Universal
Code
Book One
The Fracture
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The characters and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 William Songy
Library of Congress Control Number:
Printed in the United States of America.
Two Pillars Publishing
Universal Code
Book One: The Fracture
William Songy
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
From the Author
About the Author
Universal Code Book II Chapter 1
Other Books from William Songy
Chapter 1
“What’s wrong?” Dr. Dennis Smith asked as his eyes involuntarily followed Carlos’ concerned gaze back toward the jungle behind them. Although he had known the guide for years, the expression summoned an irresistible urge to look back. Little could be heard over the incoming waves and rustling pinnate leaves of the tall coconut and royal palm trees dancing at the direction of the afternoon wind. He could see nothing of consequence and certainly found no justifiable cause for the anxious guide’s continual need to turn and scan the jungle line where it followed the white sand of the beach. Is he paranoid? Should I heed his cause for caution? Or, has he seen them too? Dr. Smith wondered. Despite numerous excursions to the excavation site, the sudden anxiety was concerning. Was there something amiss? “What? You see a Jaguar or something we should be concerned about?” Dr. Smith asked while purposefully withholding information about the unexplainable things he had seen over the past few days. He hoped that he was the only one but now there was cause for concern that Carlos had seen them too. Dr. Smith needed to be cautious or everything could abruptly end before it started.
Dark eyes intently panned the wood line of the jungle, “I feel like we are being watched. Something is waiting for us,” he replied looking back at the overgrown trail that would direct them. While maintaining his focus on the jungle, he adjusted the tanned leather strap supporting the American made AR-15 hanging from his right shoulder. Carlos pushed on the thirty-round magazine to make sure it was properly locked in place then put his hand on the charging handle. He considered pulling it back to load a round in the chamber. After a brief pause, he released without doing so.
“Why are you so anxious?” Dr. Smith asked as he turned back into the direction of the incoming waves and smiled. “I’ve been coming here for the last thirty years and I am still amazed by the beauty of this paradise. If anything is out there, it will move on by the time we are ready to make our way,” he reassuringly noted when turning to face Carlos while looking over the glasses at the end of his nose. “Look at the water, the magnificent palm trees, the allure of the Caribbean, and relieve your mind for a second. There will be plenty of time to worry on another day.”
Carlos looked back and shrugged his shoulders in a manner that suggested very little appreciation and far less respect for the Doctor’s thoughts on the quality of the water and love of the vegetation. He was born in the Yucatan and had grown up in the jungle and on the beaches. Plenty of his people loved the beach and were poor. The guide was numb to the natural beauty. Only money could get him where he wanted to go. He wasn’t there to make friends with the American. Carlos understood his role was to guide the three archaeologists safely. But his gut instincts could not be ignored. He sensed something almost paranormal.
Death had visited his dreams the night before. Something or someone had violently murdered everyone on his team. He recalled standing over the mangled, blood-soaked, motionless bodies of the men. In his dream, Carlos knelt and put his finger in a large gaping wound while staring into a pair of soulless eyes failing to hear the killer as it crept up behind him. His last memory before waking up was one of being grabbed from behind and jerked off the ground as if he were a child. The memory of it still haunted him. Carlos kept telling himself that it was just a dream and none of his ever came true. Since there was no track record of any vivid dreams of his coming to fruition, he tried to convince himself that it was a good omen. As long as the Doctor paid him, he would do whatever it took to keep the team safe and everything would be fine. Accompanying another over-educated, overzealous archaeologist attempting to uncover the secrets of the Mayan people was his charge and he would push aside the meaningless thoughts in his mind and escort them.
Often, Carlos found it amusing, listening to the theories and discussions of these men and women of science. Their ideas and conclusions often did not coincide with the stories passed down by the village elders while he was growing up. The educated always seemed to want to sensationalize the aspects of Mayan and Aztec life. Trying as they did with the Egyptians, to craft a story to promote a reliance on alien technology by his ancestors. These theories and false connections were a constant part of the dialogue. The continuous speculation that the Mayans needed help from alien intelligence to build structures and to develop a mathematical system was infuriating and insulting. It seemed more of an effort to minimize the accomplishments of his people.
The distant hum of an outboard motor drew Dr. Smith’s attention as it rounded a jetty and began to approach the beach. After a few seconds, he could see the blue and red paint on the wooden V-shaped hull as it displaced seawater while cutting across the emerald waves. He raised his hands and moved them back and forth over his head attempting to get the attention of the boat operator. The doctor realized that he had been successful when the hull nudged to its portside and pointed directly at the small group standing on the beach.
The boat was briskly approaching the shore. The operator let off the throttle of the old fifty-horsepower Evinrude leaving just enough forward momentum to slightly beach the hull. The engine became less audible outside of the mild chugging of the water pump as it spat water from the engine. Carlos walked into the water and received the bow line as it was tossed to him then pulled the small vessel further inland ensuring its contact with the shoreline. The stern bobbed up and down riding the apex of the rolling waves as they smacked the transom.
A thin woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail wearing blue jeans and a white blouse was sitting in the rear of the boat near the operator. The two exchanged a friendly smile while shaking hands. She thanked him for the ride and safe arrival, then stood, grabbed a backpack and a small camera bag while being directed to the front of the wooden boat. Carlos tossed the rope to Antonio, a member of his team, then moved into position to help the woman. He grabbed the backpack from her then assisted as she leaped over the side railing
plunging into the knee-deep tropical waters.
She landed and secured her balance just as an incoming wave struck the back of her legs. “Bugger!” she yelled when absorbing the impact. Turning toward Carlos she smiled and said, “Much obliged,” then retrieved the backpack and camera bag. While walking out of the water she gathered herself and made her way to the awaiting group on the beach. The blue jeans were soaked just above the knees. She looked with a slight scowl, “Didn’t prepare for a beach landing. I wore my jandals, got that part right. I would have put my togs on. No worries, they will dry.”
From the other side of the bow, her colleague John Longmire had rudely forgone the formalities and instruction given by the boat operator and simply jumped into the water. The deckhand was mildly amused. In a move to show the same level of disrespect as was shown to them, the young local tossed his belongings off the boat before he was ready. Despite landing on a rock with his right foot and temporarily losing balance, John managed to catch and secure the bags before they were taken by a wave. He stared down the deckhand for a second and considered giving him the middle finger, but heard Ayla call out to him. John returned a stone-faced gaze to the deckhand while securing his belongings and trudging out of the sea.
John, a star athlete in his youth, was a good-looking lad and never struggled to get the attention of the women he crossed paths with. In most cases, he was the center of attention everywhere he had gone. Everyone wanted to befriend the man who would be one of the top picks in the Professional Football League draft. Times were good and he never tired of the celebrity status football had given him. Stardom, or at least the promise of it, helped him live a pretty comfortable life.
Life, however, had other ideas for John. In the final game of his senior season, in the third quarter, while attempting to throw a deep post to a wide-open receiver, he was sandwiched between a defensive end on a stunt and a linebacker who ran through a pitiful attempt at a block by the running back. As soon as he was hit, the ball flew through the air like a wounded duck and was intercepted by the cornerback who, up until that point, had been humiliated on the play. The hit resulted in a torn labrum mere months from the draft. Due to the questions surrounding the possibility of a full recovery, arm strength, and his inability to workout at the combine, John was passed over in the draft. A year later several workouts with teams in need of depth at the position did not result in a contract offer. Soon after, all the fanfare faded and all those who were once so fond of him seemed to become invisible.
John’s interest outside of football was archaeology. So, against the wishes of his parents, he decided to pursue it. He met Ayla on a dig site in Egypt where she was studying hieroglyphs found near the city of Abydos believed to be linked to Pharaoh Neferhotep 1. He was intrigued. But the interest they had in one another was for very different reasons. He was very much attracted to her but there was never any reciprocation. Ayla simply did not see him that way. Despite this, for years they continued to work together.
“So good of both of you to come so quickly. I’m Dennis Smith,” a short man with white hair said while extending his hand in a friendly gesture. Photodamaged skin made the weathered archaeologist look perhaps older than he was, but the good doctor was only in his early sixties. Half of that was spent in the jungles of Central America.
He was wholly committed to his work, to the detriment of a young and fair lady formally named Ms. Priscilla Moore. She married the doctor contingent upon the understanding that he would leave the jungle by their first anniversary, return to the states where they could start a family, and would take a teaching position at a university. After a lonely decade of life with an absentee husband, she tired of the promises offered her by a man who refused to settle down. Dr. Smith often thought of her and wondered about the possibilities of what his life may have been like had he given in to that demand. The unequivocal conclusion was that despite the fact that he still loved her, he was glad that he had not. He would have been no more than a neutered animal pacing back and forth in a cold cage…irrelevant and useless.
Ayla seemed to be a little starstruck as she shook his hand, “Yes. We’re both big fans of your work. So, this is it? We’ve been in the bush for the last year. I wish we were by the beach…it is so beautiful. I don’t think I would ever tire of it. Looks just like the adverts,” her New Zealand accent was still recognizable despite spending years in the United States and abroad.
“Well, welcome to Tulum!” Dr. Smith said with an appreciative smile while waving an arm out toward the landscape.
“I’m a little confused though. Why would you need our help? Tulum has been swept over with a fine-tooth comb. Well, unless you flew over with a Lidar. That’s why we are so bloody busy right now. Dang thing found another pyramid about sixteen kilometers from Tikal. It’s been an incredible find,” Ayla said.
Lidar was a surveying method done in the air using pulses of laser light over a targeted area. A sensor measured the reflected pulses and returned a three-dimensional image revealing what was under the trees and overgrowth.
“I need a hieroglyph translator of your caliber. I don’t think Lidar would have helped us. It seems that what we have found was a hiding place. Whoever lived here didn’t want anyone to find them. What is really odd is that despite this, they did want to leave a message for someone,” he paused and considered for a second.
“Message about what?” Ayla asked as she took off her sandals and put on a pair of waterproof hiking boots.
“Well, we have about a twelve-kilometer hike into the jungle ahead of us. I will tell you about why I asked you here as we walk. For now,” he pointed into the direction of the men, “this is our guide and security detail, Carlos.” He turned and pointed at the men as he called their names, “Jose, Miguel, and Antonio. They will escort us to the site.”
“Can I ask why we need four armed men to escort us?” John asked abruptly. “How do we know that we can trust them? I’ve seen armed natives attack and rob people before.”
“Jaguars…primarily. Just in case we come across men that are not so pleasant. It’s just a precaution,” the doctor noted.
After the dream and the run-in with his sixth sense earlier, Carlos was in no mood to put up with the man’s attitude especially after the incident with the deckhand. It was time to show the arrogant American who was in charge. He took three steps and stood in front of him then said in English, “You can stay here until we get back. Set up camp on the beach…gringo.”
The actions of the guide seemed to light up John’s face. He was ready for a good fight, “I didn’t come here to sleep on the beach…amigo,” John said through clenched teeth as he leaned in. The archaeologist was anything but intimidated. He walked past Carlos and threw his shoulder into the center of the guide’s chest causing him to take a step back. Carlos took exception and pulled the AR from his shoulder and gave it to Miguel. Dr. Smith held up his hand giving a stand-down order.
“Eh, I’m up to go hiking. Back into the wop-wops,” she said eager to get the trek over with. John caught up to her and she looked at him in a disapproving manner. “You going to act like this the whole time?” she asked.
“I’m good as long as Jose—”
“His name is Carlos,” she interrupted with a frown.
“Whatever. As long as he stays out of my way…it's all good.” John said as he stepped onto the trail.
“This way,” Dr. Smith pointed toward an opening by some large rocks that took them away from the beach and to higher ground. As they followed the trail, it led to the outer wall of the ruins of Tulum and beyond. He began to explain. “As you know, every archaeologist or historian has some kind of theory or story or justification for why the Mayan empire seemed to start collapsing around the ninth century. The most common theory, as you know, was that they became overpopulated, exhausted the land, drought, famine, war, and all these other reasons. With two million plus people living in a little over seventy-six thousand square miles, it is not an unreasona
ble consideration. The cities to the north managed to continue to flourish until the Spanish invasion around fifteen twenty-one…or so. Why were the people to the south struggling while the north continued to flourish if there was a massive drought or that the land was unable to support them? I’ve never been able to justify that theory.”
As they traveled further from Tulum, the jungle’s growth became thick with fronds from the smaller royal palms that seemed to number in the millions. Often Ayla could identify the limbs of African Tulips, Lebbeck trees, and the occasional Ciricote as she pushed them out of her way. “We are really in the wop-wops now. But it really is beautiful out here. The flowers, the greenery.” The path they were following looked as if very little effort had been exhausted in cutting it out. Palm fronds brushed together and formed a canopy that seemed to be better suited for a small animal and was too low for a person. She ran into several limbs that were invisible due to the density of the hanging palm fronds, “Bloody rabbit trail. It’s not cut in very well.”
“Well, I apologize, but that was part of the plan. We didn’t want to create an inviting path…something that would be intriguing to an average person. Especially a tourist.”
“Almost top secret? Nice,” John said sounding almost positive for the first time.
Dr. Smith suddenly appeared to be uncomfortable and gave a look of uncertainty as he turned to Ayla and John, “Look, what I am about to tell you…well, please don’t think that I am crazy until you have seen everything.”
“Okay, no worries,” Ayla replied.
“A month ago, when I was taking a break, I noticed this very game trail and for some reason, I followed it. It could have led me to a Jaguar for all I knew. I’m not certain, but I guess I got caught up in the scenery and the adventure of where it could lead. After a long while…not really sure how long, I found something.”
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