The Mayan Apocalypse

by Mark Hitchcock

  It was all a gamble. She had no way of knowing if Morgan was in the building or elsewhere. She didn’t even know if he was in the city. Nonetheless, her gut said this was the way to go. She had depended on her reporter’s intuition many times, and it had often paid off. Of course, it had let her down a few times as well.

  She pulled a protein bar from her purse and took a bite. It was nearing five in the evening. Hopefully, Morgan kept banker hours.

  At 5:30, a black limo pulled from the private parking area and onto the street. Lisa hesitated. The windows were tinted. How could she know if it was Morgan in the back? Then again, how many execs rode in limos? For all she knew, they all did.

  Lisa started the rental and pulled from the curb. She allowed two cars to pull in front of her. Th at was how they trailed people in the movies and on television. If it was good enough for Hollywood, it was good enough for her.

  A glance in the mirror showed another limo behind her. Lisa wasn’t prone to swearing, but she decided that if she were, this would be a good place for expletives.

  Now what? Am I following him, or is he following me?

  She took another look at the trailing limo. A Crown Vic, just a large sedan. The vehicle in front of her was a stretch limo. CEO quality. She decided to stick with it.

  The car moved through the sluggish streets until it reached the 66. Then it headed north on the highway. Lisa kept a discreet distance, often driving in a different lane. She found the chauffeur’s manner of driving interesting. He often changed speeds, switched lanes, and kept plenty of room between him and any vehicle in front of him. She guessed he had been trained in evasive driving. He might also be trying to determine if someone was following them. It seemed a tad paranoid, but since she was tailing them, she had to let the matter go.

  She dropped back another car length.

  So far, so good. Unfortunately, this was the easy part. She worried about what happened once the limo left busy freeways and surface streets behind.

  She didn’t have to wait long. The limo pulled from the freeway and continued north on a wide, well-maintained road. Several cars followed in its wake, as well as a produce van. Lisa stayed in the shadow of the delivery van. It blocked her view, but that also meant it blocked the chauffeur’s line of sight.

  One by one, the traffic between her and the limo peeled off onto side streets. Fortunately the van remained between them.

  The taillights of the delivery van came on, glowing red in the dimming light. Lisa had to hit the brakes to prevent ramming the large truck. That would put an end to her plan.

  A second later, she saw why the truck slowed: The limo was pulling into a long driveway leading to a beautiful home. “Must be nice.” Lisa thought of her large apartment and fought off the wave of envy that threatened to drown her.

  A moment later, the truck picked up speed, and Lisa followed past the house. She took in as much as she could through the corner of her eye. She saw a professional landscape behind a wroughtiron gate. No one stood by the gate, so she assumed it opened automatically, probably activated by a remote.

  Using her rearview mirror, she watched the limo disappear behind the wall that separated the property from the street.

  She drove another mile, then turned around, slowly returning the way she came. In the distance, she saw the limo pull back on the street.

  “Oh, no. He’s leaving again.” It’s only been a few minutes. Maybe he just had to pick up something. There hadn’t been enough time for him to even change clothes. Unless…

  Unless he didn’t own the limo. Perhaps the company hired a service. If she were lucky, the driver just dropped Morgan off. If it was Morgan. It was possible that she had followed the wrong guy.

  It was time to be sneaky.

  Lisa parked on a side street and walked the remaining distance to the house she hoped belonged to Andrew Morgan.

  Jasper Kinkade pulled from the freeway and made his way along the San Antonio residential area just west of the State 87 highway. The GPS app in his iPhone guided him through older streets crowded with apartment buildings. He found the building easily enough—a white stucco structure designed to look like an old Spanish villa. Its walls wore dirt, showed wear, and the landscape needed attention. Older, cheaper cars lined the street and filled the small parking lot. Jaz had no doubt this was a low-rent district.

  He tapped the icon that activated his phone and placed a call.

  “Yep?” The voice was young and male.

  “Still at it?”

  “Oh, yeah. Big time. Guy went quiet for a few hours. My guess is he was grabbing some Zs. Traffic shows he’d been at it all night and most of today.”

  “But he’s back?”

  “Straight up. He’s pounding keys as we speak. He’s changed the routing several times, but I got the runt nailed. He can chart a new course every five minutes if he wants, but I’ll be breathing down his neck.”

  “Is he still lifting info?” Jaz stared at the apartment building. A young girl sat on the walkway playing jacks. It made him smile. Nothing in the world cuter than a five-year-old girl.

  “Oh yeah. He’s positively klepto. You want me to shut him down?”

  “No. Not yet. Just keep monitoring him. Give me a call if he drops off.”

  “Will do.”

  Jaz rang off and removed a small pair of binoculars from their case. One of the advantages of flying charter was his ability to bring equipment with fewer questions. Too much electronics tended to draw the attention of the Transportation Security Administration.

  He looked in each window but saw nothing of interest. He settled in, preparing for a few hours of doing nothing…when his cell phone sounded. It was the young Internet security guy he had just spoken to.

  “He’s gone offline.”

  Jaz thought for a moment. “Maybe he’s in the head.”

  “Nah. You don’t go offline for that. He’s signed off.”

  I got here just in time. “Thanks.”

  “I’ve got something else for you. I recognize this guy.”

  “What? How can you recognize someone over the Internet?”

  Jaz heard laughter. “We hackers are an arrogant bunch. Some can’t resist putting little touches in that reveal their identity. The guy behind the keyboard goes by the name Necco.”

  “Like the candy?”

  “Exactly. Charming, isn’t it? I met him at a black-hat hacker’s conference. The guy has no life.”

  “Is he tall, super thin, with ratty hair?”

  “Yeah. How do you know that?”

  “Gotta go.” Jaz hung up and watched Necco walk from the building. Next to him was a twentysomething girl with sad eyes and Goth makeup.

  He wished Necco had been alone.

  The gate was close to ten feet tall with vertical members too narrow to pass through—even for a person Lisa’s size. Each wrought-iron pole on the gate stood upright and ended in a spear-shaped design that looked deadly.

  A short distance from the gate was an intercom system. She could see a camera lens behind a protective plastic pane. Another camera was mounted to the pilaster, where the security wall met the fence. Perfect. She pressed the TALK button and waited.

  “Yes?” The voice was less tinny than she expected. Before she could respond, she heard, “I don’t believe it.”

  Bingo.

  “Mr. Morgan, I presume.” The wind picked up and mussed her hair. It was cold, and she shivered. She couldn’t have scripted it better. “I was hoping I could talk to you.” She wrapped her arms around herself, fending off the cool breeze.

  “There’s a reason I didn’t respond to your calls.”

  More wind. The large security camera at the top of the wall moved from side to side. She guessed he was scanning for her car, which she hoped he would not be able to see.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I promise not to be so abrasive this time. I want…I want to apologize. And then, if it’s all right with you, we can chat f
or a while.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m being evasive.”

  “I can see that.”

  The camera moved.

  “I’m also being honest, Mr. Morgan. I’ve come a long way.”

  A full thirty seconds of silence passed, and then the gate began to move. She was pretty sure his Southern gentlemanliness wouldn’t allow him to leave her standing at his front gate. Still, it had been a gamble, and the last thing she wanted to do was return home and have to explain why her idea failed.

  She kept her arms folded, her purse hanging over her left shoulder. Although she knew better, the driveway that led to the front of the mansion seemed the length of a football field. She estimated that it was a third of that. The drive had a gentle slope, making the walk a little more challenging.

  As she neared the massive wood door, it swung open. Andrew Morgan looked different. Before, he had been dressed in stylish, casual clothes; now he wore an old pair of jeans, dirty New Balance sports shoes, and a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. His hair was mussed, and a sheen of perspiration covered his face, forming a V-shaped stain over his broad chest. He didn’t step outside.

  Lisa smiled and looked down at the driveway as she transitioned to a walkway of gray pavers. Her heart stuttered, and she wasn’t sure if it was from fear, embarrassment, or…something else.

  “Good evening, Mr. Morgan.”

  He gave a slight nod, but he didn’t smile. “You look cold.”

  “The breeze has picked up. It’s chilly.”

  He stepped aside and motioned for her to enter. As she brushed past him, she could smell the musky-sweet odor of sweat. Her heart picked up speed.

  The moment she was in the wide lobby, he closed the door and locked it. She looked up and saw an expensive-looking crystal chandelier over her head. Beneath her feet, marble tile covered the floor. She stepped deeper into the foyer.

  “It’s very kind of you to see me. I’m sure my presence is a little unexpected.”

  Along one white wall hung a dozen or so photos. Family photos: white-water rafting; a teenager playing in a high school basketball game; a trim, beautiful woman in a strapless black evening gown. Fingerprints marred the glass of every photo. Lisa could imagine Morgan touching the photos over and over again. Her stomach clinched into a knot.

  “I should be surprised, but I’m not.” He moved past her. “This way, please. We’ll sit in the living room.”

  She could hear tension in his voice. “Thank you. Wait, did you just say you’re not surprised?”

  He led her to a living room the size of her apartment. The assessment was probably an exaggeration, but not by much. The marble tile gave way to a carpet so thick and lush that she wanted to lie down on it. Furniture that would cost her a year’s salary populated the space. Paintings—fine reproductions of paintings by well-known impressionists—in wide, ornate frames hung on the walls. At least she thought they were reproductions.

  “You strike me as the kind of person who doesn’t take no for an answer.”

  “I did call.” A blanket, pillow, and a couple of paperback books cluttered a large sofa next to the wall. Two glass tumblers with a film of their dried contents rested on the floor. Was he sleeping down here?

  “Yes, you did. Let’s talk in the sitting area. It’s cleaner.” He motioned to a pair of sofas with flowery print fabric in the corner. His wife’s choice, she assumed. A round, glass coffee table sat centered in the space. It struck Lisa as odd that there would be a “room” within a room, something she had seen only in magazines. “I should apologize for the mess. As you know, I’m a bachelor now.”

  A weak joke.

  “No need to apologize to me. I showed up unexpectedly. I seem to have got you mid-workout.”

  If being dressed the way he was embarrassed him, Lisa couldn’t see it.

  “My second workout of the day. I was at the gym earlier.”

  “A light workday?” She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. His frown made her guilt worse. “Sorry. I still have control issues with my mouth.”

  “Which is why I didn’t call you back.”

  “I didn’t think I had been that rude.” She sat on one of the sofas. He sat on the sofa across from her.

  “Rude enough.”

  “I did apologize.”

  “Yes, you did, and I know I’m overly sensitive, but the more I thought about our conversation, the more it ate at me.”

  “I apologize again. I shouldn’t have pried into your personal business or offered counseling I’m not qualified to give.”

  A slight, polite smile appeared, the kind a man who has been offended gives the one who had offended him. “I work out a lot. It’s how I deal with stress, and I have a great deal on my mind.”

  “I pace. I’ve ruined my share of carpet by logging miles and miles of pacing.”

  “So where is it?”

  The question caught her off guard. “Where is what?”

  “Your car. I live off the beaten path. I doubt you walked here.”

  “Maybe I took a cab.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it. You seem like the kind of person who plans well. I need to know if I should call a taxi for you. Do I?”

  “No. I parked down the road, on one of the side streets. Then I walked here.”

  “I figured it was something like that. Clever in its own way, but a bit manipulative, don’t you think?”

  “You’re kind to say that it’s just a ‘bit’ manipulative.”

  His smile turned genuine. “By ‘bit,’ I meant ‘way over the top.’ ”

  “Oh.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Lisa, why are you here?”

  “First, I wanted to apologize again for being so nosey and pushy when all you did was go out of your way to get me home.”

  “You’ve already done that, and you could have done that on the phone.”

  Lisa raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, you got me. You could have done that on the phone if I had returned your calls. What’s the second reason you’re here?”

  Lisa had seen video of the members of the Polar Bear Club— people who, every winter, jumped into freezing water with nothing but a swimsuit on. She felt as if she were about to do the same. She inhaled deeply and held it for a moment. Then she let it out. “My editor wants me to do a story on people who believe the world will end in 2012.”

  “There are tens of thousands of people who believe that. Why me?”

  And there it was: the question she didn’t want to answer. “Because you’re rich.”

  He straightened. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  She bit her lip. “Okay, cards on the table. You’re not like the others. Let’s face it. Some people will follow any wild-eyed cultist.”

  “Wild-eyed cultist?”

  “You know what I mean. You’re different than most people. It’s not just your wealth, but your education, your success in business, and your intelligence. I want to do a story about people like you who—it seems—would dismiss the 2012 theory in favor of…” This time she caught herself.

  “In favor or something more logical?”

  “Well…yes.”

  Morgan sighed and rubbed his face. Before he could speak, his cell phone rang. He retrieved it from his jeans, looked at the screen, and closed his eyes. “Excuse me.” He stood and raised the phone to his ear. “Hello, Candy.”

  Candy? She looked around the room, trying to appear disinterested. She saw nothing, but she heard everything Morgan had to say.

  “Actually, I’m kinda busy.” He listened. “I know I haven’t called, but I’ve been swamped with things. I apologize.” Another pause. “No, I’m sorry, I’m not available tonight.” He began to pace faster. “I have a meeting tonight…Yes…No…Yes, there’s a woman here, but…Candy…Candy, let me talk. It’s not like that. She’s a reporter. Then I have a video conference soon, and…Candy, l
isten to me… Yes, I enjoyed our dinner, but…Candy? Candy?”

  Morgan lowered the phone and returned it to his pocket.

  “Should I ask?”

  “Probably not.” Morgan stared at her for a moment. “Let me ask you a question. Do you like Indian food?”

  “Are you trying to curry my favor?”

  “Oh, a punster.”

  “The pun’s the thing.”

  His smile broadened. “And Shakespeare too.”

  “To answer your question, I love Indian food.”

  No she didn’t!” Lisa laughed louder than she intended, drawing the attention of several of the patrons in the Star of India restaurant downtown. “She said, ‘Indian food like maize?’ ” She laughed again, holding her sides. “That’s rich. Th at’s…I don’t know what it is.”

  “Apparently you think it’s pretty funny.” Morgan was grinning. “I didn’t see the humor in it at the moment.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s rude—” Another belly laugh erupted.

  “My chauffeur found it amusing too.” He raised a glass of water to his lips and took a sip. He gazed at her through the clear glass. Her laughter was as contagious as it was loud. Her normally slightly pale face was reddened.

  Lisa raised a hand and dabbed at the tears forming in her eyes, careful not to touch her eyeliner. Morgan found it endearing.

  He straightened the napkin on his lap, spreading it over the fresh pair of jeans he had donned. He wore a gray long-sleeve shirt and a dark blue sports jacket.

  “Did things get better from there?” She took several deep breaths.

  “No, the whole thing started off slow and then bogged down from there. I’m afraid one drink after another didn’t improve her any.”