by David Meyer
I placed the heel of my right hand on Pacho's chest. Then I put my left hand on top of it and interlaced my fingers. I gave him thirty quick chest compressions.
Dr. Wu tilted Pacho's head back and lifted his chin. After sealing his nose, the doc gave him two rescue breaths and lowered an ear to his mouth.
I gave him thirty more compressions. Dr. Wu gave him two more breaths and rechecked his breathing.
We tried again. And again. And yet again.
Dr. Wu cleared his throat. "I think—"
"Again," I said.
We performed a few more CPR cycles. Then Beverly touched my hands. Gently, she removed them from Pacho's chest.
As I sank onto the ramp, I saw Miranda standing a short distance away. Her eyes were dry. Her face had regained its color. I didn't have to tell her anything. She already knew it.
Jacinto Pacho was dead.
Chapter 64
Miranda didn't like guns. She detested violence. And she'd attended dozens of anti-war marches in her life. She'd never considered herself capable of hurting anyone. But none of that mattered now. Whether she liked it or not, she was a murderer.
Half-dazed, she crawled through the short tunnel. She didn't feel guilty. Instead, she felt strangely numb. It was almost as if Pacho's death meant nothing to her.
Outside the pyramid, she rose to her feet. Rigoberta and Tum tried to comfort her. But she waved them away without a word.
The rain picked up speed. The clouds shifted positions. The sky darkened. A fierce wind sprung up out of nowhere, assailing her cheeks.
Adopting a fast pace, she slogged toward camp. She hadn't meant to kill Pacho. She'd just been so angry at his attempt to betray her. Before she'd known it, she was shoving him toward the cage trap.
Still, she didn't mourn him. Nor did she feel particularly bad about what she'd done. Votan would've killed him anyway.
She walked further. In the distance, she saw a small fire burning in the fire pit. She also saw Pacho's tent.
Over the last few months, Pacho had collected an astonishing amount of evidence against her. Fortunately, he'd kept it to himself. If not, he could've easily ruined her career. And that would've had horrendous consequences for the world.
She climbed out of the marsh and made a beeline for the tent. After checking to make sure no one was watching, she unzipped the flap. Until Votan arrived, she needed to protect herself. And the evidence Pacho had collected gave her a clear motive for killing him. Thus, she needed to dispose of it as quickly as possible.
Then no one would ever suspect what she'd done.
Chapter 65
This place really is hell.
I stabbed my shovel into the ground. Removed some dirt. Tossed it over my shoulder.
Rain splashed me as I repeated the process several more times. Gradually, the hole deepened.
Tum and Renau approached me with shovels. I waved them off. My back started to ache as I returned to work. My legs felt sore. My feet begged for a rest. But I kept digging.
Loud squelching noises caught my attention. "How're you holding up?" Graham asked in a gravelly voice.
I didn't bother turning around. "I'm fine."
"It wasn't your fault."
"I know." I rammed the shovel into the muddy earth. "It's just …"
"What?"
"I should've saved him." I climbed out of the hole. "It just happened so fast."
"Emily's outburst distracted you. It distracted all of us."
"Maybe."
He glanced at the hole. "I never really understood burials."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"It's not just the burial." He scrunched up his brow. "It's the whole deal … the coffin, the grave goods, the gravestone, the ceremony."
I stared at him, puzzled.
"Ritual burial practices go back thousands of years. Hell, even the Neanderthals had their rituals. They buried some of their dead with animal bones, tools, and other things. Lot of good it did them." He shrugged. "Most rituals probably started as an afterlife thing. You know, bury the dead with stuff they could take to the next world. But today, I think it's more about the ritual than anything else."
"And the mourning." I glanced at Pacho's corpse. It was wrapped tightly in a blanket and sealed with several layers of duct tape. "What's your point?"
"Blaming yourself for deaths you didn't cause is a ritual too, in a way. I guess it's how we make sense of an uncertain world. You're not the first to do it and you won't be the last."
"Go away, Dutch."
"But I was just—"
"Go away."
Graham turned on his good leg and hobbled back to camp. Meanwhile, I gathered Pacho's body in my arms and placed it into the hole.
"Cy?"
I gritted my teeth. "Yeah?"
"Dutch told me you weren't in the mood to talk." Emily paused. "But I wanted to say I'm—"
"Don't say it." I grabbed the shovel. "What happened to you in the pyramid?"
"I need to show you something." She pulled a large book out from under her coat. Shielding it from the rain, she opened it up.
The pages showed an old birth certificate, three photos, and several sections of scrawled handwriting. "I remember this," I said. "You were reading it on the helicopter."
"It's my family's history." She paused. "More specifically, it's my family's medical history."
I gave her an inquisitive look.
"I've got an unidentified genetic disorder. I've traced it back eleven generations so far. Generally speaking, the symptoms include rising amounts of agitation, confusion, and hallucinations. The hallucinations are the worst. They crop up during times of stress." She took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, none of my ancestors who displayed my symptoms survived past the age of forty."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I came to terms with it a long time ago." She glanced at the pyramid. "The disease is the reason I came here."
I stared at her.
"I'm not naive enough to think the ancient Mayas knew about genetic disorders." She cracked a smile. "But the Library of the Mayas will contain cures for many other diseases. I figure bringing it to light is a worthy way to spend my last few years."
"You should talk to Dutch. He owns a cryonics company named CryoCare."
"Cryonics?"
"It's a crude form of suspended animation. Essentially, his scientists attempt to preserve life at extremely low temperatures. The idea is to bridge the gap between now and a time when current diseases can be cured."
"Does it really work?"
"The science is sound. But until someone is actually revived, no one knows for sure."
Her look turned thoughtful.
"Ask him about it," I urged. "I'm a client. So is Beverly."
"Maybe I will." She paused. "Well, that's all I wanted to say. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. It's not an easy thing to talk about."
As she walked away, I turned to the northeast. It was nighttime. The clouds soaked up any and all starlight so the area was nearly pitch black. But I could still see the pyramid. It looked like a massive tumor on the otherwise flat marsh.
Deep down, I knew Graham was right. Pacho's death wasn't my fault. Perhaps it was Hunahpu's fault. After all, he'd built the pyramid and constructed the trap. But that didn't seem right either.
Pacho's death replayed in my mind. He'd shot past me at a rapid speed, almost as if he'd been pushed. But who could have done that?
Miranda.
Memories swirled in my brain. Miranda was the only person who'd been close enough to push him. She could've used Emily's hallucinatory outburst as a cover. But why would she want to hurt Pacho? As far as I knew, he was one of her most trusted assistants.
I scooped up some soil. Then I tossed it onto Pacho's corpse.
The smart thing to do was to keep my head down and finish the excavation as quickly as possible. Then I could fly away from the cursed canyon and put everything behind me.
> But I felt nearly certain Miranda had taken a life. And there was no way I could turn my back on that.
"I'm going to get to the bottom of this." I stared at Pacho's corpse until my eyes hurt. "You've got my word."
Chapter 66
Flat duffel bags were heaped in the corners of Pacho's tent. A sleeping bag lay neatly on the ground.
I zipped up the tent and grabbed one of the duffel bags from the closest pile. It felt nearly weightless in my hands. Quickly, I opened it up.
It was empty.
I opened another one. It was also empty.
Swiftly, I opened the other bags in the pile. One bag contained several changes of clothes and other personal items. The others were empty.
I crawled to the other corners and checked more bags. They were all empty. Frustrated, I sat down on the sleeping bag. Someone, possibly Miranda, had seen fit to dispose of Pacho's belongings. But why? What had he kept in the bags?
I turned to leave. As I crawled toward the flap, I heard a slight crinkling noise underneath me.
I pulled aside the sleeping bag. Seeing nothing, I unzipped it. Inside, I discovered a bundle of stapled academic papers along with a pen. My eyes scanned the first three titles.
Ancient Mexico: A Study of Drought Cycles.
Climate Change in the Americas: A History.
The Rise and Fall of the Maya Empire.
I didn't recognize the first two papers. But the third paper was famous. It had been used as a starting point for one of the most renowned archaeological tomes of recent years. A single author's name was written beneath the title.
Dr. Miranda May.
I quickly leafed through the paper. The apparatus—footnotes and citations—was massive. Text had been scrawled alongside some of the footnotes. A closer look revealed the footnotes pointed at two titles.
Ancient Mexico: A Study of Drought Cycles.
Climate Change in the Americas: A History
A frown creased my visage. For the next few minutes, I quietly read the other two papers. Then I crosschecked their information and datasets with Miranda's paper. My gaze narrowed as I realized what Pacho had discovered.
I picked up the other papers. All of them were referenced in Miranda's apparatus. Swiftly, I checked Pacho's handwritten notes with her footnotes and citations. Then I crosschecked everything with the relevant information and datasets.
Stunned, I stuffed the papers under my jacket. I didn't know how he'd done it, but Pacho had uncovered an incredible secret about Miranda. I couldn't be certain she was a killer.
But she was a fraud of epic proportions.
Chapter 67
"Miranda lied." I pulled off my jacket as I crawled into the tent. "Not just to us, but to the entire world."
"What do you mean?" Beverly asked.
"Before he died, Pacho was dissecting one of her most famous papers about the Classic Maya Collapse. He found incorrect quotations, altered data, misrepresented archives, and even citations that don't exist."
"But that means …"
"Her paper is a fabrication. Based on his notes, it looks like he was getting ready to accuse her of deliberately trimming and massaging the evidence to fit her thesis."
"So, climate change didn't cause the Classic Maya Collapse?"
"I can't be sure about that. All I know is that Miranda's paper is tainted."
"I don't get it." She shook her head. "Didn't anyone vet her work?"
"Sure. I bet a whole bunch of historians, archaeologists, and scientists read it before publication. I have no idea why they didn't catch the errors though."
"Are you going to confront her?"
"Not yet. I don't think these are the only papers Pacho brought with him. His tent is filled with empty duffel bags. They smell musty on the inside, like old paper."
"Do you think Miranda took them?"
I nodded. "I also think she killed him."
Beverly frowned.
"She has a motive. Plus, she was the only one standing near him at the time of his death. She must've seen the trap and pushed him toward it."
"How sure are you about this?"
"Nearly positive."
She was quiet for a moment. "I can't imagine killing someone over a few citations."
"Miranda is one of the most respected archaeologists in the world. Environmentalists line up to hear her speeches. Her colleagues frequently quote her work. Members of the media love her. They call her the Prophet of the Past because she uses lessons from the Classic Maya civilization to talk about the dangers of manmade climate change." I shrugged. "In other words, she's got a lot to lose. If word leaked out about the true nature of her work, she'd be finished."
"What do you want to do?"
"All I can prove is that she fabricated one paper. So, for now, let's keep this between you, Dutch, and me. But we need to be careful as we get closer to finding the Library of the Mayas."
"Why's that?"
"She's already convinced most people that climate change caused the Classic Maya Collapse. The library can't help her in that respect." I frowned. "But it can certainly hurt her."
Chapter 68
Grrrarrr …
Carlos Tum poked a stick at the fire. Tiny embers glowed amongst the roaring flames.
Hreeech!
The jungle exploded with sound. Ear-splitting bellows. Harsh shrieks. Long, drawn-out howls. Deep-throated growls. Vicious hisses.
And through it all, Tum never moved a muscle. He was used to jungle noises. In fact, he enjoyed them.
The noises grew louder. It sounded like a herd of giant animals storming the clearing. But Tum knew it was just his ears playing tricks on him.
"You don't like me very much, do you?"
Tum groaned silently. The only thing worse than being on guard duty was sharing that responsibility with Crowley. "I like you just fine," he replied.
"You're wrong," Crowley said after a few moments. "About the predators, I mean."
"How so?"
"It's not safe to live close to predators, especially in a place that hasn't seen people in hundreds of years."
"Actually, I don't disagree with you."
"Then why do you get so upset about killing them?"
"They have as much right to be here as we do. More so, actually."
"So, what do you think should be done about this giant cat?"
"Unless we're in imminent danger, we should leave it alone."
"It killed one of our dogs."
"I understand that." Tum's ears perked as a strange sound rose above the din of the jungle. "But as far as I'm concerned, the cat was here first. We need to learn to live with it."
"What if it doesn't want to live with us?"
"It'll learn."
Alonzo raced past the fire pit with a determined look etched upon his visage. He ran to the edge of camp and skidded to a halt. Then he lifted his chin and bayed at the cloud-covered moon.
Tum respected Alonzo's ears and instincts. So, he listened hard. After a moment, he heard a woeful howling noise.
"Did you hear that?" Nervously, Crowley pulled a pistol from his belt. "I think that's the cat."
Alonzo took off like a rocket, racing to the jungle at top speed. Crowley jumped to his feet and followed suit.
Tum stood up. He listened to the howling noise for a few more seconds. He heard pain in the creature's voice.
He picked up a rifle. Adopting a fast jog, he moved toward the tree line. Moments later, he slipped into the jungle.
Up ahead, he saw Crowley slide to a halt. Alonzo stood a few feet away, barking with great aggression.
Tum jogged a little further. Then he saw it.
His heart raced. He'd lived and worked in the jungle his entire life. He'd seen many large cats over that time. But this one was unlike anything he'd ever seen before.
It was roughly seven feet long and four feet tall. It possessed powerful muscles, a short tail, and stubby legs. In many ways, it looked like a jaguar. But in ma
ny other ways, it was completely different.
Usually, jaguars sported orange coats with black spots. But the creature's mantle was a sickly yellowish color. Its spots were unusually small and grouped close together.
Large parts of its body weren't even covered by the mantle. Instead, its exposed skin looked scaly, reptilian. Its bright green eyes were strangest of all. They showed a glint of unusual intelligence.
Tum released a long breath. The creature's right leg was trapped in one of the horrid snares prepared by Graham and Crowley. It had tried to escape by climbing a nearby tree. In the process, it had ripped large chunks of bark from the trunk. The only bright side was that the metal snare had been wrapped in duct tape, which kept it from slicing through muscle and bone. Still, the creature's leg bled profusely.
"That's the one." Crowley aimed a flashlight beam at the creature's entrapped leg. "You can see the scars from here."
Tum squinted. Indeed, the creature's rear right heel pad featured two crisscrossing scratches.
The creature twisted toward him. Its bright green eyes flashed in the near darkness. It looked forlorn, anguished.
Tum's heart ached. He was reminded of an old story his father had told him about a runaway Maya slave. While taking refuge in a cavern, the slave had stumbled upon a wounded jaguar. Although frightened at first, the slave eventually pulled two arrowheads out of the creature's footpad. The jaguar, thankful for the mercy, later saved the slave from those who sought to put him back in chains.
Slowly, the creature's head drifted to the ground. Its sad eyes remained locked on Tum until they finally closed over. At that very moment, Tum felt a connection to the creature. He resolved to do everything in his power to protect it.
"I think it passed out," Crowley said.
"We should cut it loose. It won't bother us again."
"Forget it, nature boy." Crowley lifted his pistol. "I'm taking it down."
Tum's jaw grew slack as he saw Crowley line the gun up with the creature's head. His brain screamed at him to do something.
Tum swung his rifle. It slammed into Crowley's head. The man's knees gave out and he toppled forward. His teeth chattered loudly as his chin smacked the ground.