The Mayan Priest Read online

  Above the pillars in the unique stepped pattern invented by the Mayans was a distinctive arrangement of glyphs. Supposed to be read in columns of two starting from the top to bottom, Richard began to decipher what had been carved.

  ‘The first few columns appear to say something like “you are”, then we have a picture of a shield followed by two glyphs representing the sun and moon god. After that appears further characters representing friendship and B’alam which of course means “jaguar”, the most revered animal in the Mayan world.’

  ‘So … what does it mean?’ asked Redmond in breathless, youthful enthusiasm.

  ‘I know,’ commented Fred with confidence as everyone shone their lights on him and waited expectantly for his explanation.

  ‘This is the tomb of a king. I would have thought that was conclusive considering the two uppermost gods, and the jaguar symbol commonly used by the kings are clearly evident.’

  ‘Well … I disagree,’ added Gillian, knowing that only the darkness shielded her from Fred’s scathing look.

  ‘Those life-size carvings are clearly of a priest,’ she said, gesturing to the side pillars. ‘It is evident by his clothing and simple headgear. A king would be decked in his full regalia. The hieroglyphics in my view say something like “you are protected by the gods of the sun and moon. You are my friend and that of the Jaguar”. I think this magnificent archway was carved as a dedication to a friend and priest,’ concluded Gillian as Richard and Mitchell murmured in agreement.

  ‘Is there a tomb here or not?’ boomed Samuel irritably, his deep, resonating voice taking everyone by surprise. This was the first time he had spoken since Gillian and Fred were first introduced to him.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Gillian confidently. ‘I just don’t know how to gain access yet.’

  ‘Blow the bloody door. It’s not as if we’re dealing with the Egyptians and all of their fancy traps. These people were primitive,’ snarled Samuel, his expression of disregard for history sickening Gillian. She wondered how he ever got the job here.

  ‘You’re a real piece of work, Samuel. Can you imagine what damage you could do if you used explosives in here? Not disregarding the treasure that may lie on the other side of that panel,’ said Mitchell as Samuel snarled in a reluctant concurrence.

  ‘I might be wrong, but I think this is what we’re looking for,’ said Julia unexpectedly as she took the lantern from Richard. She lifted it up to a fully working Calendar Round, the Mayan calendar that could calculate up to fifty-two years with two rotating cycles, one inside the other. It was fashioned from jade, was five inches across and had a pattern of inverted hieroglyphics. Right in the centre was a hexagonal shaped ruby about the size of a walnut. ‘I’ve seen many of these before but never with a stone in the middle. As the stone is clearly significant and the inscription above it means “entrance”, it’s my guess that this is the key,’ and with that Julia lifted her hand to press the glittering centrepiece.

  Gillian momentarily scanned the hallway, taking everything in. She looked at the paintings, carvings and colour, realising that the creator of this room was not ostentatious. He had simply depicted Mayan life as best as he could, dedicating his work to his friend. It was unclear if this passageway had been created before or after the death of the priest, but either way the only jewels used had been to embellish the priest’s image. It was totally out of keeping having a jewel of such large proportions imbedded in the Calendar Round. She suddenly experienced a sinking sensation that something was wrong, out of place, planted. Gillian opened her mouth ready to voice a warning, but it was too late. Julia had pressed the stone and a deep, earthly groan rumbled beneath them.

  The entire back wall had begun to shift sideways. Created from a solid block of stone that must have weighed many tons, Gillian expected that it would be stiff and noisy, but it moved as fluidly as water flowing down a stream. She was utterly amazed by the expert artisanship not seen before in the Mayan world.

  ‘Wow!’ exclaimed Richard and Mitchell in unison as the limestone disappeared into the wall and an elaborately painted room of approximately thirteen foot square came into view. It was totally covered by murals with not a blank space visible. Again it depicted the life in Tikal, but this time it was a little more personal, with paintings of the same priest in various scenes before a king and in his personal life at home.

  Richard, Mitchell, Julia and Redmond moved enthusiastically to the back of the room, enthralled by the treasure trove of information before them. They stepped aside for Fred who shuffled in beside them, photographing the room for later studies. Gillian knew he would spend the next few weeks decoding the meaning behind the paintings and create meticulous records of their discoveries.

  ‘Come and look, Gillian!’ called Fred in awe as she turned to go to him, a swift, almost shocking crunch escaping from the roof above her head. Acting on instinct, Gillian dropped to her stomach and rolled away from the noise. She hit her knees and elbows hard against the floor, the pain going unnoticed as an iron gate plummeted to the ground, missing her by less than an inch.

  Gillian groaned and sat up quickly, realising that she was on the opposite side of the gate to her friends. They were trapped, and the look of horror on her friends’ faces as the limestone block reappeared terrified her. She yelled and screamed, but there was nothing she could do as the limestone wall slid back across the opening, almost sealing shut before Redmond slammed the pickaxe he’d been carrying with seconds to spare.

  Gillian stood up, almost tripping over Samuel’s unconscious body as she hurried to her friends. She was surprised to find that he had also escaped, and a quick check of his vitals revealed that he was going to be fine.

  She rushed to the gap created by Redmond and called. ‘Are you all okay?! If you give me a moment, I’ll find a way to get you out!’

  ‘Jilly … I fear we’re stuck here. The inner walls are made of a thin wood veneer that is likely to collapse with any drastic movement. We would be killed instantly. I still can‘t believe that we were dumb enough to fall into this trap,’ moaned Richard.

  ‘And you might want this. I can’t be sure what it is, but I have a hunch this is the clue to our escape,’ he added, reaching through the gap and passing her a square jade tile approximately two inches in diameter ‘I found it imbedded in a hole on the inside of the wall, but it’s too dark to translate the inscription … although if I’m not mistaken, its medieval Latin with an arrangement of unusual hieroglyphs on the back.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Latin was not introduced to America until Christopher Columbus in 1492,’ replied Gillian as the handle of the pickaxe began to splinter, the weight of the wall too much for the small tool.

  ‘Yes, but this room is genuine. Look, Jilly, we don’t have much time. A few months ago, I unearthed a box at the base of the Temple of the Sun in Teotihuacán. It has these inscriptions on it and engravings that match this plaque. You need to get it and find out what’s inside. You’ll find it on my shelving, under “M” … oh … and not to put any pressure on you, but we have just found a small crack in the floor. It seems we are hanging over a deep pit of some sort. Goodness knows what’s at the bottom, but we don’t really want to find out,’ added Richard, and with that, the axe gave way and fell into the abyss below.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gillian was in shock, but she did not waste time. She dropped the tablet into her pocket and started to run towards the vertical stairs only to find that her right foot was snagged. Glancing downwards to sight the cause of her obstruction, Gillian instantly recognised Samuel’s bucket-like hand wrapped around her ankle. He had come too, and the look of greed on his face made shivers run down her spine.

  ‘Give me that tile,’ he hissed as Gillian leapt onto her remaining foot and swung around, kicking him in his right shoulder. Samuel reacted by releasing her foot and giving her a few precious seconds to scramble free. Gillian sprinted the a hundred feet to the exit only to hear Samuel thunder along just beh
ind her. He reached her just as she climbed the first two steps, grabbing her legs and bringing her crashing onto her already tender knees. She tried to swipe him with her fist, but he held her fast.

  ‘Come on, bitch. Where’s the tile?’ he growled as he began to rummage around in her pockets, his distraction allowing her to thrust out her left foot, the force of her kick landing directly in his groin. Samuel groaned in pain, dropping to the floor as Gillian scrambled into the light. She knew she had only won a small reprieve, her suspicions confirmed as she heard him roar in anger behind her. On instinct she reached for the abandoned spade Julia had been using earlier and swung a scoop full of dirt into the hole behind her.

  ‘You bitch! Just wait until I get my hands on you!’ he screamed, leaving no doubt that she had deposited the entire load onto his face.

  Gillian ran for her life. She had to get to Houston as quickly as possible, but her biggest problem was time. It was many hours to Guatemala Airport and a further two and a half to home. On top of that was the knowledge that Samuel would be on her heels. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that he had stumbled to the surface as she had feared.

  Gillian sprinted to the Lost World Temple, desperate to find somewhere she could stop for a moment to clear her mind and formulate a plan. She quickly located a crumbling arch that had fallen into three pieces, creating a small alcove that was only about waist height. It was just below Samuel’s line of vision, so she hoped he would pass by without looking. Gillian ducked in and held her breath until she saw his enormous feet lumber past a few short seconds later. She exhaled quietly.

  Sighing in relief, Gillian’s frantic mind explored every escape scenario, eventually locating and dropping the word ‘mobile phone’ into her consciousness.

  ‘Damn bloody fool,’ she swore silently. She had taken her mobile phone with her, turning it off and depositing it into her pocket when she had boarded the airplane. She could not believe she had forgotten about it.

  Gillian hastily located the old Nokia inside her thin cotton vest and turned it on only to be met with a beep and the symbol for low battery. Fury welled up inside her at her own stupidity. She guessed that there was only enough power for one call and with luck eventually falling her way and the phone registering adequate reception, Gillian dialled her father’s work. It was a long shot, but she hoped he could pull some strings to help her.

  Praying he was at his desk, Gillian looked out of her hiding spot and saw Samuel come to an abrupt halt. He had realised she was no longer in front of him and the innocent look of puzzlement transformed instantly to fury at the realisation that he had been duped. Gillian had to get out of there and quick.

  She scrambled to her feet with her phone plastered to her ear and sprinted out into the open. She heard her father answer her call, but she ignored him for a moment whilst she got her bearings and raced across to the Central Acropolis. She fervently hoped it was inundated with tourists.

  ‘Dad … I need help … my friends are in danger and I’m being chased!’ she screamed as she pushed her toned legs to the limit ¬¬– ducking, weaving, jumping every obstacle in her path. She was pleased that she was supremely fit, but the effort at being forced to take two steps for Samuel’s one drained her, and with this heat, she was unsure how long she could keep it up.

  ‘Where are you!’ Dale yelled, his deep voice tense and worried.

  ‘Tikal … Guatemala,’ Gillian replied as the phone dropped out. She desperately hoped that her father had understood the message.

  General Dale Bright had been sitting in his office sipping a cup of strong black coffee and reading the report from the latest reconnaissance mission when his office phone buzzed repeatedly. He was tempted to ignore it, but a quick look at the caller ID screen conveyed his daughter’s number in a highlighted orange. He picked up the phone immediately. It was not unusual for her to call; in fact, they spoke on a regular basis, but it was abnormal for her to ask for assistance. It was for this very reason that he knew her life was threatened.

  Dale swung into action. He checked his schedule and noted that he was expecting a group of eleven men to return that afternoon from Campeche, Mexico. They were the closest to Tikal and probably his only viable option. The UH-60 Black Hawk they were flying had a top speed of 115 miles per hour which meant that they could reach Tikal in about an hour and a half. He hoped that was soon enough.

  Dale picked up the radio and called Georgio Catalino. They had known each other since the Vietnam War in 1970 when the helicopter piloted by the small Greek had received a direct shot through the windshield, rendering Georgio comatose. Despite being a foot soldier and having no training in flight, Dale took the controls and flew Georgio back to base, saving his life. They had kept in contact ever since.

  ‘We’re on schedule, Dale. We’re just about to leave Campeche and with two planned fuel stops, I’d estimate that we’ll arrive back at Fort Sam Houston at 21 hundred hours.’

  ‘That’s not the reason behind this call. I have a situation that requires the utmost confidentiality and it will take you a couple of hours out of your way.’

  ‘Name it. I owe you one anyway.’

  ‘You don’t owe me a thing, Georgio, but it appears my daughter has found herself in trouble at Tikal. I need you to get her out’

  ‘Consider it done. For the record, it appears that I’ve hit a little snag that will take me four hours to resolve. Unfortunately I’ll have to log the extra tank of juice and I’ll make sure to include the added delay and changes in the register,’ said Georgio unwaveringly and in good humour as he abruptly ended the call.

  Dale placed his hands behind his head and reclined thoughtfully in his chair. Georgio was a good man. He’d keep the matter quiet and he trusted him to bring his daughter back safely. His rank as general allowed Dale to order any changes to a mission without question, but he was loath to let his men learn that he was wasting government funds for his own benefits. It was imperative that no one discovered his small indiscretion.

  Contemplating his many missions with the small, slightly overweight Greek who loved anything that started or ended in ‘food’, Dale automatically screwed up his foam coffee cup and aimed for the bin near his office door. In the ten years that he had occupied this office, he had never missed the basket, but this afternoon it bounced against the bookcase and landed defiantly a foot away from the intended target. Frowning in concern at his unusual failure, he hoped this was not a sign of things to come.

  Not as worrying as his daughter’s predicament, but nonetheless concerning, was the failed covert operation Georgio had been on in Campeche and in a small town in Guatemala called San Marcos. They had received some intelligence about a drug smuggling ring involving high-ranking officials throughout Mexico and North America.

  The list of suspected operators was as impressive as it was powerful and Dale had hoped to get a foothold into the group and break it wide open. This was not the first time the army had attempted to infiltrate the secret operation, knowledge of the congregation becoming known over fifty years ago. In fact, they had tried on many occasions but each time failed miserably.

  The suspected leader was a man named Arun Keane. What little they knew about him came from a woman they had discovered wandering the streets of San Marcos, Guatemala semi-naked and alone twenty years ago. She had been horribly mutilated. Her fingers were cut off to the knuckles on her left hand, her genitals pierced and sliced so badly that she required reconstructive plastic surgery. There were horizontal cuts to all the major veins in her body. It was as if she had been bled than sewn up only to have it done all over again. From all reports, she should not have survived such a traumatic event.

  She had been immediately placed into an induced coma designed to allow her body the maximum amount of rest and recovery and it had been a few days before Dale was allowed to interview her. He admitted to being nervous and had struggled to control his emotions as he had entered the hospital room.

  Dale studied
her face and despite the considerable scarring along the left ear and cheek, she was very attractive. Her long black hair was glossy, her eyes large and expressive and she had an unusual, extremely detailed tattoo of the Mayan Calendar Round between her neck and shoulderblade.

  Throughout most of the interview she had ranted and raved, a deep psychosis causing the loss of most of her memory, but in the occasional moments of clarity, she revealed that she was a true survivor, a trait Dale greatly admired. He had also discovered that her marred exterior was simply a shell for a beautiful personality and Dale felt strangely drawn to her which surprised and puzzled him. Perhaps it was her resemblance to the ideal soldier that attracted him, able to put her body on the line but strong enough for it not to affect her psyche.

  In her daze, she had revealed sketchy details about elaborate ceremonies and vast quantities of white powder being shipped out on a weekly basis after each ceremony. It was not much for him to go on, but it was a start that led to subsequent arrests and the uncovering of other group members, which allowed them to make inroads on the operation. He also secretly kept in contact with Reynata, visiting as often as possible.

  Turning his thoughts back to his latest mission, Dale wondered how it had gone so wrong. They had uncovered an entire cocaine storage facility outside Eagle Pass near the border of Texas and Mexico three months ago. In it they had been lucky enough to find a small notebook that contained the names of Arun and a surprisingly well-known list of clients leading to a prominent and illustrious mayor being arrested and charged for possession. It was he who had given them the location of the facility in Campeche, under extreme duress, of course and with the assistance of his expert interrogator who never failed to obtain the required information. Still, it had not led to anything substantial and it frustrated him.