“Come in.”
A small man entered, barely five feet tall, with lighter skin than most of the others. “Ronin, we may have a breach.”
Gonzales stopped his breath and focused. The sense of a human presence was stronger than before, and it included fear as well as excitement.
“How long, do you think?”
“Not long. They've been around for less than an hour, but the increase only happened in the past five minutes.”
“Well, we know what we have to do. Send our primary response team towards the tunnel. Have the secondary team wait at the junction. I'll go make sure our secure rooms are ready for them.”
He sensed the other's discomfort and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I don't know what we'll wind up doing. I hope we don't have to kill them, but if we were willing to kill four billion with the virus, we should be able to do what we need to do. Don't worry about it for now, just capture them.”
The man nodded, and left the room. Gonzales turned to Teena, and she smiled as she put her hand in his.
“You seem less anxious now. You needed something to focus your energy on besides just me. You're a great leader, Ronin, exactly what we need for these times.”
She stood and put her arms around his lower back and kissed him on the lips, keeping up the gentle pressure for a few seconds before pulling away so slowly that he couldn't have said exactly when her lips left his. Then she sat down on the bed.
“Go on, do what you have to do. I'll be here when you get back.”
Riccio had fallen a meter, then rolled underneath the overhanging rock. She was fine, aside from a few bruises. When she got to her feet and reappeared from the blackness, Balaga and Hitchcock jumped back in surprise.
“What's the matter guys, I was only gone a second?”
Balaga grinned and batted his palm towards her head. She ducked out of the way and laughed. Hitchcock frowned in mock disapproval and then looked down at Galdon, still on the ground.
“What is this place, my friend?”
The Brazilian looked down at his knees and let out a breath. When he answered, they all had to lean close to hear.
“I have only heard about it in the stories told to scare children. I had no idea where it was . We call it a fossa. To go there is to face certain death.”
“Why?” Balaga asked.
Galdon shook his head. “I do not know. In the stories told to children, it was monsters who would take over your brain.”
Hitchcock's head snapped back towards Riccio, and he met her eyes. They spoke at the same time “Telepathy.”
The small man looked confused. “Tel—e—path—y. I not know this word. It means what?”
Balaga scratched his beard with two fingers.
“Hell, I can't see how it hurts to tell him. Galdon, it means one person being able to read the thoughts of another. We think the man who died was able to do that.”
Galdon looked at Hitchcock with wide eyes. “This is true?”
“We are not sure. But yes, it may be true.”
Riccio put the heels of both her hands on the edge of the hole and propelled herself out onto the rock of the island.
“What are we waiting for? We need to check it out.”
Balaga said, “Um, Gabby, I may only be a computer guy, but even I know we shouldn't just go charging in there.”
“So we wait, is that what you're saying? Wait for what? Or who? Galdon's people'll never go down there, and it'll take a week or more to mount an expedition. I'm not gonna wait. You with me, Hitchcock?”
The Englishman didn't hesitate. “I most certainly am. The occasional risky venture keeps life from getting stale.”
Balaga sighed before grinning. “We're gonna regret this, but who am I to say no? Lead on, MacDuff.”
Hitchcock reached out his hand to Galdon and pulled the smaller man to his feet.
“Galdon, you wait for us here. If we don't come back by dark, head back to the village. But you or someone else come out to the edge of the river and wait for us tomorrow and the day after that. If we're not back in three days, just tell whoever comes this way next what happened. Do you understand?”
Relief flooded the Brazilian's face. “Yes, Ali, I understand. I do what you say.”
He reached out a hand, and Hitchcock took it. “I shake hands like the Yankees. I fear you not come back. Be careful.”
“We will, Galdon. We will.”
Riccio grabbed two flashlights out of her pack. Then she jumped back down into the hole. Hitchcock and Balaga followed and they stood with upper torsos and heads exposed. She handed one light to Balaga, switched hers on, and ducked under the overhanging rock.
Her light shone on a passage made of black stone embellished with white striations. She ran her hand over the walls and found them incredibly smooth and dry to the touch, both of which surprised her. This had to be fashioned by man, or at least by a primate.
After a few dozen yards, the four foot height rose to six feet, and it was wide enough for the three of them to walk side by side. Riccio had a sense of a gradual downward slope. She whispered to Balaga. “Is this great, or what?”
“Sure it is. But why are you whispering?”
With the flashlights pointing forward, she knew no one could see her face, which was surely red.
“Ah, no idea. The serious nature of the moment?”
Hitchcock's voice echoed in the enclosed space. “I feel the urge to whisper myself. This is amazing.”
“Um, I know I was outvoted about going down here, but can we at least talk about a plan? I bet someone knows we're here, and I doubt they're pleased about it.” Balaga sounded irritated.
Riccio stopped, and her light settled on a small gouge in the rock of the tunnel floor.
“Shit, Joe, you're right. How many guns do we have?”
Hitchcock removed a small handgun from his pants pocket. “I like to be prepared, so I already have mine handy.”
Riccio dug in her pack. “Joe, correct me if I'm wrong, but you and I just have this one automatic between us, right?”
He nodded, highlights in his red beard shining in the indirect light.
“Yep. Why don't I take the flashlight since you're the one that knows how to use that.”
She handed him the light and gripped the gun her right hand.
“So, we're armed. What else?”
Hitchcock turned his light towards her.
“If I may, I'd say we need to have one of us walk fifty yards or so behind the others. If we are confronted, one of the two groups might avoid capture.”
“Good idea. You go behind, OK?”
“Indeed I will.”
Riccio and Balaga kept walking. For a few seconds, she could sense Hitchcock's presence back in the darkness. But soon enough the tight space made her feel isolated, as if Balaga were the only other person on the planet. She put her hands on the wall again.
“How can it be so dry in here? No plant life, no insects, nothing.”
Balaga chuckled. “Some sort of climate control obviously keeps it dry. But there'd still be insects unless they cleaned it, right? I can picture your mom coming through here with her Hoover.”
Riccio doubled over, hands on her knees. She didn't want to laugh out loud and cause an echo, but couldn't help letting out a few gasps. She took care to keep the gun in her right hand pointed at the ground.
She looked up at Balaga. “Enough! You're the one who said we have to be careful.”
“I did, didn't I. I couldn't resist.”
They headed deeper into the earth, and the dim glow from the flashlight revealed yard after yard of identical tunnel. They walked a long time before Riccio looked at her watch. Half an hour had passed. They had to be at least a mile down by now. She felt an excited tingle in her neck at the thought. Quite possibly, no human being had ever trodden these passages.
She heard a metallic sound and stopped. She looked at Balaga and spoke with her voice low. “Did you hear t
hat, Joe?”
“Yeah, and it came from in front of us. Couldn't have been Hitchcock.”
“So what the hell was it?”
“I think you mean who the hell was it. Any chance I can talk you into turning back? An archaeologist and a programmer stumbling through the dark towards an unknown civilization. We're not up to this, and you know it.”
“I do know it, Joe, but I'm not going back. Someone's gonna be the first to set eyes on them, and it will be me. If they have to put that on my epitaph, I'm fine with it.”
“Yeah, well let me tell you 'bout that epitaph.”
“What?”
“You don't get one if we die down here and no one finds us.”
“I hear you. Now let's figure out what we're gonna do. I've got a radical idea. Why don't we just tell 'em we come in peace? See what happens. I mean, what other choice did we ever have?”
Balaga fell silent. Then he nodded and turned the flashlight forward, and they continued down the tunnel. They went more slowly this time, and Riccio could feel her rate of breathing increase. She knew the dangers, yet she mostly felt excited. This was going to be—
The bright light interrupted her thoughts and almost blinded her.
“Don't move, please. And drop the gun.”
The voice scared the hell out of her. It sounded pleasant enough, speaking English with an American accent. Like someone from the upper midwest. But the reality of her situation hit home, and she felt real fear for the first time.
She let the automatic fall to the ground. Three men with brown skin and black hair appeared from the shadows in front of her. One held a small gun pointed at her chest. Her body tensed and she thought about Hitchcock further back in the tunnel. If only he could—
“Your friend will not have any better luck than you.”
The man with the gun was the talker. But how did he know about Hitchcock?
Three more figures appeared, two men and a woman. The woman had the same color hair and skin, but her breasts gave away her gender even in the minimal light. They eased past her and disappeared up the tunnel.
For at least a minute, no one spoke. The three protos—she was already thinking of them as the new species and abbreviating the term proto-humans in her mind—showed little on their faces. No anger, no impatience. Their facial muscles were so relaxed, almost like some yogis she'd witnessed meditating, but with their black eyes open. The contrast with her own fear and curiosity felt striking.
She heard the sound of footsteps behind her and turned to see Hitchcock in front of the other three protos. She felt a wave of despair. A small part of her hadn't given up on the Englishman, but that hope too was now gone. She looked back at the proto with the gun and took a deep breath. Even as she opened her mouth, she knew it sounded stupid, but she couldn't think of what else to do.
“We don't mean you any harm.”
A half smile appeared on his face.
“No, I don't believe you do. But you have stumbled on our secret at a critical moment, and we cannot allow you to leave for the time being. I won't pretend that you're our guests, but we have no intention of harming you unless you resist.”
With no visible signal from the speaker, the three holding Hitchcock nudged him forward. Riccio couldn't tell exactly how they managed it, but the gestures seemed almost gentle. The man with the gun stepped to the side; Riccio and Balaga moved forward with all six of the protos now behind them.
A few seconds of walking revealed the first intersection they'd seen. The perpendicular tunnel appeared identical to the main one, except for narrow strips of light running near where the walls met the ceiling. It looked a bit like the fiber-optic lighting she'd seen around some pools, which made sense. In this environment, they needed low heat and low radiation light sources.
She looked back at the man with the gun, who gestured for her to continue straight.
She was about to do so, then a question occurred to her. “What's your name?”
He tilted his head sideways, as if pondering the answer.
“My name is Merveen. Please, Ms. Riccio, keep going.”
She glanced at Balaga and Hitchcock. Both men's faces showed some tension around the mouth, but neither seemed ready to panic. She supposed they'd all known this was a likely outcome.
Hitchcock asked, “Did you excavate these caves?”
Merveen looked at him. “The cave system already existed, we just put on the finishing touches and made it more habitable.”
Hitchock nodded, and Ricco swore the man looked excited to be here, held captive deep under the surface of the earth. She felt some of the same. This was the ultimate discovery, the stuff of science fiction and fantasy. Their captors didn't seem aggressive or threatening. It was only natural for them to be suspicious of three strangers appearing out of the blue in the tunnel.
At the next intersection, she stopped again. She heard Merveen's voice, smooth and soothing.
“Please go right and then go into the door on your right a little ways down the hall.”
She turned into a larger tunnel, at least ten feet tall and six feet wide. The walls were a lighter color, and not quite as smooth. It had lights mounted near the ceiling every ten feet or so. She wondered where they got their electricity. One more thing to ask about after they got settled.
She saw the door ahead on the right, and something nagged at the back of her mind. Something about Merveen's voice, but not exactly. Something trying to break through her excitement and give her a warning. She struggled to figure it out as she watched Balaga reach for the handle.
Walking through the doorway, she saw a room outfitted with something like a mattress on the floor, as well as several tables and chairs of different sizes.
Then it hit her. The concern at the back of her mind exploded into her consciousness. She'd thought the protos were simply being cautious in the face of an unexpected breach of their home. But one thing Merveen had said contradicted the idea that their presence was unexpected. He'd called her “Ms. Riccio.” How the hell did he know her name?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
December 14, 2012: Guatemala
Simon ran.
He couldn't have said why. Instinct maybe, a sense that events were out of control. After watching Amos Schmidt fall to the ground, he'd put a hand on Andrea's shoulder. She'd looked at him, and the cold in her eyes evaporated into pain.
Then he'd embraced her, an awkward sort of hug with no intimacy, just comfort. He'd felt an initial tension in her, followed by a small degree of relaxation through several deep breaths. He hadn't looked her in the eyes, that would have been too much for the moment.
When he'd sensed her tightening again, he had pulled away. His mind had shifted, and a voice in the back of his brain had shouted at him, told him he was forgetting something. Then he remembered.
Cimil.
He took the two turns in the hall at full speed and raced towards the room where they'd left Cimil. He knew that Cimil couldn't have escaped from the locked room, yet part of him worried. For all his arrogance, the Guatemalan was not a man to underestimate.
A few steps from the room now, Simon realized that he hadn't asked the marine for the key to unlock the door. A second later, he knew it didn't matter.
The door hung open, the jamb smashed all around the plate. Black streaks in the wood matched the paint from the chair, which lay in a dozen metal pieces on the floor. Of the rope, he saw no sign.
He assessed all this with a fluid speed borne from years of training. He knew there was only one way Cimil could have gone. Towards the outside door.
Simon started running again.
Cimil couldn't have gotten far, but he knew the area. He didn't need much of a lead to disappear into the jungle. Simon didn't even have time to call Andrea or the marines on the satellite phone, he had to move now.
The outside door hung open, and he gave silent thanks that the fog still remained a few dozen feet off the ground. He thought he caught a trace of mo
vement off to his right, but by the time he registered it, he saw no further signs of anyone. He didn't wait any longer before sprinting off towards the movement. A long shot was better than no shot at all.
The jungle had only grudgingly relinquished space to the stone building, and a handful of steps took him into the underbrush. He didn't slow his pace. He stumbled when the ground fell away on the other side of a fallen tree he'd been forced to hurdle, but he stayed on his feet and kept moving. About twenty seconds after leaving the building, he stopped.
He knew he'd been lucky. In the rangers they had a saying that the more they trained, the luckier they got. But the sight of Cimil making his way down a steep slope had nothing to do with training. He pulled out his satellite phone and flipped it open.
Then he flipped it closed.
He told himself that he didn't have time to call for backup, that he needed to keep moving to avoid losing the Guatemalan. He told himself that he didn't need any help to handle Cimil. But a part of him knew the truth, that he didn't want to call for help. He'd been waiting almost thirty years, and he'd take care of this himself.
He barreled down the hill, not seeing Cimil any more but seeing the telltale movements in the bushes. The canopy of vegetation overhead grew thicker and the descending fog combined with it to give the impression of dusk. Simon varied his gaze from his footing to his quarry, whom he estimated as forty yards or so ahead.
He almost missed the stone entrance.
A few seconds earlier, he'd stopped sensing movement. He slowed his pace, or else he never would have seen the structure hidden behind a mass of vines. As he looked more closely, he saw the signs of a recent disturbance of the vegetation and pulled the vines aside. He looked into a dark opening about four feet high, constructed from stones embellished with all manner of Mayan glyphs.
For the first time that day, he felt indecision. His gut told him that Cimil had gone into the opening, but he was far from certain. A wrong choice here would guarantee the Guatemalan's escape. He had no flashlight, and he'd be stumbling into the dark.
The Mayan Legacy Page 24