Outside the cave, Crawford and Sanders had reached the grey stony bed of the lake. Fidel’s boat drifted aimlessly above them. Crawford spotted the rope first and signalled. He pointed to his eyes and then to the rope. Both divers followed the rope towards the cave’s underwater entrance.
53
GAKONA, ALASKA
The wind was still howling up the Copper River Valley, buffeting the control station at Gakona, but for Dr Tyler Jackson, alarm bells were ringing over what was about to unfold, and he didn’t notice. Howard Wiley had arrived on a flying visit for a briefing. The satellite image on the screen was marked TOP SECRET, pinpointing the location of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard base at Fordo near Qom, one of Iran’s holiest cities and a major seat of Islamic academic endeavour.
‘As you’re aware,’ Gakona’s director, Dr Nathaniel B. Hershey, began, ‘for some time we’ve suspected the Iranians have been constructing a nuclear facility deep within the mountains near Qom. The infra-red satellite imagery has not been able to penetrate the solid rocks, nor is it likely that our conventional weapons will be able to inflict any significant damage.’ Hershey flashed up a diagram that showed the intended path of the extremely high-energy but low-frequency radio waves HAARP was capable of generating.
‘The second experiment in the Operation Aether series will beam three billion watts of energy directly into the suspected Iranian complex. If all goes well, anything inside the mountain will be destroyed. H-hour for the transmission burst will be in three days from now, at 0300 hours, our time. That’s 1530 hours Iranian local time, when the maximum number of workers will be on duty.’ Hershey went on to explain the details of the impact of the high-energy heat burst. He paused at the end of his briefing to allow questions. Jackson seized his chance, determined to sound one last warning.
‘There is, of course, a risk with this experiment,’ he began. A look of thunder appeared on Hershey’s square rugged face. ‘Deep-earth tomography has never been tried on this scale before, and the results are therefore unknown. It’s not inconceivable that this massive burst of energy may upset the earth’s rotational spin. The earthquake off Sumatra that caused the devastating tsunamis in 2004 measured 9 on the Richter scale, and we have incontrovertible evidence that it increased the earth’s wobble, moving the poles by several centimetres. Three billion watts of energy may have an even more devastating effect than a natural earthquake.’
‘That is pure conjecture, Dr Jackson,’ Hershey responded icily.
Wiley turned in his seat and glared at the senior CIA scientist. ‘Isn’t that why we do experiments, Dr Jackson? To see if they work?’
‘We should learn from history, sir. In 1954, as you know, we detonated the first hydrogen bomb on the Bikini Atoll. The experiment Castle Bravo was expected to yield four megatons. Castle Bravo yielded nearly four times that, devastating the population, vaporising the test island, and leaving a mile-wide crater on the lagoon floor. The radioactive fallout reached as far as Australia, India and Japan. We’re in a similar situation with Operation Aether: we don’t know what might happen here. Worse still, we’re moving towards a once-in-26 000-year planetary alignment, which culminates in December 2012, when the Maya predicted the earth would be exposed to the power of a massive black hole at the centre of the Milky Way galaxy. We should at least postpone the launch of the missile and the ELF beam until after 2012, when the earth will most likely be in a more stable orbit.’
‘Mystical nonsense from a bunch of savages. And it may have escaped your attention, Dr Jackson, but by 2012, the Iranians will have the bomb.’ Wiley made a mental note to organise an early retirement for his aging scientist, and he stood to address the thirty or so other defense and civilian employees.
‘There’s been a lot of crap put about in the media recently,’ he began. ‘A lot of rubbish about targeting North Korea. So, I’ve launched an investigation. Let there be no doubt in anyone’s mind: when I discover who’s been leaking information to the media about our classified missile launches, they’ll wish they were dead. All of you are signatories to the Intelligence Authorization Act, and the fastest way to lose your balls or your tits is to breach it. This facility is for peaceful purposes, and that remains the official line. We don’t discuss intelligence or classified operations, period!’
As soon as he could leave the briefing room, Jackson went straight to his office. This experiment held the same uncertainties as Castle Bravo, but on a potentially far more devastating scale. Somehow he would have to find a way to focus international attention on the madness that was Aether.
54
LAKE ATITLÁN, GUATEMALA
Aleta’s pulse was racing as O’Connor’s knife uncovered the last of the rectangle bordering the shell icon. A rectangle that, like the nautilus shell it enclosed, was in a precise ratio of 1:1.618 or Φ.
‘The nautilus shell – biological engineering at its best,’ he observed, replacing his knife in the sheath above his bootie. ‘As it moves to a new chamber, it fills the old one with a gas and then seals it with mother of pearl. Very ingenious.’
‘A logarithmic spiral, so that each chamber is proportional to the last,’ Aleta agreed, fighting to contain her excitement.
O’Connor dug out the last of the sascab, the same Mayan mortar made from crushed and burnt limestone that Aleta’s grandfather had encountered in Tikal, but no amount of levering would prise the block free. Aleta inserted her knife into the faint outline of a keyhole in the centre spiral of the shell. She gasped as a subterranean mechanism was activated and the heavy block of limestone slid slowly into the cave floor, and then sideways into a specially constructed recess, the whole device hinged on large bronze bearings.
‘How did you know to do that?’
‘It’s a long story, but look!’ Aleta grabbed O’Connor by the arm. The limestone block had slid back to reveal the third figurine nestling at the bottom of the cavity, the crystal and the black and gold-rimmed obsidian glistening in the light of the glow-worms.
O’Connor moved to extract the figurine but Aleta grabbed him. ‘No! Wait!’ She broke off a piece of nearby creamy-orange stalactite and lowered it into one end of the cavity, touching the crystal at the top of the figurine.
O’Connor winced as a razor-sharp, spring-loaded blade sliced the stalactite in two and returned to its recess in one side of the cavity. Aleta broke off another long piece and touched the other end of the figurine. The vicious spring-loaded blade from the opposite side was lightning fast. O’Connor took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling his wrist. The blade would have sliced his hand off in an instant. ‘How did you … ?’
‘How did I know? The ancient Maya put great store in the energy of the jaguar, but that energy is feminine. José warned me that the ancients knew our world would eventually be dominated by the male, and that the codex and this figurine would be fiercely protected by a principle of balance.’
‘So the figurine is on some sort of mechanical bed, and if you tilt it, you lose your arm,’ O’Connor said, thinking out loud. ‘Do you suppose that ring in the centre of the figurine might be the balance point?’ He pointed to a small jade circle protruding from one of the lower branches of the Tree of Life carving.
‘A very good chance. If you look closely, there are two indents on the edges of the cavity that mark the centre.’
O’Connor fashioned another two probes out of long, slender stalagmites and, holding them like a pair of tweezers, he lowered the end of the rope from his belt. The leading tip of one of the stalagmites hit the ring slightly off centre and both blades flashed from their recesses, slicing the stalagmites in two. It took three attempts before he managed to thread the rope through the ring. He handed Aleta one end.
‘Those two grooves: we can slot the rope into them and use them as guides.’
Aleta nodded and she and O’Connor carefully walked backwards on either side of the cavity, slowly raising the priceless figurine to the top of the recess. They swung it to one side, the glo
w-worm lights reflected in the crystal even more eerily than before.
‘The lost feminine,’ Aleta exclaimed. At the base of the jade Tree of Life, the ancients had carved a powerful female jaguar with two cubs, one male, the other female.
O’Connor checked his watch. Less than seventy-two hours to the solstice. He reached for the two nylon specimen bags he carried on his dive belt, and they loaded the figurine into one and the gold into the other. Together, they manoeuvred the precious cargo down to the main ledge below.
From behind a large stalagmite in the dark recesses of the cave, the two ex-navy SEALs watched as O’Connor and Aleta checked their gear and prepared to leave.
‘I’ll take the gold,’ O’Connor said. Aleta raised her eyebrows in mock admonition.
‘Only because it’s the heaviest, smart ass.’
‘At least it’ll be lighter in the water. Thank God for good old Archimedes.’
O’Connor set off with the gold, tracking the rope that led back to the underwater entrance. Aleta followed with the precious figurine, reeling in the rope as she swam, but they had only travelled about thirty metres when O’Connor sensed the vibrations behind him. He turned in time to see Aleta being attacked. Her assailant had ripped off her mask and slashed her breathing hose. A second attacker was powering towards him, knife drawn.
He dropped the gold, which fell to the floor of the cave, landing in a puff of silt. In an instant, he recalled the training he’d done at the Naval Amphibious Base on the Silver Strand isthmus near San Diego. The Chief Petty Officer instructor had been one of the hardest men O’Connor had ever encountered, and his words rang clearly in O’Connor’s head: ‘If you’re attacked underwater, let your opponent come to you. Then get behind them – go over them or under them, but get behind them – and turn them upside down.’
O’Connor drew his own knife and waited for his assailant. At the last moment he dived underneath him, twisted, ripped off his attacker’s face mask from behind and cut his air hose. The ex-navy SEAL was strong, but O’Connor turned him upside down in a choke hold and glanced behind. Aleta, with no face mask and no way of breathing, was sinking to the bottom of the cave. Her attacker had retrieved the figurine and was powering towards O’Connor, who plunged his own knife into the femoral artery of his still-struggling adversary. A cloud of blood exploded around them. O’Connor pushed him away and waited for the second asset to press his attack. He glanced over to where Aleta was struggling; her equipment snagged on a big stalagmite, air bubbles exploding from her fractured regulator, but there was nothing he could do.
The second diver hesitated, then swam rapidly for the entrance of the cave, still clutching the figurine. O’Connor dived towards Aleta, freed her from the stalagmite and together they shot to the surface. Aleta gasped for breath and coughed up water and O’Connor hauled her up onto the limestone shelf.
‘I’ll be okay,’ she coughed. ‘The figurine!’
‘I’ll be back!’ O’Connor inserted his mouthpiece and stepped back into the water. The body of the first assailant was lying on the bottom of the cave and O’Connor swam strongly towards the narrow entrance. The second CIA asset had cleared the squeeze and O’Connor surfaced in time to see him climbing over the stern of his boat. Fidel’s boat was drifting but Fidel was nowhere to be seen.
Acting on an impulse, O’Connor dived back to the bottom of the lake and retrieved the nylon rope from its anchor point. O’Connor resurfaced, and the rope, freed of its anchoring point, floated on top of the lake. O’Connor quickly laid it out to form a mesh on the surface and positioned himself in the middle. The second diver started the outboard and gunned it to full throttle, aiming his boat straight at him. O’Connor waited until the last moment and then dived. The propeller sliced the first lengths of the rope, but the next length fouled it and the shear pin snapped. The propeller came loose, spinning to the bottom of the lake in a shower of foaming bubbles. Free of the propeller, the Evinrude outboard screamed in protest.
O’Connor followed the slowing boat above him, holding his breath, knowing his adversary would be looking for the tell-tale signs of exhalation bubbles on the surface. He came up underneath the bow and drew his knife. He cautiously swam to one side and as he’d expected, the second diver was scanning the waters behind the boat. O’Connor eased his way down the side of the boat, supporting himself on the gunwale, but his attacker suddenly turned. With unerring accuracy born of hours of practice, O’Connor let fly with his knife. It flashed through the air, piercing the startled diver’s neck.
‘Aaggghhhh!’ His opponent grasped his neck and tumbled backwards over the stern. O’Connor dived and swam through the clouding bloody water, gripping his opponent in a final choke hold. The diver’s struggles gradually weakened until they ceased altogether and O’Connor let go, watching the lifeless body sink to the floor of the lake. He clambered over the stern of the boat and retrieved the nylon bag containing the figurine. Fidel’s boat was drifting some 200 metres to the north. O’Connor sat on the gunwale, clasped the figurine to his chest and rolled back into the water in a backwards somersault.
When O’Connor surfaced, Aleta was still sitting on the ledge, trying to cut and refit her slashed breathing hose.
‘Are you okay?’
Aleta nodded. ‘Are they still out there?’
‘They’re both dead, but I think they got to Fidel.’
‘Bastards! These people don’t fucking give up, do they?’
‘No, and it’s not over yet. But if we can get to Tikal before the solstice, we might still have a chance.’ He placed the figurine on the ledge and dived back to the floor of the cave to retrieve Aleta’s face mask and the bag containing the ingots. ‘Your regulator’s stuffed,’ he said when he returned to the ledge, ‘so we’ll buddy breathe.’
‘Thank you, Curtis. You saved my life, again.’
He grinned. ‘All part of the service.’ Together, they stepped back into the now-clear, emerald waters of the cave. With the figurine and the gold safely back in their grasp, they swam slowly towards the entrance, sharing O’Connor’s regulator every three breaths. Outside the cave and about fifteen metres above them, the hulls of the two lanchas were clearly visible. O’Connor gave Aleta the thumbs up towards the one that still had a propeller.
Fidel was lying unconscious on the bottom of the boat, his shirt stained with blood. O’Connor grabbed a towel to stem the flow. ‘San Pedro will have the best medical facilities – or Panajachel?’
‘There’s a doctor at San Marcos,’ Aleta replied, gunning the motor. José Arana was waiting for them at the little jetty and together he and O’Connor carried Fidel to the doctor’s house, where Arana remained to wait for news.
When José returned, Aleta was sitting with O’Connor in the garden, explaining what she’d learned during her regression therapy.
‘The doctor said he’ll be okay,’ Arana said, ‘but if you hadn’t got to him when you did, Fidel would no longer be with us.’ He picked up the carved jade figurine, admiring the ancient craftsmanship. ‘You’ve done well,’ he said.
‘Did you know that one of us might have lost an arm?’ Aleta asked, an edge to her voice.
‘I warned you that both the last figurine and the codex itself would be fiercely protected,’ Arana replied simply, ‘but more importantly you have less than three days until the solstice.’
‘We have a little task to complete in San Pedro before we leave,’ O’Connor said. ‘Von Heißen’s diaries contain compelling evidence of the atrocities the Nazis committed at Mauthausen … and they also contain evidence of the CIA’s involvement in the Guatemalan death squads. Jennings obviously doesn’t know they’re there, but we need to recover them to a safe place.’
‘How are we going to distract Jennings?’ Aleta asked. ‘Mass will be finished in half an hour.’
‘How do you feel about confession?’
‘What?’
‘I saw a notice on the porch of the church. Jennings conducts confessions
after Mass, and if you hold him up in the confessional, I’ll have time to get the trunks out of the ceiling and down to the launch.’
‘And what if he recognises me?’
‘He won’t. Not if your face is covered by a niqab.’
‘A Muslim full-face veil? He can’t give confession to a Muslim!’
‘Pretend you’re going through a crisis of faith, and that you’re going to convert. That should give me long enough!’
‘I’ll be there for a week. Besides, I’ll stand out like a sore thumb.’
‘Not really,’ Arana said. ‘There are quite a few Muslims in the Lake Atitlán community, and we all coexist without any problems. Besides, every picture you have ever seen of the Virgin Mary depicts her in a veil. That’s just a Christian version of the hijab.’
55
SAN PEDRO, GUATEMALA
Aleta waited on the main steps outside the church until the last of the congregation had shaken their priest by the hand, while O’Connor took up a position in the gardens. Even at a distance, Jennings’ surprise and irritation at Aleta’s request for him to hear a Muslim renounce her faith in a Catholic confessional was clearly audible, and O’Connor watched as the two disappeared back inside the church. Confident that Aleta would tie Jennings up in knots, he headed for the presbytery.
Monsignor Jennings slammed the door of the little wooden confessional shut and switched on the red light above the door. Aleta closed the curtain on her side, knelt on the tattered cushion and waited until Jennings slid open the worn cedar partition. Through the holes, Aleta could make out Jennings’ shadowy figure. He was breathing heavily. It had been many years since Aleta had been in a confessional, but she remembered the tortuous procedure of a teenager’s imagined sins as if it were yesterday. She remembered, too, the lives the hypocrite on the other side of the screen had destroyed.
THE MAYA CODEX Page 33