by Steve Alten
Jake, wait—
Jacob’s mind pushes free and slips out of the netherworld, his vacancy tossing Lilith’s own consciousness back into reality.
The girl opens her eyes in time to witness Quenton step out of his boxer shorts, exposing himself to her. ‘Now don’t ya’ll worry. See this? It’s slidey cream. Slidey cream makes every-thin’ feel real good inside.’
Jacob help me …
‘Jacob!’
Longboat Key, Florida
‘Jacob!’
Jake opens his eyes. He is on the beach, his mother calling for him.
The white-haired boy hustles up to the house.
‘Jake, I want you to meet someone,’ Dominique says. ‘This is Craig Basedorfer. Mr. Basedorfer will be overseeing internal security while Salt and Pepper are away.’
Jacob nods at the older gentleman, who looks more like a librarian than a security expert.
Solomon Adashek nods at the boy, his thin lips pursing in a forced smile. ‘A pleasure to finally meet you, young man. Mr. Kurtz and Mr. Beck have told me so much about you.’
‘Like what?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What have they told you?’
‘Well, for one thing, that you’re quite the athlete. Mrs. Gabriel, perhaps you can call your other son in, there are a few new procedures I need to go over with all of you before you go to bed.’
‘Manny’s probably in the SOSUS lab.’
‘No,’ Jacob says. ‘I saw him playing basketball.’
‘Okay, I’ll be right back.’ Dominique heads outside, leaving her son alone with the government-trained killer.
‘Jacob, I have something for you, a little gift from the CIA.’ Solomon Adashek removes the small cigar-sized canister from his jacket pocket, popping open the seal on the pressurized lid as he aims it at the boy.
‘What … iz… . zit.’ Jake hears his words echoing hauntingly in his brain as the room spins, and he falls into the psychopath’s reptilian-cold embrace.
Mabus Estate 8:47 p.m.
Mike Renyze, Peter Mabus’s 260-pound ‘personal assistant’ greets Mitchell Kurtz at the front door. ‘Who da fuck’re you? Where’s Maurice?’
‘Maurice got sick on some bad X. I’m covering his shift.’ Kurtz hands the larger man the thermal pouch.’
From his thermal scanner, Beck watches with amusement as a white-hot spark ignites at the front door, and the hulking form collapses. He taps his communicator. ‘That’s twice you’ve used the same gimmick. What do you have in mind for our man?’
‘He gets tonight’s special.’ Kurtz drags the unconscious assistant into the bushes, then enters the mansion. He follows the polished marble floor to the back of the house and out through the kitchen to the back porch. ‘Mr. Mabus?’
Peter Mabus looks up from his lounge chair. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘Maurice’s cousin, Phillip. The chef at Le Vielle Maison sent something special for you tonight to go along with your entrees. Your bodyguard said he’ll take it if you can’t finish it.’
Mabus approaches, intrigued. ‘So? What is it?’
Kurtz reaches into his thermal pouch and removes a fifteen-pound lobster, holding the animal by its tail. ‘Is this a beauty or what?’
Mabus’s mouth waters. ‘I like it, give it to me.’
Kurtz squeezes a trigger hidden in the lobster’s belly.
Two darts shoot out from the claw openings, puncturing Mabus’s chest.
The billionaire’s eyes roll up as he collapses to the wood deck.
Kurtz shoves the lobster-gun back inside the pouch, then bends over Mabus. Checks his pulse. ‘Pep, he’s out.’
‘Better move fast, the kid’s left his room.’
Kurtz removes the two darts and tosses them in the pouch. Removes the hypodermic needle from his belt.
‘He’s coming down the steps.’
Kurtz removes Mabus’s sandal, then injects the clear elixir between the big man’s toes.
‘First floor, heading for the kitchen.’
Kurtz replaces the sandal. Gathers his thermal pouch.
‘Five seconds … move!’
Kurtz hurries out the back porch, hustling silently down the walkway to the beach.
Twelve-year-old Lucien Mabus stubs his cigarette out in an ashtray, then heads outside. ‘Hope dinner’s ready, I’m starving. Dad? Oh, shit—’
The boy bends over his prone father. Presses his ear to his chest. ‘Rempe, get in here, Dad’s having a heart attack! Walker? Maurice?’
Peter Mabus’s pulse ceases long before the ambulance arrives.
From the sundeck of their rented yacht a half mile offshore, Beck and Kurtz feast on lobster and fillet tips, the light show provided courtesy of the Hampton Police Department.
Gabriel Compound 9:02 p.m.
Jacob’s head throbs in pain. His arms are pinned behind his back, his wrists and ankles in handcuffs.
He forces his eyes open, bile rising in his throat as he takes in the scene.
His mother is seated across the room, bound by duct tape to a wicker chair. Her hair is tousled, her eyes wild above the gag as the slight, middle-aged predator methodically finishes taping her ankles before turning his attention to Jacob’s twin brother.
Manny is bent chest down over the kitchen table, his arms splayed and bound over the granite top, his lower body dangling free.
Solomon Adashek pulls up a kitchen chair and sits beside the boy. Liver-spotted hands gently probe the unconscious youth’s hairless muscular legs, savoring the moment before pulling down the boy’s boxer shorts, exposing his bare bottom.
Jacob and Dominique grunt and groan as if jolted by electricity, thrashing within their bonds.
Solomon looks up, his eyes cold and twinkling, his thin mouth grinning like a snake.
Jacob’s heart beats like a timpani drum, his adrenal glands pumping like a river—
—as the room seems to brighten, and time suddenly slows to a crawl.
Through waves of invisible energy, he forces himself off the ground, balancing within his shackles. He struggles with all his might against the steel handcuffs.
No use … I can’t break free!
Eyeing his mother, he bunny-hops toward her as Solomon Adashek’s head slowly turns toward him, his eyebrows raising in surprise.
Jacob jumps off the ground and double-kicks the man as hard as he can in the chest, sending him headfirst over the kitchen table.
Lactic acid washes over the boy’s muscles as he bends to his mother, the fingers of his shackled hands tearing at her bonds, ripping apart the duct tape.
Freed, Dominique springs out of her chair, pulling the tape from her mouth. She rushes toward the mantel and grabs the Katana, the larger of the two Japanese swords on display.
Jacob collapses to the floor, his exhausted muscles quivering, his body bathed in sweat.
Solomon Adashek shakes the cobwebs from his brain. He rolls over on the kitchen floor—
—gazing up at Dominique Gabriel, who stands over him, her eyes breathing fire.
Raising the Katana high above her head, she rasps out a command, ‘Jacob, look away. Mommy doesn’t want you to see this.’
Jacob stares, his azure-blue eyes widening in glee as his mother’s Katana loops downward in one magnificent slash, separating Solomon Adashek’s head from his body.
PART 5
ADOLESCENCE
Nothing in life is to be feared, only understood.
—MADAME MARIE CURIE
Discipline is the highest form of intelligence.
—ENNIS CHANEY
13
SEVEN YEARS LATER
OCTOBER 23, 2027: GABRIEL COMPOUND, LONGBOAT KEY, FLORIDA
The government-appointed psychiatrist continues jotting down notes on a smart-pad, his presence in Dominique’s living room more than a bit unnerving. ‘Go on, Mrs. Gabriel.’
Dominique’s hand quivers as she tucks her hair behind her ears. ‘Jacob thinks he’s S
uperman, and a few of his trainers—you know, all the Smith and Jones CIA guys, I think they encourage it. Jake’s ego’s out of hand, and God help you if you try to argue with him, unless you want an earful about Mayan Under Lords and Death Gods. He quotes endless passages from the goddam Popol Vuh. Xibalba this and Xibalba that—’
‘Xibalba?’ Dr. Shyam Tanna looks up from his smart-pad. ‘Please, what is Xibalba?’
‘The Mayan Underworld, a place he’s convinced his father was exiled to. This is all my fault. I was so stupid, letting his Aunt Evelyn brainwash me. I never should have given Jake his grandfather’s journal or let him read all that Mayan mumbo jumbo. I created a … a Mayan monster.’
‘Mrs. Gabriel, while Jacob’s fantasies concern me, my primary reason in seeing you today was to talk to you about your son’s I.Q. To say it’s way off the scale is almost an insult to Jacob.’
‘I know. His brain’s like a sponge, it absorbs everything.’
‘Of that I have no doubt. However, it is this Hunahpu gene that causes us the greatest concern. Extensive analysis of the chromosomes affected by the gene indicate that Jacob’s condition lends itself to an extreme form of schizophrenia. Now, I’ve taken the time to review his father’s medical records and—’
‘Mick wasn’t schizophrenic!’
‘He was diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic by two major institutions.’
‘It was all a setup. Pierre Borgia wanted him put away permanently.’
‘Perhaps. But consider the possibility that Michael Gabriel showed signs of oncoming dementia—signs that, emotionally, your heart refused to allow you to see. And with Jacob, the Hunahpu gene appears much more dominant.’
‘What are you telling me? That I should institutionalize my son?’
‘If not now, then at the first sign of dementia.’
‘Forget it, I won’t do it, and he’d never stand for it anyway.’
‘And that, in itself, is a problem. An adolescent with Jacob’s strength and intelligence makes for a very difficult individual to rear, let alone control. What will you do when the schizophrenia takes over and Jacob starts responding to commands from his Mayan warlords? What if he claims to be receiving messages from his long-lost father? You were a psych major, Mrs. Gabriel. You know the ramifications if you fail to act. Jacob could easily hurt himself, or worse, he could hurt his brother.’
‘We can medicate him. There’s so many new prescription drugs that—’
‘Nothing strong enough to handle this. Mrs. Gabriel, Jacob needs to be placed in a controlled environment where we can properly monitor his condition while protecting him from himself.’
‘Just call it what it really is, Doctor. You want to imprison him in one of your fancy labs.’
2:17 a.m.
Small waves lap at the beach beneath a cloud-covered night sky.
Fourteen-year-old Jacob Gabriel settles himself into a lotus position and closes his eyes, focusing inward.
Jaaaaacob. The female’s voice seduces him from beyond the mist.
Cut it out, Lilith, I can’t speak with you now.
You never seem to have time for me lately, she pouts.
Hey, you’re the one with all the friends.
Jealous?
No.
Liar. I have loads of friends and you only have your stupid brother, and he can’t stand you.
Whatever.
By the way, Brandy says she wants to come with me when I meet you. She’s already checked into bus tickets.
Lilith, I told you, my mother won’t allow you into the compound. If she even suspected I was talking to someone with Hunahpu blood, she’d never give me another moment alone.
Well, we can’t allow that. You’d never be able to play with yourself.
Shut up.
Do you think of me when you masturbate?
God, Lilith … I think you’ve been hanging out with Brandy too long.
Does your mommy expect you to be celibate all your life?
I told you before, it’s the whole Abomination thing. It makes her paranoid.
Jacob, we weren’t created in a lab. There must be a thousand other people out there with Hunahpu blood. Maybe ten thousand. As for this crazy Abomination thing, I was born a full eight months after you and your brother. Want me to e-mail you my birth certificate again?
No.
Then sneak out of the compound and meet me at a hotel.
I can’t. Lilith, I want to be with you, but things are crazy around here right now.
How can we ever get married if we can’t even arrange a simple date?
What makes you so sure I want to marry you?
Because we’re soul mates and you love me … and you like girls with long hair and big breasts. Want me to e-mail you another picture?
No, I mean, uh yeah, sure. I like that last one. Just make sure that crazy old bastard doesn’t catch you in the bathroom with the digital.
If I don’t meet you soon, maybe I’ll just have to let Quenton have his way with me.
Shut up and go to sleep.
Bye lover. Say hi to daddy for me.
Bye.
Jacob waits until her presence disappears before refocusing his mind.
Father? Father, please answer, it’s been so long since our last communication. Father, please, there are things I need to know—
I’m here, Jacob. I’m here.
Finally! Where have you been? I’ve tried for so long to reach you.
The movement of space-time affects our ability to communicate. I missed you, son.
Me too. There’s so much I want to tell you. Is it safe to talk?
Yes. I can feel newfound strength in your communication, making it harder for the Abomination to track our thoughts. How old are you now?
Fourteen.
Fourteen. My God. How is your mother?
Not good. The passage of time is causing her to lose faith. She’s doubting her existence as First Mother.
The journey’s hard on her. You haven’t told her about me?
No. She couldn’t deal with it.
And your brother?
Manny still shows no signs of becoming Hunahpu.
You need to be strong for the two of them.
Father, I want to talk more about humanity’s fate. I need you to teach me more about my journey to come.
Imagine time as multilayered highways of energy. As third-dimensional beings, we can only move forward along our own particular level at sublight speed, which we equate to the present. By increasing our speed beyond that of light, we can sling ourselves farther up the highway in relation to our sub light-speed friends, but we cannot move backward in time unless we access an off-ramp that takes us back down the highway from which we began. Wormholes are such highways—gravitational conduits, powered by the massive black hole located at the center of our galaxy. Wormholes provide us the means of looping backward or forward along the space-time continuum.
Sometime in your near future, humanity will find itself following a section of highway that splits our species. The survivors will be taken down a wormhole off-ramp that loops sublight time. The rest of humanity will blindly follow a stretch of road that leads to a dead-end … the end of our species.
The Popol Vuh’s Creation Myth tells of the Hero Twins’ presence in Xibalba, an event that already happened.
Correct.
Father, if it already happened, then why are we reliving it?
The Popol Vuh tells of what we hope will come to pass, but the myth is not accurate. The truth is, you and your brother failed in your first attempt.
We failed?
Yes. Fortunately, humanity was granted a second chance when the Guardian took the Balam back through the wormhole and ended up at Earth, 65 million years in the past.
And what’s to prevent us from failing again? Manny’s not even Hunahpu. I don’t see how we can win over this Abomination.
You’ll win this time because I’m going to help you. I can be your eyes, advisi
ng you which road to take. I can prepare you in much the same way the Guardian tried to prepare me.
Then do it, teach me! Tell me what happened to you after you entered the serpent’s mouth and disappeared.
