Today travelers to Palenque are offered the opportunity to see the room where the ruler still rests. It lies deep within the pyramid; to get there one must start from the very top of the pyramid, snake his way down a stone staircase in a narrow passage that winds down seventy-five feet through the middle of the temple. It is no place for those suffering from claustrophobia – the air quickly becomes stale and close. Maneuvering the passage is like crawling through a small opening in a cave. It’s not for the faint of heart.
At last the passageway opens into a crypt constructed below the base of the temple at the time the pyramid was built. Inside the room is the intact resting place of a man ultimately identified as King Pakal, ruler of Palenque at the height of its power and prestige and the builder of the Temple of the Inscriptions.
The elaborate lid of Pakal’s sarcophagus is an enigma. It is covered with ornate and very peculiar drawings and is one of the great mysteries of modern times. Many archaeologists believe it shows the King dying like the setting sun, journeying into the underworld of death and emerging as the rising sun. But ancient astronaut theorists and many others claim it clearly shows the king in some type of space vehicle, his hand on a lever and his body lying back as if preparing to be launched in a rocket. If you look at the drawings on the lid with an open mind you can see how the latter viewpoint arose.
In every Mayan city archaeologists have found that temples and pyramids were constructed on top of and/or surrounding earlier structures. Many rulers chose to enhance, beautify and expand existing buildings rather than starting from scratch.
Although there is no historical evidence that this was the case at the monument called the Temple of the Inscriptions where King Pakal was buried, this book offers the premise that this particular temple at Palenque, like countless other buildings in ancient Mayan cities, was itself constructed around and atop something far, far older than the Maya civilization – perhaps even older than civilization itself.
Chapter One
Tuesday
Two days before the disappearance
President John Chapman was stretched out on a couch in front of a roaring fire in the Oval Office of the White House. He had kicked off his shoes and grabbed a rare half hour of solitude between meetings. In his hand was the latest issue of Archaeology Magazine. He was deeply engrossed in an article about a recent find – a hidden city in Peru, one that could rival Machu Picchu in size and grandeur once it was excavated.
Chapman had a passion for archaeological adventure. He loved the reports of new discoveries and enjoyed reading about expeditions to remote areas in virtually impenetrable jungles. As the most powerful man on earth, he was privy to the newest and latest things people were finding worldwide. He fueled his hobby by making sure his contacts around the world kept him informed of interesting developments in their countries.
The President was a scion of one of America’s wealthiest families. Other men of vast wealth had been elected President, most recently John F. Kennedy, whose net worth in today’s dollars was estimated at over $1 billion. George Washington, the father of our country, was second on the most-wealthy list at around $500 million. Chapman didn’t hold a candle to those two but he was worth well over $250 million personally.
Men such as John Chapman instantly got what they wanted and needed. Chapman had never done the things others take for granted, like waiting in line or being put on hold for three minutes or being denied the best table at a restaurant. At this lofty level of power some people tend to be curt and impatient with others. John Chapman was one of those. He could be the friendliest guy in the world at a baby-kissing political fund-raiser. Touring a factory, you’d think he empathized totally with the people pushing brooms or installing widgets.
But he didn’t. People who have the influence and money of John Chapman’s family think differently than the rest of us. They were different, of course, with all that power. But a few of them, like President Chapman’s parents, instilled in their children the notion that they were better than other people – that the have-nots were there to serve the ones with money. Families like this would have been happy in eighteenth century England where the wealthy owned the land and cast the votes while the uneducated poor were their indentured servants.
Interestingly, many of these people were never satisfied with what they had. They wanted more. More power. More money. More excitement. More first-hand looks at the rarest, strangest and newest discoveries in the world.
President Chapman had forty-eight hours left.
A quiet ding across the room took him away from the Andes Mountains and back to reality. He went to his desk, glanced quickly at his computer screen to see whose call had been sent through, then picked up the phone and spoke to the Vice President, William Henry Harrison IV.
The President skipped the pleasantries. “Harry, the Senate has to pass that pipeline bill. It’s been held up in committee for weeks and I’m surprised your constituents in Oklahoma aren’t yelling their heads off. The pipeline from Canada to south Texas benefits everyone. My Nebraska friends certainly want to see it happen and I know your people do too. So get in there and twist a few arms. Get this bill out of committee and on the floor. Then get it passed!” Chapman listened a moment then abruptly hung up. He got Harry Harrison’s word that the bill would be brought out and successfully dealt with. Harry had never let John Chapman down. And Chapman knew he wouldn’t do it now. People who let him down usually lived to regret it.
Another ding alerted him to look at the monitor on the credenza behind his desk. His personal secretary, one of three at his disposal, advised him the U.S. Ambassador to Mexico was on the phone. Few calls received Chapman’s immediate attention – those from a select group were the exception. It was possible this was a business call but Chapman hoped it wasn’t. His adrenalin always began flowing when he anticipated the possibility that someone was calling to give him inside news about his passionate hobby.
Picking up the receiver, President Chapman said, “Good morning, Mr. Ambassador. I hope things are well with you down in Mexico City.” The President glanced at his computer screen. “How’s Elizabeth and how are Paul and Kevin?”
Each time John Chapman’s private secretary sent through a call she accompanied it with an instant message providing information about the person who was on the line. These notes always included names of spouses and children, including their ages. If Chapman had been with the caller in the past year, that notation was included as well so he could easily and simply refer to their last meeting as though it were fresh on his mind. That was a big help for President Chapman since his lack of concern for other people was well known inside the White House but a secret to most outsiders.
“My family and I are fine, Mr. President. Thank you for asking. I know your time is valuable so let me get right to the purpose of my call. The last time you and I were together you spoke of your passion for archaeology and ancient enigmas. I took the liberty of letting a couple of friends know of your interest. They run the archaeological side of things at the National Institute here in Mexico City. I told them I’d consider it a personal favor if I could be among the first to know if anything new and unusual turned up. And this one involves Palenque – a place you already know about.
“Remember the phone call you made a couple of months ago to smooth the process for Sussex University to get its dig permits at Palenque? That allowed their team to get started much faster than usual. They’ve been working there awhile. No one knew if anything else might be found buried there along with King Pakal’s body. But sir, they’ve really come across something unique. I think you’re going to want to see it.”
John Chapman felt excitement growing inside as he listened to the Ambassador describe an incredible, almost unbelievable discovery at Palenque in the southernmost Mexican state of Chiapas. The Ambassador stated that the find had so far not been disclosed to the public. Chapman knew that was true – if this information were available to anyone on earth he would ha
ve known already.
“In case you wanted to see what they’ve found, sir,” the Ambassador said, “I’ve arranged to have everything put on hold for a couple of days. It took some doing – I called in a favor. A team of archaeological students from Sussex University has been excavating in the area for over a year. It doesn’t hurt that Sussex is my alma mater – in fact the current president of the university and I were fraternity brothers there. I don’t know if your schedule permits a quick trip but I thought you would want to know regardless.”
The President had to see this for himself. “I’m really glad you called me, Mr. Ambassador. I’m truly fascinated by what I’ve heard from you today. I took a look at my calendar while we were talking – I can be there day after tomorrow. How do you suggest we arrange things logistically?”
“I was thinking that through, sir. If you don’t mind flying under the radar, so to speak, I think it would be better to avoid publicity and questions both here and in the USA. If you can fly to Palenque I’ll meet you and escort you by private car to the ruins; it’ll take less than a half hour to get there. Then we can visit the discovery site itself. Will you spend the night?”
“I’ll be there early on Thursday morning and I’ll need to do it all in one day. It’s a lot easier that way anyway. I’ll have my assistant call with all the details in the morning and we’ll bring the Gulfstream if the Palenque airport’s big enough.”
“Given your circumstances I certainly understand that it’s easier to go back instead of staying, Mr. President. And the airport can accommodate a Gulfstream. I’ll wait for the call tomorrow and I’ll be at the airport in Palenque Thursday when you arrive. There’s not much at the airport so don’t be surprised at how basic things are.” The conversation was ended.
John Chapman sat back in his chair, hands entwined behind his head. He reflected on the good fortune he had in being who he was. He could be first at anything he wanted and this time he was going to be one of the first to see what undoubtedly would be the most extraordinary discovery he had ever come across. He pressed a button; within seconds a door opened and his appointments secretary came into the room.
“Sit down, Nancy. I need to change my plans for the day after tomorrow.”
She glanced at an iPad in her lap. “But sir, the Prime Minister of Israel is set…”
His response was curt. “I don’t care. Cancel everything and book what I tell you.”
Chapter Two
Two hours later John Chapman’s appointments secretary had completed the change in plans the President had outlined and she had passed details about the upcoming trip both to his personal secretary and the head of security. Her part was over – a Gulfstream G650 jet would be standing by to take Chapman and two Secret Service agents to Palenque. Everyone knew times and places, enough for the pilot to file a flight plan. It wasn’t the large plane Chapman normally used; this one was small and unobtrusive – exactly what was needed for this particular trip.
His calendar, previously full of appointments on Thursday, now only showed the words “personal time” to anyone who was high enough in the organization to access it. And his public calendar, the one that was posted online for the world to see, still showed a full, normal day, with one Senator, school group or awards ceremony after another parading through the President’s office and taking up his time. Only a handful, those who knew Chapman’s real plans, was aware these meetings were all fictitious.
Personal secretary Bridget Malone looked at the itinerary the appointments secretary had emailed. In large letters at the top were the words “TOP SECRET.” She read through it and shook her head. He’s off on another of his wild goose chases, she thought. As busy as he is, why he makes time for this stuff is beyond me. But she also had known Chapman for a long time – she had been part of his staff for nearly twenty years and if she knew anything about him, she knew how passionate he was about ancient things. He had been on expeditions to a remote area of Turkey to view a ruined city perhaps ten thousand years old; he had crawled headfirst down a very narrow passage in a Bolivian pyramid to see a previously undiscovered tomb; he had sat atop a temple in a Guatemalan jungle at midnight to experience the solitude.
John Chapman had a burning desire for adventure. He had little time to read for pleasure anymore but when he did he invariably picked up books asking who built the Sphinx or why the Nazca lines were created thousands of years ago, visible only from the air. He thrived on enigmas. He read about ancient aliens. He devoured books about how old mankind might actually be. And all of his reading material was in hard copy format – he eschewed Kindles, preferring a book you could hold in your hands.
Bridget knew what he read because his account at Amazon.com was in her name with shipments delivered to a post office box a few miles from the White House. Once his orders cleared the White House mailroom and were scanned by the Secret Service they were brought unopened to her. It was best that way. People might find it unusual that the United States President was interested in strange, weird subjects. The books never stayed in Chapman’s office where others might see them. They went straight to his bedroom bookcase. And so around the office it was a poorly kept secret that John Chapman was an adventurer, a man who probably should have been born as an explorer a hundred years earlier, a man who would drop even the most important appointment to travel two thousand miles to see a discovery. She had no idea this adventure would be different. Less than forty-eight hours remained for what was up to now John Chapman’s normal existence.
Looking over his itinerary she saw that Chapman had instructed only two of his Secret Service bodyguards accompany him. Normally there would be at least one more, especially with his heading to an unsettled place like rural Mexico, but his orders would be followed. After all, it was a one-day trip and the way it was being handled less than twenty people would ever know he had been away from the office. Even though they always existed, the chances for problems on this brief excursion were pretty remote.
-----
At four a.m. on Thursday, the day he would disappear, John Chapman heard a light knock on his bedroom door. The President acknowledged he was awake, turned on the light and headed to the bathroom. There was no need to worry about waking Marianne. They hadn’t slept in the same bed for over five years, ever since another of John Chapman’s dalliances with a young staffer had made the news. This one had been the latest in a string of girls, promises never to do it again, half-hearted pleas for forgiveness.
But this one had been different. This was John Chapman’s first affair while President, and this time he didn’t plead or promise. He had looked at his wife coldly and said, “If you don’t like it, get out. File for divorce. Leave me and this life you have. You’re nobody, Marianne. You’re a little girl from Omaha and you’re nothing without me. You know it and I know it. And we both know you aren’t going anywhere. So get over it.” He had walked out of the room and slammed the door.
She had drowned her sorrow in several Bourbon and waters that evening after moving her things to a bedroom next door to his. Marianne Chapman hated herself because her husband was right. She stayed for exactly the reasons he had said she’d stay. She craved the attention that came with being First Lady and she didn’t want to go back to her old life. But from that day on there was no love, no passion, no hand-holding – except in public, of course. Their marriage of convenience was a well-kept secret. Only the staff of the personal residence within the White House knew they slept in separate rooms, and most of them thought it was because of Chapman’s propensity to read books until the wee hours. The First Couple weren’t particularly lovey to each other in front of the staff, but they never fought either. They just seemed like an old married couple that had slipped into a bit of complacency.
President Chapman left the White House at 5:15 a.m. He read the morning paper in the rear seat of a black sedan, one bodyguard in the front seat and the other riding in an identical sedan in front of Chapman’s car. SUVs flanked the front a
nd rear of the motorcade. The President was dressed in jeans and a golf shirt and wore a light jacket and a Panama hat. His driver had never seen Chapman dress so casually before. With light early morning traffic the sedan pulled up at Andrews Air Force Base just before six o’clock.
“Good morning, sir,” a businesslike flight attendant said as Chapman and his two Secret Service agents boarded the Gulfstream G650, newest in the Government’s fleet of planes used to shuttle the President around. Considered the world’s fastest private aircraft, the plane could fly over six hundred miles per hour and go nonstop from New York to mainland China. Although the standard G650 could seat up to eighteen people, this one had been dramatically modified to carry a maximum of eight passengers while ensuring the comfort and safety of just one – the President of the United States. The aircraft was equipped with a full kitchen and bar and included a stateroom and private bath at the rear of the plane. A flat screen TV mounted on the wall at the front of the cabin was tuned to CNN. The morning news quietly droned in the background. There were no breaking stories of interest to Chapman. That was a good thing since he was heading to the boondocks for the day.
Ordinarily whatever aircraft carried the President automatically used the call sign “Air Force One.” Due to the secrecy of this trip Chapman had requested the Gulfstream use its normal tail number instead. Otherwise anyone with the interest and technological savvy could have immediately determined that President Chapman was flying to Palenque.
There were two pilots – the one flying left seat came out of the cockpit and gave John Chapman a briefing. The flight would take a little less than four hours and the trip was scheduled to be smooth and easy. With the time change they should arrive by 9:30 a.m. local time. As the plane taxied to the runway and streaked into the morning sky Chapman settled into his plush seat and opened a black briefcase that had been set at his feet by one of the bodyguards. He retrieved a series of folders and began to peruse their contents one by one. Making notes here and there he found it difficult to concentrate on the work of the nation he governed. His mind continually wandered to the mystery and adventure awaiting him in Palenque, Mexico.
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 52
