The Mayan Resurrection mp-2

by Steve Alten

  Glancing down at the control panel, she quickly verifies her position on the LED computer screen.

  The old Cape Canaveral lighthouse is a half mile north. Just ahead is the immense building she had seen from the NASA causeway only days earlier.

  Days? Seems more like years. Okay, if you’re really going to do this, then do it…

  She accelerates behind a cresting wave and rides it into the beach, activating the amphibious switch.

  As the jet ski rolls forward onto the sand, three tires rotate into position beneath the chassis, instantly converting the seacraft back into a landrover.

  Lauren parks the triwheeled dune buggy on dry sand, her eyes focused on the forty-foot-high perimeter fence which runs parallel to the shoreline.

  WARNING: ELECTRIFIED FENCE. NO TRESPASSING BY ORDER OF THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT.

  She tosses a seashell fragment.

  Zapp!

  Okay, Einstein, now what?

  A flash of headlights causes her to duck. She watches as a white stretch limousine parks in front of the main entrance.

  Lauren sits back, rubbing her head, trying to fathom the sudden sensation of deja vu.

  Grand Master Chong, Dominique, Jacob, and Immanuel stand before the two-way observation panel, watching the occupants in the next room.

  Seated at the head of a simulated oak conference table is President John Zwawa. On his left is Alyssa Popov, on his right, a Hispanic member of GOLDEN FLEECE.

  ‘Danny Diaz,’ Jacob mutters, ‘Dave Mohr’s right-hand man. Looks like the bastard sold us out.’

  A disheveled Dr. Mohr enters the conference room, followed by the most stunning woman Immanuel Gabriel has ever seen. She is young, about his age, but carries herself in a more worldly way. Mocha tan skin. High cheekbones, accentuated by long, wavy ebony hair, which rolls down her taut, muscular back to her flawless waistline. Her lips are full and luscious, her dark, wrap around sunglasses adding an air of mystique. She saunters around the room in her own little world, her bone-colored silk pajama-style outfit threatening to fall away.

  Manny watches her circle, his eyes wide. ‘Who is that?’

  Jacob stares at the woman as if seeing a ghost. ‘Trouble.’

  Dave Mohr’s voice emanates from speakers within their sound-proof office. ‘Mrs. Mabus, honestly, I’m not really sure what you’re after. After all, we’ve been attempting to reverse engineer the starship for more than a decade now, and-’

  ‘Please, Dr. Mohr, let’s not begin our tenure together with lies.’ Her voice, so soothing, yet not one to be trifled with. ‘Daniel?’

  Danny Diaz activates a recessed volumetric display, which rises to show the three-dimensional image of the Guardian’s starship rotating above the tabletop. ‘We’ve been able to access the Balam ’s astrotopography program. We also located the source of the electromagnetic pulse weapon, which essentially prevented us from annihilating one another back in 2012.’

  Lilith glides around the room, then abruptly stops and stares at her own reflection in the two-way mirror, inches from Jacob and Manny.

  ‘Who is she, Jacob?’ Dominique whispers.

  Lilith suddenly smiles like an enchantress, then slowly lifts her silk top, exposing her tan, grapefruit-sized breasts at the two-way mirror.

  Immanuel grins.

  Jacob’s heart skips a beat.

  And then the woman removes her wraparound sunglasses and reveals the sociopathic intensity of her azure-blue eyes.

  Jacob grabs his twin by the arm and forcibly drags him from the room.

  ‘Jake, stop-’

  ‘No! You need to leave here, now!’

  ‘Jake, her eyes… was that-’

  ‘Yes. Now listen to me very carefully-’

  They race down a corridor to a door marked EQUIPMENT. Jacob keys a code into a pad, then opens the door – revealing a stairwell that descends into darkness.

  ‘This will lead you outside to the beach. Give me two minutes, and I’ll cut power to the electrical fence. Your girlfriend’s outside.’

  ‘Lauren’s here? How do you know-’

  ‘Don’t talk, just listen. Head south. Stay out of the public eye. Find Frank Stansbury, he’s a friend of the family. Lives in Delray Beach, in the Western Estates.’

  ‘What about you?’

  Jacob embraces his twin. ‘Don’t ask-just run! Remember, Frank Stansbury. And stay out of the nexus, or the Hunahpu will sense you. Now go!’

  Immanuel hurries down the steps. Kicks open the rusted steel door and jogs out onto the beach, the wind gusting, the ocean spray blasting him in the face.

  Searchlights activate behind and to his left. He dives forward, rolling to the base of the electrical barrier.

  The searchlights’ motion detectors locate him. He tosses sand at the fence, which sizzles with static. Come on, Jake, shut it down!

  He takes a few breaths, looks around, then throws another fistful of sand.

  This time, the charge is gone.

  Leaping to his feet, he grabs hold of the fence, scaling the forty-foot-high steel barrier like a lizard. He leaps into the night, drops and lands on both feet – as a familiar figure runs away from him, heading for the ocean.

  Lauren sprints down the beach, away from the sirens, away from the searchlights. The wind whistles in her ears as the world-class sprinter races for the Amphibian.

  ‘Lauren, wait!’

  Sam?

  Lauren stops running as her fiance stumbles, barreling sideways into her.

  ‘Lauren?’ Sam stares at her in disbelief. ‘Oh, God, it is you!’

  She leaps into his arms, sobbing. ‘Sam, I’m in so much trouble-’

  ‘You and me both.’ Looking back over her shoulder, he spots the armed security guards. ‘Come on, we gotta move.’

  Hand in hand, they race down the beach.

  ‘No, this way!’ Lauren pulls him toward the water.

  He spots the Amphibian, then looks back, as one of the security guards activates his taser.

  No! Ignoring his brother’s warning, he slips into the nexus – time slowing to an excruciating crawl.

  Behind him, pushing through clear gelatin-like fourth-dimensional waves, is the taser’s sizzling violet circle of energy. Expanding rapidly across the beachhead, the paralyzing loop of lightning reaches for them – as Jacob grabs Lauren around her waist and leaps into the Amphibian’s cockpit.

  I can taste you, cousin. Why do you run? What is it you fear?

  Gunning the engine, he converts the jeep into a boat, then activates the craft’s autopilot, pressing the setting for Miami – as the wave of energy slams into them from behind, zapping them into unconsciousness.

  34

  25 NOVEMBER 2033: USS PENNSYLVANIA, ATLANTIC OCEAN, 297 NAUTICAL

  MILES EAST OF MIAMI

  Friday Morning

  Captain Robert Wilkins, Operational Commander of the Weather Net-Atlantic Force, stares at the real-time satellite image of Super-Cane Kenneth being projected on the control room’s large monitor. The Category-6 storm has become an absolute freak of nature, its clearly defined eye sixty nautical miles northeast of Eleuthera Island, its swirling vortex already engulfing the Bahamas, punishing the hastily abandoned islands with winds in excess of 195 miles an hour.

  Wilkins is as frustrated as he is worried. The delivery of the MPK gas mix to the Port of Miami was not only late, it was light, with barely enough of the pressurized cryogenic nitrogen to fill half the fleet’s converted vertical silos. Category-6 super-canes mandate a minimum of eight fully loaded vessels. Wilkins has barely six, and Kenneth is no ordinary superstorm.

  Executive Officer David Sutera approaches, handing him a printout. ‘Skipper, we just received this latest GMT.’

  SUPER -CANE KENNETH 1100 GMT FRIDAY 11/25/33

  LOCATION: 26.1 N 75.8 W

  MAX. WIND: 197 MPH

  GUSTING: 208 MPH

  MOVING: WAT 16 MPH

  PRESSURE: 941 MB

  PREDICTED U
.S. LANDFALL: SATURDAY 11/26/33 09:20 HRS

  DESTINATION: MIAMI

  ‘Christ, it’s picked up speed.’

  ‘A mandatory evacuation order was just issued. Key West north to West Palm Beach.’

  ‘Conn, sonar, skipper, we’re in the eye.’

  ‘Very well. Officer of the Deck, bring us about, make your course two-seven-zero, steady at four knots.’

  ‘Aye, sir, coming about. Making my course two-seven-zero, steady at four knots.’

  ‘Bring us to periscope depth.’

  ‘Aye, sir, coming up to periscope depth. Steady at sixty feet.’

  Sutera presses his face to the periscope and takes a quick 360-degree scan of the surface. ‘Confirm, skipper, we’re in the eye.’

  ‘Sonar, Captain, is the fleet in position?’

  ‘Conn, sonar, still waiting on the Wyoming and Kentucky. ETA four minutes. All other ships have come about and are standing by.’

  Wilkins reverses his cap and looks through the periscope.

  Sunshine reflects off an ominous olive green sea, its rolling waves peaking at thirty feet.

  An oasis of calm within a vortex of hell…

  The captain rotates to the west and focuses on the advancing eye wall. It is as if he is looking out from inside the heart of a tornado. A dark purple wall of clouds-swirling, twisting, igniting every few seconds in bursts of lightning-the storm is a living, raging beast.

  ‘Conn, sonar, all ships now in position.’

  Wilkins pulls himself away from the periscope and readjusts his cap. ‘Very well. Officer of the Deck, put us on the ceiling. Increase speed to sixteen knots.’

  ‘Aye, sir, surfacing ship. Increasing my speed to sixteen knots.’

  ‘Conn, sonar, give me two pings down the fleet’s bearings.’

  ‘Aye, sir, two pings.’

  Two thunderous gongs echo across the sea, alerting the other Trident subs, which have fanned out along the eastern eye wall.

  ‘Weather Net Officer, this is the captain. Begin ejecting MPK gas.’

  ‘Aye, sir. Ejecting MPK gas.’

  Located amidships, standing in pairs like steel redwood trees, are the sub’s twenty-four vertical missile silos, each rising more than three stories. Originally designed to launch sixty-five-ton Trident D-5 II nuclear ballistic missiles, the tubes have been refitted to hold compatibly sized canisters of pressurized cryogenic nitrogen gas mix.

  Weather Net Officer Matt Winegar activates the digital clock on his control board, then presses EJECT -1 and EJECT -2.

  Exterior hatches pop open along the top of the submarine. Seconds later, a clear stream of gas is forcibly expelled through venturi tubes. As the MPK gas mixes with the low-pressure, high-humidity atmosphere, it expands and crystallizes, forming a thick fog, which is quickly suctioned toward the approaching wall of the cyclone.

  Immense waves lift and drop the sub, sending several off-duty sailors scampering to the head.

  WNO Winegar tries his best to ignore the building queasiness in his gut as he watches his clock. Each MPK tank release must be timed to feed the storm, too much gas at once, and the storm will choke.

  At four minutes a green light flashes, alerting Winegar to release the next two batches of compound.

  The storm continues east as it feeds, its western eye sucking the chemical up into its vortex, dispersing it within its cumulus fury.

  High overhead, flying back and forth through the supercane’s clouds like steel falcons are ESMA’s Unmanned Cyclone Aerial Labs. These four-foot-long winged darts, known affectionately as UNCLE, traverse the walls of the eye, gathering precious data.

  The officers and crew of the Pennsylvania hold on and watch as UNCLE’s data appears on screen.

  SUPER -CANE KENNETH: SUSTAINED WINDS: 193 MPH

  The hurricane’s winds continue dropping. 182mph… 181mph… 179mph

  …

  ‘Conn, Weather Net Officer. All silos flushed, skipper.’

  ‘Officer of the Deck, take us down. Make your depth one hundred feet.’

  ‘Aye, sir, taking us down. Making my depth one hundred feet.’

  Captain Wilkins stares at UNCLE’s numbers, silently rooting for them to descend faster. From experience he knows the MPK gas must decrease sustained winds below 140 mph for the storm’s feedback cycle to be significantly disrupted.

  168mph… 167mph… 166mph… 167mph…

  The crew groans.

  Wilkins grits his teeth. Wasn’t enough… not nearly enough. He lets out a frustrated breath. ‘Conn, radio. Contact ESMA headquarters. Alert them the weather net has failed to cap the storm.’

  South Beach, Florida

  Friday Afternoon

  The surf laps gently along a deserted stretch of beach. The sun beats down upon a coconut tree, a gust of tropical air causing one of its fruit to fall. Sandpipers dip, then soar away, racing inland.

  Immanuel Gabriel opens his eyes.

  He is strapped within the bucket seat of the Amphibian, which has beached itself on shore. Releasing the shoulder harness, he turns around to face Lauren, who is strapped in the seat behind him. ‘Lauren? Lauren, wake up.’

  She opens her eyes, spitting a strand of hair from her mouth. ‘Oww, my head… what happened?’

  ‘We got zapped by a taser. I managed to activate the autopilot before it hit us. Looks like we made it to Miami.’

  He climbs slowly out of the cockpit, then helps her from her seat.

  She hugs him, laying her head wearily against his chest. ‘Why were you at NASA?’

  ‘God, don’t ask. It was sort of, I don’t know… call it a family obligation. I’ll tell you about it later. What were you doing there?’

  She pulls herself from his embrace. ‘I’m in real trouble. Someone killed Professor Gabeheart, and now they’re after me!’

  ‘Whoa, slow down. Who’s after you?’

  ‘Government thugs. Something’s happening in Yellowstone. We have to go public-’

  ATTENTION.

  They look up, startled.

  It is a PAWS (Public Aerial Warning System), a flying vehicle operated by the Earth Systems Management Agency to assist in evacuating populated areas prior to storms.

  THIS AREA HAS BEEN CLOSED BY ORDER OF THE ESMA. EVACUATE THE AREA AND REPORT TO A STORM SHELTER IMMEDIATELY OR FACE PROSECUTION.

  ‘Super-Cane Kenneth-I completely forgot.’

  ‘Come on.’ Sam climbs back in the Amphibian and tries the power switch.

  Nothing.

  ‘ Fubitchshitting piece of junk.’

  DO YOU REQUIRE ASSISTANCE?

  ‘No, no, we’re waiting to re-charge.’ Lauren activates the battery re-charger, then drags him out of the boat. The two hurry off the beach.

  PAWS keeps pace, hovering twenty feet above.

  She whispers frantically in his ear. ‘They’re watching both of our apartments.’

  ‘Who’s watching?’

  ‘Them! The guys who killed Gabeheart.’ She digs her nails into his arm. ‘One of them came for me in the lab. I hid under the computer decking. I heard him say they were watching my dorm. If they find me, I’m dead.’

  They exit the beach, crossing Collins Avenue. South Beach is deserted. There is no traffic, not a single car or street vendor present.

  ‘Kind of spooky.’

  ‘Sam!’

  ‘Okay, okay-’ He looks around, then pulls her beneath a floating walkway. ‘All right, start from the beginning.’

  Lauren tells him everything, showing him her scarred hand.

  When she is through, he leans back against a lamp post, rubbing his brow. ‘Jesus, Lauren, how’d you get yourself into this mess?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘And you really think these people have connections within our government?’

  ‘Yes! Weren’t you paying attention?’

  ‘Okay, okay.’

  ‘Sam, that PAWS drone will alert the cops. We have to get out of here.’

  He recalls
Jacob’s last words. ‘I think I know somewhere we can go.’

  Hangar 13

  Friday Evening

  The parking lot of Hangar 13 is filled beyond capacity.

  HOPE employees are arriving by car and bus, board members by private helojet. An invading army of technicians and scientists, engineers and associates-all waiting their turn to view the alien starship berthed in the main hangar bay.

  Inside the complex, away from the action, four people emerge from their hiding place beneath the Japanese A-frame.

  The two bodyguards, Salt and Pepper, stand vigil at the front porch. Each is wearing an aluminum foil EMP suit, designed to shield their nervous systems from the effects of taser fire. Dominique is inside Jacob’s home, anxiously waiting for her son to finish working at his computer.

  Mitchell Kurtz scans the atrium using his smart-glasses. ‘Here we go. Northern entrance. I see four guards, all carrying stun guns.’

  ‘They’re yours,’ says Pep. ‘I’ll get Dom and the kid.’

  Jacob finishes uploading information from his computer terminal. ‘Computer, complete upload to mainframe, then erase all records… Password: Gabriel Alpha-Zulu-Delta-4 Ahau, 8 Cumku.’

  UPLOAD COMPLETED. ALL RECORDS HAVE BEEN ERASED.

  ‘Jacob?’

  ‘Mother, listen to me carefully. Go with Salt and Pepper, they’ll get you out of here. Pick up Eve Mohr, then meet me at the rendezvous point.’

  ‘What about Manny?’

  ‘He’ll be all right.’ He forces a smile, then hugs her tightly. ‘Remember, do exactly what we talked about, and I’ll see you soon.’

  Pepper yanks open one of the shoji panels, the powerful bodyguard literally tearing it from its frame. ‘We gotta go-now!’ He grabs Dominique by the arm, half-carrying her through the fragmented doorway.

  She looks over her shoulder.

  Jacob is gone.

  Mitchell Kurtz glances up casually as four heavily armed Mabus security guards make their way across the bridge. ‘Evening, fellas.’

  ‘Don’t move. Don’t even blink.’

  Kurtz smiles. In a millisecond, his thought energy is processed through the neural shunt connected to his biceps, igniting the taser strapped to his forearm.