Domain (62 page)

“But I see Dominique. I can see you.”

“Dominique is First-Mother. I am your guide. You will see the others once you pass through.”

In his mind’s eye, he sees his father, suffocating his mother with a pillow. Mick raises the knife, staring at it. “Mom, Julius really loved you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“He always said you two were soul mates, destined to be together—forever.”

“As are we,” Dominique says, still gripping his hand.

Mick ignores her, his mind gaining focus. “It really destroyed him to do what he did to you. He suffered the rest of his life.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I was so selfish. I never allowed myself to understand what he really did and why he did it.” Mick looks at his mother. “Pop loved you so much—he was willing to live out the rest of his days in misery rather than see you suffer another minute. But he never killed himself. He stayed the course, toughing it out. He did it—for me.”

Mick turns to face Dominique, inching closer, caressing her cheek in one hand, gripping the dagger in the other. “I understand now. What my father did—killing his soul mate—putting her out of her misery. He chose the more difficult road—he made the ultimate sacrifice.”

Maria smiles. “It is time for you to make the same sacrifice, Michael.”

Dominique releases her grip as Mick presses the point of the blade to his chest. He gazes at the heavens, his emotions, so long bottled up, pouring out from his heart. “Pop, I love you! Do you hear me, Pop! I love you—I forgive you!”

His dark eyes bore into Dominique’s, two ebony beacons searching her soul. His chest stops sobbing, his throat tightening as the blood vessels in his neck constrict with rage. “I am Hunahpu—” he bellows, his eyes widening, “and I know who you are!”

In one swift motion, Mick turns and plunges the knife into Dominique’s throat, the blow knocking her off her feet and onto her back. Mick pushes deeper, a black silicon-like substance oozing from her neck as he twists the blade sideways, intent on decapitating his foe.

The creature writhes in agony, grunting, growling, its skin shriveling, darkening to a burnt vermilion, the disguise shedding before Mick’s eyes.

With a warrior’s yell, Michael Gabriel severs the demon’s head from its body.

The being masquerading as his mother hisses at him, the golden slits within her crimson eyes blazing hatred, her fanged mouth dripping black venom.

In one motion Mick wheels around and slams the obsidian blade into the Under Lord’s heart.

The flesh sears from Maria’s face, revealing scorched satanic features for a split second before its matter decomposes into ash.

Dominique screams as the body of the alien serpent vaporizes in front of her eyes. She clutches her heart and faints before Chaney can reach her.

Aboard the
John C. Stennis

CNO Jeffrey Gordon trains his binoculars on the floating alien pod as the Tomahawk explodes along its metallic hull. “That last missile detonated! The shield’s down—continue firing!”

A volley of TLAM cruise missiles are launched. As the admiral watches, the projectiles slam into the iridium vessel, blasting it into oblivion.

Chapter 29

T
he Great Mayan Ball Court is gone. Michael Gabriel is standing alone within an emerald vortex of energy, the tunnel-like cylinder revolving a billion revolutions a minute.

To his left is the portal’s entrance, its diminishing opening revealing the northern base of the pyramid. He can see Dominique, lying on the bottom two steps. Weeping.

To his right is another portal, the entrance to
Xibalba Be
—the Black Road. At its center point—a pinpoint of white light visible in the darkness of space.

A cool sensation washes over him, soothing his frayed nerves.

Guardian, was I successful
?

Yes, Hunahpu. The two Under Lords are dead. The portal is closing, the Death God once more denied access to your world
.

Mick watches as the opening to his left continues closing.

Then the threat to humanity is over
?

For now. It is time to choose
.

Materializing before him—a brown, granite sarcophagus. Hovering above its tub-shaped interior—a smooth, coffin-size pod.

Two destinies await you. You can live out your days as Michael Gabriel, or continue on to
Xibalba
and fulfill your destiny as One Hunahpu—attempting to save the souls of our people
.

The Nephilim
…

Sixty-five million years ago, the Guardian—the Nephilim survivors had
chosen
to remain on Earth, to save the future of an unknown species, hoping their genetic messiah would one day rise to return the favor. Mick recalls the frightened faces of the children on
Xibalba
, their souls locked in purgatory.

So frightened. So alone
…

Mick stares at Dominique, longing to hold her, to comfort her. He imagines the life that circumstances have denied him since he was a child. Love … marriage … children … An existence of happiness.

It’s not fair. Why must I choose
?
I deserve to live out my days
.

He imagines himself enveloped in Dominique’s warmth, never having to awaken in the middle of the night on the cold floor of a concrete cell, feeling so alone …

So empty.

The ultimate sacrifice
…

He recalls Dominique’s sweet voice.
Mick, none of us have any control over the deck or the hand we’ve been dealt …

You possess free will, Michael. Choose quickly before the portal closes
.

Tearing his heart away from Dominique, he climbs into the pod.

Mick opens his eyes. He is lying prone within the radiant blue hull of the pod, hurtling headfirst in outer space through a twisting funnel of intense gravity. Although he is enveloped in energy, he can somehow see through the transport’s walls. Beyond the luminescent light he can make out stars, shooting past him like tracers.

Looking over his shoulder he sees Earth, the blue world disappearing from view, the trailing cosmic string of the fourth-dimensional conduit evaporating behind him, leaving the darkness of space in its wake.

The growing emptiness tears at his tortured soul.

Welcome, One Hunahpu. You have arrived
.

I miss her
.

She is blessed, the seed of our covenant growing within her womb, her destiny forever linked to yours
.

A white light looms ahead, its shimmer growing larger.

Cold, lifeless fingers of terror creep into his mind.

Xibalba … Trepidation and fear overwhelm him. “What have I done? Guardian, please—I want to go back!”

It is too late. Fear not, Michael, for we shall never forsake you. You have made the ultimate sacrifice. In doing so, you have restored humanity to your species and given the souls of our ancestors a chance for redemption. The path you have chosen is a noble one—one that will reveal the very secrets of the universe, one that will pit the very essence of good versus evil, light versus darkness, and there is more at stake than you could ever imagine
.

Now close your eyes and rest while we prepare you, for what lies ahead is evil—in its purest form
.

JANUARY 3, 2013
WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC.

President Ennis Chaney looks up from his desk as his chief of staff, Katherine Gleason, enters, all smiles. “Good morning.”

“Morning. Another great day to be alive. Is the press conference all set?”

“Yes, sir. You’ll find the podium decorated with two floral arrangements, a thank-you from the Chinese.”

“That was thoughtful. Have my other guests arrived?”

“Yes, sir, waiting for you in the corridor.”

EPILOGUE

S
ecretary of State Pierre Borgia is fixing his tie when the conference call comes in. He checks his watch, then activates the video-comm on his desk.

The image of Joseph Randolph, Sr., smiles at him from one side of the split screen, defense contractor Peter Mabus from the other.

“There he is, Pete. Lucky Pierre,”

We’re mighty proud of you, son.”

Borgia lowers the volume. “Gentlemen, please, it’s not a done deal yet. Chaney still hasn’t officially offered me the vice presidency, although we are scheduled to meet before the press conference.”

“Trust me, son, my sources tell me it’s a done deal.” Randolph runs a liver-spotted hand across his silvery white hair. “What do you think, Pete. Should we give Pierre a few months to settle into his new office, or should we start pushing buttons to run Chaney out of town now?”

“Midterm elections will do just fine. By then, Mabus Tech Industries’ll be bigger’n Microsoft.”

The knock sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through Borgia’s stomach. “That’ll be Chaney. I’ll call you later.”

Borgia switches off the video-comm as the president enters.

“Morning, Pierre. All ready for the press conference?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Oh, before we head out to the Rose Garden, there are a few gentlemen I’d like you to meet. They’ll be your escorts for this morning’s event.” Chaney opens the door, allowing a man in a dark suit and the two heavily armed policemen into Borgia’s office.

“This is Special Agent David Tierney, with the FBI.”

“Mr. Borgia, I’m placing you under arrest—”

Borgia’s jaw drops as the guards pull his arms behind his back and cuff him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Conspiracy to commit murder. Other charges will follow. You have the right to remain silent—”

“This is insane!”

The raccoon eyes are beaming. “Agent Tierney, Mick Gabriel was kept locked up for almost twelve years. How long do you think we can keep the former secretary of state in jail?”

Tierney grins. “For all the crimes he’s committed? I think we can do better than that.”

The two guards drag Borgia kicking and screaming from the office.

Chaney smiles, then calls out, “Now make sure you walk him out by the podium so the press can take a few pictures. And be sure to get his good eye in the shot.”

MARCH 21, 2013
BOCA RATON, FLORIDA

The black limousine turns south on Rte. 441, heading for the West Boca Medical Center. In the backseat, Dominique Vazquez squeezes Edie’s hand as she watches the news report on the small television.

“…and so, scientists and archaeologists alike remain baffled as to why, for the first time in more than a thousand years, the shadow of the plumed serpent failed to appear on the Kukulcan pyramid’s northern balustrade during today’s vernal equinox. Once again, this is Alison Kieras, Channel 7 News, reporting live from Chichén Itza.”

Edie turns off the set as the limo pulls into the medical complex. One of the armed bodyguards opens the back door, helping Dominique and her mother from the car.

“You seem pretty cheerful today.”

Dominique smiles. “I can feel him.”

“Feel who?”

“Mick. He’s alive. Don’t ask me how, but I can feel his presence in my heart.”

Edith leads her into the hospital, deciding it best not to say anything.

Dominique lies on the examination table, watching the monitor as her doctor runs the ultrasound across her swollen belly. Edie squeezes her hand as the sound of tiny heartbeats thump rapidly from the machine.

“There’s the first one’s head … and there’s the second. Everything looks very good.” The doctor wipes the cream from her stomach with a damp cloth. “So, Mrs. Gabriel, would you like to know the sex of your twins?”