“Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?” I ask. He may be a strong SOB, but even the best need medical attention occasionally—especially after getting oh, I don’t know—shot!
“Nah, I’m fine. I already patched it up,” he replies and then switches to a bad British accent. “It’s just a flesh wound!”
The Monty Python reference gets a laugh out of me, which then causes me to grimace at my own injuries. Nicole backhands me in frustration over the noise, hitting me with her bruised hand. She herself cringes at the tenderness of her ripened knuckles.
Then we all laugh together at the state of things until it becomes a giggle. That’s when we realize how tired we are. As if on cue we all yawn as one.
“You call your dad yet?” Kane asks sitting down.
Damn.
“No, I forgot. What time is it?”
“22:35,” Kane says, looking at his watch.
“Huh?”
“10:35, Hank,” Nicole adds, eyes closed.
“Oh, right,” I say.
I pull out my phone and see a bevy of missed calls, all from Dad’s office line.
Double damn.
I stand and step outside, wanting a little privacy. I put the phone to my ear, barely hearing it ring once before he picks up.
“Harrison, thank God! Are you okay? How are the others?”
He’s really worried. I should have called him sooner.
“Sorry, Dad, we had a little bit of a busy night.”
I relay the events of the past couple hours.
The arrival at the park.
The tour that was cut short.
The gunfight and ensuing battle atop the Castle.
“No, Dad, Kane’s fine. Those army guys are tough to keep down. Once we were able to wake him we got the hell out of there. He called his bosses—they’re sending in a cleanup crew. He awoke with a little bit of a start.”
“Naturally,” Dad agreed. “What of the surviving mercenary—the woman?”
“Nothing, she was gone—” I yawn. “When we roused Kane, we went and checked on her. That’s when we saw she was missing.”
“Do you know where she went?” He asks.
“No. Disappeared back into the jungle, I guess.”
I yawn again, barely staying on my feet, hearing a voice in the background.
“Are you home?”
“Yes, just walked in a few minutes ago,” he replies. “I had all my calls transferred here. It was getting late and Ben and I were spent.”
“Ben? He’s in town?” I ask.
“Yes, he’s in for a week, lecturing. He’s going to stay the night here and then head off to his first appointment in the morning. He was hoping to see you before he went back overseas.”
“I’ll do my best to be home in time to see him off,” I yawn again. “Look, Dad, I’m beat…literally. Can I call you back in the morning? I need as much sleep as my body (and mind) will let me.”
We sign off and I head back to my room. I open the door and find twin gun barrels pointing at me. “My bad,” I say, shuddering.
Fairfax, Virginia, USA
“William, you need to tell him.”
Boyd hung up his phone and looked over to his friend who sat comfortably in his living room’s armchair. The hour got late and he invited Ben to stay the night with him rather than drive back to his hotel alone.
“It’s not like I don’t have the room,” Boyd had said about his four-bedroom home, which was thirty minutes west of DC, straight down I66.
He sat across from his friend, scotch in hand, and turned his attention to the lit fireplace. It was nowhere near cold enough for a fire, not by a long shot, but he still built one occasionally anyway. Something about staring into the crackling flames made him feel like he was transported away from reality, to a better place. He believed most men felt that way. Even his son would stare into a fire and go dead to the world. He called the look his “daddy eyes.”
“I will Ben, but not now. The last thing he needs is more pressure and stress.”
His phone rang. As he looked down at his phone’s display, he frowned. The number looked familiar, but it wasn’t programmed in. He wouldn’t have answered it on a normal day, but the lateness of the call and the past hour’s events had him worried.
He answered it and immediately got assailed by the caller with a rushed, frazzled tone. “Ms. Dubois, slow down, please. What happened? Where’s Dr. Weaver?”
As the geneticist described what happened over the last twenty-four hours on Jaina Island, Dr. Boyd’s face went white and his hands started to tremble.
He ended the call, assuring the woman that help was on its way, He tried to dial a number, but couldn’t. His hands were shaking too much. Grabbing his drink, he emptied its contents and closed his eyes. Boyd inhaled deeply, exhaling even deeper, repeating the process once more until his pulse slowed a little.
“William, what happened in Campeche?” Ben asked obviously concerned.
Boyd repeated everything that Olivia had witnessed and what had happened to Dr. Weaver.
Ben sat back silently in his chair. What could he say? Thirty-four people dead and one survivor. You can’t spin that into anything positive. He watched as William recalled the person who had called him not five minutes ago.
At hearing his son’s groggy voice, Dr. Boyd broke down in tears. He recited the events for a second time, but this time, the tale hammered itself home. Xander and Jason were dead, along with countless others. The description Olivia had told him made no sense, but it also made perfect sense.
“What was it, Dad? What did Xander and Jason discover?”
Dr. Boyd choked back his answer, unsure of his own voice now. He could barely believe it himself, but Olivia wasn’t one to exaggerate. If anything she was overly blunt and always honest.
“It’s a plague or infectious disease of some kind,” he said. “It’s some sort of darkness, Harrison…a Mayan darkness.”
15
Blairsville, Georgia, USA
John Frost hated failure more than anything. It drove him nuts when something went wrong—even more so when it happened and he had no control of the situation. Like now.
He sat in the office of his comfortable home contemplating his next move. Sword had failed, yet again. Their mission was simple, stop and eliminate the threat, which in this case was Hank Boyd and his companions. Two botched ops in a matter of three-plus months, he thought rubbing his forehead. He hadn’t had two unsuccessful jobs total since starting Broadsword.
Frost sat back and took in his surroundings. He didn’t need a mansion to feel successful. Nor did he need armed guards with leashed Dobermans roaming a compound to feel safe. No one in this rural northern Georgia town knew his past and he was content with that. As far as they knew, he was a traveling businessman who left for weeks at a time, returning during all hours of the night, which technically was true to a certain extent.
He had gotten a call just before midnight that the op in Chichen Itza went south and all the men were dead.
Minus the Raven, of course, he thought.
She was on her way here, hopping on a red-eye back to the States via the Atlanta International Airport. She would then take a taxi and arrive at his doorstep soon—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Speak of the devil, Frost thought to himself, getting up from his expensive leather chair, shutting off the Shiatsu back massager.
He strolled past an assortment of rare antiquities he had recovered while in the field, like the gold coin he “collected” from his first hit five years ago in Spain. It was his first run in with Zero and he was just a hired goon at the time, fresh out of the army. He had reported that the coin was lost during the raid, but had secretly kept it for himself. He still didn’t know why Zero would kill to retrieve it and knew it had to be important.
Eventually, Frost started his own security company, BSI, and again was contacted by the shadowy group a few months ago. They had been captivated by his
ruthlessness while in the field and were also impressed with his ability to plan and strategize on the fly.
He stepped up to the door, peering through the peephole and saw the disheveled looking mess of a person, one Sara Carter. He opened the door, stepping aside, allowing her access to his home.
Frost closed the door with a soft but startling bang. Raven jumped at the noise, visibly shaken from last night’s failed attempt.
She turned and threw herself into Frost’s strong arms, where he embraced her like any lover would. He tilted her chin up and kissed her. Raven winced from the intimate touch as Frost pulled back finally noticing the trodden exterior of the woman.
The stone-cold killer had taken quite a beating from the blonde bitch. Her right eye was swollen badly, almost to the point of it being shut and her lip was split. He gently stroked her cheek. “Go use the shower and clean yourself up. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Raven quietly nodded, staring into his scarred face, and turned for the bedroom, undressing as she went. By the time she got to the end of the hallway she was fully nude and her pace slowed. She turned back towards Frost and smiled, then entered his bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom, turning on the shower.
Frost walked back into his office and typed in his sixteen-digit encrypted password on his computer, effectively locking out anyone who wasn’t him. The information he had on record could ruin a number of country’s governments and all of his previous employers. He kept them just in case someone tried to double cross him.
He then ventured back deeper into his home, following the path his lady friend just took. He quietly stepped into the bathroom, watching her like a predator, as she scrubbed down her near-flawless form. The only imperfection her body displayed was the various bruises and scars, from a near lifetime of fighting. She had been in the private security business for some time now and had her share of injuries for sure.
Frost stepped forward smiling, shutting the door. The woman heard him enter, stopped what she was doing and returned his carnivorous gaze. She slid open the glass door to the shower, beckoning him forward with her eyes.
He liked this one even though he was fully aware that she was playing him like a fiddle—or she at least thought she was. He really didn’t want to have to do anything to jeopardize their “relationship.”
Too bad, he thought, his own motto ringing in his head, the one he’s lived by for the last five years.
No loose ends.
He stepped forward, undressing, smiling from ear-to-ear. He wasn’t “happy.” Frost smiled because he knew that his prey had no idea her life was about to end and it amused him.
Isla de Jaina, Campeche, Mexico
“Archaeogeneticist? What the hell is an archaeogeneticist?”
I glance over to Kane, giving him a look that says, “What the hell man? Shut up!”
“Please excuse our friend, Ms. Dubois, he’s a bit slow at times,” Nicole calmly says.
“Yeah,” I add. “He’s an idiot.”
Kane being the big emotional kid of the group just turns and stomps away, towards the tent acting as the dig site’s mess hall. He tends to eat when he’s upset.
We arrived in Campeche an hour ago after driving through the night. Thankfully, Nicole had offered to drive. By some miracle, she had come out of the hand-to-hand fisticuffs with the dark-haired woman none-the-worse-for-wear. All she had to show for the hits she took was a bruised rib and a semi-swollen cheek.
Kane had originally offered to drive, but Nicole turned him down since he was just recovering from a knock to the head and a slight case of bulletwounditis. We both climbed in our respective passenger seats—me up front with Nicole and Kane in back—lying across the seats despite his prodigious size. Ten seconds later he was snoring like a lawnmower. I may have even passed out before the big lug too.
“Sorry, Ms. Dubois—”
“Olivia,” she says, interrupting me.
“Okay then Olivia, please, go on. What happened here exactly?” I ask.
The Frenchwoman relaxed and retold her cliff’s notes version of what she saw, which wasn’t much since she was busy with her own work at the time. Once she was finished recounting what she had witnessed, I started my own line of questioning.
“Why exactly did Dr. Weaver need a specialist like yourself down here in Mexico? If I’m not mistaken, isn’t an archaeogeneticist someone who studies ancient DNA or something?”
Olivia perked up at this question, she obviously enjoyed talking about her line of work and didn’t get the privilege to very often. Most people in such a specialized field often found themselves alienated by the others. So, when someone was genuinely interested in their work, they got pretty excited.
“As an archaeogeneticist, I not only extract and examine the DNA of remains found in sites like this,” she says motioning to the vacant dig, frowning at the sight of its emptiness. She blinks a few times composing herself, and continues, “But, I also assist people like Dr. Weaver and answer questions regarding the possible influence of population growth by tracking and comparing said DNA.”
“What do you mean?” Nicole asks. “Basically, I can use a certain DNA tag, like how someone might use Ancestry.com to figure out their nationality, except on a grander and deeper scale. I can then use this information to help shed light on the origin and geographical spread of a certain ancient language or culture.”
My head is starting to spin at the information just given to me. While impressive, I’m still not quite sure why she is here…in this exact place.
So I ask, “I understand your job, but why are you here?”
The look of confusion Olivia gives me tells me she still doesn’t understand what I’m asking. Thankfully, I have some help.
“Why did Dr. Weaver bring someone of your expertise to Mexico to work at a site like this?” Nicole asks.
This gets the desired effect and Olivia answers promptly, “Dr. Weaver had contacted me with a very specific job in mind.”
“And that is?” I ask.
She quickly continues, “He asked me if tracking the origin of life on Earth was possible, specifically the human genome.”
Now I have my own confused look spread across my face. “Wait, Xander wanted you to find mankind’s origin?”
She nods.
“As in a master race?”
She nods again.
“What did you tell him?” I ask, an uncomfortable feeling building up in my gut.
“I told him it was possible with enough data. It may be possible to find a link, but we would need to focus on the oldest civilizations of the world and thoroughly analyze the various DNA tags.”
I glance over at Nicole, studying her stoic expression, but I already know what she’s thinking. We are all looking for the same thing, except my crew already knows the answer to the riddle, Atlantis, or as they called it, An’tala. Our respective teams are basically working from either end of the modern man/Atlantean timeline. The main difference is Olivia is working from the present back and we are working from the past forward.
“Do you know why Xander was so interested in this?” I ask, hoping that I don’t hear anything that would link them to Zero. The last thing we need is another traitor or mole in our midst, like Omar.
“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Olivia answers, relieving some of my worries. “Dr. Weaver was always interested in the subject. I suspect—and this is just my personal opinion—he wanted one last chance of finding something before he retired.”
It’s possible, I think, but the timing doesn’t feel right. Why hadn’t Xander followed this hunch if it was truly a “life’s calling” of sorts.
I turn and stare into the distance, thinking of my next move. I need to speak with a few more people before I come to a conclusion.
I turn back to Olivia, “Would you excuse me please Ms. Dubois? I need to make a call.”
“Only if you stop calling me Ms. Dubois,” she says with a smile.
“Fine, but only if
you call me Hank,” I reply with my own toothy smile.
I turn again and meet Nicole’s gaze. The smile is immediately erased from my face when I see her dagger eyes burning holes into my soul.
“What?” I ask, not understanding her obvious jealousy. I still have yet to master the art of reading a woman’s emotions correctly. I’m told it’s impossible, but I think I’m getting closer and closer to succeeding.
Yeah, right.
16
Isla de Jaina, Campeche, Mexico
“You there, Todd?” I ask, keying my NVS2’s comm link.
“Sure am. Whatcha’ need, Hank?”
I’m thrown for a second at the software engineer’s informal reply, forgetting he’s not a spy or even a former soldier for that matter. Todd Jenkins is, in all his glory, just a techno-geek. He’s a ninja with a keyboard… One with really high-level government clearance.
This puts me at peace for some reason. Maybe it’s the fact that Todd is just a normal guy and not some bureaucratic jerk-off trying to get in my way.
“Can you access Dr. Weaver’s email and recent phone calls and see if anything fits?” I ask, hopeful in the man’s ability.
The first thing Kane had said was to never underestimate Todd and never, ever piss him off.
I had asked, “Why?”
And Kane replied, “Because, not existing or having any kind of identity would really, really suck.”
I agreed, that would indeed suck. I refocus on the current discussion.
“Sure can, Hank. I’ll call you back on your specs when I find something,” Todd answers. His line then quickly going dead.
When I find something, I think replaying what Todd had just said. Well, it’s nice to know the man is confident in his abilities. Then I recall what Kane said earlier, how he could make someone disappear with the stroke of a key. I’m sure hacking into someone’s personal files is a walk in the park compared to what he does on a daily basis.
“This isn’t good,” grumbles a familiar, concerned voice.
Mayan Darkness (A Hank Boyd Adventure Book 2) (The Hank Boyd Adventures) Page 8