Revenge of the Maya

by Clay Farrow

  He had approached Dr. Byers with his incredible discovery. Ken was staggered by the demonstration and embraced the project, but stipulated that secrecy was of the utmost importance. Brad had been ordered to liberate the samples and destroy all references the university had to them. He did and as a reward Ken had given him the new Beemer he was driving and paid off his crushing student loans.

  Brad continued his doctoral studies by day, but at night and on weekends he was in the Byers lab, attempting to reverse engineer the vaccine. Breaking down the ingredients wasn't easy, even with Ken's guidance. The work was an ongoing headache with more than a few miscalculations, mistakes, and dead test animals. He had hit a brick wall and was having nightmares about losing his golden goose. Ken was becoming impatient so Brad did the only thing that made sense - any inconsistency in his research notes or an experiment's results were immediately destroyed or smuggled out of the lab. Thankfully, Ken hadn't noticed anything untoward as yet, but he knew he didn't have much more time. Maybe today would bring the big breakthrough.

  He swiped his card against the reader on the second floor landing, and was about to pull open the door when there was a crash. He froze. There was another crunching blow accompanied by the sound of splintering wood. Very slowly, he pried open the door a crack. Peeking through the slit, he saw a pile of knapsacks in the hallway and a kid holding a sledge hammer. His lab door was battered again. This time the door broke free and smashed into the wall with a resounding crash.

  Who was this guy? This was more than a nightmare. Someone had found out what he was working on. But how? Who was the spy?

  Quietly closing the door, he removed the cell phone from his belt. He turned to escape, but stopped in his tracks. The doors leading to the first floor labs silently swung open. He watched in disbelief as a pretty redhead with freckles, pushed a dolly loaded with cages into the lobby.

  "Whose car is that, Michael?" she asked.

  A young man, who he surmised was Michael, jumped up from behind the reception desk and pointed at him.

  "It's his, Julie."

  The girl's gaze traveled across the lobby and up the steps, until her eyes locked with his. Neither moved.

  "Gilles," she screamed.

  Julie's alarm spurred Brad into action. He launched himself down the steps. Michael dashed to the bottom of the stairs and threw out his arms to block his flight. As Brad approached Michael, he feinted left. When Michael followed, he dodged right and raced for the entrance.

  He heard the second floor door crash open. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the guy who had wielded the sledge hammer, charge onto the landing. He couldn't believe it, the kid reached under his jacket, and whipped out a pistol.

  "Freeze!"

  Brad paid no attention and kept running. He saw Julie snatch a small wire cage from the dolly. She skimmed the crate across the slick marble floor in an attempt to trip him. Brad leapt over the spinning cage, but landed off balance. He tumbled into the entrance's doorframe and heard the roar of the gun. The cell phone fell from his hand.

  "Oh my God," Julie gasped. "What have we done? We're no closer to opening the safe and now we have to explain this debacle to Jeremiah."

  Those were the last words Brad Ferry heard before he crumpled to the floor.

  4:

  Tikal National Park – Sunday

  Liz Dennison stood at the edge of the temple's terrace, gazing at the grassy plaza below. She glanced at her watch. There was still some time to kill before she`d have to deal with JJ. She hadn't felt any of the expected sensations yet. In fact she had a queasy stomach, probably from something she had eaten. This damn country. She'd only been here three days and already the food was getting to her.

  The days with JJ had been enthralling and she felt guilty over what she was about to do. But, she had a job and his discovery held the promise of saving millions of lives.

  She arched her back, lifting her face to the sun. Shutting her eyes, she lapped up the tropical heat. Originally from North Dakota, the memory of those frigid winters still gave her chills.

  A warm grin spread across her lips when she thought of how JJ's eyes sparkled when he talked about Tikal and the Maya. The smile never left his face. With more than forty years in his field, she was astonished his work still consumed him. He was an enthusiastic teacher and she, an eager student.

  Her informal education had been conducted in the evenings on the terrace of one of the pyramids, to take advantage of the refreshing breezes above the jungle canopy.

  "Earlier, you said the Maya was a civilization of contradictions," she said as she rolled onto her back and stared up at the glimmering stars, a pleasure denied her since escaping the sparsely populated plains.

  "Yes," JJ responded, sipping his beer.

  Liz tilted back her bottle of wine and swallowed a mouthful. "What do you think was the greatest achievement of the Maya?"

  "Besides the obvious," he replied, indicating the surrounding pyramids, "there's much to admire and condemn."

  "For instance?"

  "Their writing system using hieroglyphics. A 365 day solar year; mathematics, which included the concept of zero; astronomy; and a rich assortment of medicines. The Maya was a civilization steeped in art and science. They left books made of tree bark, paintings, pottery, and stone carvings."

  "What's to condemn?"

  He chuckled. "Almost as much as I admire. Maya city-states engaged in chronic warfare with one another. Slavery, human sacrifice, cannibalism, and self-mutilation were a part of every community. But I prefer to focus on the creative legacy of the Mayan civilization."

  "When did the Spanish conquer Tikal?"

  JJ was taking a swig of his beer and could only shake his head. When he lowered the bottle, he replied, "They didn't. Tikal, along with many other Maya cities collapsed during the latter part of the 9th century. By the end of the 10th century, the jungle had reclaimed Tikal and scores of other cities."

  "I always thought the Spanish were responsible for the destruction of the Maya."

  "The collapse took place centuries before the Spanish arrived in the 1500s and they faced a considerably less robust civilization. But even with that, it took the conquistadors 170 years to conquer the Maya. Whereas they crushed the Aztec empire in less than three."

  "How can a civilization just disappear, or collapse as you call it?"

  "No one knows for sure. There are a number of theories currently being debated."

  "What do you think it was?"

  "I think it was probably a confluence of factors. Drought, warfare, over population, and peasant revolt were likely the major culprits. One fed upon the other over two centuries, so rather than the collapse of a civilization, it could be called the decaying of a civilization."

  "So much has been excavated, why are you still here?"

  "Even after decades there is still a lot that remains undiscovered. As long as I can scrounge research funding, there's nothing else I want to do."

  Liz was brought out of her reverie and shivered when she felt a slight tingling. This was her second experience with the drug and although it was nowhere near as intense as the first, she loved the feeling. Her first was courtesy of that little nerd, Brad Ferry, who had slipped a dose into her drink. The sensations aroused in her by the drug, were unlike any she had previously experienced and she had quickly forgiven him. Sensing JJ would be well primed, she turned back to the temple, ignoring another wave of nausea.

  Liz stepped through the low-slung opening. The smoke had cleared, but the smell of gas and fire lingered in the stale air inside the temple. JJ was involuntarily twitching, as if an invisible cattle prod was zapping him in a dozen places simultaneously. The room was cloaked in semi-darkness, but he was squinting as if the light was blinding.

  She removed her safari jacket. Her white sleeveless blouse was soaked with sweat and clung to her skin. She gazed at his nakedness then, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, she took JJ's right earlobe between her th
umb and index finger. Smiling, she began a rhythmic caress. Her lips brushed his other ear as she whispered in a breathless voice, "The formula, JJ."

  * * * *

  The voice in his ear was a banshee's shriek. JJ slowly struggled to decipher Liz's screech. Once his brain caught up with her words, he violently shook his head from side to side. The breath behind her words hammered at the inside of his skull like a hurricane.

  He had never felt like this before. Never so alive. Never so attuned. It was as if a flaming match was being held to every nerve ending in his body. His heart pounded. The temple's stagnant air was so pungent, his nostrils rebelled, his sinuses throbbed. And while he knew there was barely a wisp of a breeze in the temple, every hair on his body suggested he was in a wind tunnel. The sounds and colors exploding in his mind were the 4th of July with the Boston Pops.

  JJ watched Liz's hand morph into a claw of five curled talons. She reached out for his throat and a salacious smile crossed her lips when he stiffened. The guards holding his wrists appeared to be hypnotized in anticipation. The two holding his ankles strained in vain for a peek at the extravaganza.

  JJ's body remained on the altar while some part of his essence escaped his body and drifted above the fray like a detached spirit, gazing down on the unfolding ceremony. He was about to witness a ritual unseen for centuries. The rite of human sacrifice – his sacrifice.

  His queen, Lady Twelve Macaw, took up her obsidian knife, a volcanic, black glass scalpel formed when lava quickly cools and hardens. She placed the glistening blade just below his throat. Wait! Something was missing. He had to stop her. She had skipped an essential part of the ritual. She hadn't painted him blue, the color of sacrifice.

  Liz pressed her fingers into his torso, just below his throat, then scraped her nails over his hairless chest.

  He felt Lady Twelve Macaw's glass dagger slice through his skin as if it were butter.

  "Give me the recipe. It's a small compromise for so much pleasure," Liz cooed, her nails raising thin red welts on his stomach.

  Lady Twelve Macaw slashed open his abdomen. She reached under his ribcage. Her hand encircled his heart and ripped the organ from his chest. Once the still beating heart was removed, it was held aloft so a pantheon of Gods could witness the magnitude of the offering. The organ was then placed in a bowl and set afire as a gift to the Gods. The ceremony was complete once the heart had been reduced to ash.

  * * * *

  Liz Dennison's fingernails sensually raked JJ's lower abdomen. She reached out. Her gossamer fingertips danced over his skin, touched him, stroked him. Then she withdrew her hand. A torturous waltz of bestow and withhold.

  She watched JJ writhe on the altar, arching his back as high as he could. Liz smiled at his desperation, his struggle to maintain contact with her velvet touch. She gazed round the room at her companions. One of JJ's Guatemalan captors licked his lips. Both men holding his wrists were hyperventilating.

  Richie Calvin's pale face had turned scarlet. He ran for the exit, shouting over his shoulder, "I can't be a witness to this unholy filth."

  Liz chuckled as JJ flailed from side to side in an effort to shake free of his captors. The four soldiers struggled to maintain their grip.

  Her breathing became constricted as her hand lightly stroked JJ's length.

  She grinned and said, "You're just a 'yes' away from release."

  JJ gnashed his teeth and roared at the top of his lungs, "Alright."

  "Are you sure?" Dennison cackled, relishing the power she held.

  "Please Liz," he begged, "please hurry."

  Liz squeezed and stroked, savoring the moment.

  His face seemed twisted in excruciating agony, and the groan that erupted from his mouth was a tormented explosion of ecstasy. He clenched his teeth. His eyes were clamped shut and his body went rigid. He'd found ecstasy.

  Liz's laughter echoed throughout the temple chamber.

  Uttering a hollow gasp, he slumped back to the altar, spent. He went limp, his jaw slack. He didn't stir.

  She released him. "C'mon JJ, don't play games. A deal is a deal."

  He remained still.

  "JJ, that's enough," she said, her voice edged with concern. Liz held the palm of her hand just above his lips. Nothing. She put her ear to his chest. Nothing. She placed her middle fingers against his carotid artery. Nothing.

  She knew the powerful aphrodisiac was no toy, but she hadn't figured on this. After her night with Brad Ferry, which resulted in seven curtain calls for her, she had hounded him for more. Unable to put her off, he had shown her just how dangerous JJ's concoction could be. Injecting a male and female dog, he had put them in separate cages beside one another. In attempting to quench their overpowering need to mate, the two animals had severely injured themselves. The demonstration had opened her eyes. Brad and Ken saw only science, she saw something else.

  "Shit," she spat as she reeled away from the altar. "He's dead! He seemed as healthy as a horse."

  The last thing she wanted to tell Ken Byers was that JJ kicked without revealing the formula.

  "Shit," she yelled, lashing out at the altar with her boot.

  The soldiers slunk back. JJ's body toppled from the altar to the dusty limestone floor. Liz yanked her cell phone from her pocket as she stomped toward the cubbyhole opening leading to the pyramid's terrace. The cowering soldiers fell over one another as they scrambled to get out of her way, then followed her through the narrow opening.

  Once outside, she dialed then whirled on her five men. "There's no damn reception out here," she shrieked. "Richie, take one of the jeeps to Santa Elena and call Ken. Tell him JJ had a heart attack. Also tell him I think JJ may have been working with someone. I'll find out who it is and will call as soon as I can."

  Richie nodded, but didn't move.

  "Wellll," she bellowed, "are you waiting for an engraved invitation?"

  "I don't have Dr. Byers' number."

  "Shit," Liz muttered as she stalked toward Richie. Tearing a ballpoint pen from her pocket, she snatched his forearm and scrawled the number directly onto his skin. "Now go!"

  Richie Calvin fled across the terrace and down the pyramid's steep steps.

  Liz turned on the lieutenant. "Get JJ dressed. If anyone asks, you found the body and are launching an investigation. Roundup JJ’s crew as they arrive from church. I want to question them. I need to know the name of the person he was working with."

  "Si, Señorita Dennison," the lieutenant answered as he hurriedly backed out of the line of fire, then ran into the temple. His three underlings stumbled after him.

  Liz marched to the edge of the terrace. Her heart was racing. She'd let Richie give him too much. Unless she got a name from JJ's workers, Ken's only hope was Brad Ferry.

  5:

  Byers Pharmaceuticals – Sunday

  Brad Ferry's head throbbed as if his brain was trapped in a migraine vise, but at least the pain proved he was still alive. What was the last thing he remembered? Running? Jumping over an animal cage? A concussive bang, some words, and then nothing.

  His world was black. Blindfolded with what felt like duct tape. His wrists tightly bound to the arms of a chair. He tried to move his legs, but his ankles were taped. He heard movement behind him. Then a crash of metal on metal.

  A male voice said, "Smash everything."

  Glass shattering triggered a Pavlovian head twist in the direction of the sound.

  "He's awake," said another male voice.

  Footsteps approached him. He felt something graze the side of his head. Then the duct tape was ripped away along with most of his eyebrows. He was blinded by both light and pain. Tossing his head back, he screamed in agony. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  "Wake up, sleepyhead."

  Brad felt a finger poking him in the chest. He forced his eyes open. Standing over him was the kid who had shot at him earlier. But what he'd thought was a finger was the barrel of a pistol. What had the girl, Julie, called him? A girl's na
me – Jill, no it must be the French, Gilles.

  He glanced around to get his bearings. He was facing the safe. Thankfully the vault was still locked. All was not lost. His reflection in the highly polished safe confirmed he had been shot. There was a gash on his forehead where the bullet caught him. It hurt like hell and explained the headache. He figured he must have been unconscious for awhile, because the blood had dried.

  "What's the combination to the safe?" Gilles demanded.

  Brad looked up at him. "Who are you?"

  "It's not important. The combination."

  Standing behind Gilles was Michael, the boy who had tried to stop his flight down the lobby stairs. He was holding the strip of duct tape that had been his blindfold.

  Brad weighed the odds if he refused to answer. He was positive this guy was a few years younger than he was. Was he a cold-blooded killer or was the incident in the lobby a thoughtless spur-of-the-moment reaction? The kid didn't look all that tough, just tall and ugly. Those cheeks reminded him of a dirt road – everywhere craggy potholes of mutilated flesh. He was going to bet this guy was not a monster, but a real pussycat. "I don't know the combination. I'm only a lab assistant."

  Gilles unclipped Brad's laminated identification card. He put the card in Brad's face. "Is this your picture?"

  Brad nodded.

  Gilles turned the card around. "It says you're Brad Ferry."

  "That's me."

  "And that's who we want."

  "I told you, I'm only a lab assistant."

  Gilles shook his head. "You're the researcher."

  "The only people with access to the safe are Ken Byers and the project leader. Talk to them."

  "There are no assistants on this project. The only people with card access to this lab are you and Byers."

  "You've been misinformed. Ken and the project researcher are probably on the golf course as we speak. Only peasants like me are forced to work weekends. I'm just an assistant." The kid wasn't buying his story. Who had fed this guy such detailed data? He'd continue to try and bluff. What was the kid going to do – kill him in cold blood?