The Mayan Apocalypse (20 page)

Morgan shook his head. “No, he was a Christian. A new Christian.”

“There's nothing to keep Christians from accepting the truth
of the end. They have many prophecies that match those of the Mayans.”

Lisa bit her lip.

“I suppose so. All I know is that God let me down. He let my family die.”

“I understand.” Quetzal glanced at his watch. “I can see this is an emotional time for you. Would you rather we talk at another time?”

“Every day is emotional for me. A later meeting won't be any different.”

“All right, then. I'll need to be brief. I and my supporters have been creating scenarios and palaces of refuge.”

“
Palaces
of refuge? Don't you mean
places
of refuge?”

The Cheshire-Cat grin returned. “No, I said it correctly. Our plan is this: One, save as many worthwhile people as possible. Two, create a place for them to live comfortably. And three, create a new society.”

Oh, simple.
Lisa was finding it more and more difficult to keep quiet.

“What do you mean by ‘worthwhile people'?”

“It's an unfortunate phrase, Mr. Morgan, I admit. I'm not certain how else to frame it. I don't mean to indicate that some people have more value than others. We are all equal in the eyes of the god.”

A shiver trickled down Lisa's spine.

Quetzal leaned closer to the camera. “We can't save everyone, Morgan. Not even if we had the resources of several nations, but we can save some: people who can bring something to the new society. The people in the Circle are folks like yourself…successful, educated, determined, and capable of making a significant contribution to the New World. Your curiosity, adventuresome spirit, education—”

“And my money.”

“Absolutely. What we have underway is very expensive—unimaginably expensive. To join us will cost a great deal of money. I'm not trying to trick you or extort you. I'm being up-front.”

“How much money?”

“Close to a hundred million before all is said and done.”

Andrew Morgan's image on the monitor blinked several times.

“You were expecting me to say more, weren't you? After all, you're a billionaire several times over. I could ask for a billion or two.”

“But you know I don't have a billion stuffed in my sock drawer.”

Quetzal laughed. Balfour remained quiet and still. “I know a man like you has much of his wealth tied up in stocks, bonds, property, and other businesses. We've dealt with quite a few people in your position, many of them with much greater wealth.”

“And what does such a fortune buy for me?”

“Life, Mr. Morgan. Life and opportunity.”

“And just how are you going to save my life?”

Quetzal moved his head from side to side. “We have made very careful and exacting plans, but I can't discuss them now. This connection is secure, but Mr. Kinkade thinks I should be a little more paranoid. If you agree, I will send you information for a private meeting. I will say this: Think global. This isn't a movie we're scripting. It's real life, and I want to save yours and anyone else you want to bring with you.”

“I can bring someone else?”

“Yes. Some are bringing their immediate families, others are bringing their significant others. Think Adam and Eve.”

“You'll fill me in on the details at this meeting?”

“That I will. I will also—”

A cell phone's ringing filled the room.

Oh, no.
Lisa reached for her purse and retrieved it. It sounded again.

“Excuse me,” Morgan said to Quetzal. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, punched a button, and said, “Hello.”

Lisa silenced her phone.

“I'm sorry,” Morgan said, “I'll have to call you later.” He listened. “I'm sorry. I'm busy right now.” He set the phone down. “I apologize. I meant to turn that off.”

“You're a busy man. I understand.”

“When will I hear from you again?”

“So you're interested?”

“Very interested.”

“Good,” Quetzal said. “You'll hear soon. Right now, I have a flight to catch.”

“Wait, you promised to tell me something that would be in the news soon.”

“Ah, I did. There's an asteroid headed for the earth. It will pass well within the moon's orbit and will probably strike the planet. The European Space Agency and NASA plan a joint press conference soon.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have connections, Mr. Morgan. I have many, many connections.”

The monitor went black.

“I'm so, so sorry—” Lisa never finished the sentence.

“Give me the phone. Quick! Now.”

“You're not going to break it are you? Meant to turn it off—”

Morgan yanked the phone from her hand.

“Hey!”

He dialed. A moment later his own phone rang. He answered but didn't raise it to his ear.

“Why'd you call your own number?”

“These guys have been investigating me, and I don't think they've stayed within the law. That crack about having many connections makes me nervous.”

“You think they might look at your phone records?”

“Yeah. As soon as the phone rang, that Balfour guy started dialing his phone. If they do check my cell phone records, they'll see this call near the time your phone rang. It won't be exact, but it'll be close.”

Lisa rose. “But it will be my number. They might be able to figure out I'm a reporter.”

“How many times have you called me over the last few days? They'll think you're still being annoying. At least I hope they do.”

“But you never answered those calls.”

“Doesn't matter. You left messages.”

“You are a quick thinker, Mr. Morgan.”

He looked at her and smiled. “You forgot to say good looking.”

Lisa felt herself blush.

He handed back the phone and she scanned the missed-calls register. “My editor. It's kinda late for him to be calling.” She dialed his number.

His words made her stomach burn.

L
isa laid her head back against the seat rest and closed her eyes. Her mind raced like a Formula 1 car, and she did her best to let off the throttle. The voicemail had rattled her. The phone conversation that followed had unraveled every strand of her strength.

Breathe. Slow. Easy. Breathe.

Images flashed on her mind with strobelike intensity—not memories, but images her mind conjured up. Each mental picture was more garish than the previous.

Shut down. She wanted to shut down her brain, if only for a few minutes. Lisa tried tricks she used when she couldn't sleep: Name all the remaining contestants on this year's
American Idol
. List the main characters in the classic TV show
Star Trek
. Name the presidents of the United States. Usually she fell asleep within minutes, bored by the mental exercise.

It wasn't working.

She felt Morgan's plane bank as it continued its climb. So much had happened in so little time. One moment she was sitting on the floor of Morgan's office, hiding in the shadows just out of range of the webcam on his computer. The next moment she was airborne in one of Morgan Natural Energy's corporate jets.

Of course, things had happened in-between time.

“What's wrong?” Morgan's voice was strong but worried.

“It's…it's…”

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Look at me.” She didn't. “I said, ‘Look at me.' ” Lisa looked up from the phone. “What has happened?”

“A young man—a new reporter I was working with—has been attacked. He may die.”

Morgan straightened, his face changing from confusion to concern. “He's a friend of yours?”

“Yes…well, no, not really. I only met him yesterday. He's the nephew of my editor. I'm supposed to be showing him the ropes. He wanted to come here with me, but I brushed him off.” Tears scorched her eyes. “If I had let him come—”

“You can stop that right now.” His tone was firm but not harsh, like a father talking to his teenage daughter. “No one wins the what-if game.”

“I know…I just…Oh, I can't even think.”

He led her to a guest chair in his office and made her sit. What she really wanted to do was pace for a while and then scream until her lungs came out.

Morgan moved to his desk.

Lisa inhaled deeply and dabbed at her eyes. “I don't know why I'm so upset. I barely know the kid.”

“You're upset because you're a good person, and you know violence wounds more than the victim.” He picked up the phone and dialed. The moment he tapped the last key, he motioned to her. “Give me the keys to the rental.”

“I can't. I need to get back to San Antonio. I want to be there for Rodney.”

“Rodney is the name of the reporter?”

“No. He's my editor. Garrett is the nephew.”

He nodded several times as if sealing the names in his head. “Bring me your keys.”

She rose and did as he said. Her normal pigheadedness had gone missing. Just as she reached him, he spoke into the phone: “Donny,
it's Andrew. I need your help.” He explained about Lisa and the rental parked a few streets down. He then said he was headed to the airport. He listened for a few moments and then hung up.

“He'll be here in fifteen minutes. We have a half-hour drive to the airport.”

“You're taking me to the airport? My flight doesn't leave until tomorrow afternoon.”

“A gentleman always takes his date home.”

“We didn't have a date. I came here to wrangle an interview.”

He smiled. “Did we or did we not just have a pleasant dinner together?”

“Yes, but—”

“I declare it a date.” He started for the office door. “Let's go.”

“Wait—you don't have to do this.”

He stopped at the threshold. For a moment, Lisa thought she had angered him.

“I know. Now are you coming or not?”

Downstairs, Morgan dropped the keys on a narrow table in the massive foyer and proceeded to lead her through a wide kitchen— one that could make an international chef weep—and into the garage.

The garage held four cars. She saw a red sporty job she couldn't identify, and it looked extremely expensive. There were two luxury sedans, a Cadillac SRX Crossover, and a slick, small SUV. It was the same car he had driven her to the Star of India in.

“Get in,” he opened the driver's door.

“Didn't you call your driver?”

“He can't return your rental and drive a limo at the same time. Donny's off duty. I'm not going to ask him to drive us to the airport, then come back for your car, then—”

“He can chauffeur you, and I can drive the rental. You don't even have to go. I'm a big girl.”

“Fasten your seatbelt.”

“What did your chauffeur say about this?”

“Donny? Well, Donny is a very conscientious man.”

Lisa looked at him as the overhead light poured through the windows and painted his face with shadows and light. She swallowed hard.

Morgan punched a button, and the garage door rose behind them. He started the car and backed out.

“What do you mean by ‘conscientious'?”

“He's my bodyguard when I allow it. He doesn't like me going into heavily populated areas alone.”

“So he's a little angry?”

“A little. Yeah, that's it. He's a little angry.” He turned on the head lights and slowly pulled down the drive. “When I went to Roswell, I insisted on going alone. For a moment, I thought I saw him hanging onto the wing.”

The image made Lisa smile. Guilt wiped it away.

As they pulled up to the gate, Morgan tapped the remote, and the gate slid open. Just as it reached its stop, headlights blinded them. The driver had the brights on. Before Lisa could think, Morgan hit the brakes, followed by the automatic door locks. “If I tell you to duck, do it.”

“But—”

“Don't argue!”

The lights dimmed and went off. It stopped on the other side of the gate. Morgan had already triggered the gate's remote, and it was closing.

The Cadillac's beams shone on an Acura sedan. The driver's door opened, and a shapely figure emerged.

“I don't believe it.” Morgan rubbed his eyes.

“What?”

“It's Candy.”

Lisa started to make a wisecrack but decided against it.

Again, Morgan opened the gate and pulled forward. As he did, he rolled down his window. He stopped by the woman. “Candy, what are you doing here?”

“I want to reconnect. I feel we got off on the wrong foot. I may have been a little too…Who is that?”

Lisa felt like she was in a lineup. The woman was about Lisa's age but was far more…ample. Night had fallen, but there was enough of a moon to see her features. She was a beauty with angry eyes.

“Candy, this is Lisa. Lisa, this is Candy. Lisa's a reporter.”

“A reporter? Right.”

Morgan leaned toward the window and spoke in a low voice. “Candy, she is a reporter.”

“A reporter who just happens to be interviewing at night…and after you turned me down for a date.”

“Oh, brother.” Morgan made no attempt to hide his frustration. “Candy, she was one of the meetings I told you about.”

“I just bet she was.”

Lisa decided that a wise woman would just stay out of it. Morgan didn't have that option. She saw his right hand tighten on the steering wheel.

“I'm sorry, Candy. Did we get married on our
one
date, and I missed it?”

“No, I just thought we—you know—connected.”

“I'm sorry, Candy, but we didn't, and this little display of yours has made certain we won't.”

Lisa heard the gate close behind them.

“Don't say that, Andrew. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just a little hurt that we haven't gone out again.”

“It's only been a couple of days, Candy. I don't want to be cruel, but I don't want to be suffocated. Now, if you don't mind, I need to drive Lisa to the airport.”

“Of course, I'm sorry. Let's do try again. Let me show you I know how to behave.”

When Morgan didn't answer, Candy leaned forward. “It was nice meeting you, Ms…Ms…”

“Campbell,” Lisa said. She didn't return the compliment. There had been nothing nice in meeting Candy with the Claws.

Morgan pulled away, and for a moment Lisa wondered if she shouldn't have given the woman her last name.

Morgan sat in the rear-facing seat opposite Lisa. She had said only a handful of sentences since they boarded the Cessna Citation Sovereign. She appeared to be asleep, but he knew better. Her eyes were closed—not because she was tired, but because she was shutting out the world. He knew the technique. He still practiced it. An ostrich was no safer when it hid its head in the sand, but at least it didn't have to look at what was coming.

He caught himself smiling. For some reason, staring at her— annoying as she could be—brought him joy. The Indian cuisine dinner they shared had been his attempt at civility. In truth, he hadn't wanted to go, but he didn't want her leaving so angry that his name appeared in publication under the headline B
IG
O
AF
I
GNORES
L
OVELY
R
EPORTER
. He guessed she was too professional to stoop that low, but it made an easy excuse to justify his action.

Still, he hadn't expected to have a good time. Of course, she turned tenacious again, and he caved to her request to observe the teleconference.
You're slipping.
He looked out the window and gazed at the rhythmic flashes of the aircraft's beacon reflecting on the clouds below.

His eyes drifted back to Lisa again. When she heard of her fellow employee's condition, she had shown real emotion, even though she had known the young man for only a day or two. Anyone would have been shocked by such news, but few would continue to show concern for a near stranger. Morgan didn't want to, but he admired that.

The plane bounced through some clear-air turbulence and settled again into a smooth flight. Lisa didn't budge. A moment later, her lips began to move. Had he not been studying her face so intently, he would have missed it.

Dreaming? A twitch? A few seconds later, he knew what he was seeing: Lisa was praying.