Domain

by Steve Alten

  As much as I despised the thought of returning to that Peruvian landscape, I could not argue with my wife's logic. We were clearly getting nowhere in Chichen Itza, despite the fact that we were both convinced the city was destined to be the site of the final battlefield.

  Before leaving, there was one final endeavor I had to complete before we embarked on what would prove to be our last, fateful journey together.

  Armed with crowbar and mask, I broke into the archaeologist's trailer late one night-and rescued Kukulcan's center ball-court marker from its kidnappers.

  -Excerpt from the Journal of Professor Julius Gabriel,

  Ref. Catalogue 1981-84 pages 08-154

  Photo Journal Floppy Disk 7 8: File name: MESO, Photos 223, 328, 344

  Chapter 20

  DECEMBER 9, 2012

  CHICHEN ITZA, MEXICO

  1:48 P.M.

  The commuter plane bounces twice along the weathered tarmac, taxis briefly, then skids to a halt just before the runway ends in an overgrown field.

  The blast of heat hits Dominique square in the face as she steps off the Cessna, plastering the already sweat-soaked tee shirt against her chest. She slings her backpack over one shoulder and follows the other seven passengers through the small terminal, then out to the main road. A sign pointing to the left reads, Hotel Mayaland, the one to the right, Chichen Itza.

  Taxi, senorita?

  The driver, a slight man in his early fifties, is leaning against a battered, white Volkswagen Beetle. Dominique can see the Mayan lineage in his dark facial features.

  How far to Chichen Itza?

  Ten minutes. The driver opens the passenger door.

  Dominique climbs in, the exposed foam cushion of the worn vinyl seat giving beneath her weight.

  Have you been to Chichen Itza before, senorita?

  Not since I was a child.

  Don't worry. Not much has changed over the last thousand years.

  They travel through an impoverished village, then onto a freshly paved two-lane toll road. Minutes later, the taxi pulls up to a modernized visitors' entrance, the parking lot crammed with rental cars and chartered tour buses. Dominique pays the driver, purchases a ticket, and enters the park.

  She passes a series of gift shops, then follows several tourists down a wide dirt road that cuts through the Mexican jungle. After a five-minute walk, the path opens to an incredibly vast, flat, green expanse, surrounded by dense foliage.

  Dominique's eyes widen as she takes in her surroundings. She has traveled back in time.

  Dotting the landscape are massive gray-and-white limestone ruins. To her left is the Great Mayan Ball Court, the largest in all of Mesoamerica. Built in the shape of a giant I the arena is more than 550 feet long and 230 feet wide, enclosed on all sides, including its two central boundary walls, which rise three stories. Just to the north of the structure stands the Tzompantli, a large platform engraved with rows of enormous skulls, the bodies of serpents crowning the structure. In the distance on her right is a vast quadrangle-the Warrior's Complex-the remains of what had been a palace and marketplace, its borders partially enclosed by hundreds of freestanding columns.

  But it is the main attraction that dwarfs every ruin to capture Dominique's attention-an incredibly precise, towering ziggurat of limestone, located in the middle of the ancient city.

  Magnificent, isn't it, senorita?

  Dominique turns to face a small man wearing a sweat-stained, orange park tee shirt and baseball cap. She notices the guide's high, sloping forehead and strong Mayan facial features.

  The Kukulcan pyramid is the most magnificent structure in all of Central America. Perhaps you would like a private tour? Only thirty-five pesos.

  Actually, I'm looking for someone. He's an American, tall, well-built, with brown hair and very dark eyes. His name's Michael Gabriel.

  The guide's smile disappears.

  You know Mick?

  I'm sorry, I can't help you. Have a pleasant visit. The small man turns and walks away.

  Wait- Dominique catches up to him. You know where he is, don't you? Take me to him, and I'll make it worth your while. She shoves a wad of bills in his hand.

  I'm sorry, senorita, I don't know the person you are looking for. He pushes the cash back into her palm.

  She peels off several bills. Here, take this-

  No, senorita-

  Please. If you happen to run into him, or if you know someone who might know how to get word to him, tell him that Dominique needs to see him. Tell him it's a matter of life and death.

  The Mayan guide sees the desperation in her eyes. The person you seek- is he your boyfriend?

  A close friend.

  The guide stares off in the distance for several moments, contemplating. Take the day and enjoy Chichen Itza. Treat yourself to a hot meal, then wait until dark. The park closes at ten. Hide out in the jungle just before security makes its final rounds. When the last person leaves and the gates are locked, ascend the Kukulcan pyramid and wait.

  Mick will be there?

  It's possible.

  He hands her back the money. At the front entrance are tourist shops. Buy yourself a wool poncho, you'll need it for tonight.

  I want you to keep the money.

  No. The Gabriels have been friends of my family for a very long time. He smiles. When Mick finds you, tell him that Elias Forma says you are far too beautiful to be left alone in the land of green lightning.

  The incessant buzzing of a thousand mosquitoes fills Dominique's ears. She pulls the hood of her poncho over her head and huddles in the envelope of darkness, the jungle awakening around her.

  What the hell am I doing here? She scratches at imaginary insects crawling on her arms. I should be finishing my internship. I should be getting ready to graduate.

  The forest rustles around her. A flutter of wings disturbs the canopy of leaves above her head. Somewhere in the distance, a howler monkey screeches into the night. She checks her watch-10:23-then pulls her wool poncho back over her head and shifts her weight on the rock.

  Give it another ten minutes.

  She closes her eyes, allowing the jungle to wrap its arms around her, just as it had when she was a child. The heavy scent of moss, the sound of palm fronds dancing in the breeze-and she is back in Guatemala, only four, standing by the stucco wall outside her mother's bedroom window, listening to her grandmother crying within. She waits until her aunt escorts the old woman out before entering through the window.

  Dominique stares at the lifeless figure stretched out across the bed. Fingers that had stroked her long hair only hours earlier have turned blue at the tips. The mouth is open, the brown eyes half-closed, fixated at the ceiling. She touches the high cheekbones, feeling the cold, clammy skin.

  This was not her madre. This was something else, a frame of inanimate flesh that her mother had worn while part of her world.

  Her grandmother enters. She's with the angels now, Dominique. . . .

  The night sky explodes above her head with the chaotic sounds of a thousand vampire bats flapping their wings. Dominique jumps to her feet, her pulse pounding as she tries to blink away the mosquitoes and the memories.

  No! This is not my home. This is not my life!

  She shoves her childhood back into the attic and seals the door shut, then climbs down from the rock and pushes her way through the thicket until she emerges at the mouth of the sacred cenote.

  Dominique gazes at the sheer, vertical walls of the sinkhole, which plunge straight down to the surface of its inky, algae-infested waters. The lunar light from the three-quarter moon highlights layers of geological grooves sculpted along the interior of the chalky white limestone pit. She looks up, focusing on an enclosed stone structure suspended over the southern edge of the cenote. One thousand years ago, the Maya, desperate after the sudden departure of their god-king, Kukulcan, had turned to human sacrifice in an effort to forestall the end of humanity. Virgin women had been locked in this primordial steam bath
for purification, then led out to its rooftop platform by ceremonial priests. Stripping the young maidens naked, they would stretch them out upon the stone structure, then use their obsidian blades to cut out their hearts or slice their throats. The virgins' bodies, laden with jewelry, would then be ceremoniously tossed into the sacred well.

  The thought causes Dominique to shudder. She circles the pit and hustles down the Sacbe, a wide, elevated footpath of soil and stone which cuts through the dense jungle until it reaches the northern border of the ancient city.

  Fifteen minutes and a half dozen stumbles later, Dominique emerges from the path. Standing before her is the northern face of the Kukulcan pyramid, its jagged, dark outline rising nine stories against the star-drenched sky. She approaches the base, which is guarded on either side by the sculpted heads of two enormous serpents.

  Dominique looks around. The ancient city is dark and deserted. A cold shiver runs down her spine. She begins climbing.

  Midway up, she finds herself gasping for breath. The steps of the Kukulcan are quite narrow, the rise steep, and there is nothing to hold on to. She turns and looks down. A fall from this height would be her last.

  Mick? Her voice seems to echo across the valley. She waits for a response, then, hearing nothing, continues climbing.

  It takes her another five minutes to reach the summit, a flat platform supporting a square two story stone temple. Feeling dizzy, she leans against the northern wall of the structure to catch her breath, her quadriceps muscles still burning from the climb.

  The view is spectacular, with no safety rails. The moonlight reveals shadowed details of every structure in the northern section of the city. Along the outskirts, the jungle canopy spreads out across the horizon like the dark borders of a canvas.

  The walkway around the structure is only five feet wide. Staying clear of the precarious ledge, she wipes the sweat from her face and stands before the yawning entrance of the temple's northern corridor. A massive portal, composed of a lintel flanked by two serpent-columns, towers above her head.

  She steps inside, the interior pitch-dark. Mick, are you in there?

  Her voice sounds dampened. She reaches into her backpack, locates the flashlight she purchased earlier, and enters the dank, limestone chamber.

  The northern corridor is an enclosed double-chambered room, a central sanctuary preceded by a vestibule. The interior dead-ends at a massive, central wall. The beam of her flashlight reveals a vaulted ceiling, then a stone floor, its surface charred black from ceremonial fires. Leaving the empty chamber, she follows the platform around to the left and enters the western corridor, a barren passage that zigzags to connect with the southern and eastern corridors.

  The temple is deserted.

  Dominique checks the time: 11:20. Maybe he's not coming?

  The cool night air causes her to shiver. Seeking warmth, she ducks back into the northern chamber and leans against the central wall, the heavy stone surrounding her sealing out the wind and deadening all noise.

  The atmosphere inside seems heavy, as if someone is waiting in the shadows to pounce upon her. She uses the flashlight's beam to scan the interior, soothing her psyche.

  Exhaustion gains a foothold. She lies down on the stone floor and curls up in a ball, closing her eyes, her thoughts haunting her sleep with images of blood and death.

  The expanse surrounding the pyramid is a sea of swaying brown bodies and painted faces illuminated by the orange glow of ten thousand torches. From her vantage within the northern corridor, she can see blood running down the stairwell like a crimson waterfall, pooling around a pile of mangled flesh situated between the two serpent heads located at the foot of the pyramid.

  A dozen more women are in the temple with her, all dressed in white. They huddle together like frightened lambs, staring at her through vacant eyes.

  Two priests enter. Each wears a ceremonial headdress of green feathers and a loincloth cut from a jaguar's hide. The priests approach, their dark eyes focusing on Dominique. She hacks away, her heart pounding, as each priest grabs a wrist, the two men forcibly dragging her out to the temple's platform.

  The night air is heavy with the stench of blood and sweat and smoke.

  Facing the swooning crowd is an immense Chac Mool, a stone statue of an inclined Mayan demigod. In the Chac Mool's lap is a ceremonial plate, spilling over with the mangled remains of a dozen severed human hearts.

  Dominique screams. She attempts to flee, but two more priests reach out and grab her by the ankles, lifting her high off the ground. The crowd groans as the head priest appears, a muscular redhead whose face remains hidden beneath the mask of a feathered serpent's head. A devilish yellow smile appears within the serpent mask's fanged, open mouth.

  Hi, Sunshine.

  Dominique screams as Raymond tears the white cloth from her naked body, then holds the black, obsidian blade up to the crowd. A lustful chant rises from the bloodthirsty mob.

  Kukulcan! Kukulcan!

  At Raymond's nod, four priests lower her to the ground, pinning her against the stone platform.

  Kukulcan! Kukulcan!

  Dominique screams again as Raymond flashes his obsidian blade. She gasps in disbelief as he raises it over his head, then plunges it forcefully into her left breast.

  Kukulcan! Kukulcan!

  She screams in agony, twisting and contorting her outstretched body-

  Dom, wake up-

  -as Raymond pushes his hand into the wound and rips out her still-beating heart, holding it up to the heavens for all to see.

  Dominique!

  Dominique lets go a bloodcurdling scream as she kicks and punches at the terrifying darkness, catching the shadow square in the face. Disoriented, still in the throes of her nightmare, she rolls sideways and springs to her feet, rushing blindly out of the chamber, sprinting toward the ninety-foot drop.

  A hand reaches out and tackles her by the ankle. She slams chest-first against the platform, the pain snapping her awake.

  Jesus, Dominique, I'm supposed to be the crazy one.

  Mick? She sits up, rubbing her bruised ribs as she catches her breath.

  Mick scoots next to her. You all right?

  You scared the shit out of me.

  Same here. That must have been some nightmare. You nearly dived off the pyramid.

  She looks out over the precipice, then turns and hugs him, her limbs still shaking. Cod, I hate this place. These walls reek of Mayan ghosts. She pulls back, looking at his face. Your nose is bleeding. Did I do that?

  Caught me with a right cross. He removes a bandanna from his back pocket and pinches off the flow. This thing's never going to heal.

  Serves you right. Why the hell did we have to meet here of all places, and in the middle of the goddam night?

  I'm a fugitive, remember? Speaking of which, how did you manage to get away from the Navy?

  She turns away. You're the fugitive, not me. I told the captain I helped you because I was confused about Iz's death. Guess he felt sorry for me, 'cause he let me go. Come on, we can talk about this later. Right now, I just want to get down off this pyramid.

  I can't leave yet. I have work to do.

  Work? What work? It's the middle of the night-

  I'm searching for a passageway into the pyramid. It's vital that we find it-

  Mick-

  My father was right about the Kukulcan. I discovered something-something really incredible. Let me show you. Mick reaches into his satchel and removes a small electronic device.

  This instrument is called an ultrasonic inspectroscope. It transmits low-amplitude sound waves to determine imperfections in solids. Mick switches his flashlight on, then takes her by the wrist and drags her back inside the temple to the central wall. He activates the inspectroscope, directing its sound waves at a cross section of stone.

  Take a look. See these wavelengths? There's definitely another structure concealed behind this central wall. Whatever it is, it's metallic in nature and rises strai
ght up through the pyramid, clear to the roof of the temple.

  Okay, I believe you. Can we go now?

  Mick stares at her, incredulous. Go? Don't you get it? It's here-within these walls. All we have to do is figure out how to access it.

  What's here? A hunk of metal?

  A hunk of metal that may turn out to be the instrument that will save humanity. The one left to us by Kukulcan. We have to... hey, wait, where are you going?

  She continues walking out to the platform.

  You still don't believe me, do you?

  Believe what? That every man, woman, and child on this planet's going to die within the next two weeks? No-sorry Mick, I'm still struggling with that one.

  Mick grabs her by the arm. How can you still doubt me? You saw what's buried in the dull. The two of us were down there together. You saw it for yourself.

  Saw what? The interior of a lava tube?

  A lava tube?

  That's right. The geologists aboard the Boone explained the whole thing to me. They even showed me infrared satellite photos of the entire Chicxulub crater. What appears to us as a green glow is just a subterranean lava flow passing beneath that hole in the seafloor. The hole opened up when an underwater volcano became active back in September.

  Volcano? Dominique, what the hell are you talking about?

  Mick, our minisub was sucked down one of the lava tubes when part of the underground infrastructure collapsed. We must have floated topside when the pressure subsided. She shakes her head. You really played me, didn't you? I'm guessing you heard about the volcano from a CNN report or something. That's the noise Iz heard over SOSUS.

  She punches him in the chest. My father died exploring a goddam subterranean volcano-

  No-

  You played me, didn't you? All you wanted was to escape-

  Dominique, listen to me-

  No! Listening to you is what got my father killed. Now you listen to me. I helped you because I knew you were being abused and I needed your help in finding out what happened to Iz. Now I know the truth. You set me up!