“What’s that?” Freya asked.
Kelly span around, searching the street for clues.
“Waterways. You said the old waterways went back as far as Lake Texcoco, right?”
“Da, exactly.”
“What are you talking about, Kelly?”
“This place used to have a mess of canals and waterways. I’ll bet some of them went underground. We’re sitting here like dumbasses on the surface. Is there a way down?” He stared hopefully at Minya.
She swayed on the spot, unsure if she should answer.
“Answer him,” Freya said.
“Da, possibly. The Pyramid of the Sun,” she began. “It was built over man-made tunnel, a passage that leads to cave almost twenty feet below, beneath the center of structure. Originally, it was believed to be lava tube. Natural.”
“But?” Kelly raised his eyebrows.
“More recent excavations have led some to believe it was made by men. Perhaps a royal tomb. But some have said it may be the place of Chicomoztoc—the place of human origin, according to Nahua legends.”
“This chamber,” Kelly interrupted. “Is it a dead end? Are there others?”
“There have been investigations. But no more tunnels were found.”
“But that doesn’t preclude them from existing, does it?” he pressed.
“No.”
Freya glowered. “Strange you didn’t mention this before.”
“I was not asked.”
“You know, it strikes me as funny, Minya, that—”
“Now, now, ladies. No need to fight.”
Neither laughed, instead giving him equally scathing glances.
“Let’s just go back. I don’t like us being so far from the camp. It’s not safe.” Freya turned on her heel and marched off toward the camp.
Kelly and Minya trudged after her, their heads hung low like those of reprimanded school children.
Location: Russian transport plane, somewhere over the Atlantic
The turbulence shook the virtually empty, modified 747. Occasionally, the aircraft plummeted twenty or thirty feet and then slowly climbed again. Normally, this kind of journey would result in numerous vomit bags being opened, followed by the sound of heaving, but not today. The few passengers on board were used to it. They were trained to deal with such circumstances.
Sasha and fifteen of his best soldiers sat silently and calmly in their seats, spread throughout the plane to allow an even distribution of weight. Their bear-like statures combined with heavy combat gear made the men appear like Thracian Gigantes. While not of Mediterranean decent, these Russian warriors were just as fearless.
The Polkovnik stared at the message on the screen of his cell phone for the fifth time.
Urgent. Situation changed. Do you have what we need?
The situation had changed—again. Nothing had been the same for more than a year since the covert war had overflowed into Russia. It grated on him. Not only had he been dragged into a battle that was not his, but he was now forced to align with a nation he disliked with every fiber of his being. It didn’t matter which side his government chose, he would be displeased regardless. Sasha preferred isolation. There was no need to make friends with foreign nations, only to understand to what degree they were an enemy. But his personal feelings were not of concern.
It wasn’t the first time this had been asked of him. He had been trained from a young age to slip into American society unnoticed like another slack-jawed idiot who knew nothing of the world’s geography beyond the local bar. He’d been located in Virginia during the early eighties. Although he had a menial job working as an accountant, it had afforded him opportunities to launder money and siphon funds to his KGB comrades in the U.S.—plus, it was within close proximity to the CIA headquarters in Langley.
During his time in that backwater state, he’d been ordered to investigate something the CIA had become interested in—a religious faction that was touting a new doctrine called the Nine Veils. This strange concept had been gaining traction, mainly because it went beyond simple faith and claimed to underpin the world’s powers and economy.
Unlike the CIA, Sasha, or George as he’d been known then, was able to penetrate this group through the church. The group was tight-lipped and, being so close to Langley, very good at spotting CIA agents but Russians, not so much.
Sasha had become particularly friendly with a strange, nervous, little man named Bob Jefferson. Bob was passionate about his faith and more than a little paranoid, though it was some years before he would start wearing a tin hat to prevent his brainwaves from being read. Still, Sasha had followed orders—no matter how crazy they seemed to him at the time. He’d attended their secret meetings and partook in their strange rituals. He had spoken to every member and gathered their perspective on the Nine Veils. For some, he discovered, it represented the true path to God, while for others, it provided the route to enlightenment. Simply stated, the doctrine outlined specific barriers, or veils, that blocked human understanding of the world. An individual’s ability to penetrate the veil depended on a number of factors, including education and the ability to see beyond the physical world.
The first three veils, according to the theory, had been penetrated by a large proportion of western society. The common person understood and accepted that people could vote and have some influence on their lives at a minimal level, but really, the resources of the world were controlled by extremely wealthy and powerful families. These families utilized their old world assets to underpin the world’s economy.
From this point, the proportion of people penetrating each successive veil dwindled. Those who got through the fourth and fifth veils discovered secret organizations, such as the Illuminati, Freemasons, and the Green and Red societies. These societies were believed to transfer arcane knowledge down through generations and use it to keep the plebs in political, economic, and spiritual bondage.
Bob, in particular, believed the more outlandish parts of the doctrine—these societies were so far advanced technologically that time travel and interstellar communication were possible. This was where Sasha had become most skeptical. The concept of interstellar and time travel, discussed in the fifth veil, seemed implausible. The sixth veil was even crazier, purporting that the dragons and aliens from our childhood stories were real. According to the theory, a species of non-humans, lizard-like creatures, once or even currently sat above the secret societies, controlling them. Bob had been convinced something sat in Area 51, and the U.S. Government had one of the lizards in captivity.
Beyond the sixth veil, a select few people on Earth passed through the seventh, eighth, and ninth veils and acquired the ability to see the universe as a series of complex numerical codes. They were able to comprehend the very fabric of time, space, and parallel universes until it eventually led them to God.
Of course, Sasha had reported that the investigation was pointless, and he should be reassigned. Eventually, he had been, and when the Cold War had ended, he had been pulled from active duty in the U.S. and sent back to Mother Russia.
Yet, hindsight is a powerful thing. If he had delved a little deeper, he would have discovered Bob was quite correct; the Americans did have something in Area 51, and Russia could have avoided being in the middle of someone else’s war, aligning with one side through necessity. But regret was something he could not afford.
A crack of thunder and a flash of lightning snapped him from his thoughts. He clasped the satellite phone in his hand and keyed in a reply.
Yes. Contact has requested assistance due to change in circumstance. Permission to comply.
A moment later, the phone pinged to life—one new message. He opened it.
Granted.
Sasha exhaled. This was it.
Location: Teotihuacan, Mexico
Bubbles percolated to the surface and popped as they broke the meniscus. The water was just below boiling temperature—perfect. Kelly lifted the dented, metallic kettle from the flame and po
ured the hot, colorless liquid into the pot containing his tea concoction. He plonked himself cross-legged on his sleeping bag and waited for the beverage to steep.
The tea was supposed to be an escape, but it never really worked. Just a ritual to take his mind from Chris, Izel and Carmen. But recently, his mind had been occupied with something else. Someone else. Freya. He couldn’t really explain why in words. It was just a feeling in his chest, in his insides. He needed her. He wanted her. Even while he had hidden away in the jungle for months, he’d thought of her, thought of that look she gave him—the one that said, you can’t hide, Kelly Graham. I know you. And it’s okay to be you.
But, of course, he would always ruin it and make some sort of stupid comment. Kelly shook his head. Why can’t I just be serious for once? Not that it mattered. Freya was with Wonder Boy now anyway. He had missed his chance. And that was that.
He huffed loudly, angry for wasting time on pointless what ifs. Things were as they were. He had to focus. Vicky needed him now, and he should be concentrating on her.
Kelly poured some of the tea into a cup, took a sip, and held it in his mouth. Ugh. It was disgusting. But if he could have another vision, he might understand where Vicky was. He swallowed and gave an open-mouthed tongue shake to rid himself of the taste.
He placed the cup on the floor next to his feet and picked up the battered guitar laid to his left. He’d found it on the train during their trans-Siberian jaunt last year, a kind of memento. He strummed the open strings and began to sing, if not poorly.
“And I— wish
that I could let go, And I— wish
that I could go home, And I— wish
that I could tell you, But I— know
that I’ll die alone.”
“How did you manage to bring that thing along with you?” Freya stood just outside the tent, peering through the open flap.
Her eyes sparkled in the firelight. Damn, she’s beautiful. “Don’t you knock?”
“Knock on what?” Freya asked with a laugh, stepping inside.
“Oh, please, come in.” Shut up, Kelly!
“Just thought I’d check on you. I could smell your tea from my tent, and I know you only drink it when you’re feeling down.”
“I’m okay.”
“Sure you are,” Freya replied, taking a seat next to him.
Would any other woman in the world be this pigheaded? Probably not. But glad she’s here. “So, what can I do ya for?”
“Well, besides seeing if you’re alright, I wanted to ask you about Minya. Does she seem off to you?”
“Off? If you mean the whole ice queen thing, sure, she’s off. But by that count, so am I. I can understand her position, I think. We’re pretty similar people.”
Freya scowled.
He laughed. “Jealous?”
Yes. “Don’t be absurd. She just seems a bit shifty. You pick up on these things, Kelly. I think she’s hiding something, and I don’t trust her.”
“Well, she’s got prison ink, but—”
“She has?”
“Yep, on her shoulder. I saw it earlier.”
“She’s done time? An archaeological researcher? That is, of course, if she’s a scientist at all. We did a background check. It was pretty patchy to say the least.” Freya pursed her lips and mused on that thought.
“Just because someone’s been inside, doesn’t make them a bad person.” He gave her a knowing look.
“Indeed.”
“What about Captain Kirk out there? He’s been a bit shifty. Practically attached to that phone of his, making calls and texts. Where is he anyway?”
“Asleep. His shift is in a couple of hours, so he’s resting. And he’s NSA, Kelly. Of course he’s secretive. He’s good at his job. He’s a good man. He’s—”
“Sure, of course. That’s why you’re in here rather than in his tent, right?”
Freya shuffled uncomfortably on the spot. “He’s a good man. In many ways, he reminds me of Benjamin. He’s so smart. He’s just career-focused.”
Kelly knew this trap. If he continued down this road, it would bite him in the ass. Hold your tongue, Kelly.
“I guess sometimes I just wish he was a little more heart and a little less brains. You know? Like you and Izel. Maybe that’s it. I’d just like to feel as loved as that.”
Kelly cleared his throat. “Loving someone that much is dangerous. Trust me.”
“But isn’t it amazing? To feel that way.”
He stared at her for a moment. “It’s scary as hell. You always know one way or another they’ll be taken from you—old age, murder, an accident. Nothing is forever.”
“And you really don’t believe in anything beyond?”
“Nothing I’ve ever seen shows that to be true. Believing in the beyond is just humans dealing with the need to not be afraid or believing we are more important than we are in the universe. We’re not.”
“That’s a very bleak way to see the world.”
“I just don’t live a lie.” Kelly looked down, and when he spoke again, it was seemingly to himself. “It scares me there is nothing after, and when I die, that’s it. But then, sometimes, I don’t see the point of carrying on. I miss them so much it hurts. My whole family, my best friend—they’re gone. What do I have to live for, really? I always come out of these things unscathed, but everyone else dies. It’s like I’m being punished. Ever wish you would just go to sleep and not wake up?” Kelly raised his head to see Freya staring at him, a worried look in her eyes. He shook off the moment of vulnerability. “He’s not me. I’m sure he loves you in his way—probably a healthy way, not all-consuming and soul-destroying.”
“Are you?” she pressed. “Sure about him, I mean.”
“Sure.”
She paused for a second. “Does that bother you?”
“What?”
“Well, you’ve been acting a bit strange since you found out.”
Kelly leapt up from his seat, spilling his tea, and threw the guitar on the sleeping bag. “What do you want, Freya? Huh? What do you want me to say? That he’s not right for you? That you don’t love with your head? That a laundry list of character traits is not a reason to be with someone? You love with your heart for fuck’s sake. You can’t box it, or file it, or understand it. You just do it.” He stormed about the tent, shaking his head and gesticulating wildly.
Freya clambered to her feet and grabbed his arms, holding them so he had to focus on her. She stared into his eyes for as long as she could without blinking. “I want you to tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me,” Freya repeated.
Kelly didn’t respond.
“God damn you, Kelly Graham, you are a stubborn ass.”
“Hey, name-callin’ ain’t gonna make me suddenly start—”
Freya grasped the back of his head and kissed him hard and fast.
He froze.
She pulled away and searched his eyes. “I’m not Izel,” she whispered, now holding his face. “And I’m not trying to replace her. But it’s okay to live. It’s okay to be happy.”
Kelly stood unmoving, his eyes glassed over, a stone in his throat. “I’m not sure I remember how to be happy. I don’t wanna hurt anymore, but I can’t let it go—let them go. They were all I had. And they accepted me, warts an’ all, for the asshole I am. No one else would.”
Freya locked her stare onto his and, without losing eye contact, moved closer before kissing him as softly as she could.
Location: Teotihuacan, Mexico, South America
One by one, the soldiers shouted their names out.
“Chandler!”
“Grisome!”
“Radley!”
Sixteen more names followed.
“Green, we’re missing Green!” Tom yelled.
“Dammit! What hit us?”
“I don’t know!”
* * *
Freya bolted awake, sitting upright and blinking away the sleep from her eyes
. She searched the tent. For a moment, she was confused. It wasn’t hers. The familiar groan from the body next to her brought it all rushing back. She was still in Kelly’s tent. A small smile broke across her face as she clutched at the sleeping bag and pulled it around her naked torso.
Another clap of gunfire broke her dream-like state and snapped her into programmed military action. Far from thinking of her embarrassment, Freya leapt naked from the bag and grabbed her Beretta. For a few minutes, she crouched on the floor, waiting. Gunshots echoed through the night. Men shouted. But they were at the other end of the camp.
Satisfied no one was close, she pushed Kelly’s shoulder and whispered as loud as she dared. “Hey, wake up.”
Kelly groaned and rolled onto his side. He saw Freya’s big, green eyes, sparkling and wild, staring back, inches from his face. “It’s still dark. You woke me up for round two?”
“Shut up and listen.”
Silence.
“What am I listening for?”
An explosion tore into the atmosphere, followed by machine-gun fire.
“That.”
Kelly scrambled out of his warm cocoon and into the crumpled pile of clothes that had been hastily dumped there just hours earlier. By the time he’d found his boots and put them on, Freya was already geared up and crouched by the tent entrance, ready to pounce.
She peeked through the gap in the tent to survey the situation. “Shit, I can’t see anything.”
“Wak? Vicky?”
“I don’t know. C’mon.” She beckoned him to follow and darted out of the tent.
Kelly opened his mouth to voice his protest and to say the one thing he wanted to in case he wouldn’t get to later. But she was gone. He huffed away the thought and sprinted after her.
Freya crashed into the midst of her comrades and skidded to a halt. She unholstered her other Beretta and handed it to the panting Kelly, who had careened in behind her.
“Oh, so I get one this time?” he wheezed.
“You saw what that thing did to the last crew. You need some form of protection.”
“I don’t think it’s Wak,” Kelly replied.
“What?” Teller yelled over his shoulder.
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