THE MAYA CODEX

by Adrian D'hagé

  ‘Fidel is waiting for you at the jetty. Monsignor Jennings usually drinks at the Buddha Bar. It’s on the shore of San Pedro not far from the main tourist area.’

  ‘Please take care,’ Aleta said.

  ‘Already he means something to you,’ Arana observed with a gentle smile after O’Connor had left.

  ‘More than I thought, even if it is like living on the run with Indiana Jones. You’re the one who said I should trust him with my life.’

  ‘And now you’re going to have to trust me. Do you recall me telling you about the need to replenish your inner spirit?’

  Aleta nodded.

  ‘Tonight, we’re going to cleanse that inner spirit, which will also relieve your depression. I want you to lie over here,’ Arana said, indicating a garden bench covered with big soft cushions. ‘Have you ever been hypnotised?’

  ‘No. Is it safe?’

  ‘I did say you will have to trust me. The mind has different states, Aleta. When we’re awake, we’re in what is known as the beta state, the state in which we’re alert: we’re thinking and our brainwaves are pulsing at somewhere between fifteen and thirty cycles per second. At eight to fifteen cycles per second we fall into the more relaxed alpha state, usually when we’re drifting in and out of sleep, or even absorbed in a movie.’ He paused, allowing Aleta to make herself comfortable.

  ‘You’re becoming more relaxed,’ Arana said softly, passing his hand above Aleta’s eyes. ‘Close your eyes and we will move towards the theta state, when your brainwaves slow … slow … slower … to just four or five cycles per second. The state we reach when entering a deep sleep; a state that you will enter softly and quietly. At the end of this,’ the shaman continued even more softly, ‘I will count to three, and you will gently awake.’

  Aleta could feel herself drifting, partly because she was deeply tired, and partly because she was back in her home village under the care of a man in whom she had complete trust. The pillows were soft and comfortable and she drifted further. Her eyelids were heavy, and she had neither the strength nor the energy to open them.

  ‘You are walking into a deep tunnel now. You are descending stone steps that lead deeper and deeper into this tunnel. Deeper … and deeper … and deeper. The steps keep going down … and down … and down. You’ve reached a dimly lit stone corridor. It smells dank and musty down here.’ Arana waved a wild orchid in front of Aleta’s face but she wrinkled her nose distastefully. It was a test that his patient had entered a deep trance. Aleta was now open to the power of suggestion. To cleanse her spirit Arana would have to take her back in time. It was a technique the ancients had been using for centuries, a technique that modern psychiatry and hypnotherapy had only recently explained, coining the phrase ‘past-life regression’ therapy. Though each individual was different, the shaman knew every human being had lived through past lives; it was just that the memories were inaccessible in the present life. Arana also knew well that hypnosis could remove those barriers.

  ‘As you walk along this tunnel, you will see doors to your left and right, Aleta,’ he continued, still speaking in soft, even tones. ‘I want you to choose a door and open it.’

  ‘There is a brightly coloured door on my left … I’m opening it now.’

  Aleta began to sway to the rhythm of the drums.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in Tikal. My name is Princess Akhushtal.’ Aleta had gone back to 790 AD, to the great city-state of Tikal, one of several very powerful cities in the jungles of the Yucatán Peninsula. Calakmul and Naranjo, controlled by a warrior queen, Lady Six Sky, lay further to the north. The peace between the cities was fragile.

  ‘What do you see?’

  ‘Tikal is very busy today,’ Princess Akhushtal said excitedly. ‘It’s the winter solstice tomorrow, and at dawn the High Priest will be conducting a ceremony with the jade statues to determine the resting place for the Maya Codex. But the High Priest is very worried.’

  From the viewing platform where she was sitting with her father, King Yax Ain II, Princess Akhushtal surveyed the great ball court below. The muscled warriors wore thick rolls of padding to protect their ribs from a massive black leather ball over a metre in diameter as they jostled for position. The rules of the ball game prevented them kicking the ball or touching it with their hands; instead they used their heavily padded forearms and occasionally their foreheads. Headdresses of horns and quetzal and macaw feathers identified the different sides.

  Princess Akhushtal’s gaze shifted from the ball court to the towering salmon-coloured pyramids at either end of the main plaza – the Temple of the Great Jaguar and the Temple of the Mask. The soaring monuments had been built fifty years before and contained the tombs of royal members of the Great Jaguar clan: King Hasaw Chan K’awil and his queen, Lady Twelve Macaw. Further to the east of the plaza, the Tikal markets were bustling with traders. The stores were shaded with sackcloth awnings. Racks of exquisitely woven cloth were suspended beneath. Rugs, pottery and baskets of spices, nuts and fruits spilled on to the main thoroughfares. The women, dressed in multicoloured blouses, balanced their purchases in wicker baskets on their heads. Noblemen in feathered headdresses reclined on wicker lounges that were carried aloft amongst the crowds by their servants. Beyond the marketplace, Akhushtal could see the sentries on top of Temple IV and Temple V, the ‘skyscraper pyramids’, the tallest structures in the Meso-American world. Below them, the gates on the causeways that connected the great city with the jungle were heavily guarded by the King’s warriors.

  ‘The drums are beating louder now and the game is coming to an end. My father is getting to his feet and the ball players have all turned and bowed in our direction.’

  Aleta shifted restlessly on her pillows but Arana remained silent and waited.

  ‘My father is meeting with the High Priest now. The High Priest is warning of a great catastrophe for the Maya if we don’t change course.’

  ‘You must find a way to make peace with Calakmul and Naranjo,’ the High Priest informed the King in grave tones. The respected Mayan elder was tall and dressed in a white sackcloth robe and hood, his brown weathered face etched with lines of wisdom. He maintained a commanding presence, even in the company of King Yax Ain II. ‘If these wars continue, not only will there be more casualties on both sides, but the entire Mayan civilisation will come under threat. The wars are destroying the environment on which your people depend for their very existence.’

  ‘The people of Calakmul and Naranjo are very stubborn,’ the King complained. ‘I have a duty to maintain our way of life. We are the pre-eminent city, and they must conform to our customs and traditions. If necessary, we will force them to adopt our way of living.’ The muscled, well-built warrior King was seated on a low stool, resplendent in a headdress of red, blue and green feathers from the prized quetzal bird, his protective leather battle-dress fastened at the belt by a huge jade emblem.

  ‘The dominant society and culture must take the lead, but that does not mean we should not accept other cultures,’ the High Priest persisted. ‘It’s not a weakness to sit down and reach agreement. It’s a strength.’

  ‘It will be perceived as a weakness, especially by the council of advisors,’ the King grumbled.

  ‘We are coming to the end of the tenth baktun. It will be a time of great upheaval and loss,’ the High Priest warned, reminding King Yax Ain II that the current baktun, a cycle of 394 years, was coming to its conclusion. ‘The destruction we experienced at the end of the last baktun will repeat itself.’

  The King looked thoughtful.

  ‘The signs will keep repeating until we take notice of the warnings – or sow the seeds of our own destruction, and eventually the destruction of the entire planet.’

  ‘The entire planet?’

  ‘The destruction at the end of this baktun will be widespread, particularly amongst your own people, but the destruction of the entire planet is not scheduled to occur until the end of the thirteenth baktun: in t
he year 2012.’

  ‘And what happens in 2012?’ the King asked, a sceptical edge to his voice.

  ‘The thirteenth baktun and December 2012 will signify the end of the grand cycle: the end of the Age of the Fifth Sun. For the people of 2012, they will ignore the damage they do to the environment. They won’t be able to reach agreement. And their wars will be based on competing religions. The adherents of those religions will each claim that only they possess the one true path, but unless they learn to accept that there are many paths and many cultures, the clash between religions will destroy them all.’

  ‘The year 2012 is many baktuns away,’ the King responded dismissively.

  ‘Nevertheless, we have a duty to warn future civilisations of the difficulties we face, and what may await them.’

  ‘And how do we do that?’

  ‘The warnings have been transcribed into a codex. At the ceremony of the solstice tomorrow, the Keepers of the Temples, the jade figurines, will be placed on top of Pyramids I, IV and V. At sunrise, the sun’s rays will be captured by the crystals and deflected. The final diffraction will signify the resting place for the Maya Codex, which will remain hidden until long after you and I have gone. One who is amongst us now will return to unlock the secret, but if they are to be successful, they will need to find the sequence of numbers that is at the base of the universe itself. That sequence contains a common number from which a subtraction of one will give its reciprocal, and to which the addition of one will give its square.’

  Aleta shifted on her pillows again, frowning as she wrestled with the mathematical predictions of the High Priest, but then relaxing, as if the equation were solved.

  ‘What is happening now?’ Arana prompted.

  ‘The sky is streaked with pinks and soft purples … the dawn is approaching. The howler monkeys are swinging through the trees above us. I’m accompanying my father towards the Great Plaza, where his subjects are already gathered in their thousands. Together, we are ascending the steps of the Temple of the Great Jaguar. The High Priest is waiting for us at the summit. Up … up … up we are climbing. The drums are beating, louder now, and fires of incense are burning at the base of the temple, where the warriors are drawn up in their legions. We are reaching the top … the High Priest is bowing … my father is taking his seat on his throne, and now I am able to be seated as well. The priests are hovering around the jade figurines. They have positioned one on the roof comb above us and another to the west on top of Temple IV, and yet a third has been positioned to the south on top of Temple V. The High Priest has lifted a golden conch shell to his lips. It has a keyhole in the middle, and the sound is reverberating through the jungle.’

  The shaman watched his patient carefully, aware of what was coming. Aleta was moving from side to side on her pillows, moving to the rising crescendo of the drums.

  ‘The sky is getting lighter above the jungle, which spreads like a dark-green canopy out to the east. The High Priest is looking towards the point where the sky is the brightest, where the sun will rise on the shortest day of the year – now! The first rays of the sun have struck the crystal in the jade figurine on top of Temple I.’ A narrow, searing beam of deep-green laser-like light energised the crystal on the top of Temple I, only to be immediately deflected on a precise angle to strike the crystal on the jade figurine on top of Temple IV to the west, from where it energised the crystal on top of Temple V. Aleta turned her head suddenly. ‘The light beam! It’s been deflected towards … wait … I can’t see it … oh, no!’

  The screams were coming from the direction of the city gates at the bottom of the causeway that led up to the markets. One after another, the thatched-roofed huts on either side were going up in flames. Thousands of bloodthirsty warriors from the rival city of Calakmul fought with the guards at the gates, beheading them and ripping their still-beating hearts out of their chests. Now they were streaming on towards the plaza. Fierce battles broke out as Tikal’s warriors raced to meet them to defend their King.

  The High Priest was strangely calm; for him the surprise dawn attack had been inevitable. He shook his head sadly. The city-states, he knew, would continue fighting until they destroyed themselves and, ultimately, the Mayan civilisation. He quietly signalled to the priests who were preparing to entomb the Maya Codex. Through the chaos and smoke of the raging battle, the laser-like beam held steady on the mechanism that controlled a secret entrance to a complex across from Temple V. The priests held the precious codex aloft to indicate they had seen their High Priest’s signal, and one of them descended a shaft and entered the passageway to the chamber. The sun climbed higher and the beam faded from view. The High Priest signalled to the priests on each temple that the jade figurines were to be sealed in the secret chambers that had been prepared on top of each pyramid.

  ‘No! No! The Calakmul warriors have reached the base of our pyramid. My father’s warriors are being overwhelmed … speared … beheaded. They are fighting hard but the other side is gaining. Oh, no! They’re swarming up the steps towards us … No! No!’

  O’Connor found the Buddha Bar not far from the shores of the lake. and he mentally filed his escape routes. A Tibetan flag flew over the main entrance. Statues and images of the Buddha added an Asian ambience to the ochre Spanish-style building, which contained a huge wooden Buddha that had been used on the set of Apocalypse Now. O’Connor scanned the crowd in the dimly lit ground-floor bar. It was full, but O’Connor quickly determined they were mainly backpackers playing pool and smoking weed, a pastime that was de rigueur in San Pedro. He checked to see if he was being followed, and climbed the stairs to the second-floor restaurant.

  The big casual horseshoe booths were crowded with tourists and locals, save for one at the far end. O’Connor recognised Jennings immediately. He was sitting next to a boy whom O’Connor judged to be not more than fifteen. Jennings was sipping a whisky and the boy a Coke, prompting O’Connor to wonder what might be in the boy’s glass.

  O’Connor took the next flight of stairs to survey the rooftop bar, which had a 360-degree view of the darkened lake. It, too, was crowded with backpackers. The sweet, pungent smell of weed hung heavily around the balcony where the two ex-navy SEALs were standing with their backs to O’Connor. One of them had a neatly trimmed beard, but the short military-style haircuts were a dead giveaway. O’Connor retreated downstairs, where Jennings was returning from the bar with another whisky and another ‘Coke’ for the boy. A shiver ran down O’Connor’s spine as Jennings placed his hand on the boy’s thigh. O’Connor had to fight a powerful urge to blow his cover and free the boy from the fat priest’s grasp. Instead, he headed back out towards the main street, and threaded his way through the late-night shoppers and the tuc tucs buzzing across the cobblestones, past the brightly coloured buildings, one of which was painted with a huge sign, declaring Jesus as Lord of San Pedro La Laguna.

  O’Connor reached the top of the steep road, hardly having raised his heartbeat. He paused beside a shop, long enough to scan the occupants of the dimly lit square and analyse the layout of the big white-washed church standing opposite at the summit of the hill. The presbytery would be the little building to one side, he concluded. He headed around the perimeter of the square and approached through the cover of the palm trees and church gardens.

  The lock was elementary and O’Connor closed the oak door quietly behind him. He flicked on his pocket torch and began a systematic search of Jennings’ small apartment. The kitchen table, which appeared to double as a desk, revealed nothing of interest. Nor did the kitchenette or the small bathroom, but when he searched the cupboard under the stairs, he found the scuba gear, just as Jennings had. O’Connor climbed the narrow stairs to the mezzanine bedroom above. In the bottom of the wardrobe O’Connor found a small trunk. He picked the lock and inside he found a stack of NAMBLA Bulletins, the official magazine of the North American Man/Boy Love Association. On the topmost magazine Jennings had scrawled ‘very cute’ across the photo of the boy on th
e cover.

  O’Connor relocked the trunk and turned his attention to the manhole cover in the ceiling. He dragged across the only chair in the room, hoisted himself into the ceiling and played the torchlight over the piles of rat droppings scattered amongst the old beams. The light picked out three small dusty trunks at the far end of the confined roof space, and O’Connor eased himself along the central joist. The dust was an indicator that the trunks almost certainly did not to belong to Jennings. Again, he picked the locks and opened the first trunk. Diaries. Dozens of them. O’Connor thumbed through the uppermost one and found the last entry had been made twelve months before von Heißen had fled. Was there one diary missing? O’Connor wondered as he opened the second, and then the third trunk, which contained the diaries covering von Heißen’s time at Mauthausen. They were in chronological order, and, curious, O’Connor located the diary for 1938. Five minutes later he let out a soft whistle as he found von Heißen’s meticulous entry for Heinrich Himmler’s visit to Mauthausen.

  Reichsführer Himmler sehr zufrieden mit Geburtstag … Reichsführer Himmler very pleased with celebrations for the Führer’s birthday. Forty-eight Jewish scum executed – one for each year of the Führer’s glorious life.

  Himmler personally congratulated me on the smooth functioning of Konzentrationslager Mauthausen, giving strong intimation that promotion to Standartenführer is being considered!

  Herr Doktor Richtoff’s preparation for high-altitude medical experiments well in hand.

  Himmler agreed to execution of Weizman scum. Weizman dealt with on the stairs. His bitch and brats will be Herr Doktor Richtoff’s first ‘patients’.

  If Mossad had been hard on von Heißen’s heels, how could they have missed these? There was only one explanation that made any sense to O’Connor. Mossad were so close, they would have kept pursuing him. O’Connor kept the diary with the incriminating evidence of the shootings and dropped back into Jennings’ bedroom, where he searched the bedside table. In the drawer he found the last of von Heißen’s diaries, and nestled inside the front cover, he discovered the original huun map containing the backbearings from the volcanoes – the same one confiscated from Ariel Weizman more than seventy years ago.