Of course, Lois Lane tended to go get into trouble anyway, because that was part of her job. Liz would do her job, too. Even if it meant sticking it out in the portable lab, wearing a sterile environmental suit and smelling of disinfectant and antibacterial spray.
She'd set this in motion, after all.
At the moment, she was assisting in the analysis of the ash that Kotler had retrieved from the strange mounds surrounding the temple. She was running gas chromatography-mass spectrometry—or GC-MS—on the substance as well as several other non-destructive tests and scans. She had already prepared a sample of the material and was allowing the lab's scanning equipment to compare it against the CDC database. All of these were on autopilot, for the moment, freeing her to put some of her more specialized training to work.
Liz was a forensic pathologist, first and foremost. Her special area of expertise was determining cause of death. She had narrowed her specialty down from a greater field of study, however, after earning her PhD in Biochemistry. And of course, she had her background in forensic anthropology—the study of skeletal remains to determine cause of death. The two were not dissimilar, and in fact there was significant overlap. Ultimately, it meant she had a more complete understanding of the ways in which someone could die, and could determine that cause of death from a variety of trace evidence, just by studying the human remains.
Basically, she could see and hear dead people.
And not just murder victims. Early in her life, Liz had been fascinated by the idea that archaeologists and anthropologists could determine so much about a people and culture based on their remains. It had driven her to study hard in school, to learn all she could about biology, anatomy, and chemistry. For a time, she had considered becoming an anthropologist herself—perhaps working in sites just like this one, determining who these people really were by the corpses they'd left behind.
Ultimately, however, she had decided that she could do more good in the world by helping to figure out the stories of the more recently deceased, rather than focusing on ancient cultures. But her interest in and passion for cultural anthropology still existed. And as such, it had been an honor to meet Dr. Kotler. She'd studied his work for years, and had nearly met him more than once, at events where he'd made appearances or given talks. It hadn't occurred to her that their first meeting would be at a crime scene in Manhattan, investigating the murder of a retired rock star. But you had to take your breaks where you found them.
It was an equal honor to work alongside Dr. Dawson, of course, and she needed to keep that in mind. She and Emily went way back, and she'd been thrilled to see her friend rise in the ranks of the CDC, achieving everything they'd ever talked about over tea at Atlas Tea Room. They'd had a standing date there every week since medical school, and it had been the place where Liz had told her friend about her change in career, shifting to law enforcement.
Liz let the tests run on their own, and turned her attention to the digital photos of Maggie Hamilton's final resting place. They were no substitute for actually being on the scene, and getting direct insight, but between Kotler and Denzel there was a fair amount of useful photographic evidence.
There was also the forensic report, which had arrived via email while Liz and the others were en route to Xi'paal ‘ek Kaah. These, along with the illuminated pattern of the blood, confirmed that Kotler had been right, regarding Maggie's final moments. She'd been shot in the abdomen, and had bled out in the tomb. Her final moments must have been agony, and yet she'd taken the time to write a note, to warn whoever would find her that there was some greater danger.
She was brave, Liz thought.
She hadn't followed Maggie's career much, though she'd been aware of her. It was hard to live in Manhattan and not hear news of Broadway. Liz had never seen one of Maggie's performances, but her disappearance had happened just as Liz was entering the police force. She'd been aware of the case because of its intrigue, and the media attention it garnered, and it folded in, somehow, with the plethora of reasons that Liz felt justified in her new career choice. She wanted to help protect people like Maggie Hamilton, or anyone else, from the evils of the world. She wanted to use what she knew, her expertise and her passions, to make a positive impact on the world.
Those first couple of years left little time for her to attend musicals or shows, and eventually the media lost interest in Maggie Hamilton. The mentions on news sites and even the word of mouth narrowed to a trickle, and then died down completely. Liz hadn't thought of Maggie Hamilton in years, until Emily had reached out to ask for an expert opinion.
Things with the NYPD were good, but Liz had to admit that she'd started rethinking her career once again. So much death and violence—and she was seeing only the aftermath of it. She had joined the NYPD in the hope that she could help to keep that violence from overwhelming the world, but at times it felt only as if she were the cleanup crew. Bringing monsters to justice had its own rewards, but she didn't feel as if she were making any dent in stopping monsters from rising in the first place.
That was another reason she admired Dr. Kotler. And, for that matter, Agent Denzel.
Her recent experience with the two of them had set off a chain reaction within Liz. She'd only been able to watch what they did from the outside, as she'd continued to do her job and provide forensic evidence that helped to bring a killer to justice. She'd been support. And that was fine. But she'd seen how Denzel and Kotler had used science and history and good old-fashioned police work together, in a way that was more proactive.
It had inspired her.
So when Emily had given her the details of what she was doing, and who she was working with, Liz had nudged things a bit. She had been the one to suggest that Emily could use a Forensic Pathologist in the field, and particularly one with a background in both biochemistry and forensic anthropology. If Emily saw through the ploy, she was polite enough to say nothing. And besides, it was the truth. Liz could do a lot to help with this work, and she was effectively a bridge between all the various disciplines involved.
She looked again to the photos from the scene, and once again scanned the reports from the medical examiners back in New York. From a forensic perspective, there was little new information to glean. Maggie had been shot, and she had died. The bullet that had killed her was from an unregistered M-16, which strongly supported the theory that she'd been shot by guerrillas, as other evidence had suggested. The spent shell casings found in the area matched with the slug, correlating the details.
The real cause of her death however—the circumstances and motives and other factors—were yet to be revealed. They were also outside of the range of what could be learned from what little forensic information Liz had.
There was a chime from the GC-MS, and Liz turned to review the results, just as Dr. Dawson entered through the airlock of the mobile lab, wearing her own environmental suit. The suits made movement a bit awkward, and it had taken a lot for Liz to start getting used to them, but they were a barrier of protection, both for preventing contamination of any evidence they found, and protecting them from any pathogens that might be present.
“Just in time,” Liz said to Emily, smiling up from the display before her.
“I prefer to arrive just as all the work has been done,” Emily smiled back. “What have we found?”
Liz turned back to the display, and shook her head. “There are some inconclusive results here, and some oddities.” She scanned through the data. “That's … weird.”
“What is it?” Emily asked.
“There are definite traces of some pathogen, though they're completely inert. But what's really weird is that the ash has a distinct chemical makeup. Calcium phosphate, sodium, potassium, carbonate. There are minuscule traces of sulfur, chlorine, and magnesium.”
Emily thought about this for a moment. “That … sounds like …”
“Cremation,” Liz said, looking up from the display.
Emily shook her head. “Those mounds are
cremated human remains? How is that even possible?”
Again, Liz consulted the data. She turned to a digital microscope, which already had a slide containing a sample of the ash residue. She turned the microscope on, and brought the image up on her display.
Using a trackpad, she moved a cursor on the screen, and highlighted an area. “These little capsule-shaped objects are the remains of a pathogen,” she said. “Those cylindrical proteins were a coating. You can see where they've deteriorated, releasing whatever was inside.” She moved the cursor again, circling one of the capsules and enhancing the image so that it nearly filled the screen. “I can't say for sure what their composition was, before. But they show signs of exposure to extreme heat, judging from the crystalline patterns here,” she indicated a series of striations. “Those are crystallized sodium and potassium. See how they form concentric patterns? The heat was radiating outward, from these capsules.”
“You're saying the pathogen is the actual cause of the heat? That it was somehow enough to cremate the victims?”
Liz turned back to her, eyes wide and her breath becoming rapid. “I've never seen anything like this before. Have you?”
Dr. Dawson shook her head, and through the protective faceplate of the mask she was wearing Liz could see an expression of mixed awe and horror. “I've never seen this,” Emily said. “But we need to get more samples.”
“I'll get my field kit,” Liz said. “But Emily … what about the camp? Should we lock it down?”
“You said the pathogen was inert?” Emily asked.
Liz nodded.
“Good. That may be the only good news we have, at the moment. Because the team that was here, exploring these ruins, would already have come into contact with it. I'll have them quarantined and monitored, but if they're infected it could be too late. The team here is effectively isolated already.” She considered. “Our protocols are going to have to be bent a bit, considering everything that's happening.”
“The guerrillas have Ah-Puch,” Liz said, echoing the final message from Maggie Hamilton.
“Get those samples,” Emily said. “I'm going to start digging into this pathogen from every angle. We need to know what we're dealing with.”
Chapter 24
It had been a couple of hours since Denzel and the others had emerged from the waters of the cenote. As they'd sat, watching and waiting, their captors had become more and more agitated.
“They should have reported in by now,” one of the men said.
“There's too much interference from all the rock,” another said. “The signal can't get through.”
“Should we send someone to scout for them?” another asked.
“We have our orders,” the first replied. He was the one the others deferred to, marking him as the one in command. “We stay put.”
The other three men each nodded, acknowledging.
Denzel glanced at Knoll and Hicks. Knoll had leaned his head back and was apparently taking the time to catch up on his sleep. He'd been napping for the past hour, at least. Denzel admired his ability to remain tranquil, despite their predicament. And there could be some practical value in resting up—who could say whether there would be time for rest later?
Hicks seemed calm as well, but there was tension there. He was watching, and assessing, just as Denzel was. He glanced Denzel's way, nodded slightly, and returned to studying the room.
Good man, Denzel thought. Hicks was gathering intel. They might not be able to compare notes right away, but if the opportunity came, Denzel wouldn't have to catch him up. He was a good choice for this team.
Maybe if they survived this, Denzel would bring him on full time.
As more and more time passed, the four men guarding them were starting to operate as if they had no awareness of their prisoners at all. They were moving in a circuit, checking the entrance from the cenote as well as the exit into the darker reaches of the cavern. They were paying less attention to Denzel and his men.
Denzel began to search for some means of cutting through the plastic ties around his wrists.
There were no sharp stones or other debris close at hand. His reach was somewhat limited, at any rate. It would be noticed, if he suddenly twisted and started patting the stone floor, in search of something he could use.
That left whatever was on his person. Which, he had to admit, wasn't much.
All of their gear and weapons had been taken during the initial scuffle, and Denzel had nothing on him save the wetsuit. The suit was full-body, covering him from ankle to wrist. It had a zipper up the back, with a pull to make it easy to unzip and remove the suit after use. No help there.
But the wrists also had short zippers, at the cuffs, to make it easier to slip out of the tight sleeves, particularly if they were wet.
Denzel glanced at the men guarding them, and when he was certain their attention was elsewhere he cautiously worked at the zipper on his left wrist, pulling it so the jagged teeth were exposed.
It wasn't ideal. His wrists were tied and held at just the right angle to make it awkward to try to saw at the plastic with the zipper. After considering for some time, Denzel decided the best plan was to tuck one corner of the cuff of the sleeve under the plastic of the zip tie, working at it until he'd managed to get the zipper's teeth directly under the plastic.
He gripped the other corner of the cuff between the fingers and palm of his left hand, which gave him just enough purchase to pull the sleeve upward as he flexed his wrist.
It was immediately clear that sawing at the band like this was out of the question. He couldn't get enough leverage from gripping the cuff of the wetsuit with his bound hands, which meant he couldn't apply enough pressure to do any real good. But he was able to work the zipper.
He pulled the zipper's tab to glide it to the edge of the plastic zip tie, until he could work its edge between the slider and the teeth of the zipper. He pinched the tab between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand, and pressed the zip tie against his knee, to provide some resistance.
It was slow, and a little painful. His hand cramped from gripping the tiny tab so tightly. But with each back and forth tug, coupled with pulling against the zip tie to create even more tension, he was making a small bit of progress. He'd managed to create a tiny tear in the zip tie, and he now concentrated his efforts on widening this.
Whenever any of the guards was facing him, he halted the motion, and sat in as relaxed a pose as he could manage. From time to time he would shift position, partially to give himself a new angle of attack on his bonds, but also to relieve a bit of the sciatic pain he was experiencing. Sitting for hours on the stone floor, with no padding beyond the wetsuit, was starting to wear on him.
Hours went by, and he continued to work on the zip tie. He'd made a little progress, though he was nowhere close to being able to saw through it entirely. At this rate, it would take days. Time he and the others might not have—not to mention Kotler and Graham.
A pop of static came over one of the mercenary's radios, and the four men each froze in their tracks, then edged closer. The radio was clipped to the belt of the man closest to the cavernous opening, through which the remaining fourteen mercenaries had traveled.
The transmission was weak, and it came through in a jumbled mess of static and barely discernible phrases.
“…attack … coming from … someone … traps … five dead …”
“Alpha Commander, this is Beta One,” the lead mercenary said. “Do you copy? Your transmission is breaking up pretty bad.”
There was a brief pause, and when the transmission returned, there was a scream and the sound of gunfire. A voice bellowed, “Enemy present!” The sound then became pure static, and the signal was gone.
The mercenary, Beta One, cursed.
“They're getting chewed up in there!” one of the others said. “We need to get in there and assist!”
“We got no idea what they've run into,” Beta One said. “You heard that transmission. T
raps. Enemies. And five of our guys are dead. Something big is going down.”
“That's why we need to get in there,” another said.
Beta One considered, cursed again, then nodded to Denzel and the others. “Get them up, we're going in. And they're going first. If we run into any traps, I want it on them.”
The others turned, weapons trained on Denzel, Hicks, and Knoll, and they stooped to hoist the three up to their feet.
As they had approached, Denzel tensed, took a deep breath, and just as he was yanked to his feet he bellowed loud and hard, putting all his strength into giving his bonds a sudden and hard yank.
The explosive force, coupled with the compromised plastic of the tie, was enough. The tie snapped, and Denzel was able to take his man by surprise, pulling at the barrel of his M4 Carbine. He yanked the weapon away and in one quick motion had it trained on the remaining men, firing in bursts as he quickly shifted aim.
Taken by surprise, each of the three men handling them were shot down.
From across the room, however, Beta One returned fire, forcing Denzel and the others to take what cover they could find. Denzel held the man who had been hoisting him to his feet, using him as a shield as he returned fire on Beta One. The noise in the cavern was unbearably loud, and echoed from every direction. A cloud of gun smoke gathered in the cavern, obscuring their view but also, thankfully, providing them with more cover.
The return fire died out, and Denzel realized that Beta One must have turned and fled the room, into the caverns, presumably racing to the remainder of his team.
Denzel turned to Hicks and Knoll, who were already fishing for anything they could use to free themselves. Knoll found a tactical knife strapped to the leg of one of the dead mercenaries, and drew this, cutting through both his bonds and those of Hicks. They then armed themselves with the remaining M4s.
“Get our packs,” Denzel said.
He rushed ahead, posting himself near the cavern entrance with the M4 raised, ready to fire. There was no sign of Beta One, and the cavern curved in the distance, obscuring his view. He used a flashlight mounted under the barrel of the M4 to sweep a cone of light through the corridor, but found nothing.
The Girl in the Mayan Tomb Page 21