Closing the altar would unlock the front door, but it would also lock the back door. There would be no point in leaving that back entrance open all the time, for someone to simply stumble into. Even if it were well hidden, logic dictated that the builders would have put a door on it, somewhere. Kotler's experience, negotiating not one but three separate secret doorways just to reach that exit tunnel, told him that there would definitely be a fourth.
Which presented him with something of a problem.
Closing the altar could give him a way out of the temple, but it was just as likely that it would lock the mercenaries inside with him and Graham. In addition, they now had all of the statues of Ah-Puch, the weapons, the drugs, and who knew what else.
Closing the altar had as many risks as leaving it open, it seemed.
The mercenaries were dangerous, either way, Kotler determined, but the greater danger would be to allow them to take any of those Ah-Puch statues with them. Therefore, the better plan was to control their exit.
That was the best plan for humanity. For Kotler himself, however, it could be disastrous.
Kotler needed to get back to base camp and alert Sarge and his men. They needed to be ready to face these guys down, and stop them. The problem, however, was Graham.
Kotler would have to risk a confrontation with Graham, who was already on edge and somewhat deranged, not to mentioned armed. Kotler had his own weapons now, but he wasn't certain that he was prepared to kill the man. He was still hopeful that Graham would respond to reason, and instead of being a threat, perhaps he could be of help.
Still, Kotler would have to steel himself for last resorts. The stakes were far too high to allow Graham or anyone else to stand in the way of preventing Ah-Puch from being taken out of this tomb.
There was no time to waste. He needed to move quickly, which meant he'd need to use his flashlight to show the way. The risk was that this might tip Graham off and trigger more shooting.
This is not my favorite day, Kotler thought miserably.
The mercenaries responded to his offer essentially as he assumed they would. So there was no point in waiting.
Kotler put his hands on the edge of the altar's top slab, and gave it a push.
The slab moved easily, and once it was realigned to where it had been, it clicked into place. Kotler noticed the eye of the owl, in the altar's side, was no longer indented. He gave the altar a tug, and the slab was definitely locked in place, though he didn't dare hope that would prevent anyone from coming through from the other side.
There was a vibration in the floor, and the sound of rumbling, somewhere in the distance. Kotler took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He hoped that meant what he thought it meant.
The altar was one more barrier the mercenaries would have to somehow unlock or break through, which should take time. Even if they'd managed to get out of the tomb, they might be slowed enough for Kotler to make his escape. But the clock was ticking.
He huffed a few breaths, bounced on his heels to get his blood and adrenaline pumping, then slung his weapon over his shoulder and ran into the darkened corridor, the light of his flashlight showing the way.
He spotted the first orange marker and dodged around it. Several more followed. And then he came to the wide swath of triggers. He leapt over this at speed.
This was where he had to start being even more alert. He could see the traps, and avoid them, but only if he kept the light on. Which meant that Graham would have a much easier time shooting him, if he was still holding a grudge.
He had to risk it. There was too much at stake. To help his odds, he wove through the corridor in a zig-zag, avoiding the triggers in the floor, and making sure he was a moving target. It must have looked insane from Graham's vantage point—a cone of light moving rapidly from side to side in the tunnel. It was the best plan Kotler could come up with, at the moment.
His previous treks through this side passage had been long and tedious, taking hours at a crawling pace. So he was caught completely by surprise as he burst out of the passage and found himself in the main corridor leading between the faux tomb of Ah-Puch and the very real exit from the temple.
The sudden appearance of the far wall of the tunnel appeared like a barrier in his path, and he stopped with a skid, blinking uncomprehendingly at it for a moment until his brain pieced together what he was seeing.
He looked around quickly and spotted Graham now, slumped to the floor and sweating profusely.
He looked ill.
It was clear that he had vomited, more than once, and his head lolled to the side. His eyes were closed, and Kotler feared the worst. But then the man erupted in a spasm of gagging and coughing, before slumping once more, shivering from an apparent chill.
Fever, Kotler said.
It was almost a welcome revelation. If Graham was sick, it might explain his earlier behavior. It might also mean a new danger had emerged.
Kotler stepped back. He reached into the leather pouch, where he'd stashed the shop towel he'd used to wipe down his rifle earlier. It was covered in oil and grease, but that might actually be helpful. He spun it out, flattened it, then folded it so that he could tie it in four corners around the back of his head, covering his nose and mouth like a surgical mask. He was able to tuck it like a bib into the top of his shirt, which he now buttoned at the collar.
It wouldn't be perfect protection, Kotler knew, but it was the best he had.
It was clear that Graham had been exposed to whatever biological agent was associated with Ah-Puch.
Just how he'd been exposed, and what the implications of that might be, Kotler couldn't say. But it did explain his erratic and paranoid behavior. It also meant he'd have to leave his friend here, for the time being. They'd need to find a way to retrieve him under quarantine, or risk spreading whatever pathogen he'd encountered.
Dangers upon dangers.
Kotler moved rapidly through the passage, and came to the front entrance. He felt now for the trigger, in the area where Graham had tried to activate it earlier. He found the small protrusion of stone and, pausing to pray and close his eyes, he pushed it.
There was a click, and a rumble, and the door opened, revealing the jungle night. Cool night air rushed inward, along with a wave of moisture that Kotler hadn't realized he'd been missing. His skin felt dewy and cold now, but he ignored it.
He was relieved and excited. He stumbled out of the door, and raced for the camp.
As he approached, two of Sarge's men shouted at him, training their weapons on him and ordering him to get down. Suddenly the entire camp was alert, and men appeared from every direction, weapons pointed at Kotler with very clear intent.
Kotler paused, realizing how he must look—cloth mask around his face, covered in grime and dirt, an automatic weapon slung over his shoulder.
He dropped to his knees, hands raised and clear, just as Sarge's men commanded. He couldn't stand the thought of dying here, ironically, having just escaped one group of mercenaries only to be shot down by his allies.
They started to approach, and Kotler shouted for them to stop.
“I may have been exposed to something,” he said loudly. “A virus, maybe. Graham is sick with it.”
“Dr. Kotler?” one of the men asked.
Kotler kept to his knees, his hands raised. “It's me,” Kotler said. “We've got trouble. A lot of trouble.”
Chapter 29
“Pinch my butt cheeks, how did you get out of there?” Sarge said. He was standing in the line of his men, who had relaxed a bit but still had their weapons at the ready.
“Long story, Sarge,” Kotler huffed. “But we need to be prepared. Things are about to get worse. I need to talk to Roland. He said he's bringing in someone from the CDC.”
“Agent Denzel took two guys and went in looking for you,” Sarge said. “We got the CDC doctor here, though.”
Kotler processed this. “Roland is in the tomb? How …”
“They found a back doo
r, going in through the cenote,” Sarge said. He was chomping a cigar, and Kotler watched tendrils of smoke swirl upward into the night air, backlit by the bank of security lights that his men had activated when Kotler had made his approach.
Kotler shook his head. “Ok,” he said. “That could be its own problem. But for now, your men need to take up position just outside the tomb entrance. There's a contingent of really well-armed mercenaries in there, and they have Ah-Puch.”
He explained everything that he'd just gone through, skipping some of the less relevant details, but putting special emphasis on his final encounter with Dr. Graham, and his suspicion of Graham being infected. One of Sarge's men rushed to get the CDC doctor, and bring her back.
Kotler eventually stood, getting to his feet slowly in case anyone still had a notion that he was a threat to put down. He was still wearing the improvised mask, just in case. He had kept his distance from Sarge's men, unsure whether he might pose a danger.
He had known there was always the risk of exposure to a biological weapon. It was the biggest reason that he and Denzel had come here, to prevent that from falling into the hands of an enemy. Still, the thought that even now he might carry within him something that could end his life made Kotler anxious. He was less afraid of his own life ending, however, and more concerned that he'd be unable to help stop this threat from reaching others. He was also concerned that Denzel and two other men might be trapped in that tomb now, thanks to his own escape.
He breathed slowly, calming himself, bringing himself back to focus, in the here and now.
Whatever came next, he resolved, he would do all he could to help, even if it was his last act.
The security lights were near blinding, and he mostly saw silhouettes of the armed men mulling about. Several long minutes passed as he stood there, uncomfortably aware that he was being watched with the wary and cautious eyes of people who would put him down the instant he showed any sign of being a threat.
It wasn't exactly a comfortable experience.
Then, from the back lines, two bulky humanoid shapes emerged. As they entered the light, it became clear that they were wearing self-contained biohazard suits.
They approached Kotler with hands outstretched. “Dr. Kotler, I'm Dr. Emily Dawson, with the CDC. This is Dr. Liz Ludlum.”
Kotler blinked. “Liz Ludlum?”
“It's me, Dr. Kotler,” Liz's voice said.
“How …?”
“She's assisting me. We can give you full details later, but for now we're bringing you a contamination suit. I need you to pull it on and accompany us to the mobile lab. We can spray you down and put you in quarantine.”
Kotler nodded. “Dr. Graham is inside the tomb. I believe he's infected.”
“We'll retrieve him,” Dawson said.
“You have enough bio-suits to take an armed contingent?” Kotler asked. “Because there could be some trouble.”
Dawson seemed as if she were going to respond when suddenly gun fire erupted from the tomb entrance.
Everyone took cover amid a shower of shattered glass, raining down from above.
The mercenaries, Kotler thought, ducking to take cover behind a large, tumbled block of limestone. They're shooting the security lights!
Sarge and his men immediately returned fire, laying cover for Dawson and Ludlum to reach Kotler. They crawled to him, and he pulled on the suit as quickly as possible, not bothering to pull away the makeshift mask around his face. The grease from the mask smudged the inside of the suit's faceplate, but Kotler could still see well enough to move.
Someone turned a valve on the suit, and Kotler felt the slight, cool breeze of oxygen flowing. He breathed steadily, not wanting to hyperventilate. Once he was set, the three of them crawled as quickly as possible out of the field of fire.
“Get me some light on these bastards!” Sarge shouted.
They were in a good position, able to take cover behind some of the stone debris of the city. They had the high ground, for the moment. The men inside the tomb had them seriously outmatched with firepower, however.
There was a sudden explosion near where Sarge and a few of his men were hunkered down, sending chips of stone and splinters of wood flying like bullets, amid screams of pain from the men nearby.
“RPG!” one man shouted.
“Keep them on the ground! Suppressive fire!” Sarge shouted.
The air around them began to cloud with smoke and particles from the constant weapon fire, and Kotler found that between those clouds and the oil smudge on his faceplate, he was having trouble seeing.
“Come this way!” He heard Liz Ludlum say. She took him by the hand, and guided him away from the battle, toward the camp. It would remain to be seen whether this would provide them with any more safety than being on the front line, but it was at least out of direct fire.
They came to a well-lit and bulbous-looking dome—an inflatable structure that resembled a Martian habitat. It was easily three times the size of any of the tents or temporary structures that made up the rest of the camp. The two figures guiding him pulled Kotler in through a set of Plexiglas doors, and then held him steady as jets of fluid and mist doused them all.
Antiviral, Kotler realized. This is an airlock.
“This way,” Dawson said, tugging Kotler through another door to a small chamber of the tent. This space dominated one entire end of the portable lab, and was divided into three cells. Each was accessible through a very narrow corridor formed by the outer wall of the habitat and a clear, Plexiglas front wall for each square room. Kotler was guided into one of these, told to strip off the suit, and as the door closed the room pressurized. He was once again sprayed with antiviral mist, though this time he had no suit to act as a barrier.
The mist stung his eyes and lungs, and he blinked and coughed as tears blinded him. He wiped these away with his sleeve, looked up to see Dawson and Liz exiting with the contamination suit carried between them.
The cell was clear on all sides, and Kotler could see both where the others were working, putting the contamination suit into something that looked like a small washing machine, and into the laboratory space itself, where dozens of scanners and other equipment were running in a pattern of lights and displays that was mesmerizing. He saw Dawson and Liz, still wearing their suits, as they moved into the lab space.
“Get a blood sample,” he heard Dr. Dawson say.
Liz moved quickly to a small cabinet, where she removed a syringe. She then stood before Kotler's cell, and pushed the syringe and a plastic bag into a small, cube-shaped access portal that connected his cell with the lab space. When Liz closed the small door of the box on her side, the cube filled with vapor. She reached her hands into a set of gloved sleeves that dangled from his cell wall, and was able to reach into the box from the other side now, to retrieve the syringe.
“Step forward and roll up your sleeve,” she told Kotler.
Kotler did as he was told.
Over the next few minutes, Liz took his blood, capped the syringe, dropped it into the plastic bag and repeated the misting process in reverse, bringing the syringe out into the lab where it could be studied.
Kotler eventually slumped to the floor of his cell, pulling the makeshift mask from his face and tossing it aside. He cringed to think what he must look like, covered in oil and grease from the rag, as well as dust and dirt from the tomb. He passed a hand through his hair, hoping to at least make himself somewhat presentable, though he admitted this was just vanity.
He had never expected to see Liz Ludlum, here in the jungles of South America. It had a strange effect on him—somehow chipping his earlier resolve to face down whatever might come of this potential exposure to the biological agent. Suddenly, he wanted very much to be cleared, and to get back out there to find whoever was behind all of this. Seeing Liz had triggered, or possibly rekindled, his urge to be a part of protecting people from this threat.
He felt fine. But then, he had no idea how this virus mi
ght present symptoms. In fact, he wasn't even sure it was a virus. It could have been coincidental that Graham was sick. But Ah-Puch had been flagged as a biological weapon. The odds favored virus.
“Dr. Graham has been infected,” Kotler said then, more out of a need to say something, anything. It was the only means he had, at present, of being an active part of the work to stop this threat. “He looked to be in pretty bad shape.”
Liz looked at him, and though it was hard to read through the bio-suit, Kotler thought that maybe he sensed a sort of pity from her. Or maybe just her awareness of what he was doing, how he was trying to stay in the game. “We know,” she said calmly, a note of understanding in her voice. “We can't get to him, at the moment.”
Kotler nodded.
Dr. Dawson took Kotler's blood sample and began running it through various tests. “Fortunately, we have an inert sample of the virus,” she said. “I believe we can determine whether or not you're infected, based on that. We'll run your blood for traces of the base protein we've identified.”
“Identified?” Kotler asked. “How?”
“The ash,” Liz said. “It turned out to be human remains. We … we believe that Ah-Puch is a virus, and that it essentially cremates a person from within.”
Kotler considered this, thinking about Graham and the state he was in. He shivered. “How long will it take to rule it out?” he asked.
Dawson glanced up at him. “Twenty-four hours. Minimum.”
Kotler sighed and leaned against the Plexiglas wall of his cell.
Even over the white noise of the air filtration system he could hear the distant cacophony of gunshots and explosions of the firefight, back at the tomb. It was a constant reminder of just how powerless he was at the moment. A feeling he never enjoyed. It reminded him too much of his past, of the death of his parents, even of being kidnapped and held at the will of Gail McCarthy.
It was going to be a very long night. Longer, if Sarge's men couldn't hold those mercenaries back.
Even as he felt the press of all that was happening, the anxious urge to do something to help, he focused on his breathing. His guru might have been proud of the fact that he was managing to keep focused, to meditate and bring some measure of calm. But then, as the weariness from the past couple of days caught up with him, his focus and concentration quickly turned into dozing off. His guru would likely have smacked him for that one.
The Girl in the Mayan Tomb Page 24