’s eyes opened and he spit into her palm, magically impregnating her. The woman fled, the Death God and his minions unable to destroy her before she could escape.

  ‘Blood Moon, who is later revered as First-Mother, gave birth to twin sons. As the years passed, her boys grew into strong, capable warriors. Upon reaching adulthood, their genetic calling demanded they follow in their father’s footsteps and make the journey to Xibalba to challenge the Death God and avenge One Hunahpu’s death.

  ‘Once more, the Lords of the Underworld used cunning and deceit. But the Hero Twins, having prepared for this treachery, triumphed, banishing evil while resurrecting their long-lost father.’

  Ocela smiles at her, again palming her stomach.

  ‘No, stop it, none of this makes any sense. The Popol Vuh is just mythology, it tells of things in the past. How can I possibly be First-Mother?’

  Elias translates for his grandfather.

  The old man rattles off a response.

  ‘The knowledge found in the Popol Vuh comes to us from our great teacher, Kukulcán. The Popol Vuh was recorded five hundred years after his passing. Time distorts the Creation Story, but not its ultimate meaning. What came to pass shall come again as the cycle of humanity repeats itself. One Hunahpu has come. He has delivered us from evil, sacrificing himself in the process. Now he awaits his sons in Xibalba.’

  Dominique’s hand trembles within Ocela’s. He pats it with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he speaks again.

  ‘My grandfather says to have faith. You were chosen by One Hunahpu for your strength.’

  ‘If Mick really is this One Hunahpu character, then where is he now? How can I find Xibalba?’

  ‘The dark road to Xibalba shall appear before the Hero Twins in their twentieth year. Until then, it is your destiny as First-Mother to prepare them. Great challenges lie ahead. Allies of the Dark Lord will do everything in their power to stop you.’

  Ocela stands, leading her to the edge of the clearing and a massive cypress tree. Bound and gagged to the trunk is Luke Magierski. The soldier is wearing only his boxer shorts and a tee shirt.

  Dominique removes his gag.

  ‘Uh, thank God. Would you tell these Zulus that I’m American!’

  ‘Why were you after me?’

  ‘You’re Dominique Vazquez, Michael Gabriel’s woman. Everyone wants to speak with you.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ says Elias.
‘Who hired you to find Dominique?’

  Magierski stares into the jungle. ‘Name, rank, and serial number, that’s all you’ll get from me. The United States doesn’t like it when you kidnap their soldiers. There’s fifteen thousand heavily armed men and women less than a dozen klicks from here who’ll napalm this entire jungle into a prairie dust if any harm comes to me.’