There was a hesitation as though Dr. Peet suddenly realized her predicament. Lori couldn’t help but wonder what he was considering. His hands shifted over the stone. Then, with a shallow grunt, he lifted the weighty ball from the top of the pillar!
“What are you doing?” she snapped, nervously awaiting a reaction from Abe and his men. There was none.
“I’m giving you a chance should things go bad,” Dr. Peet said, his voice dropping to her feet as he lowered the ball to the platform directly behind the pillar.
Lori suddenly expected the worse. Apparently turning the pillar ball had been Dr. Peet’s only ace and now that he’d unsuccessfully played his hand, he seemed to be switching tactics.
“Just get this thing spinning like the man said,” Lori protested over her shoulder.
“Without the ball we should be able to slip your arms over the top of the pillar.”
“Are you crazy?” Lori hissed. “They’re going to notice something suspicious going on.”
Dr. Peet’s warm hands gently lighted on her wrists. “The chamber is dark enough that they can’t see us very clearly from that distance. They won’t notice if we move slowly.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one standing in the line of fire. Course, what does it matter to you if I get shot?”
Slowly, gently, Dr. Peet began to lift Lori’s arms behind her back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been hiding from me all semester long,” Lori spat.
“I wasn’t hiding,” Peet said, easing her arms up the pillar column.
“What would you call it then? I’m sure you wish I’d just drowned in that cenotre. Then you wouldn’t have to keep avoiding me.”
Lori’s words must have stunned Dr. Peet for his fingers suddenly fumbled and lost their grip on her wrists. The metal cuffs screeched against the stone as her arms dropped back in place around the pillar. Lori held her breath, hoping Abe hadn’t noticed. He and his firing squad showed no sign of alarm.
“I looked for you,” Dr. Peet said, gathering her wrists and resuming their lift behind her back. “Chac and I both tried to find you.”
Lori hardly believed that. She didn’t want to believe it. “You must not have tried very hard.”
“I’m trying to save you now.”
Lori snorted. “You’d have a better chance of convincing me if you’d just explain why you’ve been avoiding me.”
Dr. Peet took a deep breath. “I had no choice, Lori.”
Lori noticed the hesitation in his voice. “That’s not an explanation,” she prodded, shifting her body as her arms lifted higher along the pillar behind her.
“Look,” Dr. Peet began, “the dean didn’t like me working so close with you on the Effigy. He feared our work might lead to extracurricular activities between us, if you know what I mean.”
Lori felt her guard slipping. “Fraternizing?”
“Right. With you getting so close to graduation, I couldn’t let that kind of rumor tarnish your record, let alone lose my job over it, so I removed myself from your project entirely.”
Lori softened, though still wary of deception. Dr. Peet’s explanation sounded simple, too simple. Yet, his reasoning was sound. Having been victimized by malicious fraternizing rumors before, he had every reason to avoid stirring suspicion again. Could that really be all there was to it? Could she have overreacted to an honest misunderstanding?
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” she asked.
“I wanted to but the timing was never right. I feel like I’m under constant surveillance on campus, not only from the dean and the board of regents, but also from my co-workers and even the students. Speaking to you privately just seemed suspect to trouble.”
Lori recalled the evening she’d confronted him about his form letter, how upset she’d been over the rejection of her field study application. She’d caught him in his office, working late as he often did. She recalled his surprise, and the first words he said to her.
We can’t keep meeting like this.
He had tried to tell her. She didn’t realize it then, but she recognized it now. Those weathered eyes that kept shifting to his office door—she thought it was only a display of cornered nervousness. She realized now that he hadn’t been looking for a chance to get away. He was checking the surveillance camera conveniently positioned in the hallway outside his office door. He was checking for eavesdroppers.
Lori’s shoulders tightened as Dr. Peet raised her arms even higher along the pillar. To go any further she’d have to lean forward which was virtually impossible with the rigid pillar at her back.
“We’re going to make a run for it,” Dr. Peet said. “As soon as I free you from this pillar you’ll have to move fast. Duck behind the pillar where you’ll be out of the line of fire.”
“Then what?”
“We swim for it.”
Swim? “Are you crazy!” she snapped. “Have you forgotten my hands will still be cuffed behind my back? And where do you propose we swim to?”
“Just a few more inches,” Peet said.
Lori winced. “I can’t.”
“We’re almost there,” he insisted.
“I can’t,” Lori snapped. “I’m not a contortionist.”
Dr. Peet hesitated and for a moment Lori thought he’d given up. “Lori,” he said. “I’m sorry if I betrayed you, but I need you to trust me now.”
Lori had trusted him before. She wanted to trust him again. In fact, she did trust him. She felt his warm hands tighten around her left wrist.
“Are you ready?”
Ready for what?
“Wait. Dr. Peet!”
* * * *
Peet grimaced as he braced himself. He had a firm grip on Lori’s wrist. Before Lori could react, and before he was honestly ready himself, he pulled at her arm with all his strength. He felt her back jam against the pillar, and then there was the give he’d hoped for.
Lori released a painful screech but immediately suppressed it beneath the humming of the chamber. Peet nervously glanced at Abe who didn’t seem to have heard anything.
Lori groaned in pain. “You dirty son-of-a-bitch! You broke my arm!”
“It’s just a dislocated shoulder,” Peet said, working faster now and hoping he could pull her around the pillar fast enough when the bullets started flying. But as he lifted her arms over the top of the pillar he suddenly noticed a deep hole where the pillar-ball had been seated. Lori whimpered with relief as her arms dropped at her back. She prepared to move but Peet pulled her back against the pillar.
“Wait. Don’t move,” he ordered.
“What?” Lori barked. “I thought—”
“Not yet. We can’t let Abe suspect anything.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Lori gruffed.
Peet leaned over the top of the pillar to inspect the dark hole more closely. It wasn’t like the gear-shaped impression that had awaited the Kin piece in the Izapa pillar. This hole was round and deep and to his surprise, it contained a Kin piece of its own. But this stone gear rested upon a metal rod centered within the hole. There was space between the teeth of the Kin piece and the inner wall of the hole. Space enough for more gears.
“Planetary gears,” he gasped.
“Planetary what?” Lori asked over her shoulder.
Just like the turbo in KC’s plane. However, the Kin piece was missing its planetary gears. No wonder the pillar ball didn’t turn the pillar. It wasn’t meant to. Instead, it was something inside the pillar that needed to be moved.
“Where are the planetary gears?”
“What are you talking about? The ancient Maya didn’t have gear technology.”
“They didn’t even have wheels,” Peet agreed. None of it added up. The dynamited tunnel, the mechanical hum—he’d long come to the conclusion that the calendar wheel was not the invention of pre-Columbian people, but the stunt of modern hands. But why? Was the calendar wheel just some magnificent hoax? Was A
be too blinded by his illusions to see it?
A bullet suddenly clipped the very edge of the pillar and ricocheted into the chamber behind the booming echo of the gun blast. Peet’s heart stopped. Lori was noticeably trembling now, but to her credit, she remained standing as though still tied to the pillar.
“My aim will get better if I don’t see this wheel turning soon!” Abe hollered from across the chamber.
Peet swallowed hard. His mind raced frantically. What step had he missed? Where was he supposed to find the planetary gears?
“The cross,” Lori suddenly called over her shoulder. “If its gears you need, the arms of the Talking Cross might work.”
Peet kneeled down at the crucifix protruding from the top of the pillar ball at his feet. The three gear-shaped arms did appear to be the right size. In fact, upon closer inspection, Peet noticed a small symbol etched into the top end of the cross. It was the Mayan Uinal symbol, and it was repeated on each end of the cross-arms.
“Brilliant, Lori!” he gasped with excitement. “You found the Uinal pieces!”
Quickly, he grabbed one of the arms and yanked. It broke free at a joint clearly intended for such action. The other two arms broke away just as easily, leaving only a stub of the cross’ shaft sticking out of the pillar ball.
Father Ruiz wasn’t going to like this, but he would have to be dealt with later. Excitedly, Peet slipped the Uinal shafts around the Kin piece. They fit perfectly, their teeth joining those of the Kin piece and the inner wall of the hole.
“Hurry,” Lori mumbled. “They’re making me nervous!”
As Peet reached for the pillar ball, more gunshots echoed through the chamber. Lori whimpered, but these shots didn’t come from Abe or his men. Instead, they were distant, penetrating the chamber from the tunnel. Someone was shooting outside, and there were a lot of them.
“Get that wheel moving!” Abe ordered over the haunting echoes of battle.
Quickly, Peet returned the ball to the top of the pillar. It just had to work this time.
“Brace yourself, Lori!” he warned. He grabbed onto the pillar himself, preparing for the wheel to suddenly shift beneath him.
He spun the pillar ball.
Nothing happened.
From The Ravine
Chac Bacab threw himself against the ravine pillar the instant he heard the first AK47 tear through the jungle. He’d been ready, waiting for the shots. They were his call to action when only moments before he’d been sitting so docile and patient.
If there was one thing Chac was good at it was maintaining patience. He also had a strong inclination to trust people which made it easier to wait on those whom he held faith in. And in situations like this, reliability was priceless.
The shots came straight up the ravine, just as expected. Abdullah’s men sprang into motion, firing back upon their hidden assailants.
Father Ruiz caught a glimpse of the masked rebels, circling along the rim of the ravine. “Dear God, we’re trapped!” the priest panted, falling at Chac’s feet for what little cover the pillar offered. Panic had taken root in his eyes. “The Zapatistas are surrounding us!”
Chac would have smacked him if his hands weren’t tied behind him. “Don’t you get it?” he barked over the gunplay. “They’re the good guys!”
As if to prove his point, Abdullah’s guard who’d been standing over them at the pillar suddenly fell right on top of the priest, blood draining from the bullet hole in his head. As Father Ruiz frantically squirmed to get out from beneath the dead mujahid, Chac took the opportunity to lift the handcuff keys off the body.
“If your Zapatistas are the good guys, then why did they shoot down our plane?” Father Ruiz argued, still wiggling to get free.
“Mistaken identity.”
With a bit of fumbling Chac managed to unlock his cuffs and immediately reached for the pillar ball.
“Get down!” the priest snapped. “Are you trying to get shot?”
“We have to find the Calendar Room.”
“Abe already found it, in that cave.”
Chac grabbed the pillar ball. A bullet zinged off the stone, just missing his face by centimeters. “The cave’s a decoy,” he said, turning the ball counter-clockwise.
“What do you mean, a decoy?”
“I mean exactly that. We created a decoy to keep Abdullah from locating the original. Problem is, I don’t know the exact location of the original myself.”
“I don’t understand.”
The pillar ball clinked to a stop and the pillar immediately sank two feet into the ground, locked. The Calendar Deity now faced away from the cave, up the side of the ravine where three fellow Zapatistas were waiting to cover him.
“The ancient Maya had nothing to do with this place,” Chac explained bluntly. “That’s all you need to know.” And with that he started in the new direction given by the pillar.
“What about me?” Father Ruiz called after him. Chac looked back. The little priest looked pitiful, crouched and trembling behind the pillar, the guard’s blood smeared over his collar. “A good guy wouldn’t leave a defenseless priest to die on the battlefield, would he?”
Chac hesitated, and then irritably relented. The last thing he needed was a tag-along to slow him down, but the priest was right. He couldn’t just leave him helplessly exposed on a field of flying bullets. Quickly, he released Father Ruiz’ handcuffs and together they raced up the slope of the ravine, dodging bullets and hoping like hell the Zapatistas cover fire was sufficient for their escape.
It was.
They topped the ravine without so much as a scratch, but Chac didn’t stop there. In fact, he didn’t even pause to acknowledge his masked companions and they didn’t stop firing down upon the mujahedin trapped within the ravine. They all had their tasks to do. Chac’s duty had just begun. To his credit, Father Ruiz didn’t fall behind.
“How will we get the Talking Cross back?” the priest asked as they dodged into the trees.
“You needn’t worry about that cross,” Chac said, his eyes searching straight ahead.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me it was a decoy as well?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I can walk and chew gum at the same time. Imagine what my ears can do while I’m running.”
Chac slowed his pace as they reached a small outcropping of rock. He searched, noting its location directly beneath the volcano’s cleft peak. This had to be the place.
“You can’t possibly convince me that the reliquary crucifix is just another Zapatista decoy intended to confuse Abe,” the priest said. “General Bravo captured the Talking Cross himself when he defeated the Cruzob in 1901. It was safe in our chapel long before the Zapatistas ever banded together.”
“You’re right,” Chac admitted. “The cross isn’t a Zapatista hoax. The Cruzob came up with that one themselves.”
“What?”
“They successfully pulled the wool over General Bravo’s eyes, not to mention the Mexican government and the Catholic Church. They wanted you to believe you’d captured the Talking Cross.”
“Impossible.”
“But it worked. The real Talking Cross has never been out of Maya hands.”
Chac searched the rock wall, looking for any inconsistencies in the stone. The sounds of war echoed from the ravine behind them, prompting him to hurry. He rapped his knuckles along the stone wall like legend instructed until finally, he struck a bulging rock that sounded hollow. He felt Father Ruiz watching him closely as he pried his fingers against the rock, pulling it away from the wall to reveal a security panel imbedded into the natural stone.
Chac reached down into the front of his shirt and found the small pocket sewn discretely over his left breast. There he found his security card, intentionally placed there so that if the mujahedin ever shot him in the heart, they’d also destroy the one item he could never afford to lose to them.
With Father Ruiz curiously waiting nearby, Chac swiped his card through t
he security panel. There was a click and a sheet of stone suddenly shifted in front of him. Chac pushed against it and it swung open—a door to a dark interior.
Chac led the way inside.
* * * *
“What is this?” Father Ruiz asked as the light from Chac’s LED flashlight glowed off the walls, ceiling and steps of a steep, boxy stairway.
“We’re going down to the Calendar Room,” Chac explained over the echo of his boots thumping down the steps.
“You mean the original Long Count Calendar is down here?”
“The original doesn’t exist.”
Down, down, down they went, like explorers penetrating an ancient tomb. Father Ruiz didn’t like feeling so enclosed, so trapped. Any minute Abe’s men could come pouring down the stairway and their only escape was forever downward.
“What do you mean it doesn’t exist? Why call it the Calendar Room if there’s no calendar at all?”
Chac dropped off the last step and paused to flick a switch on the wall. Light flooded the small room before them.
“It’s just a name someone came up with,” Chac said. “The moniker stuck. All it amounts to is an elaborate time capsule really.”
Father Ruiz immediately understood. The room they’d stepped into was small, like a bomb shelter. Inside however, was a diverse collection of Mayan treasure. Ancient stone stelae lined the far wall while stacks of sacred codices from all across Mexico cluttered the near corner, the Popol Vuh and the Chilam Balam visibly among them. Frescoes of Kukulkan and every other Mesoamerican deity imaginable guarded the tomb from their places on the walls while central to it all was a cache of archaeological treasure—jade, obsidian and turquoise wielded into masks, jewelry and even pottery. There was even a collection of near petrified maize that Father Ruiz doubted even existed today. The room truly represented a timeline spanning nearly every region of Mayan history.
Complete with the Talking Cross.
It stood alone, shaped less like a crucifix and more like a mathematical sign. It contained no ornamentation at all, no gilding of precious stones or metals. It looked little more than a lump of knotted firewood, and yet, it somehow reminded Father Ruiz of the humble cross of Jesus.
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