THE MAYA CODEX

by Adrian D'hagé

  ‘My friends tell me that unless I renounce Islam and become a Catholic I will burn in hell,’ Aleta whispered.

  ‘And your friends are correct. You must renounce your current beliefs and embrace the one true faith.’

  ‘But we both worship the one God?’

  Jennings snorted. ‘God has revealed much more of Himself to Catholics than to any other faith. He is God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. Those who do not take Jesus as their Saviour, or who do, but embrace other denominations of Christianity, are gravely deluded …’

  Aleta listened, willing the minutes by as Jennings launched into full stride, delivering a verbal broadside against other faiths. ‘Unless you accept the Catholic faith in all of its beauty and majesty, you are doomed, my girl.’

  Aleta glanced at her watch. O’Connor had estimated he’d need fifteen minutes to recover the trunks from the ceiling and get them back to the jetty. She needed to keep Jennings going for a while longer.

  ‘I have another problem, Father.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ Jennings asked irritably.

  ‘I masturbate … a lot. Is that a sin, Father?’ Aleta could feel the fat priest’s piggy little stare boring through the holes in the partition, and she fought to quell a fit of the giggles.

  ‘It is a very serious sin! Matthew makes it very clear that when your right hand causes you to sin, it should be cut off. The Catholic God is a very jealous God, and if you abuse your body for an act of self-gratification, that is sexual idolatry, a mortal sin for which you will surely burn in hell. If you don’t turn away from this false faith, and if you don’t reject sex for pure pleasure, I can’t help you.’

  ‘Thank you, Father. Can I ask how you manage to do without sex?’

  ‘How dare you? How dare you? You will leave this church now!’

  Aleta slipped out of the confessional, leaving Jennings fuming on the other side of the partition.

  Security around the Vandenberg Air Force Base was tighter than usual. A heavy swell was coming in across a dark Pacific Ocean, and a searchlight probed the white caps as additional guards patrolled the Point Sal beach. The specially modified thirty-tonne LGM-30 Minuteman missile was in the last stages of being readied in test-launch silo Lima Foxtrot-26. A short distance away, the technicians were carrying out a series of final checks on the equipment on board Looking Glass. The crew of the E6-Mercury command and control aircraft were already strapped in their seats. They would vector the missile into a precise position for the massive ELF attack on the Iranian tunnel systems, an attack that would penetrate as far as the earth’s core. Nearly 4000 kilometres to the north, the command and control centre at Gakona was at full strength, where the scientists and technicians were testing HAARP’s elaborate circuitry. Tyler Jackson shifted nervously in his swivel chair, weighing up his options. The countdown to H-hour had begun.

  ‘The hide of that hypocritical bastard,’ Aleta swore, as they powered back across the lake towards San Marcos, the three trunks of diaries weighing down the stern.

  ‘Did he say it was okay to masturbate with your left hand?’

  She gave O’Connor a playful cuff over the ear. ‘Do you think we’ll make it?’ she asked, suddenly more serious.

  ‘It’ll be touch and go. The solstice dawn’s the day after tomorrow and Tikal’s over 300 kilometres away. When Wiley discovers what’s happened to ‘Lloyd Bridges’ and ‘Buster Crabb’ out there, he’ll be incandescent. But José’s organised a four-wheel drive so we can take the back road out of here – just in case Wiley’s lined up any more guerrillas to block our path.’

  Howard Wiley’s anger rose as Ellen Rodriguez brought him up to date via the secure video link from the US Embassy in Guatemala City. Wiley’s face was once again the colour of his hair, and he clenched and unclenched his right fist.

  ‘The body was found floating on Lake Atitlán, not far from the shore near San Marcos. The authorities have not identified it, but it’s almost certainly one of ours … found in a full diving suit with a knife wound to the throat.’

  ‘How can you be sure it’s one of ours?’ Wiley rasped.

  ‘My contact tells me the body has a US Navy SEAL emblem tattooed on his left arm.’

  ‘Shit! And the other one?’

  ‘Missing … presumed dead.’

  ‘That’s one hell of an assumption, Rodriguez!’

  ‘They were after O’Connor,’ Rodriguez replied calmly, ‘and he was seen in San Pedro after the first body was found.’

  ‘So where is he now?’

  ‘My guess is that both he and Weizman are headed for Tikal.’

  ‘We briefed five more assets yesterday. Are they there yet?’

  ‘As yet, they’ve not reported in.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Rodriguez! What sort of a nickel-and-dime show are you running down there?’

  Rodriguez kept her counsel.

  ‘Get your ass up to Tikal and take charge of this bullshit. I want roadblocks, round-the-clock surveillance, and I want Tutankhamen and Nefertiti dead as soon as they show their faces … and I want that codex!’ With that, the screen went blank.

  Rodriguez shook her head in frustration. Whatever the Wileys of this world thought of Guatemala, it was a sovereign country, and roadblocks might be a bit tricky.

  O’Connor kept to the speed limit, not wanting to attract any unwarranted attention, and as the hours slipped by, the stunted lowland bushes of Petén gradually gave way to the deep rainforests of Tikal. The site of the ancient Mayan city was now a national park, and O’Connor slowed to a stop at the gates.

  The park attendant waited until the old four-wheel drive was out of sight before he called the number he’d been given. He had no idea who the man and woman in the battered Toyota were, nor did he much care. They matched the description he’d been given, and the American woman had paid him handsomely.

  ‘So what’s the plan? Or are you just making it up as we go along?’ Aleta asked.

  ‘Pretty much,’ O’Connor replied with his disarming grin. The four-wheel drive bounced alarmingly out of a large pothole. ‘There’s a pretty reasonable lodge where we could stay the night, only a few hundred metres from the pyramids.’

  ‘Won’t they be looking there?’

  ‘They will, which is why we’ll avoid it … A pity really.’

  ‘So where does that leave us? If you can get that mind of yours above your navel.’ Aleta was smiling.

  ‘Before we left San Marcos, José told me he’d be in contact with one of the elders in a village across the river. José’s taken a more direct route, so he’s probably there already. It’s the same village your grandfather visited. According to José, there’s a track about a kilometre ahead that branches off the main road.’

  The track, not much used except by the villagers, was barely wide enough for the Toyota to pass. O’Connor drove slowly through the overhanging undergrowth. Vines and ferns grew abundantly between the huge mahogany and ceiba trees. Forty minutes later they came to the river, and the same bridge Levi had crossed seventy years before.

  ‘Aren’t you going to hide the vehicle?’ Aleta asked, as she hoisted her backpack with one of the figurines.

  ‘No point,’ O’Connor replied, shouldering his own backpack, which contained the other two. ‘Langley will have a twenty-four-hour satellite footprint over this place, and they’ll already have this vehicle fingered. But once we get over the bridge, it will be hard for them to track us under the canopy. They’ll need people on the ground, although they’ll be working on that too.’ O’Connor negotiated the rickety rope bridge and Aleta followed, treading warily on the worn cedar logs that swayed above the swift-flowing river nearly ten metres below. Safely on the other side, O’Connor led the way, pushing through the foliage along the narrow track that wound towards the old Mayan village. Suddenly he stopped, and Aleta almost cannoned into him. He moved off the track, motioning Aleta to follow. ‘We’ve got company again,’ he mouthed, putting his fing
er to his lips and pointing up the track.

  Aleta peered through the thick jungle, but she could see nothing. ‘More assets?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m not sure. It could be men from the village … I caught a movement about 150 metres away.’

  Aleta jumped as the jungle parted beside her and José Arana stepped into view.

  ‘You are right to be cautious. Your enemies are not far from here; they arrived in Tikal last night.’

  ‘You startled me, José!’ Aleta remonstrated, her heart still racing.

  ‘You didn’t waste any time, O’Connor said, acknowledging Arana’s mastery of the jungle.

  Arana smiled disarmingly. ‘There is very little time to waste. Follow me, and we’ll join the welcoming party.’

  In the seventy intervening years since Levi Weizman had been in the village, little had changed. There had been a small increase in the population, but smoke from the same cooking fires drifted towards the river. The women still soaked maize kernels in lime, grinding them into masa dough, and the griddles were warming, ready for the tortillas. The dinner menu hadn’t changed much either: a savoury aroma of chicken simmering in jalapeno chillies, diced peppers, oregano and limes wafted into the jungle. The younger women, the grand-daughters of those Levi had observed, had taken over the task of working the backstrap looms and they were weaving the huipils and traje in the same bright colours and designs that identified the village.

  The elders, the descendants of those who had once ruled Tikal, were dressed in their traditional red and yellow cotton shirts, pan-talons and straw hats. O’Connor and Aleta were solemnly introduced. No one knew better than the elders the magnitude of what might be about to take place.

  56

  TIKAL, GUATEMALA

  Ellen Rodriguez arrived in Tikal in a nondescript embassy four-wheel drive bearing local plates. She scanned the car park of the Jungle Lodge for any sign of the Toyota reported by the guard at the park gates, but no vehicle fitted that description. After checking into her room, she took a mango juice in the lobby and waited until the desk was manned by just one of the staff, an older dark-skinned man with a thin black moustache.

  ‘Would it be possible to see the guest list?’

  ‘I’m sorry, senora, but it’s against company policy.’

  Rodriguez slipped him a 200-quetzale note.

  ‘But I will see what I can do,’ he said, his face expressionless as he pocketed the money. A short while later, he returned with a sealed envelope.

  Back in the privacy of her room, Rodriguez worked her way down the list. She knew O’Connor too well to expect him to book in under his own name, but she was looking for two people, a man and a woman, who might have checked in some time after the report from the gate guard. Rodriguez came to the end of the list and sighed with frustration. No one had checked in as a couple, or two singles in the timeframe. So where were O’Connor and Weizman, she wondered. She looked at her watch. It was time to meet with the latest thugs Wiley had organised from Washington. Rodriguez smiled grimly to herself. The chase for O’Connor had left a trail littered with bodies, and she was beginning to hope that her old colleague might prevail again, but with five assets deployed, she knew the odds were now stacked even more heavily against him. Tomorrow was the winter solstice, and soon O’Connor would have to come out into the open.

  Wiley’s assets were supposed to rendezvous with Rodriguez near the base of Pyramid I, pretending to be part of a night tour of the ruins, but as she approached the Great Plaza, Howard Wiley detached himself from the main tourist group. Rodriguez stifled a gasp. No matter how important an operation was to Washington, it was unprecedented for the Deputy Director of Operations to appear in the field. If someone in Tikal recognised Wiley from a Senate hearing in Washington, the whole operation would be compromised.

  ‘I’m taking personal command, Rodriguez. This operation’s been a balls-up from the word go. You can brief me in your room.’

  ‘But, sir … the assets … ’

  ‘They’re under my direct command. This time I want no mistakes.’

  ‘Would you like something to drink, sir?’ Rodriguez asked as she closed the door to her bungalow. Her tone was icy.

  ‘A scotch.’

  Rodriguez handed him a miniature Johnny Walker Red Label from the room service bar.

  ‘So what do you have?’ Wiley demanded.

  ‘O’Connor and Weizman entered the park about two hours ago, but since then they’ve not been sighted. I’ve checked the records of the hotel, but no one has arrived in the timeframe. For the moment, they’ve disappeared, but they can’t be far away.’

  ‘Langley has a satellite image of a vehicle on what looks to be a disused track,’ Wiley said. ‘We’ve also got real-time footage of two people crossing a bridge, but after that they were lost to the jungle canopy.’ He pulled a map of the ruins of Tikal and the surrounding area out of his soft leather attaché case and laid it on the coffee table. ‘My guess is that they’re headed for this village here.’

  ‘And the assets?’

  ‘Three of them have been deployed in the ruins, with instructions to shoot on sight.’

  ‘You don’t think that might attract attention?’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck, Rodriguez. There are enough shoot-outs between Mexican drug lords in this part of the world to rival John Wayne on steroids. The other two assets are on their way to the village. If the two people crossing the bridge were Tutankhamen and Nefertiti, we’ll get them there. Either way, they’re cactus.’

  ‘So what about the codex? Wouldn’t it be better to keep them under observation until they lead us to it?’

  ‘That’s the problem with you, Rodriguez – you leave too much to chance. It probably hasn’t occurred to you, but whatever information our friends picked up around Lake Atitlán, they’ll have on them. I’m just as capable of deciphering that as they are. Now, do you have anything else?’

  ‘You and Langley seem to have it pretty well covered, sir. ’

  ‘Good.’ Wiley drained his scotch and folded the map. ‘I’m in Bungalow Eleven. If anything breaks out at that tin-pot organisation you run in Guatemala City, I’m to be informed immediately.’

  More than one door closed as Wiley left. The other was the silent sound of a door closing on a career to which Rodriguez had devoted her entire working life. With only hours to go to the winter solstice, and the second experiment in Operation Aether, she set her cell phone alarm for 3 a.m.

  57

  TIKAL, GUATEMALA

  The two assets moved silently along the jungle track towards the village where Arana and the elders, along with O’Connor and Aleta, were deep in conversation around the central fire. All listened carefully as Aleta outlined Levi Weizman’s notes on the confluence of the sun’s winter solstice rays with the crystals embedded in the gold-rimmed obsidian at the top of each figurine.

  ‘The second map was given to my grandfather by your predecessors,’ she said, laying the ancient huun bark document out on the ground. ‘It’s a precise triangle that corresponds to the angles between Pyramids I, IV and V.’

  Arana nodded quietly in approval.

  ‘My grandfather found the male figurine, the one with the male jaguar at its base, in Pyramid I, so I’m surmising that at the solstice tomorrow, the male figurine should be positioned on top of the Pyramid I roof comb. Each figurine has a hole in the base in the shape of the Greek letter Φ, and they’re each in a different position on the base, so it’s possible that may assist with the positioning.’

  Again, Arana nodded in agreement.

  ‘If my theory is correct,’ Aleta continued, ‘the female figurine with the jaguar and her cubs needs to be positioned on top of Temple IV, where it came from originally. The final neutral figurine needs to be positioned on top of Temple V, where my grandfather discovered it, and where it can capture the deflected rays from both the male and female figurines.’

  ‘You have done well, Aleta, but what then?’ Ar
ana prompted.

  ‘It’s hypothesis, but I’m hoping my grandfather was right when he theorised that the final beam deflection will indicate the location of the codex.’

  ‘The problem is, José,’ O’Connor interjected, ‘we’ll need help to safeguard the figurines once they’ve been positioned —’

  A blood-curdling scream, followed closely by another, pierced the jungle foliage.

  ‘Two of your enemies have been foolish enough to approach the village on the main track,’ said Arana. ‘If they were skilled in moving through the jungle at night, they might have been more difficult to detect, but there are more than twenty warriors protecting the village.’ He turned towards the village elders and consulted with them in the ancient language of the Maya. The village chief occasionally glanced at Aleta with a questioning look. Was this the one who had been sent to unlock the secrets of the Maya Codex?

  ‘The elders are in agreement,’ Arana said finally. You have both done remarkably well to get this far, and perhaps the time is upon us; but we can’t help you position the figurines. Our forefathers were very clear that the codex would be found only by the one who was destined to do so. Our warriors can guard the figurines once you have placed them; but once again I must warn you, the codex itself is fiercely protected.’ Arana looked gravely at Aleta. ‘Even more so than the figurine you discovered in Lake Atitlán, although the principle of balance remains the same.’

  It was well past midnight by the time the warriors from the cordon around the village had silently assembled, their war paint gleaming in the flickering firelight.

  ‘It’s time we moved,’ Arana said to Aleta and O’Connor. ‘Sunrise is at 6.49 a.m., which is a little over three hours from now.’ He nodded to the warriors and four of them immediately set off along the old jungle track that led back towards the bridge and the ancient Mayan ruins.