by Alten-Steve
9. Inscribed upon the buried vessel’s outer hull are two symbols. The first appears as Mayan glyphs along the bow of the vessel, translated as BALAM, a name referring to the ancient Mayan Jaguar God, and most likely the name bestowed upon the alien vessel. The second symbols are a series of embedded red candelabra-shaped logos that archaeologists have identified as the ‘Trident of Paracas.’ An identical insignia is found on the side of a mountain in Peru. There are four ‘Trident’ panels located along the outer hull, two on the ventral side, two on the dorsal. Each of these panels appears to be an access hatch. None could be opened.
EXCAVATION-C PRELIMINARY REPORT: INTERIOR STRUCTURE
10. All attempts to access the interior of the BALAM have so far failed.
RECOMMENDATIONS
11. RELOCATION OF BALAM:
It is essential to relocate the BALAM to a secured facility in the United States in order for the ship to be accessed internally and reverse engineered. Because of security considerations and the enormous weight of the vessel, the only acceptable means of transportation would be via U.S. Navy heavy-lift barges and towable dry docks currently used for full-sized conventional Navy destroyers. In order to utilize this mode of transportation, a canal must be dredged and dug, connecting Chichén Itzá with the Yucatán shoreline by way of its freshwater aquifers.
12. It is hypothesized that Michael Gabriel was able to access the BALAM because he bore the genetic ‘Hunahpu’ ID. On 6 January 2013, a MAJESTIC-12 team exhumed the remains of Maria Gabriel, Michael Gabriel’s biological mother, from her gravesite in Nazca, Peru, and found a similar genetic marker present in her DNA.
13. On 17 January 2013, Dominique Vazquez was examined by a MAJESTIC-12 physician, who verified the subject to be four weeks pregnant. Subject claims the biological father is Michael Gabriel.
14. It is theoretically possible that Dominique Vazquez’s unborn child will possess the Hunahpu genetic marker and may one day be able to access the interior of the BALAM and perhaps even pilot the vessel, assuming its power plant is still usable.
CONCLUSIONS
15. The potential technological advancements in propulsion, weapons, and energy/power systems associated with the BALAM make GOLDEN FLEECE of vital interest to the United States. It is recommended we proceed immediately with transportation of the vessel to a secured U.S. facility. It is further recommended that Dominique Vazquez be kept under twenty-four-hour-a-day surveillance.
Submitted:
W. Louis McDonald
GOLDEN FLEECE
21 January 2013
‘Incredible.’ Chaney types in his security code, erasing the file. ‘Tell me, Marvin, how’s Dominique taking the news that she’s pregnant with Gabriel’s child?’
‘Not well, to be honest. She’s still overwhelmed by all that’s happened, and she misses Mick terribly. Unfortunately, she’s also more than a little freaked out about this whole Hunahpu genetics thing. Right now, I’d guess she’s leaning toward abortion.’
‘You can’t allow that to happen, Mr. President,’ objects the colonel. ‘The unborn Gabriel child may represent our only means of accessing the Balam.’
‘Easy, Colonel, let’s give the girl a break. Dominique’s been through a lot over the last few months. It’s her life, her decision, not ours.’
‘Homeland Security has set her up with a new identity,’ Marvin says. ‘She’s living in south Florida under the alias, Andrea Smith. We’ve tried to keep her under twenty-four-hour surveillance.’
The colonel shakes his head. ‘MAJESTIC-12 should be in charge of the girl. Homeland Security has more holes in it than a Swiss cheese factory.’
‘We’ll let them handle it for now,’ Chaney says. ‘Dominique’s in no immediate danger, and locking her up in an underground bunker might negatively impact her decision about keeping the child. Anything else?’
‘Just one last thing,’ Marvin says. ‘In reviewing Julius Gabriel’s journal, I came across a passage that referenced a necromancer.’
‘A who?’
‘A necromancer. Comes from the Greek words necro, meaning death, and mancy, describing divination. A necromancer is one who claims to be able to communicate with the souls of the dead for the purpose of obtaining useful information. A few years prior to his own death, Professor Gabriel sought out the services of a necromancer named Evelyn Strongin, hoping to communicate with his deceased wife, Maria. We’ve been trying to locate Ms. Strongin, hoping she might be able to shed some light on Michael Gabriel’s genetic abilities. Unfortunately, her last reported address was in Peru. We can’t seem to locate any current information about her or her whereabouts.’
Chaney shakes his head. ‘Extraterrestrials. People talking to the dead. Whatever happened to the good ol’ days when all a president had to worry about were economic reforms and war in Iraq.’
4
FEBRUARY 3, 2013: CHICHÉN ITZÁ, YUCATÁN PENINSULA
The beige 2001 Dodge with the dented rear bumper turns off Mexican Route 180, following a local road through the poverty-stricken town of Pisté.
Dominique slows the rental car, her dark eyes scanning the dilapidated stucco homes lining the roadway. The village is just like a thousand others located throughout Central America along the ‘Maya Route,’ a 120,000-square-mile area stretching east from the Isthmus of Tehuantepec through the Yucatán Peninsula, extending into Belize, Guatemala, and parts of Honduras and El Salvador.
A thousand years ago, the Maya were the dominant civilization in all Central America. Unable to rise against their Spanish oppressors, the Indians were left behind, their decreasing crops unable to compete in the marketplace. The culture is still very much alive, but the Maya are at the bottom rung of society’s ladder.
Dominique’s maternal ancestors were Yucatec—direct descendants of the Maya, and she bears the dark complexion and sculpted cheekbones of her people.
The dusty road widens into a four-lane highway that leads to the entrance of Chichén Itzá, the capital city of the ancient Maya and the most visited tourist attraction in Mexico. Harbored within this 3.75-square-mile jungle-enclosed park are richly carved temples and shrines, the centerpiece being the Kukulcán Pyramid, a perfect ziggurat of stone that rises seventy-five feet above the grass-covered esplanade.
Dominique’s heart races as she thinks of the structure … and the alien vessel buried beneath its foundation.
For nearly a week, Dominique had remained at Evelyn Strongin’s home in St. Augustine. But after her initial contact with the spirit of Maria Rosen-Gabriel, the energy force had shut down, refusing further communication. This ‘silent treatment’ caused Dominique to have doubts about the validity of the first message … and its source.
‘No offense, Evelyn, but how can I be sure that was really Mick’s mother who spoke with me?’
‘Who else would it be, child?’
‘Maybe it was you, pretending to be in communication with your sister. Or maybe you weren’t even aware of what was happening. My background is in psychiatry. Over the years, I’ve seen some pretty bad cases of schizophrenia.’
‘The energy source was Maria’s.’
‘If that’s true, then why hasn’t she spoken through you again? It’s been days since the last communication. I can’t hang around this town the rest of my life. You’ve succeeded in freaking me out to the point where I’m seriously considering an abortion.’
‘Choose that route, and you not only condemn Michael, but humanity’s future as well.’
‘So says you. I need real answers, Evelyn, not riddles.’
‘Dominique, Maria senses your fear, and this is why she’s ended communication. Fear is one of humankind’s strongest negative emotions. Negative emotions create negative energy, and negative energy attracts negative spirits. Communicating with the dead is not like placing a phone call. Anyone can answer, including demons like the Abomination, who is as powerful as it is cunning. Sensing your fear, Maria felt it best to end the communication rather than t
ip our hand to the enemy. The success of future sessions will depend upon your ability to control your negative emotions. But first, you must fully commit to the journey.’
‘Again with the journey. What journey? How can I commit myself to something I don’t even understand?’
‘You do it by acquiring knowledge. Study the Mayan Popol Vuh. Familiarize yourself with its story of Creation. Seek answers from those you trust.’
‘That’s just it, I don’t trust anyone. I’ve never felt so scared and alone in my life.’
‘Julius and Maria felt the same way when they began their own journey, and I’m sure Michael shared these feelings. At times they lost sight of the path, and yet they continued on, their resolve strengthened by faith, knowing they were following their destiny.’
‘What would Mick do if he were me?’
‘He would seek answers from those who know. He would return to the land of the green lightning.’
Dominique turns into the entrance of Chichén Itzá. To her surprise, the parking lot is deserted, the front gates sealed, guarded by a platoon of heavily armed American soldiers.
Captain Luke Magierski leaves his station and approaches, his hands resting on his M-16. ‘Sorry, miss, Chichén Itzá’s closed.’
‘Actually, I was looking for the local vendors who used to sell inside the park.’
Magierski stares at the attractive woman with the long ebony hair and high cheekbones, her looks vaguely familiar. ‘They’ve set up shop on the grounds of the Mayaland Hotel. It’s about ten minutes from here.’ The soldier removes an identity scanner from his belt. ‘I need to scan you, it’s standard procedure.’
‘Of course.’ She extends her left hand out the window.
Magierski’s device snaps Dominique’s digital photo as it scans her open palm.
SMITH, ANDREA M.
RESIDENCE: WELLINGTON, FLORIDA.
NO OUTSTANDING WARRANTS.
‘Thank you, Miss Smith. You have a nice day now.’
She waves, then drives off.
Magierski stares at the photo. Wait a second, I have seen her before. Removing his Palm Pilot, he scans his old e-mails. Locates the People-First.com website. Checks the photo against the one posted. Holy crap, it’s her!
Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching, he e-mails the photo of Andrea Smith to the political party of Peter Mabus.
Dominique pulls into the grand entrance of the Mayaland Hotel and parks. A farmers’ market has been set up across from the parking lot, allowing the local villagers to sell their wares to tourists.
She scans the tables, counting fewer than a dozen visitors among the vendors. The park’s closing’s hurting everyone. Approaching the first booth, she is immediately swarmed upon by children, all pulling at her skirt in an attempt to lure her to their table.
‘Jade necklace, señorita? Only ten dollars, American.’
‘Come, señorita, we have beautiful rings. Five dollars.’
‘Señorita, you must buy a silk hammock. We give you a very good price, eh?’
‘Okay, okay, tell you what, I’ll buy from the first person who can tell me where I can find the elder known as Ocela.’
The children back away. ‘Don’t know this person, señorita. Maybe you should go, eh?’
The children abandon Dominique for a Canadian couple and their teenage daughter. ‘Bandanna, señor? Two dollar.’
Captain Magierski stares at his Palm Pilot as if he’s just hit the lottery.
SUBJECT VERIFICATION CONFIRMED. ONE-MILLION WILL BE WIRED UPON PROOF OF VAZQUEZ CAPTURE, BALANCE DELIVERED WHEN TEAM ARRIVES THIS EVENING. DISCUSS THIS WITH NO ONE. CONGRATULATIONS AND THANK YOU FOR SERVING YOUR COUNTRY.
Dominique moves from table to table, stopping occasionally to check out an obsidian letter opener or an ornamental jaguar. ‘Excuse me? How much?’
‘Thirty dollars, señorita. For you, twenty-three.’
‘I’m looking for a man named Ocela.’
Eyes avert. ‘No man by that name here, señorita.’
She looks up as an Army jeep enters the Mayaland parking lot, its tires skidding across gravel as it comes to a stop, blocking Dominique’s rental car.
Captain Magierski scans the tables using a finger-size telescopic lens.
Dominique ducks behind a shelf stacked with wool Mexican blankets, her heart racing as she peeks out at the soldier. Something’s wrong, he’s definitely after me. Where the hell are those Homeland Security guys when you need them?
Magierski jumps down from the jeep, striding toward the marketplace.
‘Psst! Over here!’
Dominique turns. A curly-haired Mayan man motions at her from behind a fruit stand.
‘Come quickly!’
‘I know you, don’t I?’
‘Elias Forma, I’m a friend of Mick’s. You were at my home. Quickly—’
Magierski pushes through a throng of children, moving from table to table. ‘The American woman, where is she?’
Elias Forma shrugs. ‘No habla inglés.’
‘Maybe you habla this.’ Magierski raises his M-16, pushing the barrel of the gun into the Mayan’s face. ‘Now where’s the goddam girl?’
Elias says nothing, his dark eyes returning the soldier’s glare as the other Mayans crowd around them, whispering.
Magierski grabs Elias by his shirt collar and drags the vendor out from behind the fruit stand, tossing him to the ground. Cocking his weapon, he fires a circle of bullets around the terrified local. ‘Listen up, Dominique Vazquez, you either come out now or I’ll blow his fucking head off!’
‘Hold it!’ Dominique climbs down from the slanted roof of the fruit stand. She approaches the soldier, her hands out at her sides, her blouse unbuttoned to her navel. ‘All you had to do was ask.’
Magierski’s heart pounds faster as he stares at her tantalizing cleavage.
Dominique winks. ‘I’m into handcuffs. Do you have any?’
‘Definitely.’ He removes the shackles from his belt, snapping them around her offered wrists. ‘Looks like you and me are gonna spend a few hours alone together.’
‘Sounds like fun. Think maybe we can get a room at the hotel? I’m hot, and I want to get out of these sweaty clothes. If you’re good, I’ll let you handcuff me to the bed.’
Magierski smiles. ‘Tell you what, how about if I—’
Whomp! Dominique’s right foot snaps off the ground like a cobra, the tip of her shoe driving high into the man’s groin. As the soldier drops to his knees, the ball of her left foot smashes into Magierski’s face, snapping his head back.
The soldier collapses in a heap.
Elias searches Magierski’s belt for the handcuff keys. He tosses them at Dominique as three Mayan vendors drag the unconscious soldier’s body into the high grass.
A dozen more push the jeep off the side of the road and into a ditch.
Salt Lake City, Utah
Peter Mabus lies back in the dressing room chair, allowing his makeup man to finish dabbing at the dark circles beneath his eyes.
A knock and the dressing room door opens. Joseph Randolph enters, followed by a slight, gray-haired Caucasian in his late sixties. The nerdy-looking man wears wire-rimmed glasses and is dressed in a wool suit and black bow tie.
‘He’s had enough primping.’ Randolph ushers the makeup artist out and shuts the door. ‘Pete, this is Solomon Adashek, the man I was telling you about.’
Mabus sits up, his piggy eyes taking in the visitor. ‘No offense, Joe, but he looks more like my goddam CPA than a hired assassin.’
Solomon Adashek remains expressionless. ‘It only takes the strength of a child to pull a trigger, Mr. Mabus. The key to eradicating one’s target is to get close without arousing suspicion. If you’d prefer to hire a goon, I’ll take my services elsewhere.’
‘No, you’ll do. The girl’s in the Yucatán, I’m sure Joe’s briefed you. I want her and the soldier who found her eliminated without a trace.’
Solomon nods, then leaves the dressing room, quietly closing the door behind him.
‘Creepy little shit, ain’t he?’
‘What’s important is that he’ll get the job done without complications,’ Randolph says. ‘Guy’s former CIA, as cold and unfeeling as a reptile. Spent a lot of time in the Soviet Union as a mole. Returned home after the Cold War ended and wigged out. Torched his mother’s home, killing her and her live-in nurse. Served six years and was released on parole. Bit of a pedophile, but he’s calmed down over the years.’
‘Maybe we ought to send him after Chaney?’
‘One step at a time, my friend. One step at a time.’
Chichén Itzá, Yucatán Peninsula 10:17 p.m.
The nocturnal jungle is alive with humidity, and chirps, and the ghosts of the dead. Dense brush cuts Dominique’s ankles and lashes out at her neck. Mosquitoes buzz her ears. A flutter of wings takes the air overhead beneath the canopy of trees.
The heaviness of the woods presses in on her, whispering into her ear. She grips Elias Forma’s hand tighter, afraid she will lose him in the darkness. And yet she feels safer here than she does in the real world, knowing that someone out there wants her dead.
Like it or not, you’re Alice in Wonderland, chasing a rabbit down its hole, and there’s no turning back now.
In time they come to a clearing. Dark-skinned Mayan elders squat around a campfire. Dominique recognizes the H’Menes, the same men who helped her and Mick climb down into the sacred well in Chichén Itzá six weeks earlier.
A lifetime ago …
The wise men are descendants of the Sh’Tol brethren, a sacred Mayan society that escaped the wrath of the Spaniards back in the fifteenth century.
Elias greets the frail, white-haired leader of the group with a hug. ‘Dominique, this is my grandfather, Ocela, the man you seek.’