Mayan Darkness (A Hank Boyd Adventure Book 2) (The Hank Boyd Adventures)

by Matthew James

  He found the partially filled pot halfway across the room, lying on the gold covered floor. Realizing he was foolishly holding his breath, Frost still couldn’t work up the courage to inhale. Just in case, he thought.

  He carefully picked up the dangerously opened piece of masonry and resealed the lid, finding the top close by. Once sealed, Frost then pulled out his encrypted phone and took a picture of it, pocketing the device once the photo proved to be of good quality.

  He then unbuckled his belt and placed the pot in an airtight vacu-sealed specimen container that was attached to it. After reconnecting it, he turned to leave and tripped over something. He looked down at what he stumbled over and flinched at the sight of Dr. Xander Weaver’s body. He laid there, covered in his own blood, a puncture wound in his chest. The ground underneath the older man was drenched—blood soaked—in crimson.

  How’d I miss that?

  “Looks like the Aussie got a little frisky,” Frost said, admiring the young man’s handy work. “Ruthless little shit, wasn’t he? I just figured the old man succumbed to the outbreak.” He wouldn’t take any from this section, but he’d gladly procure whatever else he could. It’s not like I don’t’ have the time, he thought as he stepped over the man’s corpse.

  Cutting off communications to the outside world was the easy part. He set up a remote jamming station over near where he had observed the disaster. It would be at least another day’s time before he would have to clear out. Comms in this part of the world were iffy at best and no one would be the wiser until the next morning.

  As he got down on all fours to reenter the tunnel, Frost noticed a human skull cracked and broken on the floor. He looked at it and then glanced back to the open coffin, instantly making the connection.

  “Well old friend, what can I say but…thanks.” He gave the skull a mock salute, continuing forward through the passageway, back towards the now silent excavation.

  When Frost exited, he stood, surveying the damage. Thirty-plus people dead and no survivors.

  He frowned.

  Not at the thought of what happened here, but because he didn’t get to use his new toy. The XM25 Counter Defilade Target Engagement System was a rifle-like weapon that used a laser-guided, micro-chipped, explosive round. You could point it at a target hiding behind a wall and the weapon would help you compute the distance so the round would detonate right over the targets head.

  Oh well, Frost thought. Another time. He then headed back to his hidden truck. Before he left he took out his phone, finding enough reception to send the picture he took of the find to the only number programmed into it.

  He smiled wide when not ten seconds after receiving the text, an amount of five million dollars was deposited into one of his untraceable bank accounts. Frost grinned with delight in receiving the first half of his payment. He would eventually receive the other half after the pot was delivered. But that wouldn’t be for a few more days.

  After feeling much satisfaction in a job well done, Frost hoofed it back to the hillside and collected his equipment. Had he stopped to check the closest research tent, he would have found the unconscious, but alive form of Dr. Olivia Dubois.

  6

  Chichen Itza, Yucatan, Mexico

  Half an hour later, I emerge from the bathroom freshly showered and mostly awake. I won’t be fully cognizant for at least another hour, maybe two. One cup of coffee just isn’t enough anymore. Do they have energy drinks down here? I hope so…

  The trek to the second most visited archaeological site in Mexico only takes us a few minutes. Conveniently, there are plenty of hotels outside the grounds—ours included. We arrive at our destination a couple minutes later by shuttle service provided by the Dolores Alba Hotel and make our way towards the park's front gates.

  This is kind of an undercover reconnaissance mission of sorts, so we dress the part. Kane and I both have on the standard American-male tourist attire, complete with hiking boots and hats. I still have on my trusty Detroit Tigers baseball cap and Kane, being the big kid of the group, has on his authentic Indiana Jones fedora. We also carry the latest and greatest Nikon cameras around our necks. Personally, I have no idea how to use the damn thing. It’s all for show anyway, so I hope I don’t look like a moron while pretending to take pictures.

  The problem is that we still stick out like a pair of sore thumbs. For instance, I’m six-foot-two and Kane is a monstrous six-six. We look nothing like the other men here. But, that’s where Nicole comes into play.

  She steps up next to me, intertwining her fingers with mine, publicly playing the role of blonde bombshell girlfriend, which she does fabulously. She then leans into me, lifts a foot off the ground, and gives me a playful peck on my cheek, making a show of it. Her job here is to be the center of attention and keep it off Kane and me, which is pretty easy for her to do. Have you seen this woman? I always make the mental comparison to Scarlett Johansson’s looks, with UFC Champion Ronda Rousey’s muscle tone…and ferocity.

  She steps forward showing off her flawless figure, which has been accentuated by her form fitting clothing. Her white tank and hip hugging khaki shorts are going to get some guy in trouble with his wife as we stroll through the gift shop area, for sure. As we enter and make our way into the front section of the park, I notice that not a single person has even noticed Kane or me. Even the women are staring at Nicole, but for very different reasons. They have pure hatred in their eyes. The men…well…you get the picture.

  There are also two accessories that the three of us have in common—and no, it has nothing to do with Victoria’s secret. First off, we all have on Oakley sunglasses, only these aren’t your typical make and model. These are the next-gen design of the Night Vision Specs, the NVS2, from the boys in the CIA.

  We recently used a prototype, the NVS1, in the underground necropolis in Algeria and have since been outfitted with these.

  The new-and-improved model is light sensitive and the lenses turn clear when there is no direct contact with UV rays, turning them into your run-of-the-mill shooters glasses. Not only do they still have their night-vision capabilities, but they now feature an ultra-clear high-def video camera installed in the frame’s bridge. This is made possible by more technological mumbo-jumbo I don’t understand. All I know is how to use them, but it’s why our very over-priced Nikon cameras are now just expensive props.

  There are two feeds—one belonging to Nicole and the other to Kane. They pop up inside the outer edge of the lenses, one on each side, for me to see. I can turn off the feed, which can be a little distracting sometimes, by way of a tiny little button on the left temple arm. The right temple arm still holds the night-vision on/off switch from the original prototype. Pretty nifty, huh?

  Also, they feature a handy mapping tool too. Before our op, we downloaded as much information on Chichen Itza as we could, nearly filling up the database. But that wouldn’t be enough according to the software’s creator, a man named Todd Jenkins.

  This is the key reason why we need to do a walk-through first. The main-frame that our NVS2 is linked to, can then plug-in the missing specifications that can only come from our own personal line-of-sight. Once installed, a variable light-show will appear and it will look like a Heads-Up Display (HUD). It’s the same thing you’d see in a first-person shooter video game.

  What’s really cool is that Todd can contact us anytime directly through our NVS2, via earpiece or on-screen teleconference. Kane describes Todd’s job to be as our techno-geek guardian angel.

  The second thing we have in common is our backpacks. They all look like heavily worn North Face hiking packs but have a handy-dandy feature. Concealed inside of the Tactical Backpack’s main compartment are our weapons. Inside Nicole’s Tac-Pac, she carries her weapon of choice, a lightweight Ruger SR22 pistol, while I now carry a new Glock G41 .45 variant with the all new Modular Optic System.

  The MOS gives the shooter an added bonus when aiming, using a large red-dot sight through a specially made re
ticle sight mounted on the rear of the slide.

  Red equals dead, I thought to myself, recalling the first time I laid eyes on it. Nicole and Kane gave me a sideways glance when choosing it. We had test fired about a dozen different weapons and this is the one I liked the best. Plus, I’m an amateur when it comes to this crap, so I also chose it because it looked badass.

  And of course, as you would expect, Kane still hefts around his Mark XIX .50 A.E. Desert Eagle hand cannon, because, “Why the hell, not?” as he so eloquently put it when asked. Oh, and by the way…he carries two of them.

  From behind, our packs have a cross section with the weapons and ammo on the bottom. The bottom left of my pack holds the ammo, while the bottom right holds my gun. Nicole’s Tac-Pac is flipped since she is left handed and Kane carries a completely different bundle since he holds “Chip and Dale” in the base of his. The gun’s nicknames are something we haven’t been able to get out of the big lug. He refuses to tell us why he named them that. One day I’ll get it out of him.

  The pack has storage for half a dozen spare magazines each as well. We carried three extra mags back under the Sahara, and with what we went through, Kane thought it best to double the load from now on and go with six.

  “You can never have overkill when it comes to ammunition,” he had said when I asked, and with the shit that went down in Algeria, I completely agreed.

  The backpack’s Quick-Draw pouch is a fun little feature too. The siding is basically a Velcro-sealed false wall that allows its wearer to reach around, behind their back and inside the bag. Just past the flap is your preferred weapon’s grip, so you can grab it and “draw” it out quickly, effectively acting as a hidden holster. The reverse side is the same for our secondary magazines.

  We also have a water reservoir, complete with a straw-like valve. It takes up the top half of the backpack, along with an outer pocket full of energy bars and other snacks.

  I’m not exactly sure how we got them into the park, but Kane assured me that the Tac-Pac’s “special” lining would prevent the contents from being detected by any type of x-ray device we may encounter along the way, like an airport’s x-ray machine at the check-in line, for one.

  “I’m not entirely sure how the tech works,” Kane said when explaining the upgrade to us a few weeks ago. He said that there was some sort of magnetic field produced by a hidden power source in our bags that blocks the something or other and blah, blah, blah. It’s all German to me.

  We continue forward following a group of real tourists listening in on their guide’s spiel. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us here this morning at Chichen Itza, home to the Temple of Warriors, the Sacred Cenote, the famous Ball Court, and of course El Castillo—the Castle—or as some of you know it, Kukulkan’s Pyramid. The word Kukulkan translates as ‘feathered serpent’ and…”

  I zone out as we step into a clearing, revealing the massive structure. It’s unbelievable when up close. I know a little about this particular temple from some research I did on my own a couple years back. The Castle’s construction, for one, is impressive for the sole fact that its four sides face exactly towards the four compass points (north, south, east, and west). It also has nine steps or platforms receding from the ground up, which gives its finished look to that of a standard geometric pyramid.

  The Mesoamerican step-pyramid has four central staircases that stretch from ground level, some ninety-one steps, to the temple platform at its peak. A “feathered serpent” runs along the sides of the northern staircase looking almost like a decorative handrail. It’s said that during the spring and autumn equinoxes, when the sun sets and shadows hit the stairs, a snake-like effect will slither its way down the steps.

  Too bad we aren’t here during that, I’m sure it’d be cool to see, I think as we approach the structure.

  We continue our way around the temple complex and gather as much information as we can. We’ll collect everything through our video-sunglasses as we scan the entire park, searching every nook-and-cranny the site has to offer, documenting everything. We are then led to the ball court and then eventually the cenote, following our shepherd like good little lambs.

  * * *

  Two men and a woman watched from a distance, following along in another crowd, but paid it no attention. They were there to observe Boyd and his team. The trio was ordered not to make a move…yet.

  “Can’t we just take them now?” Asked one of the men.

  “Shut it, Murphy! We have our orders,” barked the woman.

  “But it would be so easy…” Murphy said eyes on the target, slowly reaching to the small of his back where his pistol was holstered.

  “You idiot! If you so much as touch your weapon, I’ll put a bullet in your head myself!” she replied with venom in her voice, still tracking her prey. “We have orders to observe and not interact—not until the rest of the team arrives. Is that clear?”

  “And when is that?” Murphy asked. “Tonight,” replied the woman.

  Sara Carter, known as Raven in her profession, was a zero-tolerance, no-nonsense type of person. That was the reason she was chosen to be a Unit Leader for Broadsword Inc., her employer. She was often asked to lead a team during BSI’s high-priority jobs—the only woman in the organization to do so. She never jumped the gun, and she never disobeyed an order. Raven was also the only non-ex-Special Forces member of Sword. She was that good. Plus, she was screwing the boss.

  Raven always smiled at the thought of manipulating those higher than her. But, if it came down to just her skills…she would still be in Sword. Just maybe not at her current position leading a strike team.

  Thank God Frost is a horny bastard, she thought.

  Raven again scowled at the dullard standing next to her. Being dumb and reckless had rarely worked out for her fellow mercenaries in the past. She had seen countless die just for underestimating the target. She wouldn’t make the same mistake, not when they had Captain Kane with them. She had been briefed thoroughly on who he was, remembering most of the information by heart.

  At the ripe age of eighteen, a tall and strong Jeremy Kane from B.F.E., Montana enlisted in the United States Army. He was a D student and had no family to speak of in the area.

  Raven didn’t know what happened to them, but that’s what the file supplied by Frost had said.

  Kane signed up for career officer training and obtained his Captain ranking in record time, being top of his class from day one. He specialized in heavy weapons and demolition.

  Boys will be boys, Raven thought. Big guns and even bigger explosions.

  When out on a covert assignment fighting the drug cartels in Colombia, Kane suffered a catastrophic injury, saving three of his men in the process—including one John Frost.

  G.I. Joe, Raven thought. A real American hero.

  7

  Colombia

  5 Years Earlier

  “Holy shit, Captain! We gotta’ move, now!”

  The nine men were under heavy fire as soon as they stepped foot into the abandoned school yard. They originally landed three miles south of the collection of rundown, dilapidated buildings so they could arrive silently, leaving a limited footprint behind. The school itself was actually their target, a cleverly disguised cocaine production plant.

  Captain Jeremy Kane, of the United States Army, led what was left of his twelve-man assault team out of the frying pan and deeper into the fire. The men from the 3rd Ranger Battalion, Alpha Company, sprinted through the main hall of the long closed institution.

  They had come in low and quiet hoping not to arouse suspicion, but unfortunately, they came across a two-man patrol just outside the playground area. One of the hostiles got a shot off, alerting more men to their position.

  Kane had already lost three men, all near the jungle gym just outside the west entrance to the central building. A skillfully hidden claymore was set up in a bottleneck between the aforementioned jungle gym and the swing set. The first three men through didn’t make i
t. Of the nine remaining Rangers, four were also injured during the blast, but thankfully not too severely.

  Kane took four of the men and went north towards the cafeteria. His number two, a man named J.R. Brooks, took the remaining men east towards the gymnasium. If they timed the assault right, whatever was left of the facility’s security team would be kept busy with Kane’s “dummy” team. The real threat would actually come from the other group, a demolitions team.

  Their mission was simple enough. Check for hostages, take out the facility, and then high-tail it back to the LZ. Kane’s team was after the hostages, but got pinned down halfway there and was forced around their original route.

  He checked around a corner and didn’t see anyone. They cautiously continued, passing what looked like offices and a teacher’s lounge.

  A door at the end of hall slammed open, followed by a barrage of gunfire, which erupted all around him. Kane dove backwards, fully depressing the trigger on his M4, strafing the hallway. As soon as he hit the ground, he rolled right and ducked safely behind the corner he just came around. It was a miracle he wasn’t hit and killed.

  “You okay, Captain?” yelled one of the soldiers as he pulled Kane to his feet. The three other men had already taken up positions firing down the hall.

  Kane just nodded, scolding himself for not taking extra caution. “I’m fine. We need to move—go around them.” He signaled for his men to take the stairs behind them up to the second floor.

  Before he himself went, Kane removed two grenades from their respective Multi-Cam pouches and pulled the pins. He counted and threw each of the grenades to either side of the hallway and sprinted up the steps.

  The explosion in the tight confines of the hallway was deafening, but it got the job done…for now. The firing near the offices ceased, meaning the combatants were either dead or had fled to regroup. Either way, it would give him and his team a few seconds respite. Those who needed to reload did, while the others covered them.