by Alten-Steve
“Oh, God—”
As he watches, the wound heals itself.
“Her destiny is entwined in yours. She is to be the Eve to your Adam. It is your spirits that will foster a new age on Earth, a new understanding of the spiritual world.”
As he watches, Dominique’s trance-like gaze appears to focus. “Mick?” A huge smile bursts out across her face. She staggers forward into his arms, embracing him.
The passion overflows in Mick’s heart as he consumes Dominique in his embrace.
And then he breaks away, a tiny voice in his overwrought mind demanding he regain a foothold. “Wait—what do you mean by our spirits? Am I dead?”
“No, darling, not yet.” Maria points to the obsidian blade. “You must do the deed yourself—the ultimate sacrifice— to save our people.”
Mick stares at the knife, his hands trembling. “But why? Why do I have to die?”
“Death is a third-dimensional concept. There are many things you can’t possibly understand, but you must trust me … and trust the creator.” Maria touches his cheek. “I know you’re afraid. It’s all right. Simply a momentary flash of pain to remove the physical bonds of life—nothing more. Then—eternal peace.”
Dominique kisses his other cheek. “I love you, Mick. I understand now. I’ve entered another world. I can feel your presence in my heart. We were destined to be together.”
He touches the dagger’s razor-sharp point with his finger, drawing blood.
His blood bleeds blue!
A subliminal image of Tezcatilpoca’s chamber passes through his mind, followed by Guardian’s words, whispered in the deepest recesses of his brain. The evil Under Lords will come forward to challenge you. They will attempt to prevent you from sealing the portal before He arrives …
“Mick, are you all right?” Dominique moves closer, a concerned look in her eyes. She squeezes the hand holding the dagger. “I love you.”
“And I love you.”
She hugs him, nuzzling his neck, gripping his hand tighter around the knife. “I sacrificed my life on Earth because I couldn’t bear to be without you. Somehow, I knew we were destined to be soulmates.”
Soulmates? He turns to face Maria. “Where’s my father?”
“Julius is in the other realm. You must die before you can see him.”
“But I see Dominique. I can see you.”
“Dominique is First-Mother. I am your guide. You will see the others once you pass through.”
In his mind’s eye, he sees his father, suffocating his mother with a pillow. Mick raises the knife, staring at it. “Mom, Julius really loved you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“He always said you two were soulmates, destined to be together—forever.”
“As are we,” Dominique says, still gripping his hand. Mick ignores her, his mind gaining focus. “It really destroyed him to do what he did to you. He suffered the rest of his life.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I was so selfish. I never allowed myself to understand what he really did and why he did it.” Mick looks at his mother. “Pop loved you so much—he was willing to live out the rest of his days in misery rather than see you suffer another minute. But he never killed himself. He stayed the course, toughing it out. He did it—for me.”
Mick turns to face Dominique, inching closer, caressing her cheek in one hand, gripping the dagger in the other. “I understand now. What my father did—killing his soulmate— putting her out of her misery. He chose the more difficult road—he made the ultimate sacrifice.”
Maria smiles. “It is time for you to make the same sacrifice, Michael.”
Dominique releases her grip as Mick presses the point of the blade to his chest. He gazes at the heavens, his emotions, so long bottled up, pouring out from his heart. “Pop, I love you! Do you hear me, Pop! I love you—I forgive you!”
His dark eyes bore into Dominique’s, two ebony beacons searching her soul. His chest stops sobbing, his throat tightening as the blood vessels in his neck constrict with rage. “I am Hunahpu—” he bellows, his eyes widening, “and I know who you are!”
In one swift motion, Mick turns and plunges the knife into Dominique’s throat, the blow knocking her off her feet and onto her back. Mick pushes deeper, a black silicon-like substance oozing from her neck as he twists the blade sideways, intent on decapitating his foe.
The creature writhes in agony, grunting, growling, its skin shriveling, darkening to a burnt vermilion, the disguise shedding before Mick’s eyes.
With a warrior’s yell, Michael Gabriel severs the demon’s head from its body.
The being masquerading as his mother hisses at him, the golden slits within her crimson eyes blazing hatred, her fanged mouth dripping black venom.
In one motion Mick wheels around and slams the obsidian blade into the Under Lord’s heart.
The flesh sears from Maria’s face, revealing scorched satanic features for a split second before its matter decomposes into ash.
Dominique screams as the body of the alien serpent vaporizes in front of her eyes. She clutches her heart and faints before Chaney can reach her.
Aboard the John C. Stennis
CNO Jeffrey Gordon trains his binoculars on the floating alien pod as the Tomahawk explodes along its metallic hull. “That last missile detonated! The shield’s down— continue firing!”
A volley of TLAM cruise missiles are launched. As the admiral watches, the projectiles slam into the iridium vessel, blasting it into oblivion.
29
The Great Mayan Ball Court is gone.
Michael Gabriel is standing alone within an emerald vortex of energy, the tunnel-like cylinder revolving a billion revolutions a minute.
To his left is the portal’s entrance, its diminishing opening revealing the northern base of the pyramid. He can see Dominique, lying on the bottom two steps. Weeping.
To his right is another portal, the entrance to Xibalba Be—the Black Road. At its center point—a pinpoint of white light visible in the darkness of space.
A cool sensation washes over him, soothing his frayed nerves.
Guardian, was I successful?
Yes, Hunahpu. The two Under Lords are dead. The portal is closing, the Death God once more denied access to your world.
Mick watches as the opening to his left continues closing.
Then the threat to humanity is over?
For now. It is time to choose.
Materializing before him—a brown, granite sarcophagus. Hovering above its tub-shaped interior—a smooth, coffinsize pod.
Two destinies await you. You can live out your days as Michael Gabriel, or continue on to Xibalba and fulfill your destiny as One Hunahpu—attempting to save the souls of our people.
The Nephilim …
Sixty-five million years ago, the Guardian—the Nephilim survivors had chosen to remain on Earth, to save the future of an unknown species, hoping their genetic messiah would one day rise to return the favor. Mick recalls the frightened faces of the children on Xibalba, their souls locked in purgatory.
So frightened. So alone …
Mick stares at Dominique, longing to hold her, to comfort her. He imagines the life that circumstances have denied him since he was a child. Love … marriage … children … An existence of happiness.
It’s not fair. Why must I choose? I deserve to live out my days.
He imagines himself enveloped in Dominique’s warmth, never having to awaken in the middle of the night on the cold floor of a concrete cell, feeling so alone …
So empty.
The ultimate sacrifice …
He recalls Dominique’s sweet voice. Mick, none of us have any control over the deck or the hand we’ve been dealt …
You possess free will, Michael. Choose quickly before the portal closes.
Tearing his heart away from Dominique, he climbs into the pod.
Mick opens his eyes. He is lying prone within the radiant blue hull of the pod, h
urtling head-first in outer space through a twisting funnel of intense gravity. Although he is enveloped in energy, he can somehow see through the transport’s walls. Beyond the luminescent light he can make out stars, shooting past him like tracers.
Looking over his shoulder he sees Earth, the blue world disappearing from view, the trailing cosmic string of the fourth-dimensional conduit evaporating behind him, leaving the darkness of space in its wake.
The growing emptiness tears at his tortured soul.
Welcome, One Hunahpu. You have arrived.
I miss her.
She is blessed, the seed of our covenant growing within her womb, her destiny forever linked to yours.
A white light looms ahead, its shimmer growing larger.
Cold, lifeless fingers of terror creep into his mind.
Xibalba … Trepidation and fear overwhelm him. “What have I done? Guardian, please—I want to go back!”
It is too late. Fear not, Michael, for we shall never forsake you. You have made the ultimate sacrifice. In doing so, you have restored humanity to your species and given the souls of our ancestors a chance for redemption. The path you have chosen is a noble one— one that will reveal the very secrets of the universe, one that will pit the very essence of good versus evil, light versus darkness, and there is more at stake than you could ever imagine.
Now close your eyes and rest while we prepare you, for what lies ahead is evil—in its purest form.
EPILOGUE
JANUARY 3, 2013: WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC
President Ennis Chaney looks up from his desk as his chief-of-staff, Katherine Gleason, enters, all smiles. “Good morning.”
“Morning. Another great day to be alive. Is the press conference all set?”
“Yes, sir. You’ll find the podium decorated with two floral arrangements, a thank-you from the Chinese.”
“That was thoughtful. Have any other guests arrived?”
“Yes, sir, waiting for you in the corridor.”
Secretary of State Pierre Borgia is fixing his tie when the conference call comes in. He checks his watch, then activates the video-comm on his desk.
The image of Joseph Randolph, Sr smiles at him from one side of the split screen, defense contractor Peter Mabus from the other.
“There he is, Pete. Lucky Pierre.”
“We’re mighty proud of you, son.”
Borgia lowers the volume. “Gentlemen, please, it’s not a done deal yet. Chaney still hasn’t officially offered me the vice presidency, although we are scheduled to meet before the press conference.”
“Trust me, son, my sources tell me it’s a done deal.” Randolph runs a liver-spotted hand across his silvery-white hair. “What do you think, Pete. Should we give Pierre a few months to settle into his new office, or should we start pushing buttons to run Chaney out of town now?”
“Midterm elections will do just fine. By then, Mabus Tech Industries’ll be bigger’n Microsoft.”
The knock sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through Borgia’s stomach. “That’ll be Chaney. I’ll call you later.”
Borgia switches off the video-comm as the president enters.
“Morning, Pierre. All ready for the press conference?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Oh, before we head out to the Rose Garden, there are a few gentlemen I’d like you to meet. They’ll be your escorts for this morning’s event.” Chaney opens the door, allowing a man in a dark suit and the two heavily armed policemen into Borgia’s office.
“This is Special Agent David Tierney, with the FBI.”
“Mr Borgia, I’m placing you under arrest—”
Borgia’s jaw drops as the guards pull his arms behind his back and cuff him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Conspiracy to commit murder. Other charges will follow. You have the right to remain silent—”
“This is insane!”
The raccoon eyes are beaming. “Agent Tierney, Mick Gabriel was kept locked up for almost twelve years. How long do you think we can keep the former secretary of state in jail?”
Tierney grins. “For all the crimes he’s committed? I think we can do better than that.”
The two guards drag Borgia kicking and screaming from the office.
Chaney smiles, then calls out, “Now make sure you walk him out by the podium so the press can take a few pictures. And be sure to get his good eye in the shot.”
MARCH 21, 2013: BOCA RATON, FLORIDA
The black limousine turns south on Route 441, heading for the West Boca Medical Center. In the backseat, Dominique Vazquez squeezes Edie’s hand as she watches the news report on the small television.
“… and so, scientists and archaeologists alike remain baffled as to why, for the first time in more than a thousand years, the shadow of the plumed serpent failed to appear on the Kukulcán pyramids northern balustrade during today’s vernal equinox. Once again, this is Alison Kieras, Channel 7 News, reporting live from Chichén Itzá.”
Edie turns off the set as the limo pulls into the medical complex. One of the armed bodyguards opens the back door, helping Dominique and her mother from the car.
“You seem pretty cheerful today.”
Dominique smiles. “I can feel him.”
“Feel who?”
“Mick. He’s alive. Don’t ask me how, but I can feel his presence in my heart.”
Edith leads her into the hospital, deciding it best not to say anything.
Dominique lies on the examination table, watching the monitor as her doctor runs the ultrasound across her swollen belly. Edie squeezes her hand as the sound of tiny heartbeats thump rapidly from the machine.
“There’s the first one’s head … and there’s the second. Everything looks very good.” The doctor wipes the cream from her stomach with a damp cloth. “So, Mrs Gabriel, would you like to know the sex of your twins?”
Dominique looks up at Edie, tears in her eyes. “I already know, Doctor, I already know.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It is with great pride and appreciation that I acknowledge those who contributed to the completion of Domain [The Mayan Prophecy].
First and foremost, to my literary manager, Ken Atchity, and his team at Atchity Editorial/Entertainment International for their hard work and perseverance. Kudos to editors Michael Wichman (AEI) for his vision and to Ed Stackler of Stackler Editorial for his excellent commentary.
Many thanks to Tom Doherty and the great people at TOR Books, editor Bob Gleason, and Brian Callaghan, as well as Matthew Snyder at Creative Arts Agency in Los Angeles, and Danny Baror of Baror International. Kudos to Bob and Sara Schwager for their great copy-editing.
Thanks also to the following individuals whose own personal expertise contributed in some way to Domain [The Mayan Prophecy]: Gary Thompson, Dr Robert Chitwood, and the terrific staff at the South Florida Evaluation and Treatment Center, Rabbi Richard Agler, Barbara Esmedina, Jeffrey Moe, Lou McKellan, Jim Kimball, Shawn Coyne, and Dr Bruce Wishnov. And to authors Graham Hancock, John Major Jenkins, and Erich Von Daniken, whose work certainly influenced the story.
Very special thanks to Bill and Lori McDonald of Argonaut-Grey Wolf Productions/Web site: www.AlienUFOart.com.
I am also deeply indebted to Donna and Justin Lahey, whose dedication, creativity, and know-how have helped launch my novels via the internet.
Last—to my readers: Thank you for your correspondence. Your comments are always a welcome treat, your input means so much.
—STEVE ALTEN
Dedicated with love and respect
to my literary agent and friend, Danny Baror.
For Kim …
… and to the courageous Men and Women of the 363rd
Expeditionary Airborne Air Control Squadron
and the Pacific Forces AEF 7
And there was war in heaven:
Michael and his angels fought against the dragon;
and the dragon fought and his angels,
in heaven.
And the great dragon was cast out,
that old serpent called the Devil and Satan,
which deceiveth the whole world:
He was cast out into the earth,
and his angels were cast out with him.
—REVELATION 12:7
None of those who were born in the light,
Begotten in the light
Will be yours …
—THE HERO TWINS, TO THE LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD
EXCERPT FROM THE MAYAN POPOL VUH
The Universe is not only stranger than we know, it is stranger than we can even imagine.
—J.B.S. HALDANE
A wisp of thought, in the consciousness of existence.
I am anger.
A black hole of rage.
Lost in eternity.
God’s abandoned child.
Seething with the mortar of indignation, imprisoned within its invisible walls.
The confluence of bitterness ferments my soul.
I am the product of injustice, and self-servitude, and greed.
I am the void that tasted love and lost it forever.
Loathing existence.
Set adrift in my own ocean of hatred.
I am the end of humanity and its beginning.
I am One Hunahpu and the universe laughs at me.
I am … Michael Gabriel.
PROLOGUE
THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS GABRIEL
Excerpt taken from video recording at
Harvard symposium*
AUGUST 24, 2001
‘The End of Humanity. Who has time to contemplate such folly? Job security, the falling Dow, overdue bills, our diminishing retirement funds—these are the daily burdens that occupy our minds, not humanity’s extinction.
‘My name is Julius Gabriel. I am an archaeologist, a scientist who hunts humanity’s past in search of the truth. For the last 32 years, my family and I have been searching for the truth behind the Mayan calendar, a 2000-year-old instrument of time and space more accurate than its latter-day European counterpart. Believed to have been created by the mysterious Mayan wise man, Kukulcán, the calendar abruptly ends with humanity’s demise on a date equating to December 21 in the year 2012. As if to remind us of the event, the shadow of a giant serpent will again appear on Kukulcán’s pyramid in Chichén Itzá in 29 days, just as it has each autumn and spring equinox for over 1,000 years. Let me assure you, this baffling special effect was not intended as a tourist attraction.