THE MAYAN GLYPH

by Larry Baxter

  "We need to find a cure for the Austin virus. The one in Texas," said the man. "We think the Maya may have contracted the virus twelve centuries ago; here in the Yucatan. And they may have figured out a cure, probably something from the jungle."

  "And how would you know that? Reading the medical records from 800? Did I say what would happen if you did not tell the truth?" He slapped the woman again. She exploded in an ear-splitting stream of verbiage and lurched upwards against a restraining hand from Hector. Ernesto listened in admiration for a minute, and then thumbed off the safety and pointed the Glock at the man. He was almost disappointed when her screams subsided.

  "They left clues in glyphs, chiseled in Uxmal and Tulum. The clues pointed to caves under Tulum. We found glyphs in the caves, it looks like if we can translate them we can find out how the Maya were able to cure the disease."

  "And when will the translation be complete?"

  "I don't know, a day, two, maybe three."

  Ernesto thought a minute. So we wait. Get a man in the hotel, cleaner, cook, something. We'll know when they get it, then we run off with the key people. "Suppose we give you the translation? Can you make the medicine?"

  Margo screamed, "Hell, no." But Leo answered, "Yes, Margo can, no problem."

  "What's that worth, US dollars? A cure for the disease?"

  The man seemed shocked, "You don't want to sell it."

  "Oh yes, I do. Answer the question." He bounced the Glock's barrel off the man's forehead.

  "God, who knows, the goddamn gross national product of the world. More. Anything you want. But you can't sell it."

  Ernesto turned to Rojas. "Son of a bitch. I was thinking, first, millions. Then maybe billions. But this makes more sense, we'll only need one percent of the gross national product of the whole fucking world. We will be the most hated men in history. But the richest. What do you think? Can we make it work? This would make the drug business look like a dime store operation."

  Chapter 43

  * * *

  Hotel Austin, November 21, 2010

  Robert walked into the cafeteria just after 7:00 A.M. The room was illuminated by the red and purple light of a spectacular sunrise. Several of the troops were sipping the local coffee from the styrofoam cups, and the usual continental breakfast was arrayed on the large center table. Robert grabbed a corn muffin and coffee and sat down.

  A few days ago Baker had set up a television receiver with CNN broadcasts, and one of the evening's diversions was catching up on the news from the States. This morning, Baker arrived with a videodisk.

  "Two things," he said as he waved the disk in the air for attention. "We saw a couple of things on CNN last night. Didn't catch the first one on video, thank God. The first mass grave in the U.S. in more than two hundred years, bulldozers, trenches, a long line of people in body bags. Then the president was on the news, we did catch that."

  He plugged in the video and text crawled up the screen.

  "While the human race battles itself, fighting over ever more crowded turf and scarcer resources, the advantage moves to the microbes' court. They are our predators and they will be victorious if we, Homo sapiens, do not learn how to live in a rational global village that affords the microbes few opportunities. It's either that or we brace ourselves for the coming plague."—Laurie Garret, The Coming Plague, 1994. Engraved on the ProMED building.

  Robert identified the background music, Mahler's Resurrection Symphony.

  The president's pale blue eyes stared out of a lined and haggard face.

  "Fellow Americans," he began, his voice ragged. "No. Fellow human beings. I will not minimize the danger we all face. You have heard that there is an epidemic in Texas of a deadly virus. You have heard that over fifteen thousand people have died and that many more fatalities are expected. You have seen the faces of the victims and the terrible agony of their death. And you are afraid. As I am afraid."

  "You look to the massive resources of the finest medical establishment in history for help. You look at the accelerating curve of the virus' progress and pray for a miracle. And you consider the incredible chance that the virus may win a final victory."

  Robert heard the room quiet down as people put down their silverware and listened to the broadcast.

  The president continued. "But we can help the odds, you and I, if we can control the fear. We must understand that we are in a battle where a single human life has become unimportant. We may be in a battle for survival as a species."

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head back a moment, the strain showing in the lines around his mouth. Then he leaned forward again.

  "Survival as a species. Believe it. Accept it. If we take this conflict lightly, we may not survive. We must find the strength to put the good of the species over the good of the individual.

  "This is not a new concept. Several times in history, a sudden event has eradicated up to ninety percent of the species of life on our planet. The last time this happened was sixty-five million years ago. In a sense, we are overdue.

  "Over the next hour you will hear from experts in epidemic control. They will present to you the best advice we can assemble, and they will ask you to put the good of the species ahead of the good of the individual. They will ask you to try to control your fear, and to realize that each of you may hold a piece of the solution in your hand.

  "We will be asking you to evacuate your homes and perhaps to suffer the loss of your possessions. And we cannot guarantee that you will ever be repaid, but we can guarantee that we will be doing the best job we can to be fair.

  "Here's what is being done right now," the president said, turning to point to a graphic behind him. "A dozen major efforts, all under the supervision of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the CDC.

  "We have expanded the quarantine zone in Texas. We've drawn a two hundred mile circle around Austin, and a four hundred mile circle around that. Inside the smaller circle, nothing moves but technicians in fully sealed suits. Inside the larger circle, we're decontaminating everything suspicious, attending to the dead and dying, and controlling even bird and animal movements as best we can. As you know, the virus can travel long distances in humid air. A light windblown rain could pick up a virus particle and drop it many miles away, so we anticipate that it will be only a matter of time and weather before our cordon is breached.

  "We're working on an antiviral with a total of fifty thousand researchers in over a hundred countries, reporting to a CDC central staff which has now grown thirty-fold to fourteen thousand people in Georgia, Colorado, and Switzerland. The international cooperation is unprecedented. We are sure that we will eventually come up with a solution, but it could take a week, a month or more than a year.

  "We have a doomsday team working on dry and sterile subterranean bunkers, and another looking at massive population migration to desert areas such as the Sahara and Mojave.

  "A small percent of the population seems to be immune, and several research groups are tracking this effect, attempting to map to racial characteristics and beginning to do DNA studies.

  "Several clues point to a previously unknown breakout of the virus among the ancient Maya of the Yucatán peninsula in Mexico. One clue is the significantly greater resistance of the native Maya. Another is that the apparent source of the current outbreak is an archaeological dig near Uxmal. And another is an unexplained connection between the structure of the virus molecule and some carvings on stone columns in the Yucatán that were done almost twelve centuries ago. This may sound like a wild fantasy, but some of our best scientists now think that there is a chance that these connections may lead to a cure."

  Robert shook his head slowly. If he only knew. These connections were leading only to frustration. The president and his experts droned on but Robert disengaged, his field of view pulling back to the table in front of him, his focus narrowing to the corn muffin in the center of a yellow handmade plate with a chip in the side. Tiny little muffin, they didn't seem to sub
scribe to the bigger was better philosophy like back home.

  Not quite in the center of the plate, he thought, looking at the pattern in the plate. He adjusted the position microscopically. There, handled that problem nicely.

  Robert took a bite of the muffin, furrowed his brow at the taste, and spat out a piece of the pleated paper the big-time bakeries used so they didn't have to oil their pans. Where'd they find a big-time bakery down here? He pulled the remaining paper off the muffin with half the muffin stuck to it. He couldn't save humanity, he couldn't even peel the paper off a damn muffin.

  As Robert drank his second cup of coffee, the report from Baker was more of the same. Baker noted that Margo and Leo Halpirin had not returned to the hotel and that a car was missing. People nodded, smiling. Then Baker went into more details about the progress of the virus in Austin and the unsuccessful efforts of other researchers to find a cure. The production crew reported that the production line was ready and standing by, fully equipped for centrifuging and purifying and buffering and bottling and filling disposable syringes. But they still had nothing to produce. Teresa, her face showing tension and unhappiness, again had to report no progress. She said that just about all of the world's Maya language experts were working via the Internet without success.

  "Do you think we're in danger of becoming infected here?" asked one of the researchers who did not wear a mask.

  "The relative humidity today is ten percent," said a lab technician. "I'd say the effective range of the virus is less than a foot."

  "Keep a mask with you," said Robert. "Wear it if the humidity goes over thirty-five percent. Be careful of contact with the native Maya, they may be immune carriers. There will be more chance of infection every day now."

  * * *

  During a morning coffee break, Robert was a little surprised to see Kiraly alone at a table in the corner, styrofoam cup in hand. Kiraly caught his eye and gestured minimally with an inclination of his head to an empty chair. Kiraly was wearing black cotton trousers and a black T-shirt and with his dark tan, he would have been almost invisible in a shadow. His face was impassive but his pale eyes were alert, scanning each new face, glancing at the nearby window with its view of the parking lot. His body looked, as always, like a bent steel spring waiting for the right signal to uncoil.

  "Kiraly. What's happening?"

  "Those two missing people show up?"

  "Not yet. Found their car, wrecked, five miles down the coast. We've notified Munoz, for what it's worth."

  "I've been thinking. These guys we tossed out of the caves. Somewhere down in Columbia, there's some angry dudes."

  "Yes."

  "The way their business works, they need respect. If somebody in their distribution chain is skimming, they get killed in a way that sends a message. The whole thing is held together by fear. Without the fear, they go out of business in a hurry. And what we did was a hell of a lot more disrespectful than skimming. They will need to land on us with everything they got."

  "Maybe they don't think we'll tell anybody what happened," said Robert.

  "They know. The cops know. The story will go through their organization like wildfire. Anyway, I figure that they could probably mobilize easily fifty troops, some of their own people, maybe some mercenaries. And the timetable would be about now, figuring a few days for logistics. Back on the boat you thought you'd be out of here in two or three days. It's been a week and a half. You're on borrowed time. We could set up heavy artillery here, but there would be more fatalities."

  "Makes sense. How do we find out for sure if they're here?"

  "I asked around in town. There's a rumor from Playa del Carmen that a large group of men, not in uniform, was walking down the pier early yesterday morning, around midnight. Another guy said that his friend saw a truckload of weapons getting loaded up in Cancún City and watched it head south."

  "So, Columbians. What's your best guess, what will they do next?"

  "There was a runner in Tijuana last month with sticky fingers. They found his body in a car trunk with his hands sticking out. They had beaten his hands with something heavy, flattened them, broke every bone, and then put a slug through his head. For maybe five hundred American. What do you think they'll do to you?"

  "Mmmmm. Rather not guess."

  "This guy got off easy. I've heard they have a new game in Columbia if anybody's skimming. They strip him, tie him to a tree, and set off a pound or two of Semtex in front of him. Rips off all the smaller pieces, rips off most of the skin, doesn't kill him if they're careful with the charge. Then he's dropped off in the village to die."

  "Holy Christ."

  "They'd have no problem locating the operation here, you didn't put up a sign, but the news coverage has been pretty good. Their next move is probably to move into the cave, reclaim what's left of their coke, grab whatever's loose, and shoot us up."

  "Do you think they grabbed Margo and Leo?" asked Robert.

  "I'd bet on it. Interrogation. They'd need to find out what to expect before walking in there again, we might have a battalion of Marines."

  "So they wait for somebody to come out," said Robert, "follow the car, grab them, interrogate them."

  "And make it seem like they're wandering around lost somewhere by wrecking the car."

  The room was at the southwest corner, and Robert shifted his chair to get a view out the window that looked out on the clearing. "The local police commander is Colonel Muñoz. We talk with him from time to time. He seems to be trying to avoid offending the Colombians."

  "Payoff."

  "At least. But he also seems to be aware of his government's interest in our mission, he's getting pulled two ways. We might get him to send some cops, but there's an even chance they'd be looking the other way if the drug guys showed up in force."

  "Makes sense. Maybe the best option is to locate their camp, hang out until they make their move, and then have you and the staff disappear for a few days. That would confuse them."

  "What would their response be?"

  Kiraly walked over to the buffet table and came back with a fresh cup of coffee and a muffin. "They'd probably station a couple guys here and send scouts around to find you. If they're still plugged in with the cops, they'd get help. How long can you hide, what, twenty or twenty-five people?"

  "Bolero?"

  "We could sail around until the situation was secure. That boat could hold off a light cruiser until July."

  "I don't like the delay," said Robert. "It would set us back days. That could cause the death of thousands of people. Maybe we should relocate to the U.S., we've got everything we need from the caves."

  "That's a couple of days, too. Tell you what. I'll go see if I can find these guys—talk to them—see if I can explain the virus thing. Show them some humility and respect. Offer to compensate them for their unfortunate losses—at wholesale, of course, not street price. Get 'em thinking. Buy some time. If I find the two missing people, I'll see if I can get 'em out."

  "I'll join you."

  Kiraly stared at him for a long moment. "Could be dangerous."

  "That's OK. I'm not getting anywhere here. One other idea, I bet we could track them with satellite images. There's a group in D.C., I think it's called N.R.O., that handles imaging and interpretation."

  "Makes sense," said Kiraly.

  Robert pulled out his satellite phone and dialed up Teppin.

  "Teppin."

  "Robert again. Dr. Teppin, do you know anybody in the N.R.O.?"

  "The National Reconnaissance Office? Yes, I have a contact there. What do you need?"

  "A group of Columbians, maybe twenty-five people, got off a boat in Playa del Carmen yesterday around midnight. They got into a bus and drove south. They may have met a truck with firearms and supplies. They probably did not check into a hotel, so we think they could be located inland, maybe camping."

  "If they did go inland, and if the right bird was in place, we can easily track them with infrared. I'll make a ca
ll."

  "We'll be moving," said Robert. "If you can find anything, call us back on this channel." He signed off and turned to Kiraly. "So, we could see if we can track them on land before the trail gets too cold?"

  Kiraly nodded. "Do you have any glasses?"

  "Glasses? No, why?"

  "Deception. We need to look like nerdy scientist types. Get that Hawaiian shirt you were wearing, and a notebook, and a pocketful of pens. And when we talk to them, don't excite their macho streak. It'll be a mile wide."

  Teresa walked up to their table carrying a cup of coffee and sat down. "Hi, fellows. Makes me nervous, seeing you guys together. Probably gonna get in trouble again."

  "Us?" Kiraly's face was open-eyed innocence and surprise. "Just planning a little field trip, olive branch, white flag, apology, peace at any price. You should be proud of us."

  "Where are you going?"

  "We're going to see if we can locate any nearby representatives of the unfriendly forces, negotiate, compromise. We don't know exactly where they are, though. Do you know any locals we can borrow? We need a guide."

  "Miguel?" asked Teresa. "He has a car, or he can get one, and he's lived here all his life."

  "Sounds good. Where do we find him?"

  "He'll be fishing, I bet, on the reef, with his son. He has a small boat with a black motor in the back, I think the boat is blue."

  "Get changed, Robert," said Kiraly. "I'll meet you on the beach with the Zodiac in ten minutes." He uncoiled from the chair and glided through the gathering lunch crowd like a brown trout through eelgrass.

  Teresa pressed his cheek with a hand, looked at him sternly, and said, "You be careful, now. Stay behind Kiraly. Don't get hurt."

  Robert felt the warmth linger when she removed her hand. He smelled her scent, a light floral scent and a heavier but infinitely subtle musk, which seemed to work on him like the attractant of the female animal in heat. He looked at her and nodded and saw the color of her eyes seem to darken. He pulled away through the magnetic force. No other woman had touched him like this, ever.