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The computer scientist took her place around the fire, bluish smoke spiraling skyward from its pulsating flames, revealing many wall carvings, murals etched in stone, depicting dozens of Mayan scenes, rituals, games, wars, crops, all encircled by mosaiclike carvings containing numbers in Maya. Limestone reliefs of plumed serpents and werejaguars danced in the pulsating light, in the azure haze that enveloped the elderly men as they removed their headdresses, revealing the alienlike elongated heads and flattened brows that she had seen so many times in the past days. The shamans rocked back and forth in the sapphire smog to the rhythm of silent drums. The one closest to Susan had a number of gold earrings plus a jaguarlike tattoo on his left forearm. He also had tattoos in the shape of bands around his upper arms. Another man had a colorful bird painted on his left shoulder, resembling a quetzal. Moths danced around them, chasing the light in an unavoidable deadly dance, fizzling in midair, vanishing within crimson tongues of fire.

Susan inhaled the sweet-smelling fumes coiling out of the crackling flames, warming her, soothing her, clouding her mind. She closed her eyes, the warmth spreading to every inch of her body, in and out of her pores, controlling her senses, her very soul. She felt carried away, unable to resist this compelling force, like the moths, following a primal directive, surrendering their fate to their instincts.

She opened her eyes, smoke layering the limestone floor, dancing over it, staining it green, like the jungle, like a vast landscape, slowly resolving irregular islands of stone within the ocean of trees. The hazy panorama gained resolution, the images becoming sharper, in focus, revealing temple pyramids, palaces, ball courts, great plazas, all bustling with activity, with growth, with prosperity. City-states emerged out of the jungle, like in time-lapse video, stone block after stone block, erected by a swarm of skilled laborers at incredible speed.

Days and nights revolved around Susan Garnett, the passage of time, the seasons, the centuries, the millennia. Temples rose from the dense vegetation, reaching toward the heavens, triggering the study of the sky, of the cosmos. The development of mathematics, of architecture, of astronomy flourished, exploded, peaked. Noble scribes, armed with porcupine quill brushes, recorded their advancements on bleached fig-tree paper, painting chronologies, inscribing their history, their experiences, their beliefs, their fears, encoding their knowledge in numbers, in sequences, carving them onto mosaics.

The scarlet flames spread through the smoke, staining it, robbing it of its cobalt hue, of its purity, of its life. Cities fell, civilizations vanished, flourishing again at distant sites, momentarily regaining their lost momentum. Scribes recorded their final days, their darkening future, the fear of the men from the sea.

The smoke became bloodred, deep crimson. Cries echoed in her mind, followed by the sounds of thunder, of war, of destruction. Armored men razed the land, spreading terror and disease, decimating its inhabitants, enslaving them, burning their records, their codices, attempting to erase their very history, their traditions, their beliefs. Susan felt their pain, their agony, their despair. She saw wives losing husbands, husbands losing wives, children orphaned, women raped, men tortured, books burnt—all in the name of Spain—mass exterminations shamelessly justified under the umbrella of Christianity.

The terrible visions flashed beneath the smoke faster than she could register them, one after the other, again and again, as conflict ravaged harmony in the New World, in the mangroves, in the mountains, in the jungle. But through the harrowing sights, through the whirling, bloodstained smoke, through the desperate cries of a dying civilization, Susan Garnett felt another presence, another entity next to her, soothing, gentle, soft, delicate, like the embrace of a child, or the touch of a cherub. Susan breathed this cloud with all her might, filling herself with the floating essence of her daughter, with her innocence, her love, her purity. And as she began to recharge her emotions with the light force emanating from the presence of Rebecca, as her maternal instincts resurfaced with unequivocal clarity, Susan Garnett perceived another being around her, one that brought unity, completeness, security. She felt overwhelmed by the presence of her husband, of his strength, his masculinity, his possessive nature. Drowned by the totality of her experience, by the joy of this mystic reunion, Susan sensed a powerful force, one that reminded her that she didn't belong to this hazy world, to this surreal land of wondering souls, of psychic encounters. Her life belonged in the landscape portrayed beneath the mist that continued to swirl, continued to gyrate, like a giant nebula, its colors shifting with the times, with the seasons, always gaining clarity, enhancing resolution, defining patterns of pixels conforming to the contours of hills and valleys, of new and ancient metropolises, of meandering rivers and crystalline lakes.

The haze continued to whirl, like a heavenly cyclone, turning, changing, improving focus. The pixels gained definition according to their position in the tri-dimensional map beneath the spinning smoke, becoming slightly elongated at the hills and rounder at the valleys, like a contour map, increasing precision. Concentrations of elongated pixels grew in numbers as the terrain sloped upward, overwhelming their round counterparts conforming to the flatlands, like a binary map, charting the land, defining it, outlining its uneven features, its eclectic topography.

The azure smog spun even faster, becoming obscure, pushing images to its periphery, leaving the core alone, empty, dark. Susan felt her companions departing, sensed their happiness, their encouragement to go on, to seek the truth, to see beyond her scientific mind, to explore, to dream, to open her mind, to pray for strength.

The murky vapor continued to spin, flashing images across her field of view, one after the next, in rapid succession, overpowering her senses, her mind, her soul, exhausting her. Dizziness fell upon her, clouding her thoughts, dulling her, pushing her to the edge of consciousness, to the edge of an insurmountable abyss, a cenote of universal proportions, distancing her from her loved ones.

Susan fought this overwhelming force, trying to remain near her husband, her daughter, but she felt the futility of her effort, her energy draining, her will vanishing, fading, collapsing into a brief, whirling, black mass of conflicting thoughts, before that too vanished.

Chapter Fourteen

001110

1

December 17, 1999

Dawn in the lowlands of the Petén.

A bloodstained sun broke the horizon, staining the star-filled night with fists of gold and orange, swallowing the stars, erasing the moon, turning the indigo sky into ever-lighter shades of blue, burning the hissing fog rising off the thick vegetation.

Low clouds covered the land like a cotton mantle, slowly moving with the light breeze sweeping from the south, thinning with the increasing temperature. Night creatures receded into the darkness of the jungle as sunlight pierced the canopy, like laser beams, finding small tiny openings in the tangle of branches to touch the leaf-littered ground. Moths, horseflies, and mosquito hawks danced around these luminous rays, absorbing the sun's energy before continuing on their search for sustenance. Crawlers also searched for these patches of warmth on the ground, using them to regulate their body temperature. Warmth-seeking insects also pursued hosts to feed their survival needs, ready to attach themselves to anything of substance, like a deer sleeping in a thicket, or a wild turkey hiding in the brush, or the human beneath the layer of moss at the edge of the jungle.

Antonio Strokk cringed when feeling a sharp sting on his upper thigh. He inhaled deeply through his mouth and slowly exhaled through his nostrils, rapidly losing his patience, something that seldom happened, for he knew quite well the consequences of those lacking the stamina to wait for the right opportunity before making a move. But a night sleeping with bugs crawling into his fatigues was pushing his tolerance envelope. Celina, on the other hand, seemed to have endured the night quite well, despite finding an assortment of colorful bugs crawling inside her pants, including one she had to dig out of her vagina.

The former Russian Spetsnaz officer remained still, eyes surveying the site, getting regular status reports from his team, all enduring the same jungle treatment as they waited for his signal to raid the area. That was another reason why Strokk, despite his bug problem, could not afford to complain. He led a team of mercenaries, whom he controlled through fear, plus generous financial compensation. His men feared him, and through that fear, they respected him, obeyed him,
killed
for him. Complaining about mundane things, even something as painful as a tick feeding off his thigh, would be seen as a sign of weakness, unbecoming of his position, injecting doubt in his men about his ability to lead them.

Although he could not intervene in the scientists' progress without negatively impacting their investigation, Antonio Strokk looked for ways to get them moving faster. And he was convinced that as long as the Garnett woman remained sleeping, they would not make progress, which translated in more time spent with bugs crawling up his—

Ouch!

Another bite, this one in his groin. He reached down, shoving his hand into the pants of his cammies, crushing the offending bug.

Strokk sighed. A few minutes ago his sister had thought of an idea to wake up the scientist without telegraphing their position to the rest of the team, which had been up for at least an hour.

Strokk lined up the sights of his scope with the computer scientist, setting the crosshairs on her face. Then he activated the laser beam on the scope, zeroing in on her closed eyelids. No one should notice the tiny red spot on her face unless they happened to be looking right at her from a very close distance. The nearest group was having breakfast a couple dozen feet from her.

Wake up, sleeping beauty.

2

Susan Garnett woke up with a piercing crimson light stabbing her eyes. She rolled over, away from it, filling her lungs with the smell of the MREs—meals, ready to eat—being consumed by a half-dozen SEALs. She felt the extreme humidity, heard the buzzing of mosquitoes hovering overhead, recalled the memories of last night's bizarre dream.

A headache pounding her temples, Susan opened one eye, halfway. Streams of sunshine forked through the circular opening in the trees, casting the now familiar golden glow on the limestone structures. A light fog lifted off the cenote, resembling an awakening volcano.

Her eyes mere slits of stinging pain, Susan peered at the rising mist, glowing with sunlight, swirling in the morning breeze.

Swirling mist. Strange dream.

She looked around her, confused, a bit light-headed, her temples aching, throbbing. Her mouth was dry, pasty.

Cameron's sleeping bag was already folded and stowed against his backpack, as well as the rest of the team's. Lobo and two SEALs manned their satellite gear, wearing headphones, probably updating the Pentagon.

Susan unzipped her bag, finding it odd that she was wearing her sneakers. She stood, stretching her light frame, once again checking her surroundings, spotting Cameron squatting by the ornate temple's front steps, scribbling in his field notebook, the floppy hat shadowing his features. As she inhaled, her lungs burned, as well as her throat. Was it from the three Camels she had smoked with Cameron? Was that also the reason for her headache? Or could it be from …

Susan shook the thought away, reaching for her backpack, producing a plastic bottle of Excedrin, popping three in her mouth, and washing them down with a sip of purified water from her canteen. She poured a handful of water in her cupped hand, splashing her face, her skin tingling, waking up. She followed that with a breath mint, inhaling deeply once more, ignoring her sore throat, massaging her temples.

Lobo looked up from his work and nodded. She nodded in return while walking toward the temple, around the foggy cenote, careful to remain far away from the edge, barely visible in the haze. Glaring sunlight drilled her eyes, magnifying the headache. Susan endured it, passing a pair of SEALs standing guard next to the temple, by the ornate pillar marking the original entrance to the site.

“Ma'am,” one of them said, tipping his camouflage floppy hat. This was the same blond that Cameron had saved by the river. Since then the kid had managed to stay close to the archaeologist—something that Susan had found amusing. The SEALs were here to protect Cameron and Susan. Yet, so far, Cameron Slater had done the bulk of the protection.
And he is the only one without a gun.

“Morning,” she replied, her throat raspy.

She reached the steps a moment later and tapped Cameron on the shoulder. “We gotta talk. Up there.” She pointed at the terrace with one index while rubbing her left temple with another, her hoarse voice also carrying an edge. She desperately needed to get out of the sunlight.

The archaeologist lifted his hat, running a hand through his dark, shoulder-length hair, grinning. “And good morning to you too.” He winked. “What makes you think I want to be alone with a moody woman who also has a headache—no matter how
lovely
she looks in the morning.”

In spite of the searing pain behind her eyeballs, she managed a brief smile. “That bad, huh?”

He nodded, mockingly extending an open palm up the steps. “Let's just say it's all uphill from here.”

“Don't go there, Cameron,” she whispered, heading up the steps. “I can be a real
sweetheart
in the morning.”

“Just remember, I'm probably the only one willing to share my cigarettes without asking for anything in return.”

She made a face as they headed up to the temple. The thick columns and corbel arches blocked most of the glare. The coolness of the murky terrace had a soothing effect on Susan, allowing her to inch her eyes open beyond narrow cracks.