“I can't say for sure. It could simply be about balance. The door to Ah-Puch's tomb was inscribed with the visage of Viracocha—or Junab K'uj, if I'm right. Graham and I believed that to be a ward of sorts. The god of life helping to contain the god of death. It could mean something else entirely, really. There's no real way to know without spending a lot more time in Xi'paal ‘ek Kaah. But all of these elements are suddenly adding up. I think Raymond Masters is preparing to perform his own version of Kili'ich K'aak. We know he was collecting Mayan artifacts and antiquities. Maybe he got hold of something that will allow him to use the Ah-Puch virus the way the Mayans did, as part of some ceremony pertaining to life and death.”
“And how does that help us at all?” Denzel asked.
Kotler huffed. “For starters, it may change what we're looking for. We've been operating under the assumption that Masters took Ah-Puch to use as some sort of weapon or as something he planned to sell. We've been focused on the virus itself. But maybe there's more to it than we thought. Something more complex.”
There was a pause, and all of them were silent until Liz spoke up. “You're saying that the man in the suit was after the virus, but not necessarily as a tool of death. He's going to use it for some sort of ceremony?”
“To do what?” Denzel asked.
“I'm not sure,” Kotler responded. “But this information could change how we look for him. We're scouring facilities, looking for any place where he might replicate this virus, maybe to weaponize it. But if he's using it this way, his needs change. So our search parameters need to change as well.”
Denzel looked past Kotler to Hicks. “You following this?”
“I am,” Hicks said.
“Get something worked up, and get it to the other departments.” He looked to Kotler. “I need everything you can give me about Kichi-ka-ka …”
“Kili'ich K'aak,” Kotler corrected.
“… so we can hand it off to the other departments. I don't know if any of them are going to listen, but I want us to be fully transparent. If I'm going to recommend shifting the direction of our investigation, I want everyone to know everything behind that decision.”
He turned to Liz then. “Dr. Ludlum, you're the expert when it comes to this virus, and how to handle it. Even if Masters is using it for some hoodoo, we have to assume he'll need to keep it contained. Can you work up something about how that might work? And how we'll need to go in, if we track this down? I have to think that this ceremony thing changes the game. We may not be able to rely on any standard protocols.”
She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “I'll reach out to Dr. Dawson and the CDC, and tell them what we're thinking. We'll work out a procedure.”
“Do that quickly,” he said. Liz nodded, rose from her chair and left the room, her mobile phone already to her ear.
Denzel looked back to Kotler. “It took you all this time to come up with Jumanji?”
“Junab K'uj,” Kotler corrected. “And yes. Yes it did.”
Chapter 33
“I have always wanted to be in one of these,” Kotler said, looking around the inside of the FBI surveillance van. “A little more cramped than they look in the movies.”
“Sit,” Denzel said, pointing to an open chair. Denzel, Hicks, and another agent named Simms were already seated. Simms and Hicks were wearing large earphones and hunched over their displays. Kotler sat in the rotating passenger seat in the cab of the van. The windows had been blocked by fitted screens, and the only light was coming from thousands of LEDs mounted in control panels sheathing the interior of the van, as well as from dozens of flat displays.
“So my hunch paid off,” Kotler mused.
“It took some convincing to get the resources to check into this,” Denzel said. “The Director took flak from the other agencies. By the time it was done, we got a 24-hour pass, in the name of leaving no stones unturned. It paid off.”
Kotler nodded. He looked at the bank of displays, which showed views from numerous vantage points around the building.
They were parked a couple of blocks from a converted warehouse that was one of Masters' holdings.
“This place was completely off of everyone's radar,” Denzel said. “We were so focused on finding one of the labs, it never occurred to us that he might take Ah-Puch to someplace like this.”
“What put us onto this warehouse?” Kotler asked.
“A few months ago, there was a shipment of antiquities delivered here, some of which were Mayan artifacts. Completely legit, according to US Customs, but it raised a red flag until things were cleared. The warehouse is a storage center for a museum, officially.”
“Unofficially?” Kotler asked.
“It's owned by a number,” Denzel said. “The shell corp that Masters controls. After your little epiphany, I had Hicks run a search for every property that Masters owned in Manhattan that wasn't a lab or biotech facility. He took it on himself to crosscheck that with any records of shipments that contained Mayan artifacts.”
“Good man,” Kotler said.
“I'm fond of him,” Denzel said, with no hint that he was being in any way facetious. “He turned up a couple of hits, and we were able to narrow it down to this warehouse, as the most likely spot. I've had surveillance on this place for the past twelve hours. We haven't spotted Masters, but we identified some of the people who entered the building as employees of his, including some of his virologists and experts we were already monitoring. We have no way of knowing whether Ah-Puch is in that building, though.”
“So it's a crap shoot?” Kotler asked.
“Not my favorite bet to place,” Denzel said. “If we're wrong about this, it's going to get hairy.”
Kotler nodded. The last thing he wanted was for Denzel to lose his job with the FBI, but there was far more at stake, and they all knew it. This was a risk. They'd already committed resources to tracking this, and those had been diverted from the rest of the search. If they raided this warehouse and found nothing, it really would be bad.
“They're moving,” Hicks said over his shoulder.
Denzel and Kotler turned to face the monitors, and watched as teams of armed agents wearing biohazard suits rushed forward.
“Liz's new protocols are in effect,” Denzel said. “Two of the agents going in are on loan from the CDC.”
Kotler spotted them. It wasn't difficult. They were the only two people not carrying weapons. Each had a portable lab kit in hand, and was trailing along behind the lead agents, with more armed agents closing in behind.
“Do we know who they are?” Kotler asked.
“One is a specialist who works with Dr. Dawson regularly,” Denzel said. He side-glanced at Kotler. “The other is Liz Ludlum.”
Kotler felt his pulse spike, and he kept his eyes intently on the screen. Liz was brave, and very capable. He had no reason to worry about her, really. But he couldn't quite help himself. Knowing her meant caring about her, and seeing her trudge into an unknown and dangerous scenario, with nothing but a bio suit and a lab kit for protection, was difficult.
Kotler looked from the wide view of the warehouse to the helmet-mounted cameras of the infiltrating agents. The scene felt chaotic, and Kotler had a twinge of motion sickness, trying to keep his eyes on the footage. He breathed through it, and soon settled into a rhythm of flicking between various viewpoints.
The agents inside began to clear the warehouse, first working through exterior hallways. Anyone they encountered was ordered to the floor, where agents bound their hands. They were surprisingly quiet about all of it, Kotler thought. The building's occupants were generally shocked to see armed and masked men rushing toward them, but became compliant and followed orders without resistance.
That changed, however, when the team breached the inner warehouse floor.
Without warning, gunfire suddenly started from across the warehouse, from an enemy that had taken cover. Judging by their pattern of fire, they seemed to be armed with handguns. Securit
y, maybe. Bodyguards, like those that had been waiting for Masters at the private airfield.
Kotler was leaning in, watching the fight unfold.
He shook himself, turning his attention away from the enemy and the firefight, and instead concentrating on the environment.
Where was Masters? More importantly, where was the ceremony?
Kotler had some idea of what to look for, assuming the ceremony was anything like that described in various Mayan texts. Kili'ich K'aak involved fire as a principle element, and there was no sign of fire at the moment. Masters could be using Ah-Puch as a metaphorical fire, however, so the lack of a flame wasn't enough to rule things out.
Denzel and Hicks were busy speaking into headsets, giving orders, facilitating intel. Kotler moved to one of the displays closest to him, and caught the attention of Agent Simms. “Can I pull up a still frame from one of the cameras?” He asked.
The FBI tech nodded, and Kotler pointed to the screen he wanted to study. The tech pulled up a still from that camera.
Kotler leaned in close, studying the space, looking for signs.
“It's not here,” he said quietly.
He looked up at Denzel. “Roland, the ceremony isn't here!”
Denzel reluctantly turned from the bank of monitors, and let his radio drop slightly. “What do you mean?” He asked.
Kotler pointed to his display. “None of the artifacts present would be part of the Kili'ich K'aak ceremony,” he said. “I see no signs of Masters or of the ceremony.”
He started thinking. This had to be it. He knew he was right, about Masters stealing Ah-Puch for this ceremony. It was a hunch, true, but it fit.
Or … maybe he just wanted it to fit. It had seemed so perfect, Kotler was having trouble changing his perspective on it. But perhaps he'd been biased? Perhaps he'd made a mistake? A mistake that could cost the lives of millions.
He cast about, thinking, trying to find any inspiration.
The fitted panels that blocked light in the cab of the surveillance van weren't a perfect fit, he noticed. Or one may have been placed too hastily. A sliver of light came into the van from a corner of one window, forming a beam like a laser, creating a bright circle on the back of the passenger's seat. Kotler blinked.
“Sunlight,” he said.
“What?” Denzel asked.
“They need sunlight.” He stood. “Where's the exterior view?” he asked Simms.
The tech pulled up exterior shots of the warehouse from three different angles. Kotler leaned in to these, studying, and then smiled. “The roof,” he said, looking over his shoulder to Denzel. “There's a greenhouse on the roof.”
“We don't have anyone in position to get up there,” Denzel said. “And our guys are pinned down.”
“Can we get up there?” Kotler asked.
“Kotler, we don't have biohazard suits. We need to wait.”
“If this ceremony is going down right now, we may not have time!” Kotler said forcefully. “It's a sure bet we will have spooked Masters. He could have another way off of that roof!”
“He does,” Hicks said, pointing to the monitors with exterior shots of the warehouse.
Kotler and Denzel looked and saw a black dot in the distance. It was moving closer, and it took only a second to recognize what it was.
“Incoming helicopter,” Denzel said. He cursed. “Hicks, you're with me. We have to move, now!”
“I'm coming with you,” Kotler said.
“You're staying right here!” Denzel shouted as they opened the doors of the van and rushed out.
Kotler, ignoring Denzel, trailed along behind the two agents as they raced for the building.
“Look for any way up,” Denzel said. “Were there interior stairs?”
“The only set on the floor plan was in the back of the warehouse,” Hicks replied. “It's covered from the rooftop across the way, with a view of the door at ground level. But none of our guys can get to it from inside.”
“Fire escape?” Kotler suggested.
“Kotler, I ordered you to stay with the van!” Denzel said.
Kotler pointed, and the two agents turned to see the fire escape, just down an alley from where they were standing.
They rushed for it, and with a leap Denzel had his hands on the ladder, pulling himself up and reaching for the next rung.
Hicks followed, doing the same.
Kotler hesitated, but when the two agents were a flight up he leapt. He wasn't sure why he was so gung-ho to ignore Denzel's orders, but instinctively he felt he needed to be on that roof. Whatever Masters was doing, it required a ceremony that Kotler alone understood. He might be needed.
That was justification enough to Kotler, at least.
They climbed furiously, even as the sound of the helicopter became louder. It took time, and all three men were panting and huffing when they reached the roof, but they got there before the helicopter could make its landing. Denzel and Hicks both drew their weapons, ready to fire if anyone emerged from the greenhouse.
“We need to take out that chopper!” Hicks shouted.
“Go!” Denzel said.
Hicks raced forward, head low and weapon ready.
Denzel turned to Kotler. “If we go into that greenhouse, we risk exposure!” he shouted.
Kotler nodded, solemnly. He then reached into the lining of his coat, and drew the .45 ACP he'd tucked into a holster there.
Denzel scowled. “We're going to talk about this later!” he shouted.
“I look forward to it!” Kotler shouted back.
The two of them raced to the greenhouse, and with only a quick pause outside, Denzel kicked the thin glass door open and the two of them rushed in.
The noise of the helicopter was only slightly muffled inside, but it was enough to keep them from hearing anything that might be happening. Their view was also being blocked, thanks to an explosion of jungle-like growth all around them. Between the foliage and the heat and humidity, Kotler was having a profound sense of deja vu, harkening back to the recent experience in Mexico. This was a tropical greenhouse on the roof of a Manhattan warehouse, but it might as well have been the middle of Central America. There were as many dangers here as they'd faced in the jungle.
They kept low, and moved into the interior of the greenhouse, keeping cover under the large fronds and rows of plants. As they crept closer to the center of the room, they heard the sound of music—flutes and drums. They peered through to see a man, Masters, and two assistants, a young man and a young woman.
Masters stood in front of a fire pit, ringed in stones, and was holding the statue of Ah-Puch, high above his head. Above him, a round glass portal allowed sunlight to beam in, unfiltered. In the large, circular spot it created on the floor there was a stone altar, similar to what Kotler and Graham had discovered in the altar chamber of Ah-Puch's tomb.
There was a chalice on the altar, and next to it a large gourd, the size of a pumpkin. As they watched, the young man took the chalice and dipped it into the gourd, filling it with a purple liquid. He turned, and Masters reached out with one hand, taking the chalice, and sipping from it before offering it to the young woman. She repeated this gesture, and handed it to the young man, who also took a sip.
Then Masters gripped the base of Ah-Puch.
“No!” Kotler said.
Denzel rose quickly, raising his weapon, with Kotler close behind.
“Down, now! Put the statue on the ground! Now!”
Masters and the others looked at Denzel, their eyes wide.
“You're too late!” Masters said.
He turned the base of the statue, and Kotler watched in horror as a cloud of black emerged from Ah-Puch's mouth, swarming like insects up and into the sunlight before settling like volcanic ash on them all.
Chapter 34
Before the ash had settled, Denzel had Masters and his two assistants face down on the loamy floor of the greenhouse. He cuffed them, and pulled his radio, calling for backup.
&nb
sp; “Be aware, we are exposed. Repeat, we have been exposed to the Ah-Puch virus.”
Exposed, Kotler thought, feeling the weight and impact of the word. He's so calm about it.
Kotler realized he felt calm himself, and it was an odd sensation. It was as if being exposed to a deadly virus was the worst he could imagine, and since it was done there was nothing else to worry about. The fear, now faced, faded in its potency, replaced by a sort of numbness and resolution.
That was it. The game was done.
Except …
Kotler knelt next to Masters. “What would be the point?” he asked.
Masters, his hands bound behind him and laying on his belly in the soft soil of the greenhouse, turned to meet Kotler's gaze. He said nothing, but stared.
Kotler was so used to reading body language it was second nature to him. He had seen, in the expressions of Masters and the others, a lack of concern. The threat was no threat, in other words. In fact, in Masters he saw something else entirely. He saw …
“Relief,” Kotler said. “You feel relieved.”
“Kotler, step away. My people have taken the ground floor, and the CDC is coming this way now.”
Kotler nodded. “That's good,” he said. “But it isn't going to be necessary.”
Denzel stared, and shook his head. “Are you saying that wasn't the Ah-Puch virus?” he asked. “We're not going to die?”
“It was Ah-Puch,” Kotler said. “But no, we're not going to die. Are we, Masters?”
Again, Masters said nothing.
Kotler stood, and turned to the altar. He stepped around the fire pit, and reached for the chalice. He dipped the chalice into the gourd, then turned to Denzel, raising the glass as if in toast. “To health and long life,” he said, and then downed the purple liquid.
The taste was bitter, and made his mouth feel dry and his throat tingle. He was instantly reminded of his conversation with Hicks, only yesterday. Maybe there was something to that sociopath thing, after all. But Kotler didn't think what he was doing was crazy or dangerous in any way.
The Girl in the Mayan Tomb Page 28