“I heard it, but I can’t see anything.”
Sam bent down to disconnect his hydraulic device from the shaft below.
“Say Tom, did you happen to notice those spears there on our way up?”
“What spears?”
Tom looked down the shaft they had just climbed.
Four large spears, made of iron, had appeared from the floor below.
“Whoever built this didn’t plan on any grave robbers,” Sam said.
“Yeah, well I have no desire to rob from the dead, but do you have a plan to get out of here?”
“Not yet. I’m working on it.” Sam then looked around the room and at the shaft above. “Shall we continue?”
“After you.”
Sam followed the same plan as the first one they had used to reach the next chamber. The only difference was that this time the stakes had lethal consequences if he failed.
Sam climbed the stone ladder nearly seventy feet before he came to the final chamber. His head had barely passed the opening, and he was certain that they had discovered the final resting place of a king, but which king?
Tom popped his head up through the shaft a moment latter.
“I’ll be darned!”
“What is it, Tom?”
“We’ve just found the final resting place of king Ajtzak.”
*
At the center of the room, directly above the shaft that ran all the way to the entrance of the pyramid’s chambers more than a hundred feet below, Tom was able to see the source of the strange bluish glow. A perfectly round ball, no larger than his fist and made of a dark blue crystal-like stone, resonated light, as though it were a diamond.
Where it drew its light from remained a mystery – Tom could only guess. The Mayans who had built it had somehow drawn light from hundreds of feet above, perhaps so it would always shine on their old king.
It must still be daytime outside.
The room was large, maybe forty feet wide. Its walls rose in a perfect pyramid, culminating in the roof high above and meeting where the blue stone rested, like a world globe illuminating the room. At each of the four walls, a single man stood with his hands above his head as though he were supporting the roof above. There, more than a hundred intricate pictographs and hieroglyphics adorned the room.
At the center of the room, a sarcophagus rested.
On top of it, a pictograph depicted a man holding a scepter. Only, the man was garlanded in colorful stones, and the scepter was formed by an indentation on the sarcophagus, as though the real scepter awaited to be returned.
“What makes you so certain this was king Ajtzak’s tomb?” Sam interrupted his examination of the room.
“Because that’s his family emblem.”
“What is?”
Tom touched the pictograph at the base of the sarcophagus, “Here. See these four horsemen, carrying spears? They’re looking up and worshiping their deity – a man with a hawk head and headdress with a sun disk.”
“AKA, Ra, the Sun God in ancient Egyptian culture,” Sam stared at it in wonder.
“Right you are. Hey, what do you know about Egypt?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Tom ran his hands along the crest of the deity, and then added, “I only remember it because when I called a professor of Mayan archaeology at the University of Mexico, he said that Ajtzak used a very specific symbol, which looked almost exactly like that of Ra, the God of Sun. But, as even I know, the mention of Ra was only ever found in Egypt, never on this side of the Atlantic. What’s stranger still, this reference to Ra, can’t be found anywhere else throughout his bloodline or the rest of the Mayan culture.”
“The Egyptians believed that Ra was swallowed every night by the sky goddess Nut, and was reborn every morning. They also believed that he traveled through the underworld at night,” Sam repeated what he knew about Ra.
“So the real question to ask is, what is an Egyptian sized pyramid and Egyptian God doing on this side of the Atlantic, at the burial site for a Mayan King?”
“I have no idea. But if we can get this cyanide problem fixed, I’m sure some archeologists are going to have a field day in here.” Sam regarded the walls again. “I had a quick look at Mayan mythology on my tablet while waiting for you to come round earlier. It appears this room is an abstract combination of the Mayan beliefs.”
“Such as?”
“The Maya believe in a universe consisting of heavens above and underworlds below, with the human world between. Linking the three realms was a giant tree whose roots reached into the underworld and branches stretched to heaven. The gods and the souls of the dead traveled between worlds along this tree.”
“Interesting. So we’ve just found the inner sanctum of king Ajtzak’s tomb?” Tom tapped on the sarcophagus. “Are you starting to get the feeling that no one really knew this king? As though, maybe, he came from somewhere else?”
“As in, Egypt?” Sam replied.
“Exactly.”
Tom continued to scan the vivid imagery on the walls. There were animals and humans, snakes – all sorts of creatures. Tunnels, similar to the shafts he had just climbed, appeared to swirl around the walls of the room, until he realized that they weren’t tunnels – they were branches of a tree, and its roots.
On the wall was a symbol Tom had never seen before. It was small, and made of bronze, depicting a man with a measuring tool standing above an army. It seemed almost irrelevant compared with the other treasures that adorned the King’s final resting chamber. Yet somehow, it looked like it could have once been important.
One look at Sam’s face when he saw it confirmed his instincts.
“You’ve seen it before?”
“Yes.” Sam was quiet and unusually distant.
“Where?” Tom pursued the question. It was unlike Sam to be coy with him. “What does it mean?”
“Back in Afghanistan… When I was removed from active duty, I was sent to explore a prehistoric ruin, overrun with encryptions and mazes. At the very top of the structure was the symbol of the civilization that built it. Their mark. It was simple, almost bland by comparison with the structure they had created – just like that one…”
“So, you’re saying that these people, who lived in Afghanistan many years ago, also lived in Central America?”
“No.”
“But this is the tomb of a Mayan King?”
“Yes, but the Master Builders lived by building great structures. One theory is that they never even built these things themselves, but instead commanded great armies to do it for them. They would have been more accurately described as Master Engineers. And this, I believe, would have been just one of their many projects – for a price.”
“And what was that price?”
“That I’ve never been able to work out. In fact, so far, I don’t even have proof they ever existed. The only evidence I have is that many of the ancient wonders could not have been built without such a race.”
*
Eight hours later, after a prolonged decompression period in the Rock, Sam and Tom stepped outside the hyperbaric chamber and onto the deck of the moon pool. Sam looked at the faces of the people who worked and lived aboard the Maria Helena. They were his family, and each face displayed its own way of coping with a near death experience of one of its members.
“All right, you lot. We’re okay.” Sam scanned their faces for relief, and found none. “We all know it takes a lot more than a cracked faceplate at a few hundred feet of water to damage Tom’s ugly face any more than Mother Nature.”
“I’ve had a look myself, and I think the blow might have done some improvements.” Tom spoke with the relaxed self-assurance of a man whose strong jaw line and intensely grey, piercing eyes, had stolen many a woman’s heart.
“Now, as much as I’m glad you all care about our survival, we have some important work ahead of us. Let’s not forget that several tons of hydrogen cyanide are still leaking out of a hole in the seafloor. I wa
nt everyone in the mission room within ten minutes. Grab yourselves a quick coffee, or whatever drug you use to keep focused. I need to debrief what we discovered, and plan our next steps.”
Eight minutes later, Sam stood at the head of the table in the mission room. Each person on board the Maria Helena was there, all fifteen of them, and each looked up, focused on what he was about to say. He could feel the tension as he spoke.
“We made our dive to the seafloor in search of one answer, but have instead come back with a multitude of unanswered questions. Two distinctly different challenges, requiring two different teams to resolve. The first, and paramount purpose of our mission is to discover the source of the leaking hydrogen cyanide and block it. The second is of an archeological nature. The pyramid will be treated as an archeological site, with our team primarily providing the logistical needs of the archeologists to investigate.”
Sam drank from his cup of hot chocolate before he continued speaking. “It appears that the source of the hydrogen cyanide leak is through a crack in the outer wall of a subterranean Mayan pyramid. It’s unlikely to have come from the local silver mine as first expected, but instead from a cyanide store.”
“Mayan cyanide store?” Veyron asked.
“Yes, Mayan. I do realize that cyanide wasn’t utilized in mining until the 17th century in Europe, but there has been evidence over the years that both the Mayans and the Aztecs discovered the benefit cyanide served in separating raw mining materials such as gold and silver, centuries earlier. My guess is that a recent drilling or explosions from the nearby silver mine most likely damaged the old store, sending its lethal poison into the Gulf.”
“I want you, Veyron, to head up a team of engineers to work out the solution to remove any additional poison from the cracked wall. Then work out a way to fill the entire area with concrete, so that if we miss anything, it will be another thousand years before the stuff escapes again.”
“Got it,” Veyron acknowledged.
“Tom, once someone checks you out and makes certain you’re fit to dive again, I want you to head up a team to search the pyramid and what appeared to be the King’s Tomb.”
“You don’t want to run it?” Tom asked, his surprise clearly evident in his face.
“I do, but my first mission must be to resolve this marine catastrophe.” Sam grinned. “I have a number of personal reasons why I’m intent on exploring the pyramid’s hidden secrets, but it can’t be my priority. I’m going to need to make some calls, and manage the overall project from topside. Don’t forget, we have less than a month until we’re in the midst of hurricane season. It might sound straightforward, but don’t forget we’re working in up to 400 feet of water, inside a narrow tunnel. We have no way of knowing how stable the pyramid’s walls are, or what’s on the other side of that cracked wall.”
Veyron raised his left hand, only slightly, as though he had something to say.
“Yes, Veyron?”
“Why don’t we just back fill the entire pyramid with concrete? It would be less risky, and I’m sure whoever’s buried down there wouldn’t mind being just that little bit more… how do I say? Snug?”
“We may have to if our first option becomes too difficult or unsafe, but I believe this site holds far too many secrets and insights into the Mayan culture to be forever buried in thousands of tons of concrete. During the Spanish conquest, the Catholic Church and colonial officials, guided by Bishop Diego de Landa, destroyed Maya texts wherever they found them, and with them the knowledge of Maya writing. The writings on these walls may hold a wealth of information about pre-Spanish Mayan culture, which I would hate to see buried for eternity.”
“Okay, I’ll do my best to preserve it,” Veyron acknowledged.
Returning to the cyanide problem, Sam continued, “For all we know, the mine has been stockpiling the waste product from their silver mine in an underground tunnel, with no idea that one day it would break into a pyramid. Make no mistake ladies and gentlemen, this is a serious undertaking, with deadly consequences for the world’s marine life.”
Veyron said, “Regardless of who owned the cyanide once upon a time, I believe it is safe to say that the silver mine is somehow responsible for the damage that caused the leak. And if they have been dumping cyanide for years, we better know now rather than later, before we drill into something that we shouldn’t.”
“Good thinking,” Sam said. “If I know big mining, they’re going to drag this thing on through every loophole possible until the EPA forces their hand. It’s going to be nasty, but I’ll make the call. TRY and get hold of the owner, Michael Rodriguez, first, and see if we can get around some of the red tape.”
Tom grinned mischievously, “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I think that’s his helicopter approaching now.”
Chapter Four
Michael Rodriguez flew into Mexico that morning on his private jet. It was hot, but unlike Spain, which enjoyed the cool breeze off the Adriatic Sea at the entrance to the Med, Mexico always seemed dry. It was one of his least favorite mines, but there was no avoiding it today.
Nothing ever happened without his knowledge – on any one of his 43 prized mineral mines. He was an owner who maintained a very active control of the day to day workings of each of his mines, and prided himself on his ability to ensure their efficiency and the loyalty of his employees.
Rodriguez Mining Inc. was started by his grandfather in 1928. Originally, a single gold mine in South Africa, which he’d bought after luck granted him a relative fortune with the discovery of the Royal Clipper, an 80-ounce gold nugget. As the world turned to ruin and the great depression struck solid in 1930, he bought up a number of mines at prices below the value of their inventory. It was a gamble that paid huge dividends in the lead up to the Second World War in 1939, when Germany began stockpiling gold and iron ore.
By the time Michael’s father took over in 1962, the company was already rich. But by embracing the newer drilling technology, he drove the company to be one of the most profitable mining conglomerates in the world, with mines on every continent.
History teaches us that the first generation of entrepreneurs make the money, the second improve on that money, and the third – loses it all. If, somehow, the third generation manages to keep the wealth inside the family from becoming lost in gluttony, greed and temptation, then the family often goes on to being generational old money, such as the Rothschilds, the Waltons, or the Arnaults of the world. The families entire nations borrowed money from.
It was his plan, among others, to place the name of Rodriguez beside those names of the uppermost echelon of rich.
He had flown in immediately when he heard that the Maria Helena was snooping near his mine. He had a fair idea what they were after. It had been all over the world news that the Dead Zone had increased since last year by a factor of nearly 100.
Michael couldn’t have cared less about the environmental losses, but where unexplained environmental accidents occur, local mines often got the blame. No, he would have to show a presence at the investigation if he wanted to keep Rodriguez Mining Inc. above board. It was a small price to pay for what he wanted in the long run.
His private jet had just stopped rolling on the tarmac at Mexico’s Ciudad Del Carmen International Airport, when he stepped off it and boarded a company helicopter. The best way, he decided, to keep things in his favor, was to meet the crew of the Maria Helena in person.
Immediately, before they sought him.
Within twenty minutes, the company helicopter landed on the rear deck, next to another helicopter on board the Maria Helena. While the rotors slowed, Michael, not prone to waiting for anything, stepped out and walked towards the crew behind the decking – where the man who held the outcome of all his dreams, stood waiting for him.
*
Sam watched the stranger approach.
He was maybe ten years Sam’s senior, but bounded out the h
elicopter like a much younger man, paying no attention to the spinning rotary blades above his head. It was a sign he was confident around helicopters, or lived in such a world that he believed himself above the possibility of harm. His height was average, and although approaching his mid-forties, Sam guessed, his athletic stride and upright posture displayed the remnants of someone who had once been a boxer. And none of the usual signs of someone who’d inherited nearly 25 billion dollars, such as a team of bodyguards, or flab from a lifetime of inactivity and excess.
“Good morning. Which one of you is Sam Reilly?” he asked, holding out his hand. The man wore a confident smile, and spoke like a man who was used to being listened to. Despite his Spanish origins, he spoke perfect English. His voice betrayed a very slight trace of a Boston accent – the latter being most likely the result of his Harvard education.
“That would be me,” Sam said, meeting him half way to shake hands.
The man met Sam’s eyes immediately. “My name is Michael Rodriguez.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rodriguez.”
“Call me Mick…” Smiling affably, he winked and said, “Only my employees and those who want to suck up to me for money call me Mr. Rodriguez. Unless, that is, you want to work for me? Because I know you don’t need the money.”
So he knows who I am… or at least who my father is…
“Sure.” Sam was surprised by Mick’s gregarious attitude. Growing up with his own father, he had met many of the world’s ultra-rich, and this man made the first exception to the rule, that all such men act as if and believe they own the planet and all those within it. “What can I do for you, Mick?”
“Sam… may I call you Sam?” Mick asked and then, receiving the slight nod from Sam, continued, “I’ve heard reports that record numbers of fish have been found dead or dying near “The Dipper,” one of my silver mines. Each year the Dead Zone seems to be getting worse… maybe there’s something to this whole global warming thing, or maybe we just take too much from the soil through Northern America?”
The Mahogany Ship (Sam Reilly Book 2) Page 4
