Everything seemed to have gone wrong on this one. Kotler had left Xi'paal ‘ek Kaah as soon as his observation period was up, opting not to stick around any longer than he had to. He helped in the arrangements to get Graham transported back to the states, accompanied by Dr. Dawson. It had taken a full day to move him to a hospital in Chichén Itzá, and another full day before they had clearance to move him into the US. Dawson had him transferred directly to a CDC facility in New York, where he could be closely monitored and, if possible, cured.
He wasn't in good shape. The virus had been slowed by the broad-spectrum antibiotics and other treatments Dawson had administered, but it continued to multiply within his cells. Combatting it had been a constant battle, and Dawson was near exhaustion by the time she and a small team of CDC doctors left for the US. Kotler wanted very much to check in for any update on Graham's condition. It was one of the first things he intended to do, once he was debriefed.
The rest of Graham's team, the researchers and grad students who had accompanied him to Xi'paal ‘ek Kaah, had also been sent home. There was no point in sticking around in Mexico any longer. The situation—the reason for them to be there—had changed. They were cleared by the CDC and put on a plane for home within a couple of days of Graham's extraction.
All but one. Kotler has some suspicions about Derek Simmons, but there was so far very little evidence to go by.
Shortly after exiting the airport, and being blasted by the near-arctic winds of winter in New York, Kotler and Liz Ludlum now found themselves climbing into a car and on their way to FBI headquarters. It had been a long flight, with an hour-long layover in Miami that had at least been productive. Kotler used the time to catch up on his own notes and documentation, filing a report with the FBI but also working up everything he could for the CDC. He gave a full account of Graham's behavior, in case anything about it might help. He wasn't sure that it would. Graham had been acting a bit strange since the shootout, and Kotler wondered if perhaps his stress had only been exacerbated into full-on paranoia by the virus, or whether paranoia was an actual symptom.
Still, any information could prove to be vital, particularly as the clock kept ticking on finding the remaining statue of Ah-Puch.
Kotler and Liz had traveled separately from Dawson, as well as the members of Graham's team. It had given the two of them some time to chat, and get to know each other better. Which had revealed some unexpected qualities in Liz that Kotler found fascinating.
He liked Liz. She was smart, and she knew her stuff. He learned about her background in forensic anthropology, which led to a very long and gratifying discussion of the latest advances in that field—one which he was conversant in himself, though not nearly to the degree that Liz had studied it. He came to appreciate that she had a very keen mind, and that her specialization hadn't prevented her from branching out, looking at other fields for sources of inspiration and new knowledge, in just the way Kotler tended to do. It was gratifying, to talk to someone who appreciated science and history as being two related parts of the same whole.
He also learned some of her personal history, and the motives behind her choices, such as her decision to go into law enforcement. She had a strong sense of justice, and a strong desire to do meaningful work—both of which were rare qualities in anyone, by Kotler's estimate.
She was fascinating. Kotler admired her determination and her commitment.
He admired her.
As they rode in the back seat of the Uber, they continued their chat.
“What will happen at the temple site, now that Graham is incapacitated?” Liz asked.
Kotler shook his head. “I'm not entirely sure. One of his assistants is reporting back on all they found, while they still had access. I gave her my notes and what photographs we could share. The Mexican authorities have stepped in and taken over security at the site, so Sarge and his men have pulled out. At this point, I'm not sure if anyone will have access to that tomb or the site itself any time soon. It's practically radioactive.”
Liz considered this, and sighed. “That's a shame. There's so much of that city that hasn't been explored. Imagine what else we might find there.”
Kotler could imagine it. Given the horror of what Ah-Puch represented, the possibility that there might be something even more dangerous lurking somewhere in the city was something of a worry. But there were also the wonders to be discovered. The people who built that temple were clever, even ingenious. There were hints of a great wealth of knowledge and history that could upset the current thinking in Mesoamerican anthropology. Kotler yearned to discover more, to see what new ideas and histories could be unearthed there. So many questions begged to be answered.
But it was out of his hands. Out of everyone's hands, to be fair. The Mexican government had declared the site off limits, and short of an unlikely invasion of US troops, there was nothing to be done for that. For now, perhaps for decades to come, no outsiders would be permitted to investigate the site. Whatever secrets or revelations it held, they'd have to wait.
“One of Graham's assistants has gone missing,” Kotler said, as he settled a bit. It was bitter cold outside, which meant the Uber driver had the heat blasting. Kotler found himself becoming uncomfortably warm, but debated over the etiquette of asking the driver to turn it down. He never knew for certain what was appropriate, in these situations. Better just to distract himself.
“Derek Simmons,” Kotler continued. “There's some suspicion about his role in everything that's happened.”
“They think he's the one behind this?”
Kotler shook his head. “No, that's unlikely. He was a graduate student. No real money to fund an operation like this, though there was a large deposit made to his bank account. He spent all of it on paying off his student loans. So the evidence suggests there was a wealthy benefactor. Simmons was likely the mole who leaked the location of Ah-Puch to the guerrillas.”
Liz considered all of this. “What about the man on the plane?”
Kotler looked out of the window of the car as they moved through the city streets. He shook his head and said nothing. There were so many facts that hadn't been uncovered yet, and he wasn't sure which mattered and which didn't.
He worried about Graham, but also worried about what this mysterious “man in a suit” was up to. The possibilities that came to mind were all horrible.
There was no way to determine what he had in mind for the virus. Maybe he would replicate it and release it on the populace. Or maybe he planned to sell it to the highest bidder. It would make a devastating weapon, if it fell into the wrong hands.
It didn't matter.
What did matter was that the man in the suit was dangerous, and he was out there. Kotler would do whatever it took to help find him and stop him.
They arrived at the FBI's Manhattan offices, and Kotler thanked their driver as he popped the trunk and handed each of them their bags. They had both traveled light, which had made the trip a little easier, but it also meant they were not prepared for an extreme shift in temperature. The cold air hurried them both along, into the waiting warmth of the building.
When they had passed security and gotten Liz a temporary security pass, they rode the elevator to Denzel's floor. Winding their way through the maze of cubicles and office equipment, they eventually found Denzel and Agent Hicks in the conference room next to Denzel's office, talking with a group of serious-faced people seated around the long table. Kotler recognized some of these as FBI agents, but wasn't sure of the others.
Denzel wrapped up the meeting, and everyone went their own way to see to their various assignments.
Denzel and Hicks stayed behind. “Good to see you outside of a plastic cell,” Denzel said.
“Good to be outside of a plastic cell,” Kotler replied, smiling. “What have we missed? Have we learned anything new?”
Denzel shook his head, and motioned for Kotler and Liz to take a seat as Hicks rose and closed the door. Denzel nodded to the large d
isplay at the end of the room, and brought up an official looking document.
“Records from that private airport in Mexico helped us identify the owner of that plane, though the information isn't all that helpful. The plane was basically for hire, and the owner has a policy of never asking for names. The Mexican government is giving him plenty of grief over that policy, but it won't really help us. Whoever boarded it covered his tracks very well. We got nothing on him, except this …”
He brought up an image that had been pulled from a security camera. It was a very clean and clear shot of a man with a case attached by cable to his wrist. His face was plainly visible.
“Facial recognition has pinged this guy as Raymond Masters,” Denzel said. “He's something of a self-made man, rising from poverty through investments and corporate acquisitions. He's the owner of a biotech firm that operates as a shell company for half a dozen related businesses worldwide. No name for the firm, just a number. We're not even sure how many holdings the company has.”
“Biotech,” Kotler said grimly.
“Yeah, we didn't think that was a coincidence either,” Denzel replied. “So I have people scouring for every facility we can identify as a holding of this company, looking for anything that might be set up to work with a viral agent. That group of folks who just left here represents a huge inter-departmental operation. I'm no longer the man in charge on this one.”
“So the NSA is finally stepping up?” Kotler asked.
Denzel nodded. “Now that we've helped identify the danger, and the man behind it, they're officially tagging this as a national security issue. The FBI has offered its assistance.”
“Meaning you've been ordered to keep looking for Masters,” Kotler said.
“That's right. And Dan, I know this isn't exactly in your wheelhouse, but I've asked for you to stay onboard with this, to help. We need every brain we can get.” He turned to Liz. “The same goes for you, Dr. Ludlum.”
“Me?” Liz asked. “I'm not sure how I can help.”
“You're a forensic specialist, and you have a PhD in Biochemistry. You're also familiar with the Ah-Puch virus. We've already reached out to Dr. Dawson, and she's released her notes and records, but I need someone who understands them. She's busy working on a cure for this. That leaves you.”
Liz looked from Denzel to Kotler, and back again. She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Of course,” she said. “I'm honored.”
Kotler, watching her, saw how excited she was to be a part of the operation. Given their conversations on the trip back to New York, he knew she wanted to be a part of something that helped make the world safer. This definitely fit the bill.
Over the next few hours, Kotler and Liz were debriefed, and Kotler started reviewing all of the intel they'd gathered so far. Agent Hicks kept him supplied with documents and, more importantly, with coffee.
“I don't get how you can drink the stuff black, Dr. Kotler,” Hicks said. “It makes my stomach sour.”
Kotler considered, and smiled. “There's been some evidence that people who like bitter beverages may be sociopaths. Maybe that's it.”
Hicks laughed lightly. “High functioning sociopath, then?”
Kotler shrugged. “I've been accused of worse.”
Hicks shook his head. “I think I'll keep dousing mine with sugar and cream.”
“Sugar and cream are simply masks for bad coffee,” Kotler waved, rising from his chair to stretch and release the tension in his shoulders and lower back. “But yeah, maybe that's probably for the best.”
Hicks sipped his over-saturated cup of joe, defiantly, and said, “The thing I've been wondering about is why did the Mayans have a storeroom full of that virus in the first place? What was it for?”
Kotler thought about this. “I'm not sure, but I can make a few guesses. The Mayans had something of an obsession with death. They had several deities who represented death—more than just Ah-Puch. Or, rather, they had an obsession with the underworld, and where you go when you die. Many Mayan legends involve traveling to and from the land of the dead, actually. It's possible the virus was seen as a gateway of sorts. Or, it could just have been a weapon, but that seems unlikely. The fact that it's so tied in with Ah-Puch indicates that its use was far more likely to be ceremonial ...”
“Ceremonial?” Hicks asked. “How?”
Kotler wasn't listening, however.
Something had clicked. Something about Ah-Puch and ceremony was familiar, and Kotler was having trouble placing it. The idea buzzed in his brain, and now he was concentrating, trying to figure out what it was, what connection he'd just made.
He began to pace the room, his hands flexing and rolling as he moved, as if he might be able to sculpt the memory out of air.
“Dr. Kotler?” Hicks asked.
Kotler waved at him, begging a moment. He was moving, his blood was pumping, and the idea was right there, right at the fringes of his awareness. Right at the surface, as if it might erupt any moment.
He stopped suddenly, and turned to face Hicks. “Ceremony,” he said.
He left the room, rushing to find Denzel, with Hicks in tow.
Kotler stormed into Denzel's office and found Liz Ludlum seated across from the agent. They had apparently been in deep conversation, and both looked up, startled.
“Kili'ich K'aak!” Kotler said.
Denzel blinked. “Gesundheit?”
Kotler shook his head. “Kili'ich K'aak. It's a Mayan ceremony, known as the ‘sacred cosmic fire ceremony.' Its origin, even its practice has been largely lost to history, though there are a few resorts in Chichén Itzá that perform a version of it as a tourist attraction. The mythology around it largely involves volcanoes, but I think that could simply be apocryphal!”
“Kotler,” Denzel said, “could you maybe take a breath and let the rest of us in on whatever the hell it is that you're talking about?”
Kotler shook his head, but did as Denzel said and took a deep breath, exhaling. “Ok. Kili'ich K'aak is an ancient Mayan ceremony meant to honor Junab K'uj. He was essentially the Mayan's supreme god—their one-god. God of gods, in a sense. The ceremony is meant to bring him into harmony with all of the protective spirits of the Maya. But there are other stories about Kili'ich K'aak, unearthed in more recent archeological digs. Most of these myths wouldn't be known by the public. One, in particular, connects Junab K'uj intimately with Ah-Puch—a sort of unifying of opposites, meant to either appease the god of death and keep him at bay, or welcome him and open up a portal to the underworld, where he would share his treasures with the Mayans. It's not really clear which outcome the Mayans would have preferred.”
“So Ju-ju-be …” Denzel started.
“Junab K'uj,” Kotler corrected.
“… was the good guy god? I thought that was Viracocha?”
“First, good on you for remembering the name of Viracocha, because I know how hard that is for you,” Kotler said.
“Thank you,” Denzel replied, nodding.
“Second, I think this is the second time we've let zebras fool us into thinking they were horses. Or, actually, this time I think we've been assuming it was zebras pretending to be horses, when it was really buffalo all along.”
Denzel had a perplexed expression on his face, and Kotler looked around at the rest of the room, and realized Denzel wasn't the only one who was confused. Hicks and Liz both had mystified expressions.
He took another breath, letting it out slowly. “One of the reasons Graham and I were so excited by the prospect of the tomb housing the remains of Viracocha was that Viracocha was an Incan god, not Mayan. Finding evidence of Viracocha's legend among the Mayans isn't entirely unprecedented, but it's generally subjective. Here, we had a chance to find some genuine evidence that Incan and Mayan cultures shared a link in their respective mythologies. It would have had profound implications on what modern historians believe about these lost cultures.”
“Got it,” Denzel said.
Kotler gave him a str
ange look. “I haven't come to the point yet,” he said.
“That's the part I got,” Denzel replied.
Kotler shook his head, smiling. “There have long been stories and rumors and bits of evidence floating around that link the idea of the Viracocha legend being known to the Mayans, but there really wasn't that much actual proof that they'd ever heard of him. When Graham and his team spotted the bearded figure on the tomb entrance, the first thing that popped into their minds was Viracocha, because none of the Mayan pantheon have beards. Because the Mayans themselves didn't have beards. There was no cultural point of reference. Viracocha's presence in Mayan culture becomes a lot more plausible, though, if he and Junab K'uj are actually the same being!”
Kotler paused, grinning and holding his hands out, as if he'd just given them the big reveal.
Denzel blinked.
“Same being,” Kotler said, and again the revelation fell flat. “Two names, one god. Though I'll admit, that's a leap, but it's not altogether out of the question. It's entirely possible that the Mayans of Xi'paal ‘ek Kaah encountered the Incan legend of Viracocha at some point in their history, and basically grafted the details onto their own legends regarding Junab K'uj. Both are the god of life, essentially. A counterbalance to Ah-Puch, the god of death.”
“Kind of like what you and Graham were saying about the Christians coopting the symbols and traditions of other cultures,” Denzel said.
Kotler's jaw dropped. “Roland … yes! That's exactly what I'm saying!”
“So what about the ceremony?” Hicks asked. “The …um …”
“Kili'ich K'aak,” Kotler said. “It's a fire ceremony. The cosmic fire of the universe, signifying both the raw energy and essence of life, and a force for death and destruction. Fire was kind of the Yin and Yang of the Mayan world, when you get right down to it. This virus, which the Mayans associated with Ah-Puch, turns its victims to ash from the inside out. It's not that much of a leap to believe the Mayans thought of it in terms of fire.”
“But where does the life god come into the equation?” Liz asked. “How does Viracocha or Junab K'uj or whomever figure into it, if the virus turns people to ash?”
The Girl in the Mayan Tomb Page 27