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

by Matthew James

  “It’s an ankh...” I say in shock, trailing off into thought.

  Up until our excursion under the Sahara, I would have only associated the ankh symbol with that of ancient Egypt, but now…I know better. The ankh is and has always been the emblem of Thoth: The Last King of Atlantis.

  18

  Blairsville, Georgia, USA

  He paced around his office, awaiting a phone call he was notified he would be getting shortly. He wasn’t generally a nervous man, but he knew when to be scared of someone.

  This was that time.

  Bzzz.

  His phone vibrated on his desk and he quickly answered it, “This is Frost.”

  “Mr. Frost, it’s a pleasure to finally speak with you,” the caller said.

  Up until now, Frost was under the assumption that he was in contact with the number two in the Zero hierarchy. The previous caller, while authoritative, was most definitely not the person in charge. They were always having to, “get back to him,” as they would usually say. The fact that the group’s leader wanted to speak with him directly was either a good thing…or a very bad thing.

  “It’s a pleasure to speak with you too…”

  The digitized voice made it impossible for Frost to learn the gender of the speaker, masking their emotions as well. He doubted that the software his phone was attached to could break through the defenses either, but it was worth a try. He also doubted the tracking system would find anything either. These people, as he knew first hand, were pros.

  “You may call me, Coaxoch,” the robotic voice said, pronouncing the name, Coa-zok.

  “Okay, Coaxoch. What can I do for you?” Frost asked, skipping the pleasantries and getting right to it.

  “I have been told that your mission in the Yucatan was half-successful, but the people I want dead are still alive.”

  Coaxoch was, of course, referring to the successful theft of the pot containing the biologic, of which he kept in a safe in his basement. The unsuccessful part would be the failed assassination of Hank Boyd’s team.

  “Mr. Boyd and his team have proved…elusive,” Frost replied, gritting his teeth as he spoke. He did it so often in fact, that he wore a grind guard while he slept. I may need to start wearing it during the day. “Boyd has had help from various sources around the world like—”

  “Like your former Captain?” Coaxoch interrupted.

  Frost scowled at the mention of Jeremy Kane. He personally knew the man to be incredibly resilient and very resourceful, especially since his hiring into the CIA. Kane was truly a man to fear, the only person he did fear…until now. Even though he didn’t know the caller’s identity, man or woman, he knew they were not to be trifled with. Asking for more money was one thing, but their honor was another. If he dishonored these people, he’d be a dead man.

  “Mr. Frost?” His employer asked, noticing his extended silence.

  “Yes?” He said. “Sorry, go on.”

  “We will not accept another failure this time around. Your team’s ineptness has been noted, both in Algeria and again at Chichen Itza. We do not tolerate a third strike. Is that clear?”

  Being a former soldier and now a killer for hire, Frost didn’t take well to threats. “Is that a threat, Coaxoch?” He asked, but immediately wished he hadn’t.

  “Take it as you want, Mr. Frost,” Coaxoch coolly replied, unafraid. “We have existed for as long as mankind has, we have eyes everywhere.”

  An uncomfortable pause followed the bluntly stated threat, causing Frost to become irritated. “Is there anything else I can do for you Coaxoch?”

  “The target,” Coaxoch replied.

  “The target?”

  “Yes, Mr. Frost. We have chosen Washington D.C. as our delivery point.”

  “Washington?” Frost asked, a little thrown back. He had assumed they would use this stuff on some foreign government or group of people, not the United States. “You want to set off a weaponized version of this stuff in the nation’s capital?”

  “Yes,” Coaxoch answered in the emotionless digital voice. “The reason is for us to know and for you to follow. Is there a problem with the target?”

  Frost thought about the ramifications of this move. The agent would spread over the capital in hours, killing everything and then move along the coast, spreading like a tsunami. All of North America—Canada included—would be wiped out in a matter of days with as fast as this stuff worked.

  It would then cross the border into Mexico and push through Central America until it crossed into South America, where it would keep going until there was nothing left to kill.

  There would be survivors for sure, anyone lucky enough to stay out of its way, but the majority of people would die. And he would be the one to sentence them. He would be responsible for the deaths of millions—maybe billions. But what could he do? If he said no, he’d be dead by tomorrow.

  His cold logic and selfish motives took over, back-seating his emotions for the time being, “Very good, but my fee has now doubled with this added task.”

  Another long silence commenced and Frost prayed he didn’t just put a price on his own head.

  He swallowed hard and continued, “Also, if you truly want me to succeed, I’m going to need everything.”

  “Everything?” Coaxoch asked.

  “Yes, everything,” Frost replied. “I’m going to need as much information as you have on what Boyd is looking for and the history of it all. I need to know where he is going before he gets there. If you have pertinent information regarding this, I need it all.”

  He then heard the audible clicking of someone typing at a keyboard no doubt searching for files and what not.

  “Very well, Mr. Frost. Goodbye.”

  The line went dead and Frost plopped down into his chair, sweating. Shit. As of this moment, he would now carry the contract of every living thing between the Artic and the Strait of Magellan.

  Needing to clear his head, he woke his computer and Googled the name Coaxoch. The search came up with nothing except its meaning in Nahuatl-Aztec, Flower Serpent. Aztec? Flower serpent? Okay, he thought. Probably a fake name, or something.

  There wasn’t a single shred of evidence of the name anywhere in the modern world. The only entry found was the mention of an Aztecan queen back around the time of Teotihuacan’s fall. Frost knew the Aztec empire fell under mysterious circumstances—

  His eyes widened, as he turned them to the floor. Directly below his feet was the safe where the pot was sealed and locked away.

  Could it be? Frost thought, his sweat now turning cold.

  Shaking his head, clearing his thoughts, he went back to the task at hand. He knew the next time a situation came up where Boyd and company needed to be taken care of, he’d do it personally, either with the bio-weapon in his safe or with a bullet. But before he could kill them, he needed to find them. They had all but disappeared after his team’s failed hit at Chichen Itza.

  BING.

  His phone chimed, telling him he had a new message. Glancing down, he saw it was, in fact, an email, sent to him by an unknown username…and it was big.

  Switching from his phone to his computer, he reopened the email and clicked on the file, unzipping the contents, saving it to his supercomputer's hard drive. Frost opened it, scanning the contents half-heartedly until he found a section labeled with half a dozen distinct ancient cultures.

  “What the…” He said to himself.

  The first said Algeria and the second said Yucatan. It’s when his eyes fell upon the last—a sixth—he gasped aloud. It can’t be, he thought to himself. I thought there were only five?

  He opened the folder, his eyes going wide in shock. This could be the greatest find in archaeological history if, in fact, it turns out to be what he thought it was.

  Frost shook the revelation from his thoughts, minimized the folder, and got back on task. The mouse arrow swiftly moved as he scrolled around his desktop, hovering over an app he installed for one specific purpose. He d
ouble-clicked on it, opening up its window and with it a whole bunch of color coded indicator lights.

  The one on the far left was the jamming device he left behind on Jaina Island and it would be glowing a steady green when active.

  It was red. Off.

  Frost frowned at the thought of his device being found and most likely destroyed, but then smiled because he knew who was there. Kane must have found it, he thought, completely unaware of Olivia Dubois’ survival and the jamming equipment’s subsequent destruction-by-pickax at the hands of the woman.

  His thumb hovered over the number labeled Ronin in his personal cell phone. He knew the man by reputation only, having never met the assassin, but Frost knew the man was ruthless. Preparing for the worst, he had Ronin standing by, just in case his targets turned up. Looks like it paid off.

  He clicked on it, choosing to send a text message and simply wrote, green light. Ronin would see to the rest.

  19

  Isla de Jaina, Campeche, Mexico

  “Please be careful,” I plead to Nicole as she wraps her hand around the ornate hilt. We need to inspect the sword to verify that it was indeed used to kill Dr. Weaver. The puncture wound in his chest should be enough and so should the congealed blood surrounding the sword, but Nicole wants to be extra thorough.

  “You know I will,” she says, looking up at me reassuringly.

  I nod, giving her the go ahead. She smoothly draws the blade-end out of its makeshift sheath. A metallic shink rings as it rubs against the gold it was embedded in.

  Watching as the beautiful weapon slowly materializes, I study its features. The pommel is an ankh and it’s expertly formed. Not that I’d expect anything different. Everything I’ve seen forged from the Atlantean alloy so far has been seamless and perfectly made.

  Orichalcum… Could it be? I think, taking a closer look. The sword emerges and confirms my assumption, the color is a perfect match too.

  A foot-long section of the blade is visible and the craftsmanship is exquisite. The blade is thin yet strong looking and connects to the guardless hilt. When fully visible it may even look like a type of short sword that Legolas from The Lord of the Rings movies may have used. A real life elven sword. Maybe even an inspiration for the mythology of one.

  It’s then I notice the backside of the blade. While the actual blade is the standard cut and no doubt sharper than a diamond razor, the reverse side has been formed into a decorative flame pattern. Each tooth has taken on its own individual shape, helping it look like a living, breathing fire. Both sides of this thing would be deadly in a fight. The front made for slashing and the backsword for cutting and ripping.

  SHINK!

  Nicole gives the sword a final yank and it pops free. She holds it upright by its grip and just stares blankly at it…like me.

  It’s even more beautiful than I thought— minus the blood that covers parts of it, of course. Not only are there the ankh and flame design built into their respective sections, but the blade itself is intricately carved with symbols as well. Each one seems to glow in the shine of our flashlights like it’s still searing hot right after it was forged.

  The symbols are the same as they were in the necropolis. “I think they’re Atlantean,” I say, pointing to the carvings on the sides of the blade.

  My hand gets to within a few inches of the sword and I instantly feel a tremor go up my arm, starting from my index finger. I pull my hand back with a startled yelp, getting both the ladies attention.

  “What?” Nicole asks, startled, giving me a quizzical look.

  Did she not feel anything? I ask myself.

  I carefully raise my hand to the blade again and once more feel a slight vibration run up my arm, stopping at my elbow.

  I glance up. “You didn’t feel that?”

  “Feel what?” She asks, still unsure of what I mean.

  “I felt a vibration run up my arm when I got too close to the sword,” I explain. “It almost felt like I hit my funny bone, but it didn’t hurt. It was just this strange sort of pulsation or something.”

  She looks back to the sword and then again to me. “Here,” she says offering the hilt out to me.

  I slowly reach for the three-foot short sword, smiling as I unintentionally come up with its nickname, Elvis. But before I can take hold of its hand grip, I get interrupted.

  “Wait!” Olivia yells.

  I yank my hand back, a little alarmed. Nicole and I both look over to see her rummaging through a pack, pulling out a bottle of water. She opens it and pours it over the blade, rinsing most of the blood off. Elvis is going to need a proper bath later either way, but at least it isn’t coated anymore.

  “I just… I thought it would be better…” She shrugs and glances down at Dr. Weaver’s body. “It’s his blood you know? It just didn’t feel right us marveling at it while it was covered in it.”

  I nod. Respect for the dead. Plus, he was her mentor, which made it even more personal.

  Nicole hands the sword back to me and without another interruption, I grasp the hilt and flinch. The tremor I felt a moment ago feels like nothing compared to the earthquake I’m feeling now. I close my eyes and grit my teeth, trying my hardest to ride out what feels like sitting on an off-balance washing machine.

  Just as I’m about to drop the sword, the shaking stops. I’m breathing heavily now, realizing that I was holding my breath the whole time. I look back up to a pair of stunned and concerned eyes.

  I blow out another breath and shrug, letting them know I’m okay and also just as confused as them. The three of us put aside any questions about what just happened and refocus on the orichalcum-made weapon.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say looking over the blade again, holding it upright for everyone to see. Each side of the blade is indeed covered in Atlantean symbols, the meaning of which I have no idea.

  “I wonder what it says,” I say to myself, lost. If I still had the gifts bestowed unto me by Thoth, I would be able to read it. It was one of many side effects that was given to me when I was bonded with the three Priests power. I could flame on and flame off a raging inferno with just the thought—

  “Huh?” I say out loud at my last thought and then come up with a stupid idea. “Step back a little, will ya? I want to try something.”

  “Like what?” Nicole asks, skeptical.

  I just wink and hold the sword up in front of me, arms extended. Nicole and Olivia both step back until their backs are almost up against the room’s wall.

  “Flame on!” I command, gripping the sword in my gloved hands, willing the Atlantean fire to return like it did in Algeria.

  And it does!

  The blade erupts in an electric-green flame making Nicole and Olivia both jump back. They each slam into the wall near the tomb’s entrance, eyes wide. Neither of them have seen anything like this before, but I sure as hell have. I used this same fire but wrapped around my bare hands to beat the stuffing out of Nannot, The End of All Things. It followed my summoning then, as it does now.

  “It’s the same…” Nicole says staring in wonderment, recalling my description of the phenomenon.

  I nod, not taking my eyes off the spectacle. “It’s green?” Olivia asks.

  “Yes,” I reply. “I’m not sure why, but it was the same under the desert three months ago too.” Then something dawns on me. “Come to think of it… I wonder if this is where the idea for Greek fire came from.”

  Greek fire was an ancient incendiary weapon primarily used to destroy naval vessels in the early 7th century, its design lost to time. It would burn for long periods of time and even continue to burn on water. Its color, depending on the exact mix, was said to be green in hue.

  Like this, I think, still marveling over the sight.

  “It’s not hot,” Olivia says.

  “Huh?” I ask, not fully hearing her.

  “No heat,” she adds. “Do you feel anything?”

  I shake my head. I didn’t feel any heat when battling Nannot either,
but he sure did. I basically melted his arms off by willing the flames to burn to almost supernova temperatures before giving back my gifts in the form of a supercharged bullet.

  Olivia steps forward, hand raised.

  “Don’t!” I yell, flinching away. “It will still burn you!”

  “Or worse,” Nicole adds.

  Olivia lowers her hand but doesn’t back away again. In fact, she takes another daring step forward. “Has this happened before?”

  “Since Algeria?” I ask. She nods.

  “No, but I haven’t come in contact with any Atlantean artifacts since then either. Plus, I doubt I could do this to any old thing anyway.” I couldn’t imagine setting ablaze a golden toilet seat by yelling “Flame on!” That could cause some serious welting—not to mention some uncomfortable third-degree burns.

  “Hank.”

  I look to Nicole who tips her chin towards the blade, getting the hint.

  Flame off, I think and the sword obeys, extinguishing the aura. Just like that, gone. There’s no smoky trail—no smoke at all actually. Now, Elvis is back to its original form, an ornately forged orichalcum sword.

  I then cautiously touch the blade. “It isn’t even hot.”

  I get an idea. “Here, take it,” I say, thrusting the hand grip to Nicole. She complies with a weary look and takes the sword, holding it out like I did.

  Flame on, I think, but nothing happens.

  Nicole looks at me and then back to the blade, “It only works when in your hands?”

  “Looks like it,” I reply, still unsure of everything.

  “Why?” Olivia asks.

  I shrug, “No idea. As far as I knew, my gifts were completely gone. I guess they are still there, or at the very least, dormant until I come in contact with certain objects.”

  “Here,” I say holding my hand out, “Let me have it again.”

  Nicole gives me back the artifact without complaint and turns back towards the rear of the room. I slip the blade into my utility belt loop, the one that also carries some supplies and tools. Content with its place on my hip, I join her, feeling a little like a pirate.