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Susan leaned back, sighing. “Not again.”

“Hold on, though,” Reid said. “Look at the location. The coordinates are different from last night's.”

She inspected the new longitude and latitude. “That looks to be to the west of Tikal … roughly fifty miles.”

She typed a set of commands and a new window appeared on her screen.

“That's the true coordinate sequence from Sniffer serial number zero zero one. That's the output from a program I tacked to about ten percent of the Sniffers just to double-check their reported results, in case Bloodaxe decided to play another trick on us. There's forty-five entries per Sniffer, reporting the physical location of the closest ISP within a one-second interval, or forty-five sets of coordinates before convergence.”

“They're converging south,” observed Reid.

“Just like the reported results on my map.”

“So does that mean this time this is for real? Is that the origin of the virus?”

Susan shrugged, once again not certain what to think. Bloodaxe had a way of injecting uncertainty into the clean logic of computer software, leaving her questioning the validity of results that otherwise she would have taken at face value.

Reid continued. “According to your conversation with the archaeologist from Georgetown University, there were quite a few parallels that cannot be ignored about these bizarre events. It could still make sense if it did originate in the lowlands of the Petén jungle.”

Susan exhaled heavily, running fine hands through her brown hair. “Now that even my own code is pointing in that direction I'm not sure what to believe.”

“What's that?” Reid asked, pointing to the bottom of the window on her screen. “That last set of coordinates looks strange.”

Susan inspected the row of numbers following entry number forty-six, an additional set of coordinates transmitted after convergence. “You're right. There's not supposed to be an entry number beyond forty-five. The numbers are also not longitude and latitude. They look more like … damn!”

Susan quickly accessed the American Astronomical Society's Web page and used their interactive map of the universe to locate the point in the cosmos marked by the coordinates in her program.

Feeling a lump in her throat, she reached for one of the books that Cameron Slater had loaned her, flipping through the pages, finding the Mayan drawing of the cosmos.

“Oh, God, I have to call Cameron. This is …
incredible,
” she mumbled more to herself than to Reid when matching the image on her screen with the drawing on the book, which showed the same two stars of the southern constellation Centaur that Cameron Slater had mentioned the night before. She remembered the Kuxan Suum, the umbilical cord that connected Earth to the Hunab Ku, the galactic core. “And this is no Bloodaxe trick. This is the output of my
own
code.”

“Is this the location you mentioned from your conversation with the archaeologist?”

She nodded, the implications of her finding chilling.

Reid stood. “If this is all true … God Almighty, I need to reach the director. There is a chance that someone is trying to make contact with us.”

6

Darkness enveloped the garbage Dumpsters lining the red-brick wall of an alley a mile from the White House, behind a strip of restaurants. Rats fed on what had been fine cuisine just hours before, their whistling sounds mixing with those streaming out of a club a short block away.

The stench nauseated the busboy dragging out a garbage bag, which he threw into the nearest Dumpster, landing with a heavy thump, splattering debris into the alley. The college kid, working nights to put himself through school, watched it with revulsion. The revulsion, however, turned to nausea when he spotted a forearm sticking out of the pile of trash, a rat nibbling on the flesh by the wrist. His eyes shifted up, recognizing a human face surrounded by refuse. Another rat had its entire head inside an eye socket, its furry tail sticking up in the air.

He stepped back, a hand on his mouth as he leaned over, vomit reaching his gorge, tears clouding his vision. He tried to scream for help, but another convulsion forced the rest of his dinner to his throat. Somehow, he staggered back inside. Two waiters helped him to the manager's office, where they called the police.

Chapter Ten

001010

1

December 15, 1999
Northern Guatemala

The helicopter flew in from the north, high above the hot and humid expanse of lush jungles projecting in every direction as far as the eye could see. This majestic ocean of green, sporadically broken by meandering rivers and crystalline lakes, merged with the blazing horizon as the crimson sun disappeared behind the volcanic glacier mountains to the west, spreading shadows across the limestone shelf of the Yucatán Peninsula.

The glistening craft cruised over a land surrounded by many legends, site of the rise and fall of one of the world's greatest civilizations, stretching from the scrub vegetation and thin soil of the northern peninsula down to the lowlands of the Petén and the lush jungles of the highlands, to the Pacific Coast, covering 120,000 square miles.

Deep within the natural protection of this tropical rain forest, abundant with fertile land and fauna, the Classic Maya developed complex mathematics, charted the heavens with superb accuracy, developed the only true writing system native to the Americas, measured the passage of time with a precision matching our own Gregorian calendar, and built vast cities with an astonishing degree of architectural perfection and harmony. This enchanted land, filled with fabled temples and palaces, marked by a legacy of stone and glyphs, witnessed the cycles of rise and fall that characterized the Maya, true believers of the influence of the cosmos on human ideas, on the very essence of human life. City-states emerged in prominence out of the jungle according to that belief, rising high above the trees, reaching toward the heavens. While Europe still slumbered in the midst of the Dark Ages, places with names like Palenque, Copán, Chichén Itzá, Tikal, and Uxmal blossomed out of the jungle, out of blocks of hand-cut limestone that evolved into astonishing works of architectural perfection.

Yucatán. Land of Turkey and Deer.

Cameron Slater recalled the Mayan name given to this land because of the abundance of edible wildlife.

He watched the remnants of that legendary world as the U.S. Navy Sea Stallion helicopter cruised over the ancient ruins, its streamlined shadow pulsating across temples and stone courtyards, climbing up steep pyramids, like a Mayan winged god rushing up to claim its human offering, before disappearing in the beyond, soaring over silvery streams and hunter-green canopies. The craft glistened in the dying, bloodstained shafts as the distant rimrock swallowed the sun, staining the blue sky with hues of violet and burgundy.

Cameron turned to Susan Garnett, curled up on her side in a corner of the cargo area. She had fallen asleep shortly after the helicopter made a refueling stop at a Navy vessel in the Gulf of Mexico. Cameron was amazed that she could sleep through the rough ride and the intense noise of the main rotor reverberating over his head, but apparently the former college professor was exhausted from the nonstop activity of the past few days, since the first event wrestled control of a significant portion of the computer systems around the world.

Cameron's eyes gravitated to their official escort into this remote section of jungle: eight SEALs from the naval base at Virginia Beach, one of two training camps for Navy SEALs, as Cameron had learned from the squad leader, Lieutenant Jason Lobo. The SEALs were all awake and staring in the distance, face paint blending their features with their jungle camouflage fatigues. The warriors resembled green statues, displaying neither excitement nor fear, professionally waiting for the mission to begin. He found their serene attitude comforting.

Both Susan and Cameron wore similar jungle cammies but had passed on the guerrilla makeup.

The seasoned archaeologist shifted his attention back to the darkening horizon. He would have preferred to have arrived at the site during the day, but Lieutenant Lobo would not hear of it. All SEAL deliveries were conducted at night. No exceptions. When Cameron had started to argue that this mission was of a scientific nature, he had been reminded of the recent presidential decision to militarize it. Susan and Cameron had had no choice but to comply. The SEAL team's orders were to deliver the scientists and their hardware to the exact coordinates that Susan said marked the origin of the global virus. They were then to set up a defense perimeter to protect the site. Not that they expected any problems from local authorities. The right phone calls had already taken place between the American embassy in Guatemala City and the Presidential Palace. The Guatemalan president had been politely reminded of the economic aid his country received from the United States every year.

Cameron checked the weathered watch he took with him during field trips, an old Seiko. Almost seven in the evening. His apprehension increased as the craft approached the drop zone. He was used to working alone, or at the most with a couple of local guides. Not only was he stuck with the SEALs, but Lieutenant Lobo had also confiscated Cameron's gun, an old Smith & Wesson .38 Special, the pistol that had accompanied him through a dozen trips to Central and South America. He missed the weapon he had used once to scare off a wild boar in Guatemala, and again to spook a black panther in Brazil. He had used it in Peru to kill a small deer during his two weeks of isolation, and in Venezuela to discourage a group of teenage kids from robbing him. Now he had the mighty SEALs to protect him, but he still couldn't suppress the knot in his stomach he'd always felt whenever a situation developed beyond his control.

Cameron Slater sighed. Everyone was armed except for him. Even Susan Garnett carried a small pistol, which Lobo had allowed her to keep after she had shown him her FBI credentials.

He tried to calm himself, gazing at the last of the day's light fading into the indigo tint spreading across the sky, followed by an ocean of stars slowly coming into focus. The sight was always the same once Cameron left civilization behind and ventured into the wilderness. As artificial lights receded, the universe came alive with an impressive display of celestial magnificence, washing the forest below with a grayish light.

He sat next to Susan and nudged her.

The beautiful computer scientist stirred to life, yawning, sitting up, regarding Cameron with sleepy eyes.

“We there yet?”

Cameron nodded. “For a moment there I thought you were going to sleep through the whole mission.”

She rubbed her eyes and blinked. Leaning over, she whispered, “Have the macho men smiled yet?”

Cameron grinned. “Not a chance.”

“How long have we got?”

“Should be there in ten more minutes.”

Together they gazed out the side window.

2

Under a crystalline sky, Joao Peixoto walked slowly over the flat rocks protruding from the water along the banks of the Rio San Pedro as it flowed northwest, through the lowlands of the Petén, snaking its way to the fertile valleys leading to the Gulf of Mexico.

His eyes remained fixated on the shallow and narrow stream formed by two long boulders running in parallel for almost twenty feet. Joao was careful not to fall in the clear stream, but not for fear of leeches or caimans, the latter preferring the twilight of dusk to hunt their prey along the shores of the long river. The Maya feared the candirú, a tiny catfish of the Central and South American tropics that had the peculiar habit of swimming directly into the bather's urethra and extending its thorny spikes outward to attach itself to the inner walls of the urinary track. Two of his people had died from the ensuing infections caused by the microscopic fish.

Joao Peixoto kept his balance as he walked barefoot over the moss-slick rocks, a five-foot-long string attached to an arrow and also to his right wrist. He pressed the end of the arrow against a second string, this one made of boar intestines, that bent the mahogany
atl-atl,
or bow, he held in his left hand. Pulling back hard, he aimed and released. The arrow bolted toward the rippled surface reflecting the moonlight. A second later a fish splattered water in all directions in a desperate effort to free itself from the arrow impaling it.

Joao smiled as he pulled on the string and inspected the fish, large enough to feed three, perhaps four. He removed the arrow and threw his catch in a sack by the shore before returning his attention to the stream.

Joao Peixoto was a
nacom,
Mayan military leader, guardian of the high priests, descendants of Pacal Votan, the greatest Mayan chief from the Classic Period. But Joao was also a mestizo—an ethnic group created by the interbreeding of natives and Europeans, typically from Spain or Portugal. European colonists cohabited freely with Mayan women during the colonization period, creating the Indian-Caucasian mixture reflected in Joao's fair skin and light green eyes. His facial features, however, were native Guatemalan—a round face with a predominant wide nose and full lips that always seemed to drop at the edges, giving him a permanent frown that went well with his eyes, which also dropped. His features had intrigued the British missionaries from Belize who had visited his village when he was young, and with whom Joao had spent a portion of his youth, before being assigned the lifelong duty to protect the Mayan priests that lived deep in the jungle. And just like his father, Joao had to discover the outside world in order to become a better protector of the secrets of their ancestors. He did that by accepting the hospitality of the missionaries and moving to the outskirts of El Subín—a city in central Guatemala—for a few years during the mid 1980s. But he soon discovered that the highlands to the south were torn by left-wing guerrillas fighting government soldiers. When British missionaries tried to assist two wounded guerrillas, government soldiers had shot them all and set their mission ablaze. Joao had managed to escape north, across the mountains, reaching the Petén lowlands, and his village, where he was initiated into the lifelong duty to protect the elder priests, an honor among the Maya.