The Doomsday Cipher (An Avalon Adventure Book 3)

by Rob Jones

  “I think we might a problem something here.”

  4

  The Avalon crew and Acosta stopped talking and looked over at the small figure sitting on a wooden chair with the Codex in her lap.

  “What have you found?” Selena asked.

  “I think your friend Danvers might have been right after all.”

  Atticus stared at her, unblinking “What do you mean?”

  “About what Montesino saw all those hundreds of years ago.”

  “Impossible,” Atticus said. “Danvers said Montesino witnessed some kind of divine force. As a trained, professional archaeologist and a man of science, I refuse to believe such nonsense.”

  “What makes you say this, Diana?” Decker said.

  “I’m not sure where to start, but here he talks about being filled with terror at the hands of a pagan god.”

  “Not a good start,” Charlie said.

  Riley’s smile faded. “But there’s still treasure, right?”

  Selena sighed. “Please, go on, Diana.”

  The Portuguese woman was quiet for a while, studying the text. She mumbled to herself as she followed her finger along one of the lines. As if she hadn’t heard a word, she said, “And here’s a reference to Ah h’in.”

  “Ah ha!” Riley said. “Ah h’in!”

  Selena slapped him out of the way. “Stop being an idiot. What’s the problem, Diana?”

  “The rest of the text is straight-forward enough, but I don’t recognize this word.”

  “Ah h’in?” Atticus said, turning to the group. “What does that mean?”

  Selena peered down at the friar’s spidery handwriting. “I have no idea. It certainly doesn’t look like a Spanish word. More like Arabic or something. Over to you, Diana. This is your specialist field. Have another think about it.”

  Diana looked at the faded calligraphy of Alfonso Montesino and thought again about the strange word he had written in his journal all those centuries ago. “No, it’s definitely not Spanish or Latin or even Arabic. Wait. If you look a little closer, maybe it doesn’t say Ah h’in. If you look closely the ‘h’ is actually a ‘k’ – the lower part of the letter is very faded, almost imperceptible, but it’s definitely there.”

  “So it’s Ah k’in,” Selena said. “Is that a Spanish word?”

  Diana shook her head. “No.”

  “We are making outstanding progress right now folks!” Riley said, rubbing his hands together. “Easily the best treasure hunting team in the world.”

  “Actually, we are,” Diana said with a withering glance at the Australian soldier. “On reflection, I think this word is written not in Spanish or Latin or Arabic but in Mopan.”

  “This is all Greek to me,” Riley said.

  Decker scratched his chin and sighed. “Wait a minute. What’s Mopan?”

  Riley sighed and shook his head. “Don’t you know anything, Mitch? It’s like when you’re just really sad and down and, you know… mopan around the house.”

  Charlie chuckled, but the others were less amused.

  “Shut up now please, Riley.” Selena said. “The adults are talking.”

  “Yeah,” Decker said. “And I still don’t know what Mopan is.”

  “Not just what, but who,” Selena said. “The Mopan are a Maya people indigenous to the Yucatec peninsula and the mountains of Belize.”

  “And it’s also the word for the Yucatecan branch of the Mayan language,” Diana said. “Today it’s spoken by around for thousand people in Guatemala and eight thousand people in Belize.”

  “But what we all want to know, my dear,” Atticus said, “is what does this mysterious Ah k’in word mean?”

  “It isn’t perfectly translatable, but the closest would be something between a high priest and a doctor, similar to the Taino word behique.”

  Decker considered what she had said. “So, a powerful and important figure around these parts five hundred years ago?”

  Selena took over. “Absolutely, yes. These men were much more than the people we call priests today. They were a complex blend of healers, diviners, scientists and also leaders. They usually had a very comprehensive knowledge of what today we call the Maya Katun Prophecies or Cycles.”

  “That’s sounding more like it,” Charlie said.

  Riley looked across at him, confused. “It would be, if I knew what she just said.”

  “You’re referring to the Maya calendar, right?” Decker asked.

  Selena took a second to consider how to explain. “The Maya calendar is a complicated business, but it’s what archaeologists and anthropologists generally refer to as the Long Count, which is around one-fifth of the cycle of the precession of the equinoxes.”

  Now Charlie looked even more confused than Riley. “And how long is that?”

  “Long. The full cycle is twenty-six thousand years, so a fifth is five-thousand, two hundred years.”

  “Whoa,” Riley said. “That’s nearly as long as it takes to get a tax refund.”

  Selena ignored him. “The Maya had a very strong understanding of long timescales, much better than the average man or women does in our time. They divided time further into what they called baktuns, which was one-thirteenth of the Long Count, which is three-hundred and ninety-four years, and they kept accurate calendars detailing all of this.”

  “And these Ah k’in guys worked all this out just from looking at the stars?” Riley asked.

  Acosta nodded. “Precisely, yes. In some respects, they were a very advanced society.”

  “Apart from the decapitations and ripping out of human hearts, am I right?” Charlie said sarcastically. “Or am I right?”

  “I said, in some respects,” Acosta added. “In other ways, they were of course very barbaric.”

  “What else does Montesino say about this high priest?” Atticus asked. “Is there anything more about what he saw?”

  Diana traced her finger along the text. “He says this Ah k’in could speak to the gods. He mentions Huracan in particular.”

  “Huracan?”

  “I didn’t think Lamborghini made those babies until 2014?” Riley said.

  Selena pursed her lips and stared at him, unsure if it was worth the effort. “Huracan as in the god of storms, wind and fire, chuckles.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll put it in my phone for future reference.”

  “Please go on, Diana,” Atticus said.

  “Montesino is very clear now,” she said, re-reading some text. “I’m sure I haven’t made a mistake but he seems to imply that the Ah k’in could summon Huracan at will. He writes very clearly about how he watched him call on the god and use his divine powers to annihilate a congregation worshipping at a temple. Montesino says he witnessed it with his own eyes, including the death of another friar during a sacrifice.”

  “My God…” Acosta said, “Danvers was right.”

  Atticus frowned. “Wait, he watched this priest annihilating the congregation? What does he mean by that, exactly?”

  Diana scanned the text again. “He says he saw him summon Huracan and bring destruction on the temple and its worshippers. He describes how he called on Huracan and channelled a terrific storm from the sky which he was able to wield like some sort of divine power, at his will.”

  “Cool,” Charlie said. “Cool and yet sadly completely impossible.”

  “That is what is writes,” Diana said patiently.

  “But maybe he’d one too many sherries or smoked some of the local flora when he wrote it,” Riley said. “That’s possible, no?”

  “Maybe, but he goes further,” Diana said. “He says local legend held that the Ah k’in was buried with the divine power of Huracan. He calls it the Doomsday Power, or the Stormbringer.”

  Atticus’s voice was suddenly frail. “This really is the Doomsday Cipher obsessing Danvers all these years.”

  “Sounds inviting,” Charlie said. “And in no way threatening. I like it.”

  “Where was the Ah k’in buried?” Sele
na asked.

  “In a place called Xunantunich,” she said, frowning.

  “Huh?” Riley said.

  “It’s an ancient Maya site,” Selena said. “It means Stone Woman.”

  Diana said, “Montesino says in the jungle to the west of the site. He gives a precise map here and some directions involving something called the Jaguar Temple and another one…” she peered closer at the manuscript… “something called the High Temple, I think. He has drawn some images here of these temples in alignment. He also says there are two entrances to the burial chamber. But I don’t know where any of these things are, sorry. I’m just a translator.”

  “Good job we have two archaeologists in the crew then,” Decker said.

  Acosta raised a sheepish hand. “Three.”

  “Sorry, three.”

  “But do any of the three archaeologists know where this place is?” Charlies asked.

  All three of them smiled and nodded their heads.

  “Oh, yes,” Selena said. “Oh yes, indeed we do! Xunantunich is a very unique site in ancient Maya culture.”

  “Why?” Riley asked.

  “Mainly because it survived for so much longer than the other cities after the collapse of Maya civilization. A rich life went on in a bustling city there for around two hundred years after the rest of the civilization declined into collapse.”

  “So where is it?” Charlie asked.

  “I know where it is,” Decker said. “I know a guy who rents Jeeps to tourists down there.”

  Selena gave him a look. “How odd.”

  “Small world, huh?” he said.

  “How long to get there in the Avalon?” she asked.

  “A few hours, I guess.”

  “In that case, Captain Decker,” Selena said, smiling, “set your compass for western Belize!”

  5

  Cancún, Mexico

  The man they called Tarántula stared at his namesake as it crawled over the face of the dead man down at his feet. He sipped some fresh, iced water from a heavy crystal tumbler and tracked the large, hairy Mexican fireleg tarantula feeling its way over the dead man’s nose, using it like a bridge to cross from one blood-stained cheek to another. He studied its movements and mannerisms with intense interest, the way it set down its legs on the man’s cooling flesh, but never once before feeling its way forward with the hairy pedipalps protruding from either side of its fovea.

  What would it do? Leave in disinterest, or try to consume part of it?

  He pulled the half-empty bottle of Acqua di Cristallo from the top shelf of the refrigerator and unscrewed the little tin cap. The first half had been drunk with a woman the other night, mixed with American whiskey, but today it had taken on a Zenlike medicinal quality. He filled his glass and gazed around his large sunken living room. The space was filled with daylight, diffused by the tinted windows elegantly designed by himself so many years ago.

  He sipped more of the refreshing water and stepped away from the dead man. Poor José had disappointed him one too many times. Never a good idea where Tarántula was concerned. He had been surprised José had called his bluff, such was the terror and fear he created in his underlings. But he had done, so he paid the ultimate price.

  Turning to the man standing behind him at the door to his study, he said, “Any news from Acapulco, Rafa?”

  “Not yet, boss.”

  He gave a shallow nod. Sipped more water and stayed calm. Fought the rage away. No news was good news, after all, and Santiago Rocha had a lot to think about. A few months ago he had double-crossed Tarántula over a drugs deal and now he was a dead man walking unless he paid the money he owed, with interest.

  “They still have another twenty-four hours until the deadline.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “And what about the Mercados?” He now turned and fixed sharp black eyes full of evil intelligence on him, as cold as desert snow. “I hear their escape was a success.”

  Rafael Brolo felt his skin crawl with cold fear. “A total success, boss. They’re already on their way down to Mexico, but…”

  “But what?” The eyes burned into him.

  “I just heard from Diablo. He says a team of foreigners were at the convent. They went inside and met with one of the priests there.”

  Tarántula felt his blood running hotter. “What are you trying to tell me, Rafa? That months of research has all been for nothing?”

  “It looks like the convent authorities have been working with this team for some time. They’re archaeologists, I believe. Foreign. They found the Montesino Codex and…”

  Tarántula’s rage burst out of him in a deafening scream as he hurled the crystal tumbler across the room and smashed it into the wall. Brolo cowered as it shattered into a thousand pieces, taking a step back until his back brushed up against the heavy oak door.

  “No!” Tarántula said. “The Snake King will kill us all if we screw this up! How could this happen?”

  Brolo felt sweat beading on his forehead in the air-conditioned room. It sat on his browline for a few seconds before trickling down into his eyes. He blinked it away and swallowed hard, wiping damp palms on his suit trousers. “I… I…”

  Tarántula searched the room for his twenty-four carat gold plated Colt pistol and found it resting on the edge of his desk. He had set it down there after burying two rounds in José’s chest a few short moments ago. “You need to stop talking now, Rafa. I am close to doing something I might regret. You are an old friend, after all.”

  “I feel the same deep rage as you, Ramon!”

  Tarántula’s blood now turned to ice in his veins. “What did you just call me, Rafa?”

  Brolo wished he could turn to water and seep away under the gap in the door. “I’m sorry, it was just habit. From when we were kids.”

  “No one calls me that anymore, Rafa. You of all people understand this.”

  “Si, but…”

  Tarántula’s icy scowl broke into the faintest hint of a smile. “You are right, old friend. You must think I am some kind of monster. Insane, even. Please, forgive me.”

  “It’s nothing, Tarántula. Nothing at all. You know how much I respect you.”

  “Of course. We must make preparations for the next phase of the Snake King’s plan. Fetch me my pistol and we will drive out to the airport.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Brolo walked away from the door and crossed the sumptuous study toward the desk. The view from Tarántula’s beach house was one of the most expensive in the entire city. Situated on its own stretch of private beach in the district of El Rey, the highly coveted property had once belonged to a Saudi prince and gave breathtaking views out over the dazzling turquoise waters of the northern Caribbean rim.

  “This team of foreign archaeologists,” Tarántula said. “I take it you had Diablo follow them?”

  “Of course, boss. They took off from Bajío Airport in a private plane. He said it was a vintage plane, like something out of a museum.”

  Tarántula laughed. When he knew it was safe to do so, Brolo joined him.

  “They fly around in a vintage plane?” Tarántula asked.

  “Si.”

  “Not much of a match for my brand new jet!”

  “No, boss.”

  The Embraer Lineage had recently put a seventy-five million dollar hole in one of Tarántula’s offshore bank accounts, but it had all been worth it. The bespoke private jet came with a master bedroom, a shower, and skylights in the roof. It was no more than he deserved. He was the most renowned drug lord in Latin America and one of its most notorious killers. He had a reputation to maintain. He knew being the best meant being seen to be the best.

  Tarántula picked up his pistol and caressed the smooth leaf patterns engraved in the gold plate. “A vintage plane… hilarious. What was their flight plan?”

  “According to Diablo, they filed a flight plan to the Maya Flats airstrip.”

  Tarántula frowned. “In Belize?”

  “
Si.”

  The drug lord’s mind began to whir. What was in Maya Flats? He stared down at José’s corpse. The tarantula had managed to crawl up over his chin and was now making its way across his throat toward his blood-stained shirt. Maya Flats… Maya Flats…

  “If this is true, it looks like these fools are leading us directly to where we need to go. I know where we must go!”

  “The Snake King will be pleased, boss. Where is it?”

  Still gripping the bespoke pistol, Tarántula grinned. “Somewhere very special.”

  6

  After a long pause, he said, “It’s Xunantunich! Whatever they found in the Montesino Codex has pointed them toward Xunantunich.”

  “The ruins?”

  “Of course, the ruins. Don’t be a such a fool.”

  “I’m sorry, boss.”

  “Let’s pray to God we can find them down there. Perhaps then the Snake King will forgive us for letting them get to the Codex before we did.”

  “Si.”

  Tarántula weighed the gun in his hand and looked up from the dead man to the sumptuous bay window on the other side of the room. White hot sun pitched down over a neon sea busy with windsurfers and motorboats. He sniffed sharply and turned to his old friend.

  “Of course, we would not need the services of God if you had done your job properly and secured the original memoirs ahead of these foreign archaeologists.”

  “Like I said, Diablo told me that…”

  He stopped speaking when Tarántula raised his Colt and aimed it at him. “I am very disappointed in you, Rafa.”

  “No! Please, old friend!”

  Tarántula fired, planting the first round in Brolo’s chest. His old friend dropped to his knees and grasped at the wound with his left hand. He reached out with his right hand to Tarántula, fingers spread. “Please… I am sorry!”

  “You failed me today, Rafa. Your mistake is unforgivable.”

  He fired a second shot into his chest. The explosion was like thunder, but this time the bullet blasted out of his back and buried itself in the oak door behind him. A third, fourth and fifth shot followed, each one spraying blood out across the room.